In the busiest square downtown, a street dance performance was underway. It was an event purely for entertainment, and the audience was clearly there for the battles, not to see which dance crew would win.
At the time, Zhu Lianzhen hadn’t even graduated from middle school. His handsome yet youthful face stood out among the group of adults. Coupled with his brash personality and unwillingness to act modest, he easily became a target for other contestants to challenge.
After all, he was an energetic teenage boy. Even after several rounds of dancing, he still had plenty of stamina to pull off various difficult moves that drew waves of cheers from the crowd.
“So you dragged me all the way here just for this? Who are those people, anyway?” a boy asked.
“Dancers. One of them’s kind of famous now… Ah, damn it! I knew we were late. I should’ve handed in my test earlier!” a girl replied.
“Come on, come on, let’s go up front. Tan Qing, aren’t you coming?” several classmates called back as they continued walking ahead.
Tan Qing wasn’t in the mood to join the fun. He pointed to a nearby public bench and said, “I’ll stay here. You can leave your stuff with me.”
Today, there was a citywide mathematics competition for high school students. Entry was competitive, with only a handful of students with the most consistent grades selected to participate. The test had ended in the evening, and since no one wanted to return to school for evening study, they decided to hang out in the city for a while.
The music blaring from the distant speakers was loud. Tan Qing sat on the bench, head down, fully focused on his homework.
One of the problems was beyond the syllabus. The teacher had said they could skip it, but he was in the habit of trying to solve such problems anyway. Just as his train of thought stalled, the music from the square suddenly stopped.
It seemed the performance had ended. Tan Qing looked into the distance to find his classmates, but his eyes first landed on someone on stage—a boy who looked to be in his teens, standing upright. His smaller build and frame stood out among the adult men around him, making him especially eye-catching.
From this distance, Tan Qing couldn’t see the boy’s face clearly. He wasn’t familiar enough with the silhouette to recognize him immediately, but he had a strong feeling he’d seen the person before.
Zhu Lianzhen didn’t have a microphone or a headset mic. He simply cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted to the audience below, “That’s it! Go home, everyone!”
Among the crowd were fans who had come just for him. Many were still unsatisfied and called out for another performance from below the stage. Zhu Lianzhen smiled helplessly, unsure of what to do.
Just the sight of him looking a little flustered made the crowd scream again. His charm didn’t lie solely in his striking features, but also in the pure, unfiltered vibe that came through in the subtle expressions of his brows and eyes. Though his smile was bright like sunshine, there was a faint rebellious coolness to his presence. It didn’t make sense, but it worked perfectly.
Zhu Lianzhen turned to the side and made a hand gesture to his friends below, signaling that he wanted some water.
Someone threw a bottle onto the stage, but the throw was off. The bottle veered away from the platform and looked like it was about to hit someone in the crowd. Without thinking, Zhu Lianzhen lunged forward and snatched the bottle mid-air. But since he was standing right at the edge of the stage, the sudden movement threw off his balance.
Everyone thought he was going to fall, and gasps erupted from all sides. However, Zhu Lianzhen managed to stabilize his upper body using his core strength. He quickly locked onto a landing spot and jumped off the stage, landing cleanly in an open area beside the steps.
His figure was quickly swallowed up by the dense crowd. Tan Qing couldn’t see exactly what had happened, but judging by the audience’s reaction, it seemed he had landed safely.
Tan Qing’s gaze returned to his homework, and only then did he realize his pen was missing.
He didn’t know when it had fallen to the ground. He hadn’t noticed at all.
He picked it up and quietly resumed solving the problems.
–
Life had always been this uneventful.
“You’ll be okay at home by yourself, right?” Ling Ni asked out of habit before leaving, making sure to leave enough money for living expenses. “Remember to balance study with rest, and don’t stay up too late.”
In the sixteen years she had been a mother, Ling Ni had never worried much about parenting. Tan Qing had been obedient and well-behaved since he was little, never the type to throw tantrums. That was what comforted her most.
