The city of Chang Zhou lay wrapped in a thin veil of morning mist, as if the heavens themselves were reluctant to reveal its quiet charm too quickly. The streets, lined with low-roofed apartments and tiny street shops selling steamed buns and soy milk, breathed an air of serene simplicity. A few cyclists rang their bells through the fog, and the fragrance of freshly baked bread mingled with the smell of early rain. It was the kind of city that never rushed but somehow still moved forward—a city of the humble, the hard-working, and the unseen.
In one of the narrow residential lanes, tucked behind a row of peeling walls and hanging laundry, stood a small house with faded blue paint. It wasn't much, but it carried warmth—flowers potted by the window, an old wind chime that sang at the gentlest breeze, and a hand-sewn curtain fluttering as if alive. Inside, a boy named Baobao was finishing his breakfast, though his expression clearly showed he had other thoughts in mind.
He leaned against the wooden table, his chopsticks tapping idly against a chipped bowl of congee. "Aunty," he began, his voice breaking the morning's calm, "I think there's no life here in this city. We should move to a bigger place—Shanghai, Beijing, or even Chongqing. We could make more money there than sitting around letting that old fool of a neighbor insult you for food."
His aunt, a woman of quiet grace with hair tied into a neat bun and a faint scar beneath her left eye, looked up from the vegetables she was chopping. The knife paused mid-air, gleaming under the dim kitchen light. "You silly boy," she said with a soft chuckle, "have I ever complained about anything?"
Baobao frowned, his youthful face tightening. "You don't have to complain for me to see it. Every time I see that rat calling himself our neighbor cussing you, I want to punch his teeth out."
"Shush!" she warned, her tone still calm but her eyes sharp. "You dare not. What do I always tell you?"
He sighed dramatically. "Not everything is about fighting. You made me memorize that like a bedtime story. I get it, Aunty. But I'm not fighting, okay? I'll just give him a little piece of my mind."
She smirked, the corner of her lips lifting slightly. "Brat. Hurry up—you're going to be late. Your employer won't take kindly to your excuse of 'chatting with your aunt.' He'll probably deduct your pay again."
Baobao blinked, then groaned. "Why didn't you say so sooner?"
"You were too busy talking about cussing," she replied, her teasing tone carrying through the little kitchen.
"Urgh! I'll leave now before you distract me any further." He rushed out, his footsteps echoing faintly against the tiled floor. His aunt watched him from the doorway, her eyes softening as the morning sun spilled across the lane, bathing his retreating figure in gold. "Silly boy," she murmured, smiling.
By the time Baobao arrived at the café where he worked, the place was already humming with the soft chatter of customers. The scent of roasted coffee beans mingled with the crisp fragrance of pastries fresh from the oven. The wooden signboard above the glass door read "Cafe Blossom" in fading paint, but to Baobao, it was more than just a workplace—it was a lifeline.
"You're three minutes late," a sharp voice came from behind the counter.
Baobao turned to see Li Yang, a lean young man with neatly combed hair and the expression of someone who thought punctuality was a religion. "Shut your mouth," Baobao retorted, tossing his bag aside. "You don't have to ring it in my ears."
In a flash, Li Yang grabbed him playfully by the neck, pulling him closer. "You idiot! Do you know how much trouble I went through covering for you again?" His tone was half serious, half teasing, but his grip was firm enough to make Baobao squirm.
"Okay, okay! Let go! I can't breathe!" Baobao choked, waving his hands dramatically.
Li Yang released him with a laugh. "You're such a drama queen."
Baobao coughed, rubbing his reddened neck. "You bully! What if I actually died? What would my aunt do, huh? You want her to cry a bucket because of you?"
"Don't worry," Li Yang said, straight-faced. "I'll take care of her when that happens."
"Ha! You wish," Baobao muttered, rolling his eyes. "You're lucky she'd never agree."
