It was tucked in the back of a drawer I wasn't meant to open. Not locked, just forgotten-or maybe hidden in plain sight, banking on the idea that I'd never look too closely. But I did.

The photo was old. Faded. Curled at the edges. A woman stood in a field of sunflowers, holding a baby. She looked nothing like my mother. The baby... looked exactly like me.

I stared at it for a long time. Then I flipped it over. One word was scrawled on the back in shaky handwriting:

"Wuxin."

Not Jin. Not the surname I'd grown up with. Just Wuxin.

That's when I started asking questions. Quiet ones, at first. But answers have a way of hiding when you go looking too hard. And some lies are heavy enough to crush the truth beneath them.

I showed the photo to my mother. Her eyes locked onto it-and in an instant, her whole expression changed. Not confusion. Not curiosity.

Panic. Then fury.

"Where did you get this?" she snapped, snatching it from my hands like I'd stolen something sacred.

I didn't answer right away. I was too stunned by her reaction.

She shook the photo in my face. "Answer me, Wuxin! Where did you find this?"

"In the drawer," I said, voice low. "The one in your old sewing box."

Her jaw clenched. "You went through my things?"

"You left it unlocked."

"That's not the point!" she hissed. "You had no right!"

I stepped back, heart pounding. "Who is she? Why does she look like me?"

She didn't answer. Just stood there, gripping the photo so tightly her knuckles went white. For a moment, I thought she was going to rip it in half.

"She's no one," she finally said. "Forget you ever saw this."

But I couldn't. Because the woman in that photo wasn't no one.

She looked like me. And I was starting to think that meant something I wasn't ready to hear.

I sat on the edge of my bed, the room suddenly too quiet, too tight. My heart thudded in my chest like it was trying to break out.

Am I even her real son?

The thought hit me like a punch. I'd never dared to ask it before. Never wanted to. But now, I couldn't stop.

It all started lining up.

The way she lit up around Jin Wu, like he was the sun and I was just some shadow she had to tolerate. The way she scolded me harder, expected more, gave less. Like love was something I had to earn-but Jin Wu got handed just for breathing.

I used to think maybe I just wasn't enough. Not smart enough. Not obedient enough. Not... lovable enough.

But what if it wasn't me?

What if I was never meant to be here?

What if I was the mistake she had to live with?

A part of me wanted to believe it was all in my head. That I was overthinking. That she loved us both the same, just in different ways. But then I remembered the look on her face when she saw that photo. The panic. The rage.

That wasn't how someone reacted to nothing.

For the next few weeks, I let it go.

Or at least, I acted like I did.

I helped my mother, Lu Tianling, with the fruit stand every morning-hauling crates of apples and pears before sunrise, setting up the tarp, and smiling at customers like I wasn't unravelling inside. She didn't say another word about the photo, and neither did I.

My father, Jin Yulin, never seemed to notice anything was off. He worked hard, talked little, and expected the same from me. Sometimes I wondered if he even knew.

Jin Wu and I still walked to school together, both of us in our wrinkled junior high uniforms. He talked about basketball, homework, his crush in Class 4. I nodded along, laughing when I was supposed to, pretending things were normal.

But the thing about pretending is-it wears you out. Every smile feels like a lie. Every quiet moment feels like a test.

Still, I kept the act up.

Because if they were hiding something, they'd only slip if I gave them a reason to think I was done asking.

So I went to school. Worked the fruit stand. Ate dinner.

And waited.

School was the one place where things made sense.

I kept my head down, kept my grades up. Top of the class in math and science. Teachers loved me. Said I was focused, serious, "going places."

If only they knew.

While other kids drifted through the day half-awake, I clung to the structure. The quiet rhythm of lectures, notes, equations-things with clear answers. There was comfort in that. Predictability. Rules.

At home, things were different. Nothing made sense. I didn't know who I really was, or why I was here, or why everything felt like a performance I didn't audition for.

But at school, I was Jin Wuxin, model student. And that name still opened doors.

Jin Wu... well, he coasted. Always did. He was loud, funny, a little lazy, but everyone liked him. Teachers gave him second chances. My mother gave him third and fourth.

