"Ge! If you're not at the table in two minutes, I'm eating your eggs!"
Liang Wei's younger sister's voice echoed down the hallway, sharp and full of mock-threat.
Wei, sitting on the edge of his bed, rubbed at his temples before calling back, "You wouldn't dare!"
"I've dared before," Mei shot back. "Remember the mooncake incident?"
A faint smile tugged at his lips despite the dull ache in his stomach. "That was five years ago."
"And I've been undefeated since." Her footsteps retreated toward the kitchen. "Two minutes!"
The kitchen smelled of millet porridge and fried scallion pancakes. Their mother, Sun Lifen, moved with quiet efficiency, ladling porridge into bowls. The morning sunlight from the small balcony window turned the steam into drifting ribbons of gold.
Mei was already at the table, hair in a messy bun, scrolling on her phone. She looked up when Wei entered. "Wow, you made it. I thought I'd be eating double."
"You'd choke," Wei said, sliding into his chair.
"On victory? Never."
Lifen set a bowl in front of him, her sharp eyes scanning his face. "You look pale."
"I'm fine, Mom."
"You've been skipping breakfast," she accused, placing a plate of pancakes between them.
Mei arched an eyebrow. "Is that true?"
Wei shrugged. "Busy week."
Their father, Liang Guo, was at the head of the table, reading the paper. "Busy doesn't mean careless," he said without looking up. "Your body doesn't forgive neglect."
Wei offered a noncommittal grunt and stirred his porridge, the ache in his stomach pulsing again.
By mid-morning, he was at the clinic. The reception area smelled faintly of antiseptic, the walls a sterile white dotted with faded posters about flu shots and blood pressure checks.
The nurse at the counter asked for his ID, her voice polite but rushed. "You can wait in the second row. Doctor Zhang will call you."
Wei sat, scrolling absently on his phone but not reading anything. His stomach ached again, deeper this time. The sound of coughing from the far corner mixed with the steady beep of the reception computer.
When his name was called, he stood, suddenly aware of how cold his hands were.
Doctor Zhang was a lean man in his forties with rimless glasses and a voice so calm it almost felt detached. He gestured to the chair opposite his desk.
"So, Mr. Liang, tell me about your symptoms."
Wei explained — the discomfort in his stomach, the occasional nausea, the unexplained fatigue.
"Any weight loss?"
"Maybe a little. I've been busy with work."
The doctor nodded, typing into his computer. "How long has this been going on?"
"A couple of months."
Doctor Zhang paused, looking at him over the rims of his glasses. "And this is the first time you've come in?"
Wei shifted in his seat. "I thought it would pass."
The rest of the consultation moved quickly — an examination, a request for scans, blood tests. Wei followed the nurse through a maze of hallways, the scent of disinfectant sharp in his nose.
The waiting afterward was the hardest. Two hours felt like an entire day. He tried reading on his phone again, but the words blurred. Every time the door opened, his chest tightened.
Finally, Doctor Zhang called him back in. The doctor's tone was careful, his movements slower than before. He closed the door, sat down, and folded his hands.
"Mr. Liang… the results show that you have pancreatic cancer. It's advanced — late stage."
Wei's mind went blank. He heard the words, but they didn't seem to belong to him.
"How long?" His voice was steady — too steady.
"Months," Zhang said softly. "A year, perhaps, with treatment. But the cancer is aggressive. I'm sorry."
Wei nodded once, as if that settled it. "Right."
The doctor explained treatment options, but the words washed over him — chemotherapy, side effects, survival rates. Wei caught none of it in full. He thanked the doctor, stood, and left.
Outside, the sunlight was the same as when he'd walked in, but it felt colder.
He didn't tell his family right away. For days, he carried it alone. He went to the university, gave lectures, even met friends for dinner, all while the words "late stage" echoed in his head. At night, lying in bed, he stared at the ceiling and wondered which day would be his last normal day.
The truth came out one evening.
The family was gathered in the living room — Guo in his armchair reading, Lifen knitting, Mei scrolling on her phone with her legs tucked under her. Wei sat opposite them, his untouched cup of tea cooling in his hands.
"Ge?" Mei asked, looking up. "You've been… off lately. What's going on?"
Wei took a slow breath. "I went to the hospital last week."
All eyes turned to him.
"It's cancer," he said quietly. "Pancreatic. Late stage."
The silence that followed was suffocating. Mei's phone slipped from her hands. Lifen's knitting fell to the floor. Guo folded his newspaper with deliberate slowness, his eyes fixed on Wei.
"I didn't want to tell you right away," Wei continued, his voice cracking. "I thought I could… I don't know… keep things normal for a while."
Mei's voice was trembling now, her usual confidence gone. "You think hiding it would make it better? You think we wouldn't want to know?"
"I just—" He broke off, pressing a hand to his face. "I'm not ready. I'm not ready to die yet."
Lifen was at his side in an instant, kneeling beside his chair. "Wei…"
"I still wanted more time with you," he said, his voice shaking. "Family dinners I thought we'd have for decades, trips we always said we'd take, even stupid little arguments over nothing. I thought I'd watch Mei get married, take care of you and Dad when you're old. I thought… I thought we'd have so much more."
Mei's eyes were wet. "Don't talk like you're already gone—"
"But I will be!" His voice rose, then cracked. "It's already slipping away. And I spent so much time in the lab chasing work that I missed things. I missed birthdays. I missed evenings when we could've just sat and talked. And now… I can't get those moments back."
Guo's voice was low, rougher than usual. "Wei… you gave those years to your dream. We were proud."
Wei shook his head, tears finally spilling. "Dreams mean nothing if you can't share them with the people you love."
Lifen wrapped her arms around him, holding him tight. "Then we'll share everything from now on. Every meal. Every moment. No regrets from this day forward."
Mei joined the embrace, her voice breaking. "We're not wasting a single second."
Guo stood and placed a hand on Wei's shoulder, his usual composure cracking just enough for Wei to see the glint of tears. "No one carries this alone."
And they stayed that way — clinging to each other in the quiet, the weight of unspoken fears heavy in the air, but bound together more tightly than ever.