Li Yang's grin widened. "Just think of the trouble I went through. The boss was this close—" he pinched his fingers together "—to firing me when he couldn't find you."
Baobao frowned, unimpressed. "What trouble did you face, really?"
That was all the invitation Li Yang needed. He launched into a dramatic retelling, waving his arms as if narrating a war story—how the boss's temper nearly burned him alive, how the coffee machine broke down, how he single-handedly saved the café's reputation from doom. By the time he finished, Baobao was barely holding in his laughter.
"Alright, alright, stop before you faint from exaggeration. Where's Miss Feng?" he asked, looking around.
"She went on an errand," Li Yang replied, but his expression faltered slightly under Baobao's suspicious stare. "Don't look at me like that! She wanted to go herself."
"Mm-hmm. Sure she did." Baobao crossed his arms. "Let me guess—does this errand happen to pass by that Shanghai guy's neighborhood?"
Li Yang's guilty grin said it all.
"Unbelievable," Baobao muttered, half amused, half exasperated. "Love really turns people into fools. I swear, she forgets she works here whenever he's around."
Outside, the morning sun had fully climbed over Chang Zhou's rooftops. The city began to stir—a place of quiet endurance and hidden dreams. Inside the small café, laughter echoed between the walls, mixing with the hiss of steaming milk and the faint hum of the coffee grinder.
And in that simple noise, Baobao found a kind of peace. Even in a city where life felt still, there were small moments that made it worth staying.
___
The sun had barely climbed past the rooftops of Chang Zhou, but the café was already alive with the scent of roasted beans and quiet chatter. A golden warmth filled the small shop, spilling through the windows like melted honey and gleaming on polished cups stacked behind the counter. The air carried a strange comfort—the kind that came from routine, familiarity, and people who argued more than they agreed, yet would fight the world for each other if needed.
Baobao was polishing glasses behind the counter when Li Yang nudged him from behind, snapping his fingers near his ear.
"Hey!" he barked, grinning mischievously. "Customers are coming. You better act more youthful than your already youthful age. Girls drooling over you means extra income, my man. Don't waste your face."
Baobao didn't even look up. "I tell them the actual price before they pay," he said flatly, reaching for a cup.
That was his way. He never took advantage, no matter how many girls fluttered their lashes or shyly slipped folded napkins with numbers on them. His honesty was irritatingly pure, the kind that made others both admire and question him.
And yet, they kept coming—students in crisp uniforms, office ladies on break, tourists who swore the coffee tasted better when served by the handsome young man with the quiet eyes. Some even asked how much extra it would cost just to "see him smile."
Li Yang sighed dramatically, leaning against the counter. "I'm envious. Whoever gave birth to you must've been a goddess in her time."
Baobao's movements slowed. His jaw tightened, though his tone stayed calm. "I don't know, and I don't care. All I care about is taking care of Aunt Jin. Nothing else matters." He carried the iced Americano toward the table where two girls were giggling behind their phones.
He set it down gently, offering a polite nod before turning away. The girls melted into shy laughter, whispering like children who had just been caught doing something forbidden.
From the counter, Li Yang watched his friend's back for a moment before speaking again, softer this time. "Don't you think you should ask about your parents, though? You're already twenty-three. You've lived your whole life not knowing who they are."
Baobao's face remained unreadable as he rinsed the glass in his hand. "Father? I'm sure I don't have one. But a mother…" He paused, his eyes lowering. "Who would care about a woman who abandoned her own child to die miserably?"
His words came out like steel—cold, deliberate, final.
Li Yang frowned. "Abandoned? How sure are you?"
Baobao's lips tightened. "Aunt Jin told me everything. When she found me, an old grandma was lying there—severely injured. Before she passed, she only said three words: 'Save him, please,' and pointed toward me."
"You were unconscious then," Li Yang added quietly, remembering the story his friend had told him years ago. "You've said this before."
Baobao gave a humorless chuckle. "So you remembered. Thought you'd forget. But don't talk about that anymore."