Me? I didn't need chances. I made sure I didn't need anything from anyone.

Except the truth.

And no matter how long it took, I was going to find it.

Jin Wu never said it out loud, but I could tell.

He hated that I was smarter.

He covered it with jokes-calling me "Professor Wuxin" when I aced another test, rolling his eyes when teachers asked him if we studied together. I'd laugh it off, but sometimes his smile didn't reach his eyes.

At home, it was worse.

"Wuxin can help you," my mother would say when he struggled with homework. "Ask your brother."

He never did. He'd rather fail than admit I knew something he didn't.

Once, I caught him staring at one of my notebooks, just sitting there in the living room, flipping pages like he was trying to find a secret inside.

"You want help?" I asked.

He slammed it shut. "Nah. I'll figure it out."

But he didn't.

And that look on his face-tight jaw, lowered eyes-I knew it. Because I felt it too, just in reverse. He had the love. The ease. The place that felt natural.

I had the grades. The discipline. The suspicion.

And neither of us was satisfied with what we had.

Sometimes, late at night, Jin Wu would knock on my door and ask if I wanted noodles. No reason. No conversation. Just the clatter of two bowls and silence between us as we ate in front of the TV.

He never said it, but I knew those moments were his way of saying I see you.

And I appreciated it. Even when it wasn't enough.

He knew our mother treated us differently. I saw it in the way he sometimes froze when she praised him too loudly, or when he looked at me across the table after she ignored something I said.

But he never asked why. Never brought it up.

Maybe he was scared of the answer. Maybe he thought I didn't notice. Maybe he hoped if he stayed quiet, things would stay safe.

So I stayed quiet too.

And the silence started to eat at me. The weight of always being less in the place I was supposed to belong. The exhaustion of pretending it didn't matter. Of carrying questions no one wanted to answer.

It didn't happen all at once. I fell into abyss.

It's slow. Quiet. Like water wearing down stone.

And no one noticed. Not my mother. Not my father. Not even Jin Wu.

Not even me, at first.

I kept telling myself I was fine.

Even when I caught my mother slipping extra meat into Jin Wu’s lunchbox and handing me leftovers with a tired glance.

Even when I overheard her saying, “Wuxin’s independent, he doesn’t need as much.”

Even when I got another award at school and she barely looked up from counting change at the fruit stand.

I was fine. I had to be.

Because if I wasn’t… then what was I?

It all cracked the day grades came out.

I was ranked first in our year again. Jin Wu barely made the top thirty.

That night at dinner, our father nodded at me once. My mother said nothing. Jin Wu sulked. I tried not to care.

After dinner, I went outside. Needed air. Space. Something.

I found myself walking aimlessly until I ended up at the park near our school. The one with the broken swings and uneven benches. And somehow, Xiao Lele my only friend was already there, sitting under the busted streetlight, legs curled up under her, reading.

She looked up, surprised. “Wuxin? You okay?”

“Yeah. Just walking.”

She patted the bench beside her. “Sit.”

I did. We sat in silence, the kind that wasn’t awkward. The kind that made you feel like you didn’t have to explain anything.

“You haven’t smiled in days,” she said.

I shrugged. “Smiling’s overrated.”

She tilted her head, studying me. “You always say you’re fine.”

“I am.”

“No, you’re not.”

That hit deeper than I expected. My throat tightened, and I hated that she saw it.

“You know Jin Wu likes you, right?” I said, voice flat, like it didn’t matter.

She blinked. “Yeah.”

“You like him back?”

“I don’t know,” she said softly. “But I worry about you more.”

That broke something in me.

Because she wasn’t supposed to say that. I wasn’t supposed to be the one people worried about. I was supposed to be the strong one. The smart one. The one who held it together.

But right there, sitting on that cold bench under a dead light, I couldn’t keep it in anymore.

“I think something’s wrong with me,” I said.

She turned to me slowly. “Wuxin…”

“Not like… bad. Just wrong. Like I’m not where I’m supposed to be. Like I’m living someone else’s life.”

She didn’t speak. Just reached over and took my hand.

And I let her.

