The hospital room was empty. I peeled an orange for Grandpa. He ate a few segments, then waved a hand—done. Leaning against the headboard, he closed his eyes wearily.
I watched him sleep and sighed.
Grandpa’s appetite had plummeted lately. Just weeks ago, he’d been fine—demanding tea eggs, even tagging along to KFC with me. Now? He barely swallowed congee. A few sips, a wave, a quiet “My stomach hurts.”
These days, he only nibbled fruit before drifting back to sleep. He slept endlessly. I heard he woke before dawn, sat propped up watching the window for hours. Only when exhaustion crept in would he slowly lie down, close his eyes, and sleep again.
Back home, Long Ge was still in her room, cigarette dangling, glued to her game. Her job interview was tomorrow—yet not a flicker of worry. Ming Hai hadn’t returned. I had zero appetite, slumped on the sofa. Around noon, I remembered: Long Ge liked my omurice. With effort, I dragged myself up, made one, swirled ketchup on top, and carried it slowly into her room.
Without turning, eyes locked on screen: “Just set it on the desk.” I placed the plate down and stood behind her, silent. After a moment, I grabbed the cigarette pack, lit one, took a deep drag, sat on her bed, and watched her back—my thoughts already elsewhere.
Grandpa’s condition was worsening.
I’d once asked Lao Han: *Should we just tell him? Time’s short. Give him closure. Stop waiting for a grandson who won’t come back.*
I’d known Grandpa long enough. He was open-minded, not fragile. Even if Lao Han became a woman—he wouldn’t collapse. Explanation? Simple: *Went to Thailand.*
Lao Han had called me naive.
Put myself in his shoes: lying in bed, a girl says, “Grandpa, I’m your grandson. I went to Thailand. I transitioned. I’m here to see you.” My first thought? *The hell is this joke?*
Even if she knew my birthday, every shared memory—would I believe her? … Bullshit. Who would? Would *you*?
Explaining’s easy. But what would Grandpa *think*?
He’d assume his real grandson was too busy, sent a girl to act the part—so he wouldn’t feel abandoned. He’d either rage… or pretend to believe. No sane person buys it. Unless he binged gender-bend novels. Unlikely.
I smoked, watched Long Ge game, thoughts heavy.
I sat there the whole afternoon.
Long Ge had crashed around 5 AM again. After gaming all day, she yawned near 4 PM. “Sleeping,” she muttered. I nodded and left. She’d wake before dawn. At the door, I asked about the interview. “3 PM tomorrow. Start work the next day.” I asked her to wake me. She nodded.
Back in my room, I scrolled mindlessly on my phone and dozed off around 8 PM. Next morning, I woke at 6 AM, groggy, shuffled to cook breakfast—and found Long Ge already awake, door open, gaming again. I cracked her window, headed to the kitchen. Made light congee. Simmering it, my phone rang. I turned down the heat, grabbed it—Lao Han’s name flashed.
“Hello?”
Lao Han sounded chipper: “Up already?”
“Mm.”
“Heading to X High… Quick question. Coming later?”
Too early. “What now? Ball again?”
She sighed. “Training soon. Forgot cash. Lend me twenty? For lunch.”
I checked the clock—6:30 AM. Washed up, prepped rice… half an hour gone. *Han family really are early birds.* Remembering Long Ge’s afternoon interview: “Go ahead. I’ll come after breakfast.”
Lao Han chuckled. “Thanks. Hanging up.”
I sighed, stirred the congee, pulled preserved veggies from the fridge onto a plate. Added two sprigs of fresh cilantro. Pale congee dotted with green—simple, clean, almost appetizing.
I carried it to Long Ge’s room. She’d already lit a cigarette. A giant cola bottle sat on the desk; her head unmoving, eyes fixed on screen. I set the food down. Smoke thickened the air. My own craving stirred—I lit a cigarette. After a few drags, I sighed, opened the window. “Heading out. Back around noon.” She didn’t speak. Just nodded.
Downstairs, I walked straight to X High.
Morning air crisp. Sky washed gold. Holiday quiet—streets nearly empty. Convenience stores near campus were open. Loose change in pocket. Remembering Lao Han’s training, I bought energy drinks, tucked them in a bag, headed to the court.
Court was quiet. A few elders shooting hoops casually. I spotted Lao Han on the far court—X High’s team all there. Five players. Lao Han in that black hoodie, hood up, basketball cradled, talking. Huang Li nodded eagerly, face lit.
I strolled over, opened the bag, smiled. “Early birds! Brought drinks.”
Lao Han blinked, turned, grinned. “You came.”
I handed bottles around. Guys thanked me, smiling. Xue Ling—that girl… wait, *guy*—blushed, cradling the bottle with both hands, looking up shyly. “Thank you.”
My smile tightened. I waved it off.
Honestly? If I hadn’t seen Xue Ling step out of the *men’s* restroom last time, shaking water from his fingers—I’d never believe he was male.
Huang Li’s eyes widened. He lunged forward, shook my hand hard—nearly 1.9 meters of solid muscle. “Thank you, bro! Thank you!”
*Over a drink?* I shook back awkwardly. “No big deal. Cheap.”
“Not the drinks!” Huang Li beamed. “How’d you convince Sister Han?! I begged for *weeks*!”
I froze. Glanced at Lao Han.
She covered her mouth, laughing. “Thanks isn’t enough. Shouldn’t he treat us? If this guy hadn’t pestered me daily, I wouldn’t be here. Right?”
Huang Li nodded solemnly.
My smile twitched. *Pestered? The hell when?!*
Guys chuckled. Huang Li loomed close—built like a bear. He clapped my shoulder, dead serious:
“Meal’s happening. Brother—you saved me. This team was passed to me. I want to make it proud. We were strangers… yet you helped. I’m not ungrateful. Anything happens? Call me.”
Lao Han stood nearby, hugging the ball, eyes twinkling.
Words stuck in my throat. Smile strained. I just nodded.
