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The diagnosis report slipped from Zhuang Wen Zhao’s hands, landing on the floor with a soft thud.
He clutched his head with both hands, his fingers digging into his hair in despair.
Regret spread through him like an unstoppable tide.
Memories surfaced, each one a sharp reminder of his past mistakes.
Eighteen years ago, when Zhuang Zi’ang was born, there had been no joy on Zhuang Wen Zhao’s face.
This son, an unplanned consequence of youthful recklessness, had forced him into a loveless marriage.
To Zhuang Wen Zhao, Zhuang Zi’ang was nothing more than a punishment for his impulsiveness.
Five years of marital struggle left him exhausted, and when the time came for the divorce, he had hoped Xu Hui would take Zhuang Zi’ang away, leaving him free to reclaim his life.
But fate had other plans. His father, Zhuang Jianguo, insisted on keeping his grandson, valuing bloodline above all else.
Zhuang Wen Zhao had even fantasized that without the burden of a child, he could find someone better than Qin Shulan.
After remarrying, he distanced himself entirely from Zhuang Zi’ang. As his biological father, he had abandoned him.
And if even he, the father, ignored his son, what kindness could a stepmother like Qin Shulan possibly offer?
It was only now, faced with his son’s terminal illness, that Zhuang Wen Zhao finally saw the suffocating weight of the life Zhuang Zi’ang had endured.
How much pain must a child suffer before losing all hope in his own father?
“Dad, you don’t have to put on a show. No need to actually pull your hair out,” Zhuang Zi’ang said, not sorrowful, but amused by the absurdity of it all.
If I die, won’t that be a relief for you? You can go on living your happy life with your perfect family.
“Zi’ang, that’s not it. I’m really heartbroken. Why didn’t you tell me sooner? Maybe there would have been a way!” Zhuang Wen Zhao’s voice trembled.
“I called you the moment I got the diagnosis,” Zhuang Zi’ang replied coolly. “Did you give me a chance to talk?”
“That one hand of yours must have cost you a lot of money. You probably lost quite a bit, right?”
“If you had another chance, wouldn’t you have played a different card?”
His words dripped with sarcasm.
Zhuang Wen Zhao’s face burned with shame. He wanted to argue, to refute, but the truth was undeniable.
“No, that’s not how it was…” he mumbled weakly.
Zhang Zhiyuan scoffed. “Unless you’re blind, you should’ve noticed how much weight Zi’ang lost in just a month. It’s obvious you never cared about him.”
“I noticed,” Zhuang Wen Zhao insisted, “I just didn’t think—”
“You noticed, yet you still kicked him at the school gate?” Lin Mu Shi interjected, her voice filled with indignation.
“Enough! Enough! It’s my fault,” Zhuang Wen Zhao muttered, collapsing into the chair beside the hospital bed.
The room was silent, yet the air felt suffocating.
Every gaze in the room bore down on Zhuang Wen Zhao, judging him, laying bare his failures as a father.
Tears finally spilled from his eyes.
But Zhuang Zi’ang remained unmoved.
He was certain that once he was reduced to ashes, within three days, Zhuang Wen Zhao would be back at the mahjong table, laughing as if nothing had happened.
If his father had truly cared, how could he have let him suffer for more than a decade?
“Doctor, I’m sorry for my earlier attitude. Please… is there any way to save my son? I’ll pay anything,” Zhuang Wen Zhao pleaded, wiping his tears away.
Doctor Chen Dexiu bent down, picked up the diagnosis report, and shook his head. “I’m a doctor, not a god.”
The densely packed text on the report could be summarized in four words:
Even gods cannot save.
Doctor Chen Dexiu had spent nearly thirty years in medicine and had seen countless patients beyond saving, some even younger than Zhuang Zi’ang.
But rarely did he see a dying patient whose own family had been so absent.
How much of a failure must a father be for his child to give up completely—so much so that he didn’t even bother telling his family he was dying?
“Doctor… how much time does he have left?” Zhuang Wen Zhao’s voice trembled.
“I estimated three months, but his condition has worsened faster than expected,” Doctor Chen Dexiu said gravely.
Though he didn’t spell it out, everyone understood—the three-month estimate was optimistic. More than a month had already passed.
Zhuang Zi’ang likely had just one month left.
“Dad, my only concern is my grandparents in the countryside. I want to see them one last time, but… I’m afraid.”
As soon as he mentioned them, tears welled in his eyes.
They were his dearest family, the only warmth he had ever known. But he lacked the courage to face their grief.
“They’re old. If they knew… I’m afraid they wouldn’t be able to take it.”
“Forget it,” he sighed. “Just tell them I went abroad to study. If I can hide it for a day, I will. When it becomes impossible, I’ll tell them when they’re in a good mood.”
Zhuang Wen Zhao nodded, silent.
Even at death’s door, Zhuang Zi’ang was still thinking of others.
Xiao Yudie and his grandparents were the ones he wanted to see most, yet he had chosen to give them up.
He would face death alone.
Zhuang Zi’ang waved his hand. “Dad, you should go. I want to rest.”
Zhuang Wen Zhao shook his head. “No, son, I want to stay with you.”
“But I don’t want to see you.”
Doctor Chen Dexiu sighed. “The patient needs rest. Since he doesn’t want to see you, you should leave.”
Feeling lost, Zhuang Wen Zhao hesitated before asking, “What do you want to eat? I’ll have Aunt Qin make it for you tomorrow.”
Zhuang Zi’ang ignored him.
Zhuang Wen Zhao glanced around. Everyone in the room was watching him with judgmental eyes.
He felt like a criminal on trial.
Overwhelmed, he turned and reached for the doorknob.
Just then, Zhuang Zi’ang spoke one last time, his voice devoid of warmth.
“Death would be a relief. At least then, I wouldn’t have to be your son anymore.”
The words shattered Zhuang Wen Zhao’s last defense.
He fled the room, tears streaming down his face.
Stumbling home in a daze, he felt like a walking corpse.
Qin Shulan noticed his state and frowned. “What’s wrong? Your eyes are red.”
“I went to see Zi’ang,” he muttered. “He’s in the hospital… he’s sick.”
Zhuang Yuhang scoffed. “Why do you keep visiting that useless brat? Wouldn’t it be better if he just died?”
Zhuang Wen Zhao’s expression darkened. His fury exploded.
In a blind rage, he slapped Zhuang Yuhang hard, sending him sprawling onto the couch.
Then, unbuckling his belt, he lashed out mercilessly.
“He’s your brother! Who gave you the right to call him useless?”
Zhuang Yuhang screamed in pain, cowering under his father’s fury.
Qin Shulan shrieked, rushing forward. “Are you insane? Why are you hitting my son?”
Zhuang Wen Zhao collapsed onto the floor, sobbing uncontrollably.
“My son… my son is going to be taken away from me…”