Three years after I died, my mother sent me twenty dollars for living expenses.

Three years before that—the first time I ever asked my family for money—she said to me, offhand, "Sometimes I think you're just putting on an act. What's so unsanitary about a thirty-cent boxed meal? And why can't you wear a five-dollar down jacket? Face it, you're just more high-maintenance than your little brother."

Later, when I needed twenty dollars to buy some cheap medicine for my stomachache, she blocked me immediately and cut off all contact—along with every relative we had.

"Don't contact me anymore. I'm clearly not a good mother. I can't afford to give my son a life of luxury."

But for my younger brother, who had just started high school, she spared no expense—renting him a three-bedroom apartment. Even the family dog got its own room.

In the end, on the day my brother became the top scorer in the state, she finally remembered me. She took me off her block list and transferred twenty dollars.

"It's only twenty dollars. Was it really worth giving your family the silent treatment for three whole years?"

What she never knew was this—

On the night my stomach ruptured, three years ago, I had already died. I couldn't afford to go to the hospital. I froze to death in the snow.

At that moment, my mother was being swarmed by reporters outside our front door, all because my younger brother had become the top scorer in the state.

If no one had mentioned me, she probably would have forgotten she even had another son.

So, after three years, she finally deigned to remove me from her blacklist and symbolically transferred twenty dollars for my living expenses.

When no reply came from the other side, her expression instantly darkened. Her fingers hammered against the phone, the sharp tapping echoing her irritation.

[Say something. Don't act like you're dead.]

[If you don't want it, then return it.]

Those cold, cutting words dragged me back to that bone-chilling night in the snow.

I wanted to tell her that I was already dead—that I had frozen to death in the cheap down jacket she bought me.

Winter in the north is brutally cold. So cold that, after failing to secure a hospital bed, I merely closed my eyes for a moment—and never opened them again.

But now, no one could hear my voice anymore.

Having lost patience, my mother finally dialed my number.

The next second, she froze in disbelief.

My phone had long since been deactivated due to unpaid bills. As the automated, emotionless message played on the other end, a flicker of panic crossed beneath her tightly furrowed brow.

She immediately sent me a message, demanding an explanation.

[Oh, so now you've even changed your number without telling your family?]

[All for the sake of twenty dollars?!]

Her furious outburst instantly piqued the reporters' curiosity.

But before any microphones could be thrust forward, my sharp-eyed younger brother stepped in to interrupt.

Facing the camera, he pressed his lips together and spoke, "My brother has a stubborn temper. Because my mom didn't give him pocket money one time, he's been at odds with the family for three whole years.

"In all that time, he hasn't come home once. He hasn't even made a single phone call to our parents."

At the height of his performance, he sniffed hard, then slowly lifted his head at just the most pitiful angle.

"If possible… I'd like to apologize to my brother on my mom's behalf."

My mother stared at him for a moment, stunned—then immediately caught on, her eyes reddening on cue. She took the blame upon herself without hesitation.

"If anyone's at fault, it's me for being incapable. I couldn't give your brother a life above others. It's all because I'm useless."

With that, she burst into loud sobs in front of millions of viewers.

Her grief-stricken display instantly filled the livestream with a flood of insults—all of them directed at me.

But in the face of it all, I felt nothing. After all, ever since that snowy night three years ago, I had been bound by some unseen force to this mother and son—forced to watch as my mother used the tuition she claimed she couldn't afford to rent a three-bedroom apartment.

With the twenty dollars she had saved from me, she bought my brother a pet dog.

She even worried the dog wouldn't have enough space to run in the living room, so she converted one of the bedrooms into a room just for it.

After that, she took on three jobs at once, all so my brother could eat crab and lobster to "build his health."

And all the suffering she endured because of it… somehow became my fault.

Time and again, she would sigh to my brother, "If only your brother were more sensible, I wouldn't have to work so hard."

That night, I cried until I had no tears left.

Only then did I understand that no matter how much I scrimped and saved, no matter how I tried to use what little I had to make her happy, in her heart, I would never measure up to a simple fruit-peeling knife my brother had given her over a decade ago.

By now, I was utterly disappointed in them. Nothing they did could hurt me anymore. All I wanted was to be reborn soon—to sever this twisted, unbearable bond of family once and for all.

But before the nausea festering in my heart could even settle, my mother did something even more shocking next.

To cast herself as the victim, my mother actually began slapping her own face in public.

Clutching her swollen cheek, her voice trembling, she said, "Nicolas, this is my fault. Didn't you want money? I have plenty now—so much money! I'll transfer it to you right away!"

As she spoke, she shakily sent me five thousand dollars.

Then, with a look of utter submission, she dropped to her knees with a loud thud.

"I really know I was wrong. Please… please forgive me."

The livestream exploded with outrage.

[Calling him unfilial before was giving him too much credit.]

[Unfilial? He's a damn animal!]

[Making his own mother kneel and beg? Isn't he afraid of karma?!]

The scene felt eerily familiar, dragging me back to the beginning of the school year.

Back then, she had clearly known I wouldn't accept a large transfer—yet she insisted on sending me two thousand dollars anyway, urging me not to mistreat myself.

"Eat whatever you want. It's just the family's savings. If it's gone, Mom will just earn more."

Watching her clutch that stack of wrinkled cash, I felt like I couldn't breathe.

Without hesitation, I returned the transfer and chose the two dollars in her hand instead.

