Ch. Forgot what 8 Forgot what 8

**8** 

With no money for a hotel, I had to sleep on a bench at the bus station. 

At night, the biting spring rain blew into the corridor; the wind was cold. 

I think I had a fever. 

In a daze, I had a long, drawn-out dream. 

In the dream, I was 18. 

That day, my essay was read aloud by the teacher in front of the class. The teacher said my writing had a special spirit. 

I had never received such affirmation before. 

Coincidentally, that day was my birthday. 

I happily ran home, wanting to tell Mom that I had bought myself a tiny cake. 

I could blow out the candles with Willow. 

She could blow out the big ones, and I’d blow out the small ones. 

I could also make my own little wish. 

I rushed excitedly through the door, only to find the house empty. 

That night, I sat guarding a palm-sized cake, watching the TV, which was broadcasting 

Willow’s celebration party. 

It turned out that Willow’s new show had wrapped filming, and Mom and Dad had gone 

with her to the capital. 

Amidst the joyful atmosphere of the celebration, they had given Willow a uniquely significant birthday. 

Mom and Dad had forgotten me, left alone at home. 

That night, I wandered aimlessly through the streets, carrying the cake. 

I thought, if only I could meet one person who would wish me a happy birthday, then I 

wouldn’t die. 

But everyone was in a hurry, no one noticed me. 

Disheartened, I started walking towards the city canal. 

By the river, I met Christian. 

His tall, slender frame stood on the railing. 

The wind billowed his white shirt, making him seem so fragile, as if he might fall at any 

moment. 

“Hey, are you trying to die too? After we finish this cake, maybe we can die together, okay?” I greeted him, smiling. 

Christian turned his head to look at me, expressionless. 

After an unknown amount of time, he jumped down from the railing. 

That was the first time I had a birthday that was completely my own. 

I took it very seriously. 

Seriously made a wish. 

1 

Seriously blew out the candles. 

Seriously cut the cake, giving Christian a piece. 

Christian had brought a lot of beer, and I got drunk. 

After getting drunk, I cried and laughed, pulling him towards the river. 

“You have to choose the right time to jump into the river; if we wait any longer, the morning joggers will arrive, and we won’t be able to die!” 

Christian suddenly raised an eyebrow and smiled. 

He pulled me, still in my daze, and said: 

“I suddenly don’t feel like dying today. Let’s die another day. I’ll take you home first.” 

That night, I lay on his back, talking nonsense all the way home. 

When he set me down at my front gate, he softly told me: 

“Little crazy, happy birthday.” 

Later, I learned his name was Christian Davies. 

The only son of the Davies family in Havenwood. 

That night was the anniversary of his mother’s death. 

But his father had brought home a love child, a boy about Christian’s age. 

He couldn’t stand the betrayal and wanted to punish his father with his own death. 

His brow was always furrowed with sorrow. 

He didn’t talk much. 

He had no friends. 

He was always alone. 

When I saw him, I saw myself. 

Seeing his tightly furrowed brow, my heart inexplicably ached. 

Seeing him, I felt an inexplicable sense of security. 

I wanted to talk to him, to be close to him. 

So, I always followed him. 

I was fearless, loudly confessing my feelings. 

I wanted him to feel my burning love. 

I wanted him to know that someone in this world loved him unconditionally. 

But he was always cold, keeping his distance from me. 

I thought he was just shy. 

After much thought, I decided I should be even more passionate, even braver, and that one day I would melt his heart. 

Until Willow’s new show premiere. 

I saw Christian sitting in the front row. 

Willow, with a coy smile, introduced to the cameras: 

“He’s my boyfriend, Christian Davies, and he loves me very much.” 

In that moment, I was completely stunned. 

I felt like I had starred in a ridiculous comedy. 

No one had invited me, but I had volunteered to play a complete clown. 

My mind went blank, I lost the ability to think. 

The premiere was still ongoing, but I grabbed my dress and ran out. 

Interrupting Willow’s interview. 

The cameras turned towards me. 

They said I looked like a princess in exile, noble yet wronged. 

Compared to Willow, who was exquisitely polished from head to toe on stage, they said I 

had a natural vitality. 

That silhouette of me was posted online. 

Many people said they loved my pure, untainted eyes and tagged various directors, asking them to cast me as a lead. 

Soon, someone recognized that Willow and I looked seven parts alike. 

Someone leaked that we were full-blooded sisters. 

They said that the female lead role in Willow’s new show was more suitable for me. 

Netizens spontaneously voted, and I won over Willow with eighty percent of the votes. 

I had never competed with Willow for anything. 

But seeing those online polls, I suddenly had a strange thought. 

Maybe…maybe I wasn’t so bad after all? 

Could I fight for myself, just this once? 

Just once. 

That day, I went to find Christian. 

< 

I asked him if he could love me if I were the one playing the female lead. 

Christian laughed mockingly: 

“No wonder Willow says that ever since we were kids, you’ve always tried to snatch 

whatever you set your eyes on.” 

“Do you know that becoming an excellent actress is your sister’s lifelong dream?” 

“Lily, you’re disgustingly selfish.” 

Each word was a knife twisting in my heart. 

I was bleeding profusely, emotionally, so much so that I didn’t even register him saying I’d stolen something from Willow. 

I looked at him in disbelief: 

“If you find me disgusting, then what was that night we cried and laughed together, and you carried me home, supposed to be?” 

Christian’s eyes were even more sarcastic: 

“Do you think I’d even give you a second glance if you weren’t Willow’s sister?” 

“I was just afraid something would happen to you and affect Willow’s career.” 

“Lily, you don’t actually think I like you, do you?” 

But I didn’t believe his words. 

I trusted my own instincts. 

When he was with me, Christian’s usually tense demeanor would relax. He’d curve his lips slightly, respond with a smile. 

So I believed that even if he didn’t love me, he definitely didn’t hate me. 

My demands were so incredibly low. 

k 

< 

Just knowing he didn’t hate me was enough to send me into raptures. 

So, I became even more desperate in my kindness to him. 

If anyone spoke ill of him behind his back, I’d scratch their face without hesitation. 

If it was his turn for chores, I never let him lift a finger, because I thought he was too 

good for such mundane tasks. 

I remembered his mother’s birthday, her death anniversary, and his own birthday more clearly than he did. 

His used pen cartridges, the candy wrappers he threw away, the empty cigarette boxes, 

even the test papers he carelessly tossed in the trash-I treasured all of them, collecting them carefully. 

I even humbly told him: 

“It’s fine if you treat me like Willow’s stand-in, just don’t send me away.”” 

Later, Christian was utterly fed up. 

He yelled at me: 

“Lily, do you have no self-respect?” 

I smiled and said, “You wouldn’t understand.” 

You wouldn’t understand what it’s like for someone who’s never known love. 

If there’s one person she can give all her love to, without regret, that becomes the very belief that sustains her life. 

Later, Christian declared he didn’t want to see me. 

“No matter what it takes, make her stop bothering me!” 

“Otherwise, don’t blame me for showing no mercy.” 

< 

“I heard there’s a hypnosis technique abroad that can make people selectively forget things. Send Lily there.” 

I was sent abroad by my parents. 

But what awaited me was more than just hypnosis. 

It was a series of inhumane, soul-crushing treatments. 

The masked attending physician, as he pushed a glowing green liquid into my veins, said: 

“I’m rebuilding your psyche. Shattering it completely, then reshuffling. You’ll thank me for 

this.”