There were no gifts, no flowery wishes.
Just a careful "Happy Birthday," and Lu Siyu felt the urge to cry, her eyes brimming with acidity.
After so many years, so many days and nights, she missed him, awaited him, and despised him.
She longed for his sudden appearance, on her birthday or New Year's, every significant moment.
Unfortunately, he never did.
Disappointment mounted, and her heart grew colder.
"Just pretend he's already dead!"
She told herself silently.
But when he really stood before her, when he softly called out her name, when he wished her a happy birthday...
Lu Siyu felt the ice in her heart inch by inch melting.
Blood is thicker than water; how could she simply cut off and forget?
No matter how many years he was gone or what he had become, he still bore the name father.
She looked up, unwilling to meet the old man's gaze, and said indifferently, "Thank you."
After speaking, she turned and walked away.
