Duan Qizhao was still rambling. "Brother Yanchu sent me to sound you out. He said if you're willing to go back, the motorcade will pick you up at the hospital a day early. They'll roll out a red carpet from the entrance to the elevators, and have all your favorite food ready."
"If you're not, he said he won't help his dad with this crap anymore either. He'll bring a cake to the hospital himself and celebrate with you."
The more he talked, the more animated he grew. He slung an arm over Jiang Xun's shoulder, his voice rising half a pitch. "Holy shit, seriously? You actually forgot? How do you forget your own birthday? Is there room in that head of yours for anything besides Brother Jing?"
"I didn't forget."
Jiang Xun turned off his phone screen and said evenly, "I didn't know what day my birthday was."
How would a child raised in an orphanage know his own birthday?
The director assigned June 1, Children's Day, to all of them. Every year on that day, a faded red banner would hang over the orphanage entrance. Reporters crowded in with cameras of every size, and donors put their arms around the children for photos, smiling more benevolently than anyone as the flashes went off.
Once the photos were taken, the supplies and donations vanished along with the director, leaving each child with nothing but a lollipop.
Before he turned seven, Jiang Xun couldn't even hold on to that piece of candy.
Every year, the older boy in the next bed, half a head taller than him, pinned him to the concrete floor, pried his fingers open one by one, and spat in his face after stealing his candy.
He lay there with the back of his head against the