For once, I didn’t pull away.

Under the dim park light, Jin Wuxin sat with Xiao Lele, their silhouettes close—too close.

He didn’t see the figure standing half-hidden behind a tree across the path.

Jin Wu had followed him.

At first, it was just curiosity. Wuxin had been acting weird—more distant, more quiet than usual. Their parents didn’t notice, but Jin Wu did. He always had.

So when he saw his brother leave after dinner, head down, shoulders tight, he followed. Just in case.

He didn’t expect to see him with her.

Jin Wu stayed out of sight, fists clenched in his hoodie pocket as he watched his brother slump forward, as Xiao Lele gently took his hand.

He’d never seen Wuxin like that. Fragile. Like something inside him was about to collapse.

And he’d never seen her look at anyone the way she looked at his brother just now.

Like she saw every crack—and didn’t mind.

Something sharp twisted in Jin Wu’s chest. He turned and walked away, fast, before they could see him. Before he said something he couldn’t take back.

He wasn’t mad. Not exactly.

He was confused.

Wuxin had always had everything under control. Smart. Strong. Untouchable.

But now? Now he looked like he was falling apart—and Jin Wu had no idea how to help him.

Or if he even could.

Jin Wu lay in bed that night, staring at the ceiling, headphones in but no music playing.

He couldn’t stop thinking about the look on Xiao Lele’s face. The way she held Wuxin’s hand. The way Wuxin let her.

He liked her. Had for a while. Not just because she was kind or smart or laughed at his stupid jokes—but because she saw people. She noticed things most others missed.

Maybe that’s what hurt the most.

That she noticed Wuxin.

Wuxin, who was always first. Wuxin, who never tried, but always got it right. Wuxin, who barely smiled lately but somehow still had her sitting next to him under a busted streetlight, like they belonged there.

He hadn’t told anyone how he felt about Xiao Lele. Not even her. He was waiting. For the right moment. For the right version of himself.

But now it felt like he was too late. Again.

Still, something else gnawed at him.

His brother didn’t look lucky. Didn’t look like someone who had it all. He looked broken.

And that scared Jin Wu more than anything.

Because he thought Wuxin was the strong one. The one who didn’t need anyone.

But what if he was wrong?

What if, while everyone focused on Jin Wu’s average grades and half-hearted jokes, his brother had been quietly falling apart?

And no one saw it.

City A, Capital District. The Gu Family Estate.

Marble floors. Crystal chandeliers. Silence sharp enough to cut.

Gu Yan stood in front of the long dining table, his hands clenched behind his back, eyes fixed straight ahead.

Old Master Gu sat at the head, cane resting across his knees, expression unreadable. His voice, however, was ice.

“Second place,” he said, flipping the exam paper with two fingers. “Not even first. Again.”

“It was one subject,” Gu Yan replied quietly.

“One subject is enough to separate mediocrity from legacy.”

His mother, Tan Wuxing, sipped her tea with a strained smile, pretending not to hear.

His father, Gu Xintian, cleared his throat. “Father, it’s only midterms—”

“Silence.” Old Gu didn’t raise his voice. He never had to. “We didn’t build this name for soft excuses.”

Gu Yan didn’t flinch, though his knuckles whitened.

He was smart. Smarter than most. But not perfect. Not like they expected him to be. And definitely not like someone else they sometimes mentioned in whispers—someone long gone, someone who was supposed to inherit more than just the name.

“You will retake every section,” Old Gu said. “Twice. Until you prove your worth.”

Tan Wuxing gently touched her son’s shoulder as he passed. “Don’t take it personally,” she murmured. “He’s just... tired.”

Gu Yan didn’t respond. He walked to his room, shut the door quietly, and sat at his desk in the dark.

Outside, the world saw the Gu family as perfect. Unshakable.

Inside, Gu Yan was suffocating in a life that wasn’t his to begin with.

The Gu estate, late evening.

Tan Wuxing sat in the quiet of the garden courtyard, staring at the koi pond without seeing it.

Gu Xingxin returned home from the office, suit jacket slung over his shoulder, phone still buzzing with boardroom emails. But when he passed by the glass doors and saw his mother alone outside, unmoving, something in him paused.

