"The situation with your mother... you're aware of it." The doctor's tone was heavy. "The cancer cells have spread again. Chemotherapy is losing its effectiveness. Surgery is necessary. Absolutely necessary."
"Of course, I must remind you, the cost is substantial. The surgery itself is estimated at two hundred thousand. If there are complications afterwards, the expenses could be much higher, even reaching millions. You need to consider this carefully."
Ethan sat by his mother's bedside, silently watching her. The doctor's words echoed in his mind.
He took his mother's hand. Her fingers were long—they must have been beautiful once. Now they were rough and cold.
"Ethan..." The hospital room door opened softly, and Maya walked in. "My dad... he went and paid the bill. But... the doctor said three thousand will only cover two days of hospitalization. He... he can't afford any more."
Ethan took a deep breath and stood up, his gratitude genuine. "Maya. Thank you. Thank your father for me."
Having grown up witnessing the fickleness of human nature, Ethan knew that Maya's family offering three thousand yuan was an immense act of kindness. In most people's eyes, that money was as good as gone.
Maya looked down, her eyes red-rimmed. Their families were neighbors in the old Pingfang district of the city—not just people living next door in an apartment building, but the kind who constantly visited each other, closer than most relatives.
"Ethan, the doctor said you should go home and get some clothes for your mom. The heating isn't great at night, and the blankets are too thin. You go ahead. I'll stay with her. And... could you bring my bike over when you come back?"
Leaving the hospital, Ethan felt the cold bite deeper than before.
The house was dark.
He stepped inside, the old door groaning. Though shabby, the home was spotlessly clean. He took the passbook from the bedside drawer.
He'd once asked his mother why she used a passbook when everyone used WeChat now—wouldn't that be easier? She told him the passbook was for saving money. If you put it on your phone, it never stays saved.
He opened it. Inside was his mother's entire life savings: sixteen thousand yuan. Ethan knew the only reason there was any money left at all was because she had scrimped and saved relentlessly. Otherwise, they wouldn't just have no savings—they'd be deep in debt.
He calculated that the family's fishpond might sell for around thirty thousand.
On the coffee table was the dinner his mother had left for him: a braised fish. The head and tail were gone, only the plump belly remained.
Ethan remembered asking her as a child why she never ate the belly meat.
His mother would always tell the same lie.
"Mom doesn't like it..."
Young Ethan would tell her she didn't know what she was missing—that it was the best part.
He understood now. But his mother had kept telling the same lie.
Ethan picked up the bowl and finished every last bit of the dinner she had saved for him. He let out a long, heavy breath, then dialed a number.
"You decided faster than I expected. My advice is to still think it over," Summer's voice came through the line.
"My mother is in a coma. She needs surgery."
Silence for a few seconds. "I can give you an advance—"
"No." Ethan refused firmly.
Summer didn't insist. She understood that if Ethan's mother was willing to accept handouts—or if Ethan was—they wouldn't have lived such a hard life.
"Alright. Give me your bank details. I'll transfer the money. I'll notify you about the operation time. Ethan, my advice is to be fully prepared. This isn't a schoolyard fight. One hundred and twenty thousand... it's not a small amount."
"I know. My life isn't worth that much either."
Ethan packed some things. After the money arrived, he paid the hospital deposit for the surgery and prepaid three hundred thousand more. He then transferred fifty thousand to Maya.
"If I'm not here when my mom wakes up... please look after her. Use this money. Hire a nurse, whatever is needed."
Maya stared at the huge sum on her phone. Her eyes widened. "Ethan... where did you get so much money?"
Ethan didn't explain.
He spent the whole night sitting by his mother's bed, watching her. He wasn't sure if he would make it back from this.
As Summer said, one hundred and twenty thousand wasn't small change. It was more than some people's lives were worth.
To earn that kind of money, you really could lose your life.
As dawn broke faintly, Ethan's phone rang.
He leaned down and hugged his mother. "Mom... I'm sorry. I let you down."
Outside the hospital, Ethan took a deep breath of the cold air, but it still smelled of medicine. Summer had told him the operation was tonight. She'd also sent him the information on the woman.
But until Ethan met her and identified himself, the woman wouldn't know he existed. This operation was covert.
Just as Ethan had said: if he succeeded, he was Michael Langford's 'son.' If he failed, he was just a stranger causing trouble in a casino.
Ethan didn't go to school that day. It was the first time he had ever skipped.
He went home and slept until the afternoon, then bought some more mature-looking clothes at a mall. Standing in front of the mirror, he suddenly realized he looked older than his age. Maybe not in his face, but in his eyes—they held a weariness and depth that didn't belong to an eighteen-year-old.
As night fell, Ethan walked into the Lansway Spa. He'd heard classmates talk about this place, saying the third floor had some 'spectacular' and 'stimulating' shows.
Whenever the discussion got heated, the rich kid in his class, Zachary Wei, would smirk and say the third floor was for amateurs. The truly wealthy went to the fourth floor to 'learn a foreign language.'
Now Ethan knew the so-called fourth-floor language classes for the rich were just a front for what was really three floors underground.
Sitting in the lobby, a young, attractive attendant knelt before him with slippers. Her black stockings shimmered smoothly over her legs.
"Sir, would you prefer the common area or a private room? The private rooms have wooden tubs."
"Porkchop sent me. Said to look around."
The attendant understood immediately. She gestured. "This way, sir."
Ethan followed her into a side hall. It was his first time in a place like this, and he was intensely curious about everything, but he forced himself to appear indifferent, his eyes straight ahead.
According to the lecherous guys in his class, a seasoned player acted like he was right at home in a spa—relaxed and completely at ease.
He was led to another hall, where a man in a black suit, likely a manager, approached and looked Ethan up and down.
"What the hell are you looking at?" Ethan glared at him, channeling the arrogance he thought a connected guy might show. "Fuck, sneaking around your own joint. If you don't have the guts to run a proper place, don't bother. First time I've seen a club so damn shady. This podunk city really is a shithole."
"Hey, man, no offense." The manager hurried to explain, though he could tell Ethan was younger. "You know how it is. We gotta be careful. Our caution benefits you too."
"Stop wasting my time." Ethan waved a dismissive hand. "Just get on with it."
"Right, this way." The manager led him toward an elevator, still probing. "First time here, sir?"
"Is it that obvious?" Ethan feigned annoyance.
Seeing Ethan wasn't receptive, the manager fell silent.
Ethan breathed an internal sigh of relief. He was afraid the man would keep asking questions. The more he talked, the more likely he was to slip up.
The elevator doors opened, revealing the grand hall beyond. Even though Ethan had mentally prepared himself, the sight still made his head spin for a second. Under the bright glow of crystal chandeliers were more than twenty gambling tables straight out of the movies, along with slot machines and other games. Waitresses in bunny costumes glided through the crowd holding trays.
Ethan snapped back to reality quickly.
"Sir, chips are over here." The manager guided him to a counter.
"Let's start with fifty thousand." Ethan reached for his phone, then suddenly froze, a cold sweat breaking out on his forehead. He'd realized a critical, potentially fatal, mistake in his preparation.