Chapter 19

Fu Ziyi celebrates my birthday every year.

When I first moved to Nancheng, it was the worst period for my mental health.

I pushed everyone away. Including Fu Ziyi.

So every time he came, he would bring a bunch of things and squat outside my door, waiting for me.

I behaved coldly toward him on several occasions.

Until one time, I worked overtime and came home very late.

It was pouring outside, and even the corridor of my apartment was dim and damp.

Fu Ziyi must have been tired; he fell asleep leaning against the wall.

The old lamp on the corridor ceiling gave off only a faint light, shining on his quiet silhouette.

That small patch of light seemed to touch a soft corner deep in my heart.

So I gave him my key.

Told him not to wait outside next time.

But Fu Ziyi rarely showed up unexpectedly. He usually came at fixed times, carrying a bunch of things to fill my fridge.

And on my birthday.

When I first arrived in Nancheng, I had no friends. My first birthday there was spent with just the two of us.

He knew I would go see my brother, so he usually only came in the evening.

He Wei had no idea how important Fu Ziyi was to me.

He knew nothing.

Fu Ziyi went back to the kitchen, clearly not wanting to see He Wei.

I carried the gift He Wei brought, walked around, and finally bent down to place it on the floor beside my desk.

When I came out, I saw He Wei squatting on the floor, trying to pet Zhuozhuo.

But Zhuozhuo, uncharacteristically, took a defensive stance and hissed at him.

I walked over and picked Zhuozhuo up.

The air felt a bit awkward.

Honestly, there wasn’t much for me and He Wei to talk about.

He Wei tried to make conversation: “Is this your cat?”

I found his question a bit odd.

This is my home. Of course Zhuozhuo is my cat.

I replied with a simple “Mm.”

He asked again, “When did you start keeping a cat?”

It’s been a long time.

When I got Zhuozhuo, I didn’t even know I’d been switched at birth.

So long that Zhuozhuo is an old cat now.

I stroked Zhuozhuo’s fur and said calmly, “I forgot.”

He Wei wanted to say something else.

But the doorbell rang.

Xu Zhiyi stood there holding a large bouquet of flowers, her smile bright as she greeted me: “Long time no see, happy birthday, Xiao Yu!”

Xu Zhiyi is my pen pal.

A long time ago, I wrote a novel.

It recorded some small things that happened between me and my brother.

Hardly anyone read it.

The worries of youth are always tender and ordinary.

But Zhiyi read it very seriously, and would discuss it with me.

So we exchanged contact information.

Later, that novel ended abruptly, and I never wrote anything so unrealistic again.

The next time I saw her message was when I logged into my old email to write a will.

She had sent me many messages, the latest just a few days ago, asking if I was doing well lately.

I replied and told her I wouldn’t be writing anymore.

She asked: [Why? Is something wrong in your life?]

I didn’t think too much at the time. I didn’t expect we’d meet, so I didn’t lie: [I’m sick.]

I never thought she’d come looking for me.

Moonlight poured in through the window, her smile radiant, her eyes shining.

I was a little surprised, and smiled as I opened my arms, waiting for her to jump into my embrace.

He Wei watched from the side, his expression seemingly confused.

Zhiyi blinked, lively as ever: “Is this your brother? He’s so handsome.”

I was taken aback, instinctively refuting: “No.”