Unsinkable Orange

Chen Jingzhou's twenty-one years of life can be summed up in three words: no one cares about him, he carries it on his own, and he gets used to it. He grew up with his grandma. After his parents divorced, he lived his own life. No one remembered his birthday, and no one asked him if he wanted to have breakfast. He lived in a utility room, ate instant noodles for a month, went to the hospital alone and was diagnosed with thyroid cancer - he never cried at any of these things, because who would he cry to? Later, he became a game anchor, gained fans and friends, and his life got better little by little. But there was always a hole in his heart, like a rusty lock, locking the child who lived in the utility room. Until an encounter. Ying Ruyue smiles with crooked eyes. She can make white tea and lemon drink with her own hands, take him to see the sunrise, and say "Don't be afraid, I'm here" when he is nervous. She was a girl raised by love, like a leafy tree, and he was the grass growing from the cracks in the rocks. She said: "I like you." "I can't," he said. It's not that I don't like it. No. He has never seen what good relationships look like, and no one has taught him. He was afraid that he would not be able to accept this good thing, and that one day she would find that he was not worthy. But she said, "You don't have to be ready. I can afford to wait." This is a story about "unsinkable" - those who sink to the bottom, those lights that grow from the soil, those hands that cautiously stretch out, and the one who finally dares to catch them. When the fireflies flew up from the rice fields, he felt for the first time that the sky could be so bright.