Chapter 7 The Only One Left
Long ago, I had already figured out why Mu Weiyi was always the more lovable one.
When I was born, the family was still poor.
They raised me roughly.
I was malnourished, my environment harsh. So I wasn't pretty or cute. Even my mind developed slower than others my age.
Mu Weiyi was like my control group—a flawless work of art.
By the time she was born, my parents had started making money. They were riding high.
All their love poured onto her.
She drank the best formula. She attended the most expensive cram schools. Her birthdays were held at the biggest restaurant in town with dozens of tables.
She was their pride, their everything—the symbol of this family's rising fortune.
But was she irreplaceable?
Like her name implied?
Not necessarily.
Even the last big math problem has multiple solutions.
I could slowly replace her. Become the optimal one.
My parents' attitude toward me grew complicated.
They resented me. Blamed me for "letting" Weiyi go missing.
Yet at the same time, they couldn't ignore that I was now the only child left.
I packed my bag and set off for the city high school.
I promised them:
"I will make something of myself. When I grow up, I'll be the one you can rely on.
Dad, Mom… everything will get better."
The police found nothing.
But in September, two more children went missing near the east train station. Signs of a trafficking ring were spotted nearby.
They told my parents to prepare themselves—Weiyi was likely taken by the same group.
It was going to be a long fight. Long enough to break my parents completely.
I kept showing worry and remorse.
And I sent back report cards with excellent grades to give them some comfort.
At the end of the term, the school held a parent-teacher meeting.
My mother actually agreed to come.
She dyed her hair black and tried to fix herself up a little.
Her face was still gaunt, but the grief had eased slightly.
My core subjects were outstanding. English nearly full marks.
The homeroom teacher praised me by name.
In that moment, a faint light flickered in my mother's dim eyes.
After the meeting, we walked home together.
She was quiet the whole way.
Then she hesitated at a roadside stall and bought me a red bean pancake.
"You… liked these when you were little."
Her movements were stiff. She avoided looking at me.
I didn't ruin the moment. I took a small bite and smiled.
"It's delicious. Thank you, Mom. Tonight I'll cook. You haven't had braised duck in a long time, right?"
She gave a small hum and pressed her lips tightly together.
I didn't need to ask.
From the way she held herself so stiffly beside me, I could tell she was struggling.
So ashamed. So awkward.
Her youngest daughter had only been gone half a year, and already she couldn't help seeking affection from the eldest daughter she used to ignore.
But now, who else could give her positive response?
A missing child? A cold, broken husband?
No.
Only me. Just me.