Chapter 58: Happy Birthday, Little Star

The clock of the long night ticks on endlessly.

Shen Jixing did not sleep well that night. In a haze, he found himself surrounded by black mist. He walked toward the end of the fog, where he saw a simple, yellowed sign.

Rainbow Star Welfare Home

A crowd of young faces turned to look at him, their eyes filled with surprise and curiosity.

“He’s really been sent back?”

Shen Jixing’s thoughts paused; he looked down and saw a pair of small, pale hands clutching a battered star-shaped toy.

“The nurse said the kids sent back are naughty, and no one will ever want them. Let’s not play with him.”

The children scattered like frightened birds.

Their only hope was to have a family, yearning for the thousands of lights in the city, wishing that one might shine for them.

Shen Jixing did not cry or make a fuss, simply hugging his star under the tree.

The long wind swept through his soft black hair.

He felt a pang of longing.

He remembered the most beautiful manor he had ever seen, fields of lavender, a warm winter fireplace, the tempting roast chicken at Christmas.

It was as lovely as a dream of snow at winter’s end.

But what he missed most was the hand that once caressed his cheek, warm and gentle, as if telling him with endless tenderness—

Even a child born abandoned has the right to be loved.

He didn’t know how long he sat there, as winter snow gave way to the brightness of spring.

“Would you like to come with me?”

A boy in the same yellow sweater sat quietly and coolly beside him. “A kind sister is sponsoring me; I can go to school now.”

Shen Jixing smiled slightly. “That’s wonderful.”

It wasn’t adoption, but it was better than staying here.

The director was growing old. Eventually, they would be cast aside by the world, drifting like dust.

“Mm.” Fu Chen asked, “Do you want to go?”

Shen Jixing was silent for a moment. “No.”

It was a difficult decision for Fu Chen.

He wanted to help, but only if he had the right to do so.

Shen Jixing didn’t want him to struggle.

“I’d like to stay with the director a little longer, just one more Christmas.”

He was born on Christmas.

This shabby welfare home, thanks to that romantic old man, still had the right to celebrate Christmas.

Each child woke to a new pair of red socks.

“Alright,” Fu Chen said. “If you need anything, you can always contact me.”

“Mm.”

Shen Jixing said, “You’re my best friend.”

The day Fu Chen left, it was raining. Few knew, and no one saw him off.

It was only sponsorship; life still depended on oneself.

“Shen Jixing.”

Fu Chen stood at the worn door, looking at him. “You’re different from the others here.”

You’re like me.

“Even if we’re abandoned children, we still have the right to control our own lives.”

The stubborn teenager slung his bag over his shoulder and stepped into the storm without looking back.

“I look forward to seeing you again.”

Fu Chen left.

His only friend was gone.

When Fu Chen left, he slipped him a roll of money, given secretly by the director, fearing he would go hungry outside.

Fu Chen said he didn’t need it; it should be used to buy medicine for the director.

Shen Jixing cared for the aging old man, brewed medicine, and fed it to him spoon by spoon. “Star…”

The old man, frail and struggling to speak, still tried to reach out and touch his head. “How is it that the last to stay is Star?”

The prettiest child, yet in the end, only he remained.

“Perhaps it’s because you were the first person I saw when I opened my eyes.”

So, he was the one left to care for him in the end.

“Are they good to you?” The director looked at him with gentle, aged eyes.

After returning, Shen Jixing never spoke of what happened at the other place.

Now, eyes lowered, he murmured, “…No, they don’t actually like me.”

They wanted not Shen Jixing, but a well-behaved son to erase the pain of losing their own child.

“I don’t like those beautiful, fancy clothes. I like the little sweater you made for me.”

The director chuckled at his words, but tears gathered in his aged eyes as he laughed.

“But they can give you a home.”

He was trying his best, before his end, to help every child he raised find a home.

Shen Jixing grasped his withered hand. “I have a home.”

“From the day you took me in, I had a home, always.”

The director smiled, looking through the yellowed window outside.

“It’s snowing.”

Shen Jixing nodded. It was afternoon, not too cold yet.

He opened the window. “It’s snowing. Christmas is almost here.”

Tiny snowflakes floated in the air, the first snow of the year, pure and white on the boy’s soft black hair.

The director smiled at him. “Good, then I’ll wait a little longer.”

But he never made it to Christmas.

On a snowy Christmas Eve, Shen Jixing went to buy apples, cooked them soft in warm water, planning to feed them to the director bit by bit.

If he ate a peace apple, he would be safe and sound.

From the room came harsh, ragged coughing, mingled with the weak call, “Star…”

Sensing something, Shen Jixing turned off the stove, scooped apples into a small bowl, and rushed back.

The old director was struggling to pull something from his pocket.

“Let me help you.” Shen Jixing took out a wrinkled handkerchief, one he’d seen the director carefully keep long ago.

The director stopped him from handing it over, and his warm, rough hand gently grasped Shen Jixing’s.

“No need to wait for Christmas. Always remembering this old fool, that’s not good.”

Shen Jixing felt a little dazed. “What?”

Those gentle, aged eyes, full of softness and longing, weary and worried.

“Happy birthday, Little Star.”

Those hands that once lifted him from the corner on a winter night.

Once carrying warmth and strength, bringing him home, now lay atop his own, gradually growing cold.

Shen Jixing froze for a long moment, then slowly opened the clean, soap-scented handkerchief.

Inside lay a pair of red socks.

The old man had said just yesterday: “Actually, I wanted to give you a birthday present, so I gave everyone a pair—but yours is special.”

Golden stars were embroidered on his red socks.

Shen Jixing’s face remained blank for a long time. He was silent, like a statue.

Others said he never cried, not even when abandoned and sent back.

He was born cold-hearted; it was only natural if others didn’t want him.

Then he did something unexpected. He tucked the red socks into his pocket, went back to pick up the bowl of apple soup, and spooned it gently to the director.

The world blurred and twisted before him.

The sound of a siren echoed, harsh and loud. Someone pulled him from the bedside, knocking over his apple soup.

It felt as if a taut string finally snapped.

Shen Jixing began to struggle hysterically, tears falling one by one from his eyes. Like a helpless child, he reached out desperately—

He wanted so badly to hold on, but he could do nothing.

“Shen Jixing.”

A voice called him from the void.

He heard nothing, until someone embraced him tightly, warmth seeping deep into his bones.

“Why do you cry so much?”

A dry, gentle hand brushed aside his soft clothes, gently stroking his thin back.

Shen Jixing was dazed.

It seemed someone had said something like this before.

“Shen Jixing, why do you cry whenever you see me?”

All things faded into nothingness. Choking and bewildered, he leaned into Zhou Yili’s arms, and slowly bit into his neck.

Blood and tears fell together.

Zhou Yili paused only a moment, then continued to soothe his back with a gentle hand. “It’s alright, no more tears.”