He stepped out, quietly.

“You’re out late,” he said, setting his jacket down.

“I couldn’t sleep,” she murmured. “Not tonight.”

The cicadas buzzed faintly in the trees. It was warm, but she wore a shawl, hands clutching the ends tight around her arms.

He sat beside her, silent for a moment.

“Is it the anniversary?” he finally asked.

She nodded. “Seventeen years today.”

He exhaled. “You don’t have to go through this alone.”

Tan Wuxing gave him a faint, sorrowful smile. “You were only eight when it happened. You don’t remember it clearly.”

“I remember enough.”

They sat in silence, both watching the ripples in the water.

“We were in the countryside,” she said, voice distant. “Old Province Z. Your father thought it would be good for the baby—clean air, peace. But I had a bad feeling even then.”

Gu Xingxin stayed quiet.

“He got sick the third night,” she continued. “Fever. Crying so hard, then suddenly going quiet. There wasn’t even a real clinic nearby, just a dusty little doctor’s shop. They tried to bring him back, but…”

Her voice cracked. “They told me he was gone before sunrise.”

Gu Xingxin closed his eyes.

“And then they took him away,” she whispered. “Wrapped in white, buried quickly in the town cemetery. I didn’t even get to hold him.”

“You were sick too, then,” he said. “I remember. They made you rest.”

“I didn’t get to say goodbye.”

Her eyes shimmered, not with tears, but with something heavier. Regret. Doubt.

“Seventeen years,” she said. “But I still remember his face. And sometimes—call me mad—but I wonder... if something wasn’t right about that night. If maybe…”

She stopped herself.

Gu Xingxin looked at her sharply. “Mother. Do you really think—?”

“I don’t know,” she whispered. “I felt he was alive when I held him. He wasn’t just feverish. He was breathing. Looking at me. Then suddenly, gone.”

A long silence.

“Maybe I’m just a mother who can’t let go.”

But in her voice was something else. Something that made Gu Xingxin look at her differently.

Not just grief.

A buried suspicion.

Gu Residence, Later That Night

Gu Xingxin sat in his study, lights dim, fingers resting on the glass of untouched scotch. His mother’s words echoed in his mind.

“He was breathing when they took him.”

“I never got to say goodbye.”

He’d always believed the official story. Fever. Rural clinic. No help in time. A rushed burial in a provincial cemetery. But now, the way she spoke—how sharp her memories still were—he wasn’t sure anymore.

He turned to his laptop and began digging.

Province Z. Year 8 of the Old Calendar.

Medical records from 17 years ago weren’t easy to find. But Gu Xingxin wasn’t just anyone. As General Manager of Gu Corporation, he had access—and leverage.

He searched for any birth or death records in Province Z during the week of their vacation. Then narrowed the results to children under 1 year old.

That’s when he found something strange.

No record of death. No registered burial.

Just a birth certificate.

His younger brother's.

But nothing after.

The clinic’s doctor? Retired. The nurse? Disappeared from the system two years later.

His jaw tightened.

If that child didn’t die… then where the hell is he?

--------------------

Province Z – Early Morning

Jin Wuxin’s alarm rang at 5:30 AM.

He didn’t hit snooze. He never did.

By 6:00, he had already finished washing up, packed his notebooks, and swept the front of the fruit stall. Lu Tianling barely glanced at him as he left, muttering something about not being late.

The walk to school was quiet, the road dusty and mostly empty, except for the occasional rooster or sleepy vendor.

By 7:00, he was seated in Class 1, Row 3, Desk 4. His uniform wasn’t crisp, but his notes were immaculate.

Wuxin didn’t speak unless spoken to. He didn’t volunteer for things. He didn’t linger after school. But his test scores were flawless, and his name was always at the top of the grade board.

That’s what kept the teachers praising him. That’s what kept his life from collapsing.

That, and Xiao Lele.

She’d been his only friend since third year. Loud, bright, unafraid of teasing him, she balanced his silence with her warmth.

“Don’t look so gloomy,” she said, nudging him with her pen during math. “I got 60 on the quiz. You better have aced it or I’ll scream.”

