The late summer rainstorm battered against the rusted tin window ledge, water seeping through wall cracks to stain the yellowed wallpaper with dark brown blotches. Lin Mo hunched over on a creaking wooden chair, stuffing towels into drafty window gaps, but nothing could stop the damp mildew from permeating the cramped room - this was the cheapest rental in the northern tenement's top floor, three hundred yuan a month with no heating, cockroaches skittering in corners, the hallway perpetually reeking of neighbors' cheap tobacco.
His gaze fell on the desk lamp. The scorched yellow lampshade framed a flickering tungsten bulb humming its death rattle. Beneath this faltering light, his sweat-dampened math test papers lay crumpled. The red-circled "73 Days" on the college entrance exam countdown calendar hung like a guillotine looming overhead.
"Mo, drink the ginger tea."
Mother Wang Xiulan's voice emerged from behind the floral curtain, muffling a cough. She hunched forward, pushing aside faded fabric with cracked fingertips clutching an enamel bowl - ginger shreds settled at the bottom, scavenged from market stalls at closing time. When Lin Mo took the bowl, the burning heat of her hand shocked him.
"Ma, you're feverish again?" He jerked upright, chair legs screeching against concrete.
"Old troubles. Hot water'll fix it." She turned away, tugging threadbare sleeves over the IV bruises on her wrists. Her gray-blue work uniform bore cafeteria grease stains, the collar eroded by bleach into a gaping hole like a silent screaming mouth.
Lin Mo's Adam's apple bobbed. He knew her lie. Last week's clinic visit after her night-shift collapse still haunted him - "Chronic kidney failure... needs hospitalization..." The five thousand yuan deposit equaled six months' living expenses.
Thunder cracked outside.
Through torrential rain, the luxury ads on the mall's LED screen across the street glittered coldly, diamond necklaces refracting light that danced with raindrops plinking into the enamel basin catching roof leaks. Lin Mo's pencil gouged the practice test as he clenched it tighter.
"Ding-"
The Nokia brick phone beneath his bed frame vibrated. A text from his homeroom teacher: "Confirm municipal math competition slot. 200 yuan fee due tomorrow."
He stared until the screen's blue glow died. In the drawer's depths lay three crumpled hundred-yuan bills - Mother's "emergency fund" hidden in the rice jar, untouched even when the water heater broke last week.
"You must compete!" Wang Xiulan materialized behind him, skeletal hand halting his search through the piggy bank. "I'll take two more cleaning jobs tomorrow."
"But Aunt Liu said you nearly fell washing windows today—"
"Smash!"
The ceramic bank shattered on the table, coins cascading. Her eyes burned in the gloom: "Your father died clutching your perfect test paper, having skipped treatment to save ten yuan. If you quit over money, you're spitting on his grave!"
Lin Mo's nails bit his palms.
He counted 197.8 yuan: 78 coins, 19 crumpled bills, two candy wrappers Mother mistook for currency. The missing 2.2 yuan was tomorrow's breakfast shaobing money.
The rain intensified.
He grabbed the plastic poncho and plunged into the storm. Passing barbecue stalls three blocks away, cumin smoke and drunkards' laughter assaulted him. Beneath a neon sign, the convenience store owner tossed expired bento boxes into trash.
"Uncle Zhang, can I have those?" Lin Mo's voice drowned in rain.
The man eyed his dripping uniform pants, suddenly grinned: "Move my stockroom goods, take all the expired meals you want."
At 2 AM, Lin Mo dragged aching arms home.
Wang Xiulan slumped asleep over the sewing machine, half-mended school uniforms beside her - five mao per piece for garment factory repairs. As he quietly placed salvaged meals in the steamer, he noticed blood seeping through the expired pain patches on her neck - bought in bulk from scrap yards, some hardened beyond use.
He pulled out the competition form. Through thunder's roar, he bit his index finger and scrawled in blood on its back:
"Lin Mo, you will claw your way out."
As blood bloomed like ink, lightning flashed to illuminate the mall screen's news segment: "Junyao Group CEO Gu Changfeng attends charity gala." The suited man accepted an award, his wristwatch's glare stinging Lin Mo's eyes like shattered glass.
As Lin Mo tucked the blood-written vow between the pages of his math textbook, the sewing machine suddenly clattered. He turned to see his mother's fingers twitching in sleep, clawing at phantom fabric, her cracked lips murmuring: "Mo's suit... must look proper for graduation..." Flickering light from the outdoor ad screen crawled across her sunken cheeks, etching every wrinkle like knife scars. Clenching his bleeding index finger, he heard his own teeth chattering—not from cold, but terror. Terror that he wouldn't climb fast enough, that this poverty-ravaged body might crumble before he could fulfill his promise.