The night was thick and silent except for the hollow clinks of bottles and the harsh slaps that echoed through the cracked walls of a small Chiang Mai house.
Zhenkai curled into a tight ball on the cold floor, flinching as his father's angry voice shattered the stillness. "Where's the money, boy? You better have it!"
His small fists clenched, tears welling up but never falling. His mother had been gone for years now, leaving only memories and a quiet ache in his heart. Since then, his father's bitterness poured out like poison—nights filled with shouting, fear, and bruises.
When his father remarried, the house grew heavier with cold eyes and sharp words. The stepmother's presence was like a shadow, pushing him further into loneliness.
But in the rare moments when the house fell silent and the moon cast soft light through the window, Zhenkai would sneak to a corner and hum the songs he loved—songs of hope, freedom, and dreams far beyond these walls. His voice was fragile but honest, a small rebellion against his harsh world.
Years passed, and the boy who once trembled on the floor packed a small bag and left for Bangkok, chasing the music that had saved his soul.
City lights dazzled, and the streets roared with strangers and noise, but Zhenkai kept singing, working tirelessly, scraping by with every gig, every street performance.
Now, under the spotlight, with the crowd screaming his name, the boy who was once alone was finally a rockstar.