Ding dong, ding dong—
The final bell rang through the corridors of Haicheng No. 5 High School, a shrill, echoing sound that usually meant freedom for the students trapped in classrooms all day. A sudden wave of energy burst through the school as students rushed out, laughter and chatter bouncing off the worn walls.
Sunlight streamed through the third-floor windows, casting warm gold across dusty floors and cluttered desks. It was the golden hour in Haicheng—a coastal city that shimmered with salt-scented wind and a faint murmur of distant waves.
Amid the bustle, Yin Xin remained in his seat, quietly packing his textbooks into his frayed navy backpack. His movements were calm, almost practiced, as if his body followed a well-worn routine. He wore the same expression he always did—soft, polite, and relaxed. But his classmates had long accepted that his smile was one of those few things that remained unchanged no matter what happened.
"Yin Xin!"
He looked up. At the door stood Li Zihan, his deskmate and friend, with a crooked grin and eyes that always looked half-asleep beneath his tousled brown hair.
"We're heading to that new internet café on Chengdong Road," Li Zihan said, stepping into the room. "VR pods, bottomless soda, free snacks. You coming?"
Behind him came their usual group: Zhou Rui, pudgy with round glasses and a constantly worried expression; Han Jian, tall and broad-shouldered with a shaved head and serious face; and Chen Mingyu, the tallest, with silver-streaked hair and a smile that made him popular even with upperclassmen.
Yin Xin hesitated for just a second before his trademark smile appeared again.
"Na, not today," he said, slinging his bag over one shoulder. "You guys go ahead. I've got work."
Zhou Rui frowned, pushing up his glasses. "Again? Yin Xin, you've worked every day this week. Even Saturday."
"I'm used to it," Yin Xin said gently. "Besides, you know I've got bills to help with."
"You shouldn't be used to it," Han Jian muttered. "You're seventeen. You should be at arcades with us, not standing behind a counter until 10 p.m."
Chen Mingyu gave him a friendly pat on the back. "Don't burn yourself out, man. You'll collapse one of these days."
"I'll be fine," Yin Xin said, still smiling. "I'll join you next time. Promise."
He waved and turned away, stepping into the orange sunlight outside the classroom. The rays bathed him in gold as he walked down the hallway, tall and upright, though his bag hung heavy from his shoulders.
The four friends remained silent for a moment, staring after him.
"…You remember the funeral, right?" Zhou Rui finally said, softly.
"Yeah," Li Zihan nodded, voice low. "His dad died two years ago. Heart failure, they said. Sudden."
"He didn't cry," Han Jian said, as if still haunted by the memory. "He just… stood there. Holding his little sister's hand, keeping his mom steady. Like the adult in the family."
Chen Mingyu leaned against the wall. "I heard he started delivering newspapers that same month. Just fourteen back then."
"Last winter, I saw him handing out flyers near the subway station," Zhou Rui murmured. "It was freezing. His hands were red and cracked. But he smiled and gave me one like I was just another stranger."
Li Zihan sighed. "He fixed my bike chain last week. Wouldn't even let me treat him to a drink. Said I should save my money."
"He doesn't say anything. That's the worst part," Han Jian added. "He never complains. Just smiles and says he's okay."
"But he's not," Zhou Rui said. "No one could be."
A heavy silence settled among them. Around them, laughter and footsteps echoed—students talking about movies, video games, snacks, and weekend plans. It all felt distant now.
"He doesn't deserve this kind of life," Chen Mingyu muttered, fists clenched. "He's one of the kindest guys I've ever met."
"I forgot my lunch money once," Zhou Rui said suddenly. "He gave me his sandwich. Said he wasn't hungry. But he was. I saw the way he looked at the food in the canteen."
Li Zihan rubbed the back of his neck. "He's always helping people. Even when he has nothing to give."
The sunlight was fading now, slipping behind distant buildings. Shadows stretched long across the hallway.
"You know what gets me?" Han Jian said. "He's never asked for anything. Not once. No help. No pity. He just carries all of it—school, work, his family—like it's normal."
"That's what makes it worse," Chen Mingyu added. "He carries everything alone and still has the energy to be kind."
They all looked out the window at the disappearing figure of Yin Xin as he crossed the school gate, his back straight, heading toward the bus stop.
"Heaven's cruel to the kind ones," Zhou Rui whispered.
"Maybe that's why people like Yin Xin exist," Li Zihan murmured. "To remind us what real strength looks like."
The four stood in silence, shadows gathering around them.
Outside, Yin Xin stood at the edge of the street, watching cars blur past. The sky had turned a deep orange, streaked with clouds. His phone buzzed in his pocket—a reminder for work. He sighed and started walking toward the convenience store.
The weight on his shoulders wasn't just his bag. It was bills. The school fees. The rent they barely managed to pay each month. The absence of a father. The rejection of extended family. And the cold truth that there was no one else to carry it for him.
But he still smiled when an old woman asked for directions.
Still helped a toddler who dropped his toy on the bus.
Still bowed politely to every customer he served.
Because that's who he was.
Because if he crumbled, everything else would, too.
And so he carried it—quietly, alone, and always with a smile.