Night fell, and the city lights gleamed brightly, illuminating the dark sky. Carrying a strawberry cake, Zhuang Zi’ang made his way to the apartment complex where his mother, Xu Hui, rented a small place. Gazing up at the countless lit windows, he felt not a trace of warmth in his heart.

Because none of those lights was lit for him.

Just as he reached the stairwell, he ran into his mother hurrying downstairs, dragging a suitcase. In her early forties, Xu Hui looked especially tired from working on trains and constantly traveling to make ends meet.

“Zi’ang, I have something urgent. Get yourself some dinner, or go back home,” she said in a rush.

The “home” Xu Hui referred to was the place where his father, Zhuang Wenzhao, lived. Legally, Zhuang Zi’ang was still under his father’s custody.

“Mom, are you in such a hurry? Can’t you spare a few minutes to share this cake with me?” Zhuang Zi’ang asked, eyes filled with hope.

“I don’t have time. Next time,” Xu Hui replied, checking her watch.

“Not even a few minutes?” Zhuang Zi’ang tried again.

“No. You’re eighteen now—an adult. You need to be more sensible,” Xu Hui said, then turned and walked away without looking back.

Watching her go, Zhuang Zi’ang’s eyes brimmed with loneliness and resignation. Telling her about his predicament wouldn’t change anything; it would only make her worry and grieve sooner. Once everything was settled, she would still have to return to her hectic work schedule.

Xu Hui had a divorced male colleague at work who had been pursuing her for some time. Without Zhuang Zi’ang in the picture, she might have even fewer worries, giving her a better chance to find happiness again—perhaps someone who could care for her in her later years.

I’m eighteen—a grown-up. Is that sensible enough?

After a brief internal struggle, Zhuang Zi’ang decided to head to his father’s home. He couldn’t bear this burden alone. People often say a father’s love is like a mountain—something you can lean on when it truly matters.

He set off once more, strawberry cake in hand, traveling across half the city. A chilly evening wind made him shiver.

Stepping out of the elevator, Zhuang Zi’ang noticed the front door was slightly ajar, a warm yellow glow spilling out from the living room.

“Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you…”

A cheerful birthday tune echoed inside. Only then did Zhuang Zi’ang remember that today was his younger brother Zhuang Yuhang’s birthday. In their rural hometown, birthdays were often observed according to the lunar calendar. At school, however, both teachers and students usually tracked the solar (Gregorian) calendar and weekdays instead.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

Zhuang Zi’ang and Zhuang Yuhang were years apart; their bond was weak, more like a concubine’s son and a legitimate son in ancient times. In previous years, if Zhuang Zi’ang happened to be around on Yuhang’s birthday, he would join the meal; if not, it was no big deal. Here in this house, he’d always felt like an outsider.

From within, Yuhang’s voice rose: “Dad, Mom, I hope our family of three can be happy and that you’ll celebrate my birthday with me every year.”

Sure enough, in their eyes, this family consisted of just three people.

Qin Shulan (Zhuang Zi’ang’s stepmother) asked, “Honey, should we call Zi’ang to see if he’s coming?”

Zhuang Wenzhao replied casually, “No need. He’s probably with his mom. If he wants to come back, he knows how.”

The three of them cheerfully shared the birthday cake, their laughter like knives stabbing at Zhuang Zi’ang’s heart. In that moment, he felt utterly superfluous.

Seeing his father so immersed in the joy of a happy family moment, could he really be so callous as to confront him with a terminal diagnosis now? If he disappeared from the world, the family of three would finally be complete—no more thorn pricking them from time to time.

Zhuang Zi’ang’s heart sank into a gray fog. He was about to leave when the door swung open and Qin Shulan, his stepmother, caught sight of him standing there, awkward and uncertain.

“Zi’ang, you’re back! Why not come in?”

Zhuang Zi’ang froze, like a thief caught red-handed peeking at someone else’s happiness. Head lowered, he walked inside, quietly greeting his father.

Zhuang Wenzhao acknowledged him with a lukewarm grunt. Each time Zhuang Zi’ang crossed this threshold, he felt on edge, like walking on thin ice.

On the dining table was a large, exquisitely decorated cake piled high with fruit and chocolate. Compared to that, the small strawberry cake in his hands seemed pitifully cheap—hardly worth presenting.

Zhuang Wenzhao said in a low voice, “Today is Yuhang’s birthday. Wash up and join us for some cake.”

Zhuang Zi’ang sensed the air grow heavy, as if the atmosphere had turned oppressive. His presence had shattered what had been a harmonious family celebration.

He mumbled, “You go ahead. I just need something from my room,” then hurried down the hall to his bedroom, shutting the door behind him so he could finally breathe again.

To justify his excuse, he rummaged in a drawer until he found an old bamboo flute—a prize he had won in a childhood music competition. He hadn’t touched it in years; he was undoubtedly rusty by now.

A short while later, Yuhang knocked on the door. “Mom and Dad asked me to bring you some cake,” he said.

Taking a deep breath, Zhuang Zi’ang opened the door and forced a stiff smile. “Thanks, Yuhang. Happy birthday.”

Yuhang slid into the room, eyes flicking to the strawberry cake. A look of disdain crossed his face. Spoiled from a young age and not sharing the same mother, he harbored little affection for Zhuang Zi’ang. In his mind, Zhuang Zi’ang was just a nerd with good grades.

“You really didn’t need to come back. You don’t like it here, and I don’t like it when you come,” Yuhang said bluntly, annoyed at Zhuang Zi’ang for disrupting their cozy family of three.

“I’ll leave, then,” Zhuang Zi’ang said, clutching the cake and bamboo flute as he fled from the bedroom.

Seeing this, Qin Shulan feigned concern. “Zi’ang, where are you going at this hour?”

Zhuang Zi’ang halted, turned to stare at his father, and said, “Dad, my studies are pretty intense right now. It’s easier to stay at my mom’s place. After three months, will you come pick me up, bring me home?”

Zhuang Wenzhao looked momentarily startled, finding his son’s tone oddly grave. Three months from now—wouldn’t that coincide with graduation?

“It’s fine if you don’t come,” Zhuang Zi’ang added softly, disappointment flickering in his eyes. He then rushed out the door.

The elevator doors slid shut, and tears welled up in Zhuang Zi’ang’s eyes. He envied Yuhang so much. He had parents, but it felt like he didn’t. Even this crushing misfortune was his alone, with no one to share it with.

Once he exited the apartment complex, perhaps the emotional upheaval triggered the illness lurking in his body. Warm blood began trickling from his nose, staining the gray pavement at his feet.

The bright red drops matched the crimson tassel at the end of his bamboo flute.

In three months, I probably won’t be in this world anymore.

Whether anyone comes to bring me “home” doesn’t really matter.

Wherever my ashes end up, or if they’re scattered to the wind—it makes no difference.

Life is so bitter—there’s likely no next life, anyway.

Clutching the bamboo flute, Zhuang Zi’ang wandered aimlessly along the dark streets, tissues unable to stem the flow of his nosebleed. He suddenly remembered that earlier in the day, he’d had a nosebleed when he was with Su Yudiel. Back then, she’d simply cupped the back of his head, her warm fingertips somehow stopping the bleeding with ease.

Thinking of her bright, smiling face brought a faint spark of warmth to his cold and lonely heart.