Li Yang hesitated, then pressed anyway. "Don't you want to find her and make her pay for what she did? After all the pain Aunt Jin went through raising you, she deserves justice."
"Li Yang…" Baobao's voice dropped, his gaze sharp as a blade.
"Think about it," his friend continued, lowering his tone but not his conviction. "At least the scumbag of a woman should pay for what she did. Not even someone like you—someone with that kind of face, that heart—deserved such a neglected childhood."
Baobao turned, his eyes gleaming with quiet warning. "Even if I wanted to, it's impossible. I don't know who she is, or if she's even alive. And honestly? I don't care. Why should I? Why should I care about someone who didn't care about me?"
He glanced toward the window, where sunlight shimmered against the glass. "Aunt Jin is my world. She raised me, loved me, suffered for me. That's more than enough."
Li Yang's lips parted, but the look on Baobao's face silenced him. What he didn't know—what Baobao never said aloud—was that he had found something. A medical report Aunt Jin had hidden beneath her sewing box. The words burned into his memory like fire: Stage IV Terminal Cancer. One year left.
He'd memorized every line of that report the moment he saw it. And since that day, every laugh, every teasing word, every careless shrug had been his way of hiding the growing fear inside him. He would not cry. He would not break. Not while she was still alive.
She had given him twenty-three years of warmth; he would give her whatever remained of his.
So why should he waste a second thinking about a faceless woman who left him to die?
His silence thickened the air between them.
Li Yang, unaware of the depth of that storm, tried again, gently. "Maybe Aunt Jin knows something more. Maybe she—"
Baobao slammed the cup a little too hard into the sink, the clink sharp enough to make Li Yang flinch. "If you really don't want the strong friendship we've built to die this minute," he said evenly, not looking up, "then I suggest you shut up and focus on your work."
Li Yang raised his hands in mock surrender. "Chill, bro. I was just trying to help. If you ever find out who your mom is, I'll help make her life miserable for you. That's what friends are for."
"Li Yang." Baobao's glare could have frozen fire.
"Fine, fine!" he said quickly, waving him off. "You don't have to glare holes into my skull. I get it. I'll drop it. But just so you know—someday, I'll bring it up again."
Baobao ignored him, wiping the counter in silence.
After a moment, Li Yang brightened. "Anyway, my cousin is coming back soon. Have you heard?"
Baobao raised a brow. "Which one?"
Li Yang glared. "Don't give me that look. You made me memorize hundreds of my cousins' names last time. I have a right to ask."
Baobao chuckled under his breath. "Well, that's true. You have too many to count."
Li Yang straightened, clearly proud to return to his favorite topic—himself. "My dearest cousin is coming back in a month. But she's coming earlier to check on her grandma's health. Wants to see what medicine to bring when she returns next month."
Baobao nodded lazily. "Hmm. Greet her for me."
"What? Aren't you going to meet her?" Li Yang asked, sounding slightly offended.
"And talk about business?" Baobao scoffed. "No thanks. I'm not ready to suffocate in polite conversation. Spending my days behind a counter is enough torture."
"Lazy fool." Li Yang sighed, defeated. "Fine. I'll tell you all the gossip when she gets back. Maybe that'll wake your dead sense of excitement."
"Sounds fair," Baobao said, smirking faintly.
The café door creaked open then, and the familiar scent of spring rain drifted in as Miss Feng, their boss, stepped through. Her heels clicked against the tiled floor, her sharp eyes scanning the room before softening at the sight of her two employees pretending to look busy.
"Morning, you two," she said, setting her purse down. "Time to open the doors. New customers are waiting."
Li Yang straightened immediately, flashing a grin. Baobao simply nodded, wiping his hands and moving toward the counter.
Outside, the day stretched wide and bright, as if nothing in the world could break its calm. But behind Baobao's quiet smile, a storm still brewed—one filled with loss, loyalty, and a love that refused to die even when it was running out of time.