Even now, in what was typically the most rebellious stage of adolescence, Ling Ni hadn’t noticed any change in his personality. He was still more composed than his peers. While other kids had already been through several rounds of puppy love, Tan Qing didn’t even play video games at home. His main forms of relaxation were practicing the piano and reading books.
With such a sensible son, Ling Ni often felt no guilt staying out overnight. A new manager had recently joined her department—just twenty-eight years old—and, unexpectedly, they got along well in private. She wasn’t looking for anything long-term, just a bit of momentary enjoyment. As a single mother, there were many things she couldn’t talk to her child about.
What she didn’t know was that, when she wasn’t home, Tan Qing actually felt most at ease.
He preferred a quiet environment, and Ling Ni was not someone who could sit still. She loved to sing, and being a pop star had been her dream when she was young. She often hummed without realizing it. Her voice was pleasant, but Tan Qing had no interest in being the audience.
He never deliberately paid attention to anything beyond himself, but others always seemed to notice him. Once the gaze of the outside world settled on him, Tan Qing had no choice but to respond.
“Someone’s here to see you,” a classmate called from the classroom door.
Waiting in the hallway was a thin, small-framed boy dressed in an outdated school uniform. He looked like a senior in high school. When he saw Tan Qing, his eyes darted around nervously, and he stammered for nearly half a minute before finally speaking.
Whether due to a stutter or sheer anxiety, his words came out in a jumble. Tan Qing listened patiently for a while, then unconsciously furrowed his brow. He responded politely and gently, “Take your time. I’ll listen until the end.”
What the boy was trying to say was actually quite simple. After just a few more sentences, Tan Qing understood—the boy was gay.
Tan Qing had encountered admiration from girls before, but this was the first time it came from a boy. Turning him down wasn’t difficult. Even if Tan Qing couldn’t empathize with that kind of feeling, he knew he should at least be tactful and preserve the other’s dignity.
This time was no different. But for some reason, his courteous consideration only seemed to encourage the boy. During lunch breaks or between classes, he often waited outside Tan Qing’s classroom. When people passed by, they would cast curious or mocking glances.
Classmates advised Tan Qing not to spare the “sissy’s” pride, and that he should be firm and harsh when someone was that persistent. But Tan Qing didn’t intend to do that. It wasn’t out of kindness or sympathy; he just felt it wasn’t necessary.
There was no need to be overly warm to anyone, nor overly cold. In his social life, he wasn’t used to treating people any differently.
Still, constant disturbances could be a bother. Eventually, Tan Qing took a few days off from school, claiming to be ill. Since the boy was a senior, Tan Qing didn’t want to waste his time by letting things drag on. Missing a few days of class wouldn’t hurt his own progress anyway. Studying at home, whether online or by reading, actually made it easier to concentrate.
Ling Ni came home on a weekday and wasn’t surprised to see her son not at school. She simply asked if he wasn’t feeling well and reminded him to take medicine.
“It’s nothing. The weather’s too hot, and it’s hard to focus at school, so I came home early,” Tan Qing calmly made up an excuse.
“That’s fine.” Ling Ni smiled in relief. “I’ve got some good news, and I want your opinion.”
Tan Qing set down his pen and turned to look at her. Before she could speak, he said, “As long as you’re happy, I trust your judgment in people.”
Ling Ni was caught off guard, then laughed. “What are you thinking? It’s not that kind of thing.”
Tan Qing knew his mother wasn’t the type to be loyal in relationships, nor someone likely to settle down and build a family. His existence was merely the result of a mistake she’d made years ago.
With him around, it was probably hard for her to start over. Fortunately, she had plenty of lovers to ease her loneliness.
“You won’t guess, so I’ll just tell you,” Ling Ni said, sitting down next to him. “I passed by an entertainment company today and saw they were recruiting trainees. I showed the manager your photo, and he immediately gave me a registration form for you to fill out.”
She looked quite pleased with herself as she took out her phone, opened her photo album, and showed him. “This one—handsome, right? I showed it to my coworkers, and they couldn’t stop praising you.”