After that, even when I couldn't afford a 30-cent boxed meal, I didn't dare ask her for a single cent.

That same night, I became the biggest joke in class—digging through trash bins for bottles to sell.

And yet, fate has a cruel sense of humor.

While I was waiting for my part-time job to pay me, I suddenly suffered a gastric perforation. Curled up in the snow outside the hospital, my absurd life came to an end.

Now, without any response from me, my mother cried even harder. She kept turning to my brother, asking, "Why isn't your brother accepting it? Does he think it's not enough? Does he think I'm a useless mother?"

The flood of insults surged, threatening to swallow me whole.

[My god! What kind of monster holds a grudge against his mother for three years over a little pocket money?!]

[When I was in college, I didn't even have the heart to ask my family for living expenses.]

[Please! Can children like this just stop reincarnating? Don't come torment mothers like us!]

[This is terrifying—I don't even dare to have kids anymore!]

[No wonder his brother's a top scorer and he isn't. Born rotten to the core!]

What they didn't know was that this so-called "rotten seed" had missed his chance at becoming the top scorer because of the very woman standing before them. That year, in the state-wide mock exams, I—who had always ranked near the top—finally took first place overall.

Even my homeroom teacher couldn't help but marvel that a student of his might actually be a state top scorer.

But on the very day I brought my results home to share the good news, my father was suddenly in a car accident. His skull was fractured, his left hand shattered beyond repair, and seven of his ribs were broken.

The fact that he survived at all was nothing short of a miracle.

Afraid that my mother would suffer too much caring for him alone, I went online to learn basic nursing skills.

To keep up with my studies, I nearly ran myself into the ground—often clutching my textbooks during self-study periods while rushing to the hospital to relieve her so she could rest.

But one night, simply because I didn't offer her the first bite of my takeout, she rolled her eyes and began her passive-aggressive tirade.

"You really don't know how to care about others. With how selfish you are, do you even have a single friend at school?"

For a moment, I thought the takeout I'd ordered for them earlier hadn't arrived yet. But when I saw the untouched containers, I realized—she just didn't like the burger and fries.

I was about to order her favorite mac and cheese, but she waved me off impatiently.

"Forget it. Those with a heart don't need to be taught. Those without one never learn. In this world, the only one who truly cares about your father and me is your younger brother."

My whole body trembled with anger as I tried to argue back, but she cut me off first.

"Oh my, my son's all grown up now. Can't even say a word to him anymore.

"I was just testing you. Did you really think I cared about that bit of takeout? Fine. If I can't provoke you, I'll just leave. I'll go."

With that, she grabbed her bag with a haughty expression and left for her parents' house with my brother.

They were gone for two full months. I had no choice but to take leave from school and stay by my father's side day and night.

But even as I held out the soup I had painstakingly bought, my father sighed, "If only your mom and your brother were here."

That day, my fingers clenched so tightly they turned white, the joints cracking with pain. I wanted to scream. And yet, I forced myself to endure that lightless stretch of time.

Until the day of the nationwide exams.

Only then did the mother and son finally return to the hospital, heavier than before, carrying bags full of new clothes.

And the exhaustion I had accumulated over those two months finally caught up with me—I collapsed unconscious halfway through the last exam.

My score ended up more than a hundred points below my usual performance, barely scraping past the cutoff for a first-tier university.

Thinking of it now, an indescribable feeling wraps tightly around me.

The next moment, a well-dressed woman stepped forward and handed my mother a business card.

"Hi, I'm a casting director from Entopia TV. We're currently working on a show about parent-child relationships. I was wondering… would you let us help your hopeless oldest son turn his life around before it's too late?"

As my mother stared at the business card being offered, she hadn't even had time to react before my younger brother snatched it away.

Facing the camera, tears streamed down his face.

"That would be wonderful."

I had to admit—my mother had raised him well. With his sharp, handsome features, it didn't take long for netizens to crown him the "most handsome top scorer."

[Ahhh! Am I the only one obsessed with his profile?!]

[He's ridiculously good-looking—he could rival some celebs! Has he ever thought about making a living off his face?]

[Sob… with looks like that, and still working so hard…]

[Is this even fair?! Compared to him, I'm basically a useless slacker…]

The attention came pouring in. Even advertisers began extending offers to him.

With such momentum, the production team naturally wasn't going to let it slip away. They quickly decided the program would be broadcast live.

But on the day filming was set to begin, my mother hesitated. Looking at my brother, she spoke with unease, "Are we going too far with this? No matter what your brother did, I'm still his mother. What if he gets labeled unfilial and ends up being attacked online?"

Her eyes suddenly reddened as she looked at the table full of dishes.

"Your brother used to love these smashed potatoes the most. But no one has touched this dish for three years now. I wonder how he's been all these years, out there on his own…"

I couldn't help but laugh. Compared to the lavish spread of meat dishes, that small plate of smashed potatoes sitting at the edge of the table looked utterly insignificant.

The truth was—I didn't like smashed potatoes at all.

I hated them. I only ate them because I wanted to save the meat dishes for last to eat.

But every time I blinked, the rich, savory dishes would somehow end up in my brother's bowl.

And my mother would laugh as she mocked me, saying I had no taste.

"There's so much meat on the table, and you're clinging to a plate of smashed potatoes like it's a delicacy."

After that, even when she visited me from our hometown, she would always cook endless smashed potatoes for me.

It wasn't that she didn't know I liked meat. She just didn't want to admit the favoritