Chapter 30: The Fallen Child Star (30) Part 2

 

Tossing and turning in his sleep, Xu Weiheng woke up having completely forgotten the contents of his dream, only vaguely recalling a sense of helplessness and confusion from within it.

 

The day before his birthday, Yao Rong took him shopping, buying him many clothes and dragging him to the supermarket to get a bunch of cake-making ingredients.

 

Looking at the ever-growing pile in the shopping cart, that strange feeling lingering in his heart began to fade.

 

On his birthday, Xu Weiheng woke up early.

 

After washing up, he unlocked his phone with his fingerprint.

 

There were many unread messages on WeChat.

 

Wen Qiu, Di Zheng, Zhang Qingyi, Zhang Qingyi’s son Li Chu, the director of “Sunken Dust”…

 

Each of them had sent him a “Happy Birthday” message at midnight. Those closer to him, like Wen Qiu and Zhang Qingyi, even reminded him to collect his package deliveries, as gifts would be arriving at noon.

 

Besides them, several of Xu Weiheng’s close high school classmates had also sent messages.

 

Xu Weiheng read these messages over and over again, hugging his phone as he rolled around on the bed twice before quickly sitting up to reply to each one.

 

By the time he finished replying, it was almost eight o’clock.

 

Xu Weiheng put down his phone and stepped out of his room.

 

Yao Rong’s bedroom door was wide open, but sounds were coming from the kitchen.

 

Xu Weiheng went to the kitchen and saw Yao Rong cooking noodles.

 

“Perfect timing, the longevity noodles are almost ready.”

 

Xu Weiheng stood beside her, watching as she added seasonings to the pot.

 

The rising steam was warm and comforting, as if softening the spring light or suspending time, leaving behind only a deep sense of tenderness.

 

“Two years ago, I was hungover in a rented room. When I woke up from my drunken stupor, I saw you cooking noodles in the kitchen.”

 

That was the first time he had seen her after thirteen years.

 

Sometimes he felt like a long time had passed.

 

But upon reflection, he realized it had only been two years.

 

“My noodle-cooking skills should be better than they were two years ago.”

 

“Mm. Your noodles have always been the most delicious.” Xu Weiheng continued watching her cook. After a while, as Yao Rong was plating the noodles with chopsticks, he suddenly asked in a soft voice, “Do you remember what the first thing you said to me that day was?”

 

Yao Rong’s chopstick movements paused.

 

She turned her head slightly, her gaze falling on him.

 

Two years had passed in the blink of an eye, yet her gaze upon him remained unchanged. If anything, time had added more calmness and gentleness to her gaze.

 

“Weiheng, I’m your mother.”

 

“Mom.”

 

Xu Weiheng called out to her, tightly hugging her with both arms, lowering his head to bury it in her shoulder.

 

This was the first time he had called her “Mom.”

 

He said it so softly, as if afraid it might be just a dream.

 

But Yao Rong heard it clearly.

 

She blinked gently, and in that moment, felt the urge to cry.

 

After a long while, she somewhat awkwardly raised her hand to lightly hug Xu Weiheng back.

 

“Mm. I’m here.”

 

Yao Rong said softly: “Weiheng, happy birthday.”

 

Fearing he hadn’t heard clearly, she repeated: “Happy eighteenth birthday.”

 

As the surge of emotions gradually subsided, embarrassment belatedly crept up, and Xu Weiheng coughed lightly, breaking free from the embrace. He turned his back to Yao Rong and moved to carry the longevity noodles: “It’s too hot in the kitchen, I’ll go out for some fresh air first.”

 

Yao Rong untied her apron, about to hang it back in place when the long-silent system suddenly chimed in: [System detects that the host’s emotions are fluctuating greatly]**

 

“System, did you hear him call me Mom?”

 

The system tried to analyze from Yao Rong’s perspective: [So the host is so excited because she finally gained Xu Weiheng’s recognition?]

 

Humans always attach great importance to titles, with a single form of address representing a kind of recognition.

 

Boss, sir, master.

 

Ordinary titles imbued with heavy significance.

 

“It’s not about recognition.”

 

Yao Rong knew it didn’t understand, and repeated with a smile: “It’s not about recognition.”

 

The system finally encountered a problem it couldn’t comprehend no matter how it thought about it: [Then what is the host thinking now?]

 

Yao Rong took out the cake-making ingredients from the refrigerator: “I used to always feel that I came into this world because of him, that I was redeeming him. But now I realize that in the process of redeeming him, how could I not also be redeemed by him?”

 

In the Space-Time Management Bureau, there were many excellent task takers who, after experiencing various missions, either grew tired of the repeated time travel and chose to leave the bureau, or chose to pay a hefty price to drink a potion that would make them forget their emotions.

 

Yao Rong wasn’t that fragile, but she had to admit that when she had experienced enough, when she had witnessed the rise and fall of dynasties and observed the cycle of individual life, old age, sickness, and death, she slowly forgot the feeling of shedding tears.

 

[But a strong person wouldn’t cry.]

 

“Does crying necessarily mean weakness? Only gods can truly be without emotion or desire.”

 

As if remembering something, Yao Rong smiled and contradicted her own words.

 

“No. Perhaps even gods compete for dominion over the mortal realm for thousands of years.”

 

The system fell silent, its vast database continuously running.

 

After a long time, a line of Chinese poetry flashed across its light screen—

 

“Having seen the vastness of the universe, I still cherish the greenness of the grass.”

 

To witness the grandeur of the cosmos and then revisit the smallness of human affairs is to rediscover true human emotions.

 

Was this what the host meant?

 

The system continued to browse through the river of history, seeing heroes rise and fall, also observing the tragic songs of heroes’ demise.

 

Yao Rong was beating eggs when she suddenly heard a mechanical buzzing sound, followed by the system’s voice, filled with excitement and joy.

 

[The human race is the weakest in individual strength among all interstellar races, yet they occupy the most vast and extensive star territory. The host is right, perhaps their greatness is not because they fear nothing, but because they fear everything, yet are able to overcome their weaknesses time and time again.]

 

Yao Rong smiled helplessly.

 

No matter how great humans are, right now, she just wanted to make the cake in front of her.

 

…

 

Xu Weiheng changed out of his SpongeBob pajamas and, after a moment’s hesitation, pulled out the new clothes Yao Rong had bought for him.

 

It was a casual outfit with a yellow top and black bottom.

 

After changing, Xu Weiheng touched the star pendant hanging around his neck, smiled, and pulled out a book titled “Film and Television Analysis and Appreciation” from the bookshelf. He then moved the lounge chair under the grape trellis, hugged a soft pillow, lay down comfortably, and began to read the book.

 

The fan rotated slowly beside him, bringing a cool breeze.

 

Ping’an came running back from somewhere, panting with its tongue out due to the heat. It pounced over to lie in front of the fan, but accidentally knocked it over.

 

Seeing that the fan had stopped turning, it patted the fan base with its paw, wagged its tail a few times, then turned its head to “woof woof” at Xu Weiheng twice.

 

Xu Weiheng lowered his book, revealing his eyes from behind it.

 

He looked at Ping’an with a smile for a few moments before stretching out his hand to slowly set the fan upright again, then patted the empty space beside him: “Come lie down here.”

 

Ping’an obediently lay down beside him.

 

Man and dog enjoyed the gentle spring breeze together while reading under its warm embrace.

 

After some time, Xu Weiheng’s hand loosened, and the open book fell on his face, conveniently shielding him from the dazzling light. He leaned against the bamboo lounge chair and fell into a deep sleep.

 

Ping’an chased butterflies with its paws until it got tired, then curled up into a ball, allowing a butterfly to land on its wet nose as it joined Xu Weiheng in his afternoon nap.

 

Time passed peacefully.

 

…

 

Xu Weiheng slept very comfortably.

 

It wasn’t until there was a knock at the door that he slowly woke up.

 

Stretching lazily, Xu Weiheng put down the pillow and went to open the door.

 

It was the courier delivering packages.

 

“There are quite a few deliveries today.” As he spoke, the courier unloaded seven packages from his vehicle.

 

Some of the packages were very large and heavy, so Xu Weiheng quickly lent a hand.

 

After the courier left, Xu Weiheng rubbed his forehead: “Why are there so many?”

 

Muttering to himself, Xu Weiheng crouched down to check the shipping labels.

 

The senders included Wen Qiu, Zhang Qingyi, and…

 

His fan support club.

 

The heaviest packages were all sent by the fan support club.

 

Yao Rong heard the commotion and came out from the house: “The president of your fan support club contacted me, saying they wanted to send you some gifts. They’re all support items and letters and cards they wrote for you, so I didn’t refuse.”

 

Xu Weiheng sped up his package opening.

 

When all the packages were opened, Xu Weiheng finally saw the full extent of the gifts.

 

Indeed, as Yao Rong had said, what the fan support club sent were all support items and letters and cards.

 

Xu Weiheng gently caressed these gifts, his eyes soft.

 

He sat in the courtyard and read through all the letters and cards without missing a single one.

 

Regardless of which letter or card, they all wished him a happy birthday and hoped for a bright future for him.

 

Xu Weiheng suddenly looked forward to the birthday livestream that evening.

 

At 7:30 PM, the Weibo post Xu Weiheng had made earlier was pushed to the top of the hot search list by his fans.

 

Now, not only the fans following Xu Weiheng’s Weibo, but even the broader netizen community knew that Xu Weiheng would have a birthday livestream today.

 

Many idle netizens or those who had a good impression of Xu Weiheng casually followed his Weibo and waited for the livestream to start.

 

At 7:40 PM, Xu Weiheng finished dinner and began setting up the livestream equipment in the courtyard, while also adjusting the lighting and his guitar.

 

After preparing everything, Xu Weiheng opened the livestream room and posted the link on Weibo.

 

Fans and curious onlookers who had been waiting for a long time flooded in.

 

In just half an hour, the number of viewers in the livestream room exceeded 400,000.

 

[Happy birthday, Xu Weiheng]

 

[Wishing the best Xu Weiheng in the world a happy 18th birthday]

 

[Happy birthday, thank you for coming into this world 18 years ago. May your future unfold beautifully before you!]

 

As if they had agreed beforehand, as soon as they entered the livestream room, the audience began to send birthday wishes in unison.

 

The words “happy birthday” densely filled the bullet screen comments.

 

No matter when Xu Weiheng looked up to gaze at the comments, he could see countless birthday wishes.

 

[Hey, why can’t we send gifts?]

 

[Yeah, I’ve already loaded up my account ready to send a birthday cake, but it shows that the livestream room doesn’t have gifting enabled]

 

Unable to send gifts, fans could only put all their effort into frantically sending birthday wishes, timing their comments to beat the cooldown.

 

Xu Weiheng sat in front of the camera, speechless for a long time.

 

A sudden gust of wind tousled his bangs.

 

He raised his hand, as if to smooth his unruly hair, but instead brushed the back of his fingers across the corner of his eye.

 

[QAQ Did brother just cry?]

 

[He was wiping away tears just now, right?]

 

[Help! Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry! It’s your birthday, you should be happy!]

 

[Talk to us for a bit, chatting will make you feel better]

 

“Thank you all for coming and spending your precious time with me on my birthday,” Xu Weiheng said softly. “I received all the letters and cards, I love them very much and will cherish them. And the support clothing prepared by the fan club, if there are fan meetings in the future, I’ll wear them to see you.”

 

After murmuring a few words, Xu Weiheng began to sing for them, answer questions from the comments, and share interesting stories from his time on the “Sunken Dust” set.

 

He talked about many, many things.

 

It wasn’t until Yao Rong pushed two cakes in front of him that he realized how much time had passed.

 

“Put the candles on and make a wish.”

 

Yao Rong handed Xu Weiheng two packs of candles and a lighter.

 

With plenty of candles, Xu Weiheng managed to fit eighteen around the not-so-large cake.

 

The courtyard lights went out.

 

The moonlight was obscured by clouds.

 

Only the flickering candlelight remained, clearly illuminating his long eyelashes.

 

Xu Weiheng clasped his hands in front of him.

 

Just before closing his eyes, he saw that the bullet screen comments were filled with only one phrase.

 

It was “happy birthday.”

 

And the number of viewers in the livestream room was 2 million.

 

So many people were accompanying him on this special day.

 

– I wish…

 

Xu Weiheng closed his eyes, as devout as a worshipper bowing before Buddha.

 

– For those who love me to be safe and happy.

 

– For those I love to be free from worry for life.

 

– Lastly —a wish for myself—to live openly without regrets!

 

After making these three wishes, the helplessness and confusion that had been lingering in his heart all this time completely dissipated.

 

A star streaked across the sky behind him, as if about to fall from the heavens, but at the last moment was held back by the endless night, returning to the celestial realm to shine for eternity.