After the real son, Asher Vale, was brought back, everything in our house became tied to drawing lots.

The chef of the day, who would have to cook a particular person's preferred dishes, had to be decided by drawing lots. Even our parents' kisses and hugs were chosen the same way.

I always drew the short stick. The long stick, by default, belonged to Asher. He never had to do anything to receive our parents' love.

Whenever I felt it was unfair and wanted to cry, Mom would scold me sharply, "I bought the lot-drawing box because I was afraid you'd feel hurt. I wanted to be fair to both of you. If you want something, decide it yourselves. Your father and I won't interfere. If you can't draw the long stick, you can only blame your bad luck."

So I began practicing every day, shaking the box diligently, over and over, in hopes that one day, it would help me earn my parents' love.

Unfortunately, for ten years, I never once drew the long stick.

Until my birthday.

Asher wanted to go to the amusement park, and Mom once again told us to decide by drawing lots.

I secretly glued the two short sticks together and handed them to Mom, hoping to keep her with me.

She slapped me hard across the face, screaming that I was cheating and disobedient. Then she stormed out of the house with Asher.

When I fell to the ground, the short stick stabbed deep into my neck.

'I'm sorry, Mom. Next time, I'll work harder. Next time, I'll definitely draw the long stick.'

Something warm flowed down the back of my neck, slipping along my hair and dripping outward.

The floor was getting dirty. Mom would be even angrier if she saw that.

I wanted to wipe it away, but my whole body felt light, as if I were floating in midair.

That was when I realized that I was already dead.

I knew what death was. When I was seven, Grandma had also lain on the floor like this and died.

That day, she and Mom had a huge fight. Grandma had pointed at her and screamed, calling her a self-righteous lunatic.

"You either love a child, or you don’t. Why are you hiding behind this lottery nonsense? If you don’t want Silas Vale, I’ll take him back to the countryside right now. Otherwise, throw away that damned lottery box and love both children together!"

Mom had sneered back coldly. "How I love my children is none of your business. I love both of them, of course. But there will always be bias. That can’t be controlled.

"That’s exactly why I bought the lottery box to truly be fair. If they want something, they rely on their own luck. Their father and I won’t interfere. If he can’t draw the long stick, that just means he’s unlucky."

Grandma then collapsed onto the floor from rage and never woke up again.

After that, Mom’s lottery-based parenting only grew more extreme.

If there were two eggs at home, Mom would still make Asher Vale and me draw lots. When I drew the short stick, the long stick naturally belonged to Asher, so both eggs went to him.

At mealtimes, we drew lots too. I drew the short stick, so every dish cooked was something Asher liked, even though I was allergic to several of them.

Mom would sigh helplessly and say, "Rules are rules. There’s nothing I can do. You drew the short stick."

Even when I had a fever of 39 degrees Celsius and cried, begging her to hold me, Mom still insisted we draw lots. When I pulled out the short stick again, she smoothly turned and hugged Asher instead. "Silas, your luck really is terrible."

My entire life was spent drawing lots. Even after I died, I was still thinking about drawing lots.

When Grandma was buried, her coffin was large and spacious. Mom had bought it herself.

Outsiders all praised Mom for being filial and kind. I wanted Mom to be kind to me, too.

I had slept in the same bed for five years. When I lay down, my legs couldn’t even fully stretch out. That was also the result of drawing the short stick.

I wanted to go find Mom and ask her to draw lots for me. If I were lucky enough to draw the long stick this time, she would definitely agree to buy me a bigger coffin.

My soul drifted toward the door.

Suddenly, footsteps sounded outside. My eyes lit up.

Then I saw Mom push the door open.

"Mom!"

I rushed toward her in excitement, but Mom walked straight through my body and kept going.

Only then did I realize that I could no longer touch her.

I followed behind her and carefully voiced what I wanted to say. She couldn’t hear me, and she hadn’t come back out of concern for me.

She had forgotten to take the car keys.

When her gaze fell on the bedroom door, I panicked like a child who had done something wrong and hurried to explain, "I didn’t mean to die. I also dirtied the house. I’m sorry, Mom. I will—"

My voice fell, crestfallen. "I can’t help clean anymore. I… I’m already dead…"

Mom stopped at the bedroom door. Her tone was casual, almost careless. "So you don’t even come out to greet me now that I’m back? You’ve really grown up. Got a temper too, even daring to give me the cold shoulder."

Then she added flatly, "But let me tell you, sulking is useless. You were unlucky and drew the short stick. You can’t blame anyone else for that."

When I still didn’t open the door, Mom grew irritated and twisted the doorknob.

At that moment, Asher ran in. "Mom, hurry up! The amusement park is about to open!"

Mom gave up on entering the bedroom. She picked up the car keys and headed out impatiently. "We’ll be out until night. We won’t be back for dinner. Have the roast drumstick on the table for dinner. Don’t say I’m unfair.

"Asher didn’t eat it either. And this time, I didn’t even make you draw lots. That’s already me favoring you."

The roast chicken on the table was something Asher had left over from yesterday.

When Mom came back from the supermarket yesterday, she had only bought that single drumstick. She made Asher and me draw lots, and I drew the short stick again.

I hadn’t eaten meat in a long time. I was craving it so badly that I reached out and touched it.

Mom slapped the back of my hand red and scolded me harshly, "Have you forgotten all the rules? You drew the short stick. The drumstick belongs to Asher. It has nothing to do with you. Touch it again, and I’ll chop your hand off.