“I got 100,” he said flatly.

She groaned. “Why are you like this?”

He gave her a ghost of a smile. It was the closest he came to laughing.

What he didn’t know was that Jin Wu watched those exchanges. Quietly. Resentfully.

Wuxin’s school days were mechanical. Wake early. Study hard. Keep your head down. His name on the grade sheet’s top row was the only thing he could control.

He was the kind of student teachers praised, but didn’t ask about.

He never stayed for clubs. Never hung around after class. Except with Xiao Lele.

She didn’t treat him like a quiet genius. Just a friend. A real one.

“You’re going to burn out,” she told him one afternoon, swinging her legs from the roof ledge. “Even machines break.”

“I’m fine,” he said.

“You always say that.”

He looked out at the empty sports field, blinking hard. The breeze was cold. The ache in his chest had been growing.

He didn’t say the truth: I don’t know who I am anymore.

Back home, he helped at the stall. Jin Wu passed him with barely a word. Their mother only spoke when it was to bark orders. Their father, Jin Yulin, worked until late. Even at dinner, silence was the loudest sound.

Jin Wuxin had exactly 47 days left before the senior high entrance exam.

He knew because he counted every morning—like clockwork, a mental checklist he repeated while brushing his teeth.

Wake at 5:30.

Review chemistry flashcards.

Walk to school.

Don’t be late.

Don’t fall behind.

The pressure was building. In Province Z, scoring well on the senior high exam was the only real way out. He couldn’t afford to slip, not once.

At school, the corridors buzzed with nerves and whispered rumors of prep tutors and mock test scores. Wuxin said nothing. He already aced every mock exam thrown his way.

He studied in silence.

Ate lunch in silence.

And went home to more silence.

Only Xiao Lele broke through that routine.

She sat next to him during study period, flipping through her notebook upside down.

“You ever think about what comes after this?” she asked one afternoon.

Wuxin didn’t answer right away. He kept solving math problems.

“Like… are you gonna stay here after senior high? Province Z’s kind of a dead-end, y’know.”

He looked at her then. Just briefly. “I won’t stay.”

Lele grinned. “Good. Neither will I.”

He almost smiled.

Almost.

But his mind kept spinning: What if I don’t belong here at all? What if I’m not even supposed to be Wuxin?

At home, he studied until midnight—while his mother hovered over Jin Wu’s homework, praising even his mediocre scores.

Jin Wu said nothing, but his eyes flicked toward Wuxin with a mix of guilt and bitterness.

After School – Behind the Gym

The sky was heavy with late afternoon clouds. Most students had already gone home, but Wuxin stayed behind, waiting for Lele to finish her club activity.

That’s when Jin Wu showed up.

“Wuxin.”

He turned. His younger brother stood a few steps away, hands clenched, breathing tight.

“You and Lele,” Jin Wu said. “Are you two… together?”

Wuxin blinked. “What?”

“Don’t play dumb.” His voice cracked—more hurt than angry. “You walk her home. She always talks about you. Laughs around you like—like—”

“She’s my friend,” Wuxin said calmly.

“That’s it?”

“Yes.”

Jin Wu stepped closer. “You didn’t even ask me if I liked her.”

“I didn’t think you’d care.”

“Well, I do!” Jin Wu snapped. “She’s the only person who ever treats me like I’m not just your shadow.”

Wuxin looked down. His voice softened. “She’s like a sister to me.”

Jin Wu stared at him, confused. “What?”

“I’m not interested in her that way,” Wuxin said. “I’m not… interested in girls. At all.”

The silence was instant.

Wuxin had never said it out loud. Not to anyone.

“I don’t feel that way,” he added. “About her. About any girl.”

Jin Wu didn’t speak. His jaw tensed. Eyes flicked away like he couldn’t decide if he was embarrassed or ashamed—or something else entirely.

“You could’ve just told me,” Jin Wu muttered.

“I didn’t think it mattered.”

“It does.”

Then he left.

And Wuxin stood there for a long time, heart hammering—not because of the fight, but because he’d finally spoken the truth.