The first pale light of morning slipped through the cracks in the old wooden shutters, crawling across the dirt floor like a timid ghost. Li Wei sat hunched over on his sleeping mat, staring at his hands. They were rough and torn, with deep cracks that never seemed to heal.
In the corner of the small room, a bundle of his mother's things leaned against the wall: a worn comb, a chipped porcelain bowl, and a jade pendant she used to wear when she still had the strength to stand. The air smelled of cold rice and burnt ashes, heavy and stale, like a house that had long forgotten laughter.
Li Wei pressed his forehead into his palms and tried to steady his breathing. He hadn't slept. Each time he closed his eyes, he saw his mother's face, thin and ghostly, her lips moving in silent prayers that even the gods seemed to ignore. The doctor had said she wouldn't last the winter without stronger medicine.
He rose, slowly, feeling every ache in his bones, every raw blister on his feet. He reached for his thin jacket, the one with so many patches it looked more like a quilt than clothing.
Before leaving, he turned to look at the empty corner where she used to sleep. The room felt even colder now that she was gone, lying in that small, crowded clinic bed, drifting further away each day. He had promised her he would bring money for medicine, but promises weighed nothing against hunger and fever.
Stepping outside, he shivered. The morning air bit into his skin, and the narrow alleys were already waking. Merchants rolled up their bamboo mats, children chased stray dogs, and the faint smell of soy and boiled dumplings drifted past, twisting his empty stomach into knots.
Li Wei pulled his jacket tighter and hurried down the cracked stone path toward the dockyards by the river. Every step felt heavier than the last.
When the yard gates came into view, he saw Boss Huang standing with his arms crossed, a cigarette dangling from his lips. His eyes narrowed the moment he spotted Li Wei.
"You're late again," Boss Huang snapped, his voice echoing across the yard.
Li Wei bowed so low his spine screamed in protest. "I'm sorry, sir. My mother—"
"Your mother? Always your mother." Boss Huang spat onto the ground, shaking his head. "I told you before. One more minute late and you're finished here. You hear me? You'll be begging on the streets, worse than a rat."
Li Wei's throat closed up. He nodded quickly, too afraid to speak again.
"Get to work," Boss Huang barked, turning away in disgust.
Li Wei joined the line of men unloading crates from the boats. Each box felt heavier than a mountain. With every lift, his arms trembled, and the old cuts on his hands opened again, spilling warm blood that soaked into his bandages.
He forced himself to keep moving, his breath ragged, his vision going dark at the edges. Each time he staggered, he thought of his mother's face, pale and shivering on that cot, her fingers reaching for him in her sleep.
By midday, he felt as though his bones were made of glass. A boy passed by selling steamed buns, the smell so sweet it made Li Wei dizzy. He clutched his stomach and turned his head away.
He had only enough coins for her medicine. He couldn't buy food, not even a single bite.
As he paused for a second, Boss Huang's roar cracked through the air. "No stopping! Do you want me to drag you by your neck, boy?"
Li Wei forced his shaking legs to move again. He felt like he was floating, like his spirit was somewhere else, watching this broken body struggle through another day.
When the sun finally began to set, the men were dismissed one by one. Li Wei could barely feel his legs. His shirt clung to him, soaked with sweat and blood. He staggered away, clutching his tiny cloth pouch of coins as if it were the last light in a dark tunnel.
The walk to the clinic felt endless. Each step felt like sinking deeper into water, breath stolen away by the weight of everything he carried.
When he finally arrived, he pushed open the wooden door. The smell of smoke and bitter herbs filled his nose. He saw her immediately, lying there, her eyes half-open but empty, as if she was already somewhere beyond his reach.
He fell to his knees beside her bed. His hands trembled as he pulled out the coins, pressing them against his chest like a prayer.
"Mother," he whispered, his voice so small it sounded like a child's. "I brought it. I got the money for your medicine. Please... just stay with me. Just a little longer."
Her lips twitched, but no words came out. Her eyes slid closed again.
Li Wei pressed his forehead to her blanket, tears spilling freely now, hot and bitter. He didn't know how to pray anymore, but he whispered to her, to the gods, to anyone who might listen.
Outside, lanterns glowed like distant stars. The city carried on , merchants shouted, children played, rickshaws rattled by ; but in that tiny room, time stood still.
Li Wei clutched her cold hand, the coins digging into his palm, and cried until he had no voice left.
Tomorrow, he would rise before the sun. Tomorrow, he would drag those crates again. But tonight, he was just a son, broken and small, holding on to the last warmth of the person he loved most in the world.