"I’ve never seen anyone as greedy as you. It’s like I’ve been starving you every day."

Today, she had actually told me to eat it. Mom was really kind.

I was so happy that I forgot I was only a soul now. I couldn’t touch the drumstick at all.

A stray cat leaped in through the window and snatched it away. When it hissed at me aggressively, I couldn’t stop it.

I could only squat in the corner, heartbroken. I didn’t know how much time passed before Mom, Dad, and Asher came back. Every one of them looked happy.

"Mom, the panda was so big and fluffy! I liked it so much. Mom, will you buy me one?"

Mom doted on Asher, kissing his forehead as she reprimanded him lightly, "Do you think I have that kind of money?"

Asher hummed and stepped back. "Don’t kiss me yet. We haven’t drawn lots. If Silas sees it, he’ll cry again and say it’s unfair. Maybe he’s already hiding in the bedroom, crying. Today’s his birthday, after all."

Mom glanced at the table where the drumstick was gone. She let out a faint, indifferent snort, her tone firm and certain.

"If he can draw the long stick, I’ll kiss him too. Too bad his luck is horrible. He didn’t draw it. And he already ate the drumstick on the table. He’s just deliberately not coming out. Silas is narrow-minded. Don’t bother with him."

No one could see me, so they didn't know I had already died in the bedroom.

Mom started preparing supper. She raised her voice strangely and shouted toward my bedroom.

"Silas, are you sure you're not coming out to draw lots? Then I’ll make food Asher likes. Don’t cry later and say it’s unfair."

Dad, who was watching TV, said impatiently, "Why bother with him? If he’s not drawing, then so be it. Just make what Asher likes and let him sulk.

"We raised him for so many years. If he’s not grateful, that’s one thing. Now he’s even picking fights with us. Ungrateful brat."

I stood there and thought.

Even if we drew lots, so what? For ten years, the table had always been filled with food Asher liked.

I could only gnaw on dry, plain rice, but Mom and Dad didn’t let me starve to death, did they?

In the end, Mom still made the dishes Asher liked.

The three of them sat together, talking and laughing. They looked happy and harmonious, like a family.

I felt a little lonely, so I drifted closer to Mom.

That was when I noticed a cake sitting on the chair beside her.

I smugly showed it off to the stray cat crouched by the window. "See that? Mom and Dad bought me a cake. They didn’t forget that today is my birthday."

The stray cat glanced at me, as if mocking me.

Mom handed the cake to Asher, saying she had bought it especially because he wanted to eat it. As if afraid I might hear, she even lowered her voice, "Take it to the bedroom and eat it secretly. Otherwise, if Silas finds out, he’ll cry to me again."

I had only cried that one time, yet Mom repeated that line for ten whole years. Actually, I wasn’t that sad because I knew that even if we drew lots, I would only ever draw the short stick. I had terrible luck. The cake would still go to Asher.

"I’ve never eaten cake before," I said to the stray cat. "Have you?"

Suddenly, it leaped inside, swiped a paw, knocked the cake out of Asher’s hands, and bolted away.

Asher’s hand ended up with a scratch. He burst into tears.

Mom lashed out in anger, grabbing a vase and smashing it hard against my bedroom door.

"Silas! Did you do this on purpose to hurt Asher? If you’re at home, why didn’t you close the window?"

When I still didn’t come out and open the door, Mom completely lost her temper. She was about to keep going when Dad grabbed her.

"That’s enough. Stop worrying about him. Take Asher to the hospital first. We’ll deal with him when we get back."

By the time they returned, it was already past midnight.

Mom and Dad knocked on my door together. When there was still no movement inside, they finally lost all patience.

Dad went to get a hammer, preparing to break the door down.

In the end, the neighbors complained, and they stopped after yelling a few insults from outside.

Mom bought Asher a new pair of sneakers. He spun around, showing them off.

"I cried when I got my shot. Mom felt bad for me, so she took me to buy new sneakers and have steak. You’ve never eaten steak, right? Well, that’s because you have such bad luck.

"If you had drawn the long stick, Mom would’ve taken you to eat steak and buy you new sneakers, too."

My blood seeped out through the crack under the door. Asher stepped on it and slipped, falling to the ground. He wailed loudly, drawing Mom and Dad over immediately.

"What’s going on? Where did all this blood come from?" Dad stared at the crack under the door, shocked and panicked.

"It looks like it’s coming from Silas’s room. Silas…"

His suspicion was cut off by Asher’s crying.

"I just wanted to show Silas my new sneakers. He told me to get lost. That’s my blood. My head hurts so much."

Mom exploded. She kicked the door furiously.

"Silas, come out right now! You made Asher bleed this much and you still dare to hide in there!"

This time, Mom really wanted to break the door open. Each kick was harder than the last.

I was repeatedly struck by the door until my body was mangled beyond recognition. I wondered, if they saw me like this, would they be afraid?

Nevertheless, the door still didn’t break.

Mom had no choice but to go bandage Asher first. As she left, she cursed me under her breath.

That wasn’t the first time Asher had framed me. Ever since we were little, whenever he made a mistake, he would cry first and say it was my fault.

Mom was very fair.

Every time, she would say that regardless of who was right or wrong, we would draw lots first.

Whoever drew the short stick would be punished, and every single time, I was the one who got beaten.

If I were still alive, what would the punishment be this time? Locked in the attic with no food or water? Or made to stand outside in the rain all night?

I drifted downstairs.

Then I noticed something. Tears burst out of my eyes.

At last, I understood why, for ten years, I had never once drawn the long stick.