On the screen was a photo of Tan Qing taken on his first day of high school. He had been chosen to deliver the freshman welcome speech, and Ling Ni had helped him pick his outfit that day, snapping a photo in the process.
“With your looks and height, there’s no way they wouldn’t take you,” Ling Ni said confidently, pulling out a folder she’d brought home. Inside was an application form for the trainee audition.
Tan Qing fidgeted with the cap of his pen. He took a few seconds to process what his mother had just said, then gave a smile to make himself seem gentle. “Why would I become a trainee? I’ve got more homework now. I won’t even have time on weekends.”
“Just skip music class once. Opportunities like this don’t come often, baby. What if you get in? You’ll be making loads of money in the future, and you won’t have to study so hard anymore.” Though nothing had been decided yet, Ling Ni was already so excited it was as if she could see her son’s bright future laid out before her. “There’s no harm in trying. I really think you’ve got a shot.”
Tan Qing unconsciously tightened his grip on the pen, though the smile never left his face. “Studying isn’t hard. The midterm results just came out—”
“I know. I’m just saying, give it a shot. If it doesn’t work out, so what? Don’t waste your talent.”
“Talent” was a delicate word. Tan Qing never felt he was especially gifted. He simply had more patience than most. He couldn’t stay passionate about anything, and he couldn’t compare to those who truly burned for what they loved.
Ling Ni added, “See? All that vocal training and piano practice I had you do finally came in handy. When you fill in the ‘special skills’ section, you’ll have a big advantage.”
Tan Qing didn’t experience strong emotional highs or lows, so his feelings often seemed irrelevant compared to others’. If just giving it a try would make his mother happy, he had no reason to refuse.
“What’s wrong with your throat? You sound a little hoarse,” he said, noticing the change in Ling Ni’s voice.
Only then did Ling Ni remember to pour herself a glass of water. “It’s nothing. I went out to karaoke with coworkers last night and sang too much.”
“I’ll make you some honeysuckle tea,” Tan Qing said, standing up.
His obedient thoughtfulness made Ling Ni smile in relief. She reached out to gently tousle his hair and sighed. “It’s a good thing I have you. You’re the only bit of luck I’ve had in my whole life.”
Tan Qing felt no particular stir of emotion. In his mind, he hesitantly asked, “Really?” But when he looked up, he was already smiling naturally.
On Saturday morning, Tan Qing took the subway to the address his mother had given him. The name Zuige Entertainment sounded familiar—he vaguely recalled a classmate mentioning it not long ago.
As he moved deeper into the subway car, someone suddenly called his name. Turning, he saw two girls from his class. He greeted them politely, and since there were empty seats beside them, he sat down.
The girls were out shopping together and asked what he was doing alone—was he heading to a tutoring session? He nodded. They said, “Zuige’s holding open trainee auditions today. We’re just stopping by to check out the cute guys.”
Tan Qing’s previously scattered attention snapped into focus.
“We were just saying earlier, Tan Qing, if you went, you’d definitely get picked.”
He let out a soft laugh. “I’m nowhere near that level. You’re giving me too much credit.”
“You can learn to sing and dance! Zuige even picked a foreigner. He couldn’t sing or dance—they just liked his face!”
“Koty’s mixed, though. He’s part Chinese,” the other girl corrected. “And he’s a rapper.”
They whispered to each other, discussing the names of various trainees. Tan Qing’s thoughts gradually drifted elsewhere. His subway stop was approaching, but when the train came to a halt, he stayed seated.
The two classmates stood up and waved goodbye. “Bye-bye!” Tan Qing nodded in return, remaining in his seat.
Half a minute later, the subway pulled away toward the next station.
Tan Qing let out a quiet breath of relief. Now he didn’t have to go to the audition. He could’ve just told the girls why he was really out, but something like that would spread through the class in no time. He still didn’t want that kind of attention.
Unfortunately, his relief didn’t last long before a more serious problem presented itself—how was he going to explain this to his mother?
