Lin Yiyi was adopted by the Lin family on February 14th—Valentine’s Day, which also happened to be Chinese New Year’s Day that year. They simply made it her birthday: easy to remember, yet easily forgotten. Most years, they celebrated a day early.

Amidst the Lunar New Year chaos, birthday cakes were hard to find. The family wasn’t well-off back then—just having a cake for her tenth birthday was a luxury.

With feasts and holiday snacks already overflowing, no one made extra fuss over her birthday. No gifts, no separate red envelope—just a casual "Happy Birthday" tucked into her New Year’s money. No classmates or friends ever joined the celebration. Only her older brother, Lin Shu, stayed by her side through every birthday—or rather, every New Year.

Yiyi’s attitude toward birthdays shifted after attending her deskmate’s party during third-grade winter break. With her mother’s help, she’d written a birthday card as a gift.

When Yiyi wasn’t home, the TV was Lin Shu’s domain—unless their parents were watching. Then they’d both get shooed back to their rooms to "study," even with homework already finished. Most sibling squabbles revolved around the tiny remote control. Lin Shu’s arms still bore tooth marks from Yiyi’s bites. Once, after making her cry, he’d gotten a scolding that left him tearful too. After that, he learned to yield.

Returning from the birthday party, Yiyi sat curled on the sofa, knees hugged to her chest. She rested her chin on them, tilted her head, and leaned against Lin Shu’s shoulder. "Lin Shu," she murmured, "I want a real birthday."

Two years apart but only one school year—he’d grown used to her calling him by name. Was she envious after seeing her deskmate’s lively celebration?

Yiyi had always been the obedient child. She never threw tantrums or rolled on the floor, leaving Lin Shu no room to act spoiled himself. Whenever he slipped, their parents would chide: "Why can’t you be more like your sister?"

"Was your deskmate’s birthday fun?"

"At first, yes. We sang birthday songs, ate cake and treats. But later... it wasn’t fun. Is it weird to have a birthday on New Year’s Day?"

"Hmm... rare, I’d say. Like a panda."

(She loved pandas. That should cheer her up.)

"Everyone shared their birthdays. When it was my turn, they laughed. Said I was joking. Didn’t believe me. After laughing, they said they couldn’t come to mine."

"Well... it *is* New Year’s."

Lin Shu relayed his sister’s simple wish to their mother.

"Aren’t we celebrating every year?" came the reply.

Just an extra red-dyed egg, an additional bowl of longevity noodles—that was Lin Shu’s birthday treatment too. Any extras depended on his parents’ mood and his recent grades. His birthday usually fell right after midterms.

The siblings received nearly identical New Year’s money. Most relatives’ red envelopes vanished into their mother’s pockets before they even saw them—except Auntie Liu’s. She always pressed the cash into their hands personally.

Yiyi handed over every yuan she received. Lin Shu’s hidden stash always got exposed because of her. *Silly kid.*

But their mother never forced repayment. She trusted him to manage it: tuition, insurance fees, then breakfast money and pocket change. That trust came from years of him never touching the tuition portion.

To them, a birthday meant cake. That was a child’s simple truth. Yet Yiyi had already surrendered all her New Year’s money. She looked at Lin Shu with pleading, puppy-dog eyes.

"Fine," he sighed. "I’ll lend you the cake money. You owe me later."

Yiyi nodded eagerly, like a chick pecking rice.

Clutching their "fortune," Lin Shu and Yiyi walked hand-in-hand to a local cake shop still open during New Year’s Eve. They ordered a two-tier panda cake.

On Chinese New Year’s Eve afternoon, they sneaked home like thieves. Yiyi scouted ahead while Lin Shu followed, cake box hidden. Their father was at the ancestral shrine; their mother cooked in the kitchen. Firecrackers popped sporadically in the distance.

They slipped inside safely and hid the cake under the bed. They’d planned to eat it at midnight—but Yiyi couldn’t resist. Her mouth watered openly.

Lin Shu shut windows, drew curtains, then lit candles with his firecracker lighter.

Yiyi clasped her hands, squeezed her eyes shut, and made a wish. *Puff-puff-puff*—she blew out the flames. Lin Shu clapped softly, whisper-singing "Happy Birthday." He felt shy, but without it, the moment would feel hollow.

Yiyi’s clumsy hands smeared with cream as she cut the cake. She licked her fingers clean, then pushed away her second slice—already too full.

*Knock knock knock.*

"Lin Shu! Yiyi! Why’s your door locked? Open up—I need you to run an errand!"

"Lin Shu... wh-what do we do?"

Yiyi panicked, pacing in circles. Lin Shu froze too, scanning the room for hiding spots as their mother’s knocks grew urgent.

He opened the door reluctantly, blocking her entry—but the sweet scent of cream gave them away instantly.

Honest Yiyi confessed everything.

Their mother "borrowed" the cake to share with relatives—especially families with kids. "We’re celebrating Yiyi’s birthday today," she announced.

