The classmates gave Bolong gifts one by one, most of which were exquisite watches, ornaments, and jade. Bolong's family has always been well-off, and if Bolong hadn't strongly invited him, Su Mingan would not have come to participate.
Little Su Ming'an followed closely and presented his own rather shabby gift - a handmade piano ornament, which he had saved up for.
The eyes of others turned a little disgusted, but Bolong took it with a smile and patted Su Mingan on the shoulder: "You are worthy of being my good buddy, I like this gift!"
After Su Ming'an left the stage, the sound of blessing almost blew off the roof. Bolong's parents walked forward, tiptoed, and kissed their son on the forehead. Bolong stood under the lights, smiling with great happiness.
Little Su Ming'an turned his eyes away, his sight wandering on the glittering crystal lamp. The light reflected countless cold and sharp points of light, hanging above his head, like some kind of silent scrutiny. His stomach suddenly twitched slightly, and he subconsciously rubbed his eyes with the sleeve of his school uniform.
...That night, he saw a lot of things that he had never eaten before, and he ate a lot until his stomach felt bloated and painful.
After the party, people gradually dispersed, but Su Mingan quietly walked towards the huge cake, which was already a mess of cream. He glanced at it and reached out to one of the candles. The candle was very short, with a little dark wax solidified at the end.
His fingertips felt a little residual warmth, and he quickly grasped it in his palm.
Along the way, he sat on the last bus, holding the short candle tightly.
When he returned to his residence, he was greeted by a mixture of dust and cheap disinfectant. He fumbled to press the switch, and saw an old bed, a creaking desk, a rattan chair, and a faded family photo in a frame on the wall - the smiles of his parents were embedded on the yellowed paper, so distant that it seemed like a story from another world.
He walked to the corner of the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. There was only a bag of expiring bread from the supermarket. He took it out carefully. The crust of the bread had become hard. He pinched out a piece and took a bite in silence. The dry crumbs slowly melted in his mouth, and a taste similar to cardboard filled the air.
Then, he carefully took out the candle that came with him. It was so short, with a burnt wick at the top, and the remaining wax tears from Bolong's blessing rolled out, lying quietly in his palm.
He picked up the candle and gently placed it in the center of the dry bread in front of him. The poor remnant of butter barely served as a base to fix the candle. Then he took out a cheap plastic lighter hanging on his key chain. "Crack", a faint flame jumped out.
“…”
The dim candlelight trembled and jumped, casting two tiny, flickering spots of light in his dark pupils.
This borrowed glimmer of light belongs to someone else's discarded things.
He leaned forward slightly, his hands clenched subconsciously on his knees, his knuckles turning white.
Then, a clear and trembling voice resounded throughout this silent and cold home.
“Happy birthday to me.”
“Happy birthday to me.”
“Happy birthday to me…”
“Happy birthday to me…”
He slowly stretched out his hand, his fingertips trembling slightly, and moved closer to the candle flame. He held his breath and blew very lightly towards the weak flame.
puff--
The candle flame went out immediately.
The last wisp of blue smoke rose up and quickly dissipated in the dim light, as if it had never existed.
He still kept his hands clasped on his knees, his back straight, facing the cold, expiring bread with a smoldering candle in front of him.
On the wall, the old photos of my parents were completely sunk into shadows, and their blurry smiles were lost in the darkness.
He sat there, the only sounds in the silent room being his own breathing and the faint, never-ending roar of the city in the distance outside the window.
...This is something that Bolong doesn't want for his birthday.
After others have made their wishes, it can be his turn.
Su Mingan stood in the distance, looking at this memory.
He saw the young boy again, walking in the humid and sultry air, the setting sun burning half the sky red. The young boy was picking up bottles and passing by the big TV in the mall on the corner.
The young boy was attracted by the TV and stopped.
On the TV screen, a group of children in suits and long skirts were in a concert hall that he could not imagine, with a dome as high as the sky. Those young faces were bathed in the brilliant toplight of the stage, and they looked confident, as if they were born to stand in the center of the world and be looked up to.
…Those are the children who went abroad to attend piano concerts.
Little Su Mingan stopped for a long time, staring at their dancing fingers, looking at their familiar fingering. This song... I can also...
"Hmm~Hmm~"
He couldn't help but hum the piano pieces he had learned. He looked at their shiny leather shoes, then looked down at his own torn sneakers.
He stood there for a long time, until the show ended, until the glamorous children thanked him with smiles, and until his legs were numb.
Suddenly, an angry face filled his field of vision. Without saying anything, he pointed at Su Mingan and started to curse, his saliva almost spraying on his face:
"Su Ming'an, you murderer! You killed my Zhizhen. Even if you block my number, I can still find you. Even if you escape the punishment of the law, don't think you can live with a clear conscience. I will always follow you and make you feel ashamed everywhere around you..."
Amid the woman's curses, little Su Mingan looked back quietly.
The people around him looked at him in surprise, their eyes like countless tiny thorns, piercing him unscrupulously.
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