He had left the house early, so it was impossible to claim he’d missed the audition. If he said the judges didn’t pick him, his mother definitely wouldn’t accept it and might even call the company to verify. And telling her he backed out because he was afraid his classmates or teachers would find out and think he wasn’t focused on his studies? That wouldn’t be convincing either.
Tan Qing wandered around aimlessly for a long time before finally heading home. His mother rushed over before she’d even finished chopping vegetables. “So? What did they ask you to perform?”
“There were a lot of people. When it was my turn, I just sang a song. No music, just vocals.” Tan Qing had already rehearsed the details in his mind. “Didn’t even finish the whole thing, there wasn’t much time.”
Ling Ni asked again, “They didn’t talk to you a little more?”
“The judges were really busy. They barely had time to look at anyone. Didn’t chat with anybody.” Tan Qing avoided meeting her eyes. “It’s kind of hot. I’m going to take a shower.”
Judging by her reaction, Tan Qing knew she believed him completely. During dinner, she couldn’t stop talking about entertainment industry news, already imagining her son as a famous star. Tan Qing tried to change the subject, but this was the only thing that excited her now.
Even now, she still wanted to be part of that world… Tan Qing understood: although she had said it was “just giving it a try,” deep down she was fully hoping he’d be chosen by the company. Suddenly, the food felt hard to swallow, and a hollow emptiness settled in his chest.
Aside from that initial sign-up form, there had been no audition, no song, no judges… He hadn’t even gotten off at the right subway stop. If he told her the truth, would she be hurt? Disappointed?
He could’ve fulfilled her hopes in just half a day, yet now he was using a lie to prop up her beautiful dream. Sooner or later, she’d find out the surprise she was waiting for wasn’t real.
That quiet night, Tan Qing lay awake for a long time. He often lost sleep from overthinking. Turning over in bed, he got up, opened his wardrobe, and slowly began taking out the clothes inside, laying them one by one on the bed.
He could only fully calm his mind in a dark, enclosed, narrow space. It was said that claustrophobia was one of humankind’s primal fears, but Tan Qing had adapted to it well. Whenever he couldn’t sleep, this was how he relaxed his brain.
On the day Zuige Entertainment announced the list of selected candidates, Tan Qing, of course, was not on it.
Ling Ni took a half-day off and came home in the afternoon, planning to urge Tan Qing to check the results online. But when she entered his room, the first thing she saw was the bed, strewn with clothes. Her heart sank. She walked over to the wardrobe.
When she opened the door, she found Tan Qing curled up inside, napping. His black hair fell over his forehead, and his breathing was steady. The sound of the door woke him, and he opened his eyes to look at her.
“Why are you sleeping in here?”
Tan Qing lowered his gaze and simply said, “I’m sorry.”
Ling Ni frowned, clearly confused. Then Tan Qing told her, “The list was announced today. I wasn’t selected as a trainee.”
He lied smoothly.
“I really wanted to surprise you, but I just…” Tan Qing pressed his lips together and took a deep breath, his voice sorrowful. “I really don’t have that kind of talent. I let you down. I’m sorry.”
Ling Ni froze for a moment, then shook her head and said, “It’s okay. So what if you weren’t selected? There’s always someone better out there. With so many people competing, there are bound to be kids who are more impressive.”
“Then… are you sad? I know you wanted me to become a star.” Tan Qing slowly looked up at her. “I’m not afraid of not being chosen. I’m only afraid you’ll be upset. I’m sorry.”
Ling Ni looked into Tan Qing’s red, tearful eyes, and her throat tightened. “I’m not sad. What’s the big deal? Don’t pressure yourself.”
She let out a long sigh and hugged Tan Qing’s shoulders. “It’s okay.”
Tan Qing nodded, still remembering to show concern for her. “Your throat still isn’t better?”
“It’s just some internal heat. I’ll make some monk fruit tea later—you should have some too.”
That evening, Ling Ni cooked dinner. While washing the vegetables, she suddenly thought of Tan Qing as a little boy, and a rare feeling of guilt crept over her.