Lin Shu escaped punishment (no scolding during New Year’s), but lost his parents’ trust. His New Year’s money vanished into their custody. Pocket empty, he couldn’t join cousins buying firecrackers or toys. Watching without playing? He’d rather stay home and finish homework with Yiyi early. At least they’d avoid last-minute cramming.

From then on, a cake—big or small—joined every New Year’s Eve dinner. A new family tradition.

But Yiyi never attended another classmate’s birthday. No friends visited their home. After basketball games, Lin Shu often found her alone, growing quieter each day.

This didn’t last long. His parents’ marriage frayed visibly after he entered middle school. Petty arguments erupted every three days; major fights every five. Work stress festered—his father, a former factory worker turned gym owner after the Olympic fitness boom, now struggled as competition intensified. His mother, an interior designer, pulled all-nighters revising blueprints.

Intervening meant catching their fury—or being forced to "choose sides." Words like *divorce* and *separate lives* grew frequent.

Lin Shu hid in evening study sessions. But sixth-grader Yiyi had nowhere to escape. She’d tremble under blankets during their fights.

Last year, they’d discussed buying a new house—Lin Shu had dreamed of his own room, finally separate from Yiyi. Instead, they’d be separated by distance.

Before Yiyi’s elementary graduation, their parents finalized the divorce. She’d move to Grandma’s after exams. They kept it secret from her.

The final months were strangely peaceful. His mother quit her job, cooking warm meals daily. His father shared business struggles; they brainstormed solutions together. As if divorce didn’t exist. Yiyi’s smiles returned.

But when Lin Shu came home after her graduation exam, suitcases stood packed. Traces of his mother and sister had vanished from the house.

"No! I don’t want to leave Gege!" Yiyi wailed, dragged toward the door. "I want to live with my brother!"

*Gege.* For the first time, she called him that. *So she did see me as her brother.*

Lin Shu rushed over, gripping her icy small hand.

"We’ll live together again someday."

"Promise?"

Sniffling, tear-streaked like a little kitten, Yiyi extended her pinky. Lin Shu hooked his around hers.

"Promise."

Her pinky slipped from his grasp. She sniffled again, crying harder. *Today, she’s such a crybaby.*

Only when her sobs faded did Lin Shu snap back to reality.

He’d promised—but how?

First step: save money. A phone would let him call her often. His current one was his mother’s old keypad model—only calls, texts, and novels. The battery died daily.

Asking his struggling father for allowance felt wrong. Instead, Lin Shu offered weekend work at the gym: wiping equipment, disinfecting, handing towels to clients. In downtime, he’d sneak into classes, learning fitness basics under coaches’ guidance.

Home became just a place to sleep.

The first New Year without Yiyi. No birthday cake after dinner. The cake shop owner even asked why they hadn’t come this year. Lin Shu couldn’t bring himself to explain.

Without Auntie Liu’s red envelope, his New Year’s money felt heavier than ever. Knowing his father still needed cash for relatives’ kids, Lin Shu offered his share. His father just told him to deposit it himself.

After visiting relatives, his father returned to the city gym. Lin Shu headed to Grandma’s—to see his mother and Yiyi. His father prepared a red envelope for Yiyi, but Lin Shu refused it. "I have money," he said.

Grandma’s village nestled deep in the mountains. Once reliant on tea and fruit orchards, it now drew tourists to cherry blossom gardens and tea plantations after a highway opened. His mother seized the opportunity, opening a guesthouse. It was still losing money, banking on spring tourism. Her live-streamed tea sales seemed promising though.

The moment Lin Shu stepped inside, Auntie Liu crushed him in a hug, burying his face in her chest until he struggled to breathe. She’d always "bribed" him with red envelopes for hugs. He’d surrendered every year—until now.

"Xiao Shu! I missed you so much! I thought you’d forgotten your auntie!"

"Auntie, Happy New Year," Lin Shu said, gently pushing her away.

After greeting elders, he turned to Yiyi—but she spoke first.

"Gege, Happy New Year."

"Yiyi, Happy New Year."

Since that day, she’d called him *Gege* or *older brother*—respectful, yet slightly stiff.

"You’ve grown taller."

Lin Shu held his palm above her head. Daily changes were invisible, but six months apart made the difference stark. Her hair was longer. Beneath her turtleneck, a slight chest protrusion had formed.

"No I haven’t."

Yiyi pressed his palm to her head, sliding it down to his chest.

"I’m still short. *You’ve* grown so much."

She tiptoed, stretching to touch his head—but lost balance, tumbling into his arms.

She wrapped her arms around his waist, looking up. Her nose was pink.

"Must be from working out," Lin Shu said, flexing a bicep.

"Will you get as big as Dad?"

"No way. I don’t need exaggerated muscle definition to attract clients, and I’m not entering bodybuilding competitions."

"Phew… Good." Lin Yiyi sighed in relief. It wasn’t that she disliked her dad—she was just afraid of him.

