Chen Jingzhou’s twenty-one years of life could be summed up in three phrases: no one looked after him, he had to handle everything himself, and he was used to it.
He grew up with his grandmother. After his parents divorced, they each went their own way. No one remembered his birthday, and no one asked if he wanted breakfast. He lived in a storage room, ate instant noodles for a month, and went to the hospital alone to find out he had thyroid cancer. He never cried over any of it. Who would he have cried to?
Later, he became a gaming streamer. He made fans and friends, and little by little, life got better. But there was always a hole in his heart, like a rusty lock keeping the child who lived in that storage room sealed away.
Until one day, he met her.
Ying Ruyue smiled with crescent-shaped eyes. She made white tea and lemon drinks by hand, took him to watch the sunrise, and told him, “Don’t be scared. I’m here.” She was a girl who had grown up surrounded by love, like a lush, flourishing tree. He was grass that had forced its way up through a crack in a stone.
She said, “I like you.”
He said, “I can’t.”
It wasn’t that he didn’t like her. He just didn’t know how. He had never seen what a good relationship looked like, and no one had taught him. He was afraid he couldn’t return all the love she gave him, afraid she would one day realize he wasn’t worth it.
But she said, “You don’t have to be ready. I can wait.”
This is a story about not sinking: about those who fall to the bottom of the valley, the light that grows out of the dirt, the hands reaching out with care, and the person who finally dares to take them.
When fireflies rose from the rice fields, he realized for the first time that the sky could be so bright.
It's okay [laughing][laughing][laughing]