From beginning to end, Tan Qing never explained why he had hidden in the wardrobe. But she felt she already knew the answer. The reason she divorced ten years ago was an unspoken secret between mother and son. She had believed that five-year-old Tan Qing didn’t understand anything, and had hoped that whatever he had seen or heard back then would feel like a bad dream and eventually be forgotten.
But he hadn’t forgotten.
She occasionally noticed that Tan Qing relied on the wardrobe, and in those moments, she understood that he actually remembered everything.
Tan Qing wasn’t sure whether making his mother recall her past mistakes this way was a bit cruel, but he had no other choice. Since lies couldn’t fix what had been broken, the only thing left was to cover it up. At least now, his mother could begin to understand how he felt. Just as he feared Ling Ni’s disappointment, she was probably afraid that her son had resented her all along.
This was the only kind of emotional understanding they could share.
No matter how often they expressed gratitude or affection, it always felt like reciting lines from a script in a routine performance. Blood ties were a responsibility they were born into, but that didn’t mean they had to love each other from the heart.
After that, Ling Ni truly never mentioned the trainee selection again. Tan Qing said his schoolwork was getting heavier, so he stopped attending weekend music lessons too.
Ling Ni often told him to do whatever he wanted. Tan Qing thought seriously about it and realized he didn’t have anything he truly wanted to do.
Whenever he had an idea, he would make a plan and carry it out step by step. He could accomplish almost anything without much trouble, and even if he failed, it never really bothered him.
In other words, he not only lacked dreams in the broader sense, but he also lacked the drive to prove his own worth.
But maybe that was just how most ordinary people lived.
There was nothing wrong with living a mediocre life in this world. But once others started having expectations for him, he no longer had the option of being ordinary.
–
Ling Ni’s throat had been bothering her for a while, and she finally went to the hospital for a check-up. Tan Qing originally wanted to accompany her into the consultation room, but she gave him a stern look, signaling for him to wait outside.
Tan Qing sat on a plastic bench in the hallway. The hospital smell made him uneasy, or maybe it was a sense of foreboding that unsettled his heart. When his mother finally came out, she casually urged him to go home.
“What took so long?” Tan Qing asked.
“I did some tests. Tomorrow I need to fast for a laryngoscopy. Today was just blood work and an EKG to rule out infectious diseases,” Ling Ni told him. “It’s nothing serious. At worst, I’ll need a minor surgery.”
Tan Qing stopped walking. “But there’s no diagnosis yet. How do you know it’ll be surgery?”
“I was just saying,” Ling Ni replied, thinking he was overreacting.
Tan Qing hesitated, pausing as he carefully chose his words. “I’ll take the day off tomorrow and go with you for the laryngoscopy.”
Ling Ni laughed and patted him on the head. “Other families have the mom take time off when the child is sick. Ours is the other way around.”
Tan Qing didn’t smile. He simply said, firmly, “It’s settled. My teacher will approve.”
The next morning, they arrived at the hospital early. After receiving anesthesia, the laryngoscopy took about half an hour. When the doctor began to go over the results, Ling Ni once again tried to stop Tan Qing from entering the room. But this time, he walked in on his own, sat down beside her, and looked the doctor straight in the eye.
“Is this your child?” the doctor asked. “The situation might be more serious than you expected. It’s best for the family to be informed as early as possible.”
At those words, Ling Ni’s expression turned cold.
The doctor continued, “It’s been confirmed as glottic laryngeal cancer. If you’re unsure about the diagnosis, you can go to a hospital in Beijing for a second opinion, but it’s unlikely to be anything else. There’s no need to panic. It was discovered relatively early, and we can proceed with a laser procedure. The surgery is non-invasive, and after about a week of hospitalization, you should be able to go home.”
Ling Ni let out a breath of relief. “Will it affect my speech or singing?”
“If your recovery goes well, there shouldn’t be any issues,” the doctor replied. “But I do recommend changing your job. You don’t smoke or drink, but the air quality at your workplace is poor. Breathing in dust every day is harmful to your health.”