Tall and powerfully built, he was the muscle-bound type whose chest seemed ready to burst through his shirts. His voice boomed like thunder, and his snores rattled the windows. Once, he’d playfully lifted Lin Shu by his collar—only for the shirt to rip apart. Lin Shu crashed to the floor, wailing. The memory still haunted his little sister.

Walking side by side down the street, a hint of distance lingered between the siblings. They no longer felt like family under the same roof.

"Did you celebrate your birthday this year?"

"Yeah. There was cake. But no brother."

"Well, Auntie’s there."

Their aunt, barely older than them, used their parents’ divorce as an excuse to avoid blind dates and marriage. With her youthful spirit, she felt more like an older sister—affectionate to a fault, always hugging them, but otherwise perfect.

"Can’t we celebrate together next year?"

"Probably not…"

"What about the year after?"

"Still no."

"Then when?"

"After we grow up. Though by then, you might think birthdays are childish." He paused. "But you still have one birthday left this year—your solar calendar one. Any special wish for a gift?"

Lin Yiyi tugged his sleeve, hesitated, then shook her head. "Birthday gifts" were a foreign concept to her.

"I’ll surprise you on the day, then."

"How much lucky money did you get this year?"

"Not a single cent." She raised both hands above her head like surrendering. "Mom saved it all for my college tuition."

"Typical Mom." Lin Shu grinned, pulling out a prepared red envelope and stuffing it into her arms. His grandparents and aunt had showered him with extra envelopes this year. "Don’t tell Mom, or she’ll ‘safekeep’ it for you too."

"Is it our secret?"

"Mm. Our secret."

"I know."

On Valentine’s Day, Lin Shu took his sister phone shopping. "What model do you want?"

"One just like yours."

The store’s corner held discounted bar phones for seniors—but gifting one felt too shabby. Spotting a Valentine’s promotion, he gritted his teeth and bought two identical budget smartphones. He added a sub-card to his plan for her, keeping costs hidden from Mom.

Lin Yiyi peeked over her new phone, voice muffled: "We’ll keep it secret? She’d scold me for wasting money… might even return it."

"Our secrets are growing, hehe." She beamed, eyes crinkling.

A phone might help her make friends. At her new rural school, classmates had known each other since childhood. As a transfer from the city, she stood out. Mom only cared about her grades—Yiyi excelled, earning teachers’ praise. Lin Shu, meanwhile, skipped studies for the gym. Dad rarely asked about report cards.

Yiyi struggled with typing—nine-key layouts confused her, and 26-key buttons felt too small. She defaulted to handwriting input.

"Will our promise only come true when we grow up?"

"It will. Like getting into the same university. We’ll live in the same city then."

*She’ll probably forget this promise by then. Or not want to live with me anymore.*

"Grades eight, nine… plus three years of high school. So long." She counted on her fingers.

"Maybe sooner. If you get into City No.1 or No.2 High?"

Normally, she’d aim for County No.1 High, then a decent college.

"I want to go to the same high school as you."

"Eh…"

"Can’t I?"

"Yeah. I’ll wait for you there."

*Even if it’s a lie, it gives her a goal. Mom would approve—City No.1’s top-university admission rate crushes County No.1’s. For me? Nearly impossible.*

From then on, celebrating Yiyi’s Valentine’s Day birthday became their new tradition.

This year, Dad’s gym finally turned profitable. Rival gyms had shut down overnight, leaving trainers unpaid—many switched to food delivery. Members demanding refunds found empty storefronts. Scandals between trainers and clients fueled public distrust.

Dad’s old gym survived on loyal customers. Past losses came from overstaffing: he couldn’t fire longtime coaches with families, so regular members got personal-training perks. Last year’s industry crackdown ironically boosted their reputation.

Lin Shu’s suggestion—to promote the gym on social media—worked wonders with members’ help. Their clientele ranged from office workers to professors. One high school teacher even urged Lin Shu to try out for City No.1 High’s sports-track program. This year’s slots jumped from fifteen to forty, with more events and less competition.

Lin Shu’s only strength was his physique—but they wanted well-rounded athletes. He still needed decent grades.

During Qingming and May Day breaks, he helped at Mom’s countryside guesthouse. Mostly, he just guided lost travelers from the station—excuses to watch his sister grow.

When he told Mom about aiming for City No.1 High, her joy surprised him.

"I worried you’d go astray without supervision. You’ve really grown up… like a proper older brother."

*What about Dad?* Lin Shu almost retorted. *Though he barely checks on me.*

He barely survived his final year of middle school. Days blurred into study sessions and workouts. *Was I doing this for myself? Or for her? I could’ve lied. She’s so gullible.*

But every time her phone buzzed—good morning texts, selfies, "fighting!" messages—energy surged through him. *Just a little more.* He pushed until the end.

Now, he only had to wait for her. Same high school. Same home.

Lin Shu, who’d never held a meaningful conversation with any girl besides his sister, had his rhythm shattered by a single, unexpected love letter.