“I understand. Thank you, doctor.” Ling Ni unconsciously tightened her grip on Tan Qing’s hand. “Then… please help arrange the surgery as soon as possible.”
While Ling Ni was hospitalized, Tan Qing stayed home alone and went to the hospital every day after school.
He knew his mother liked fresh flowers, so he picked some up on the way and placed them at her bedside, giving her something to arrange during the long, dull hours.
Today, he brought roses. The shop owner told him they were actually Chinese roses. Tan Qing noticed their faint scent—it was different from the rose essential oil Ling Ni liked to use at home.
After her recovery period, Tan Qing asked, “Are you really okay now? Should we go to another hospital for a second check-up?”
“I’m fine, really. I don’t feel anything strange in my throat anymore.” Sitting in the car, Ling Ni couldn’t help but speak honestly. “Actually, when they first told me it was cancer, I was scared to death.”
She continued, “After you left that day, I went back to ask the doctor if they would have to remove my vocal cords, if I wouldn’t be able to talk anymore.”
Fortunately, the doctor had shaken his head. Ling Ni still felt lucky thinking back on it. “I’d rather live a few years less than lose my voice. If I couldn’t sing anymore, what would be the point of living?”
Tan Qing was just about to argue but stopped himself. He knew this was something he truly couldn’t empathize with.
She was someone with passion—someone who suffered because of it.
Unlike him.
After the final exams, Ronggang had its first snowfall of the new year.
Tan Qing left the exam hall and returned to the classroom to organize the duty roster. There, he found several beautifully wrapped boxes stuffed into his desk drawer. His classmates explained that since his birthday fell during winter break, and everyone would be busy visiting relatives during the New Year, they wanted to give him their gifts in advance.
Tan Qing sent each of them a thank-you message. With a backpack full of presents, he got on the subway. Seeing that it was still early, he rode a few extra stops to a shopping mall to buy a scarf and to look at new down jackets for his mother.
It wasn’t much of a surprise, but as he passed through the pedestrian street, he once again found himself in front of a street dance performance.
That dance crew seemed to perform there often. The audience easily found good spots to watch, clearly familiar with the setup. Tan Qing was just passing by, but his eyes lingered a bit longer than expected on the boy in the center.
Zhu… something? Tan Qing had heard his name before but hadn’t made an effort to remember it. He was just a stranger, after all.
Still, his presence was truly unforgettable. Even from a distance, Tan Qing couldn’t ignore his vivid, spirited energy, like a fierce, free wind, completely unlike the average teenager.
Tan Qing didn’t have time to watch the whole performance, which left him with a slight sense of regret. Still, the city wasn’t that big. Chances were, they’d cross paths again.
After the division into humanities and science tracks, the academic workload had grown heavier. Tan Qing was in the experimental class, where many students already had clear goals for their futures—which universities they wanted to attend, what careers they aimed for. These were common topics during breaks.
As for Tan Qing, he still had no concrete vision for the future. From childhood until now, he had simply gone with the flow. The present and the future felt no different to him, and he had no real sense of aging, either.
Aside from schoolwork, romance was also a frequent topic in class. When nosy classmates asked about his dating experience or what type he liked, Tan Qing simply smiled and said, “I haven’t dated.” That dampened the mood a little, and some even suspected he was lying. With his looks, how could he not have had any romantic encounters?
But Tan Qing truly didn’t understand how people developed feelings for someone else.
So far, he hadn’t met any classmates who stirred his curiosity, let alone experienced that “teenage heart-throbbing feeling.” During art class once, the teacher played a romantic movie. When the leads confessed their love, many in the class were moved to tears. But to him, it was just another part of the plot.
Take his mother, for example. She probably fell for people easily, but it was unlikely she had ever truly loved anyone. Tan Qing didn’t know whether this kind of emotional tendency was hereditary, but he had an intuition that he might not even possess the ability to fall for someone. And even if he did, he probably wouldn’t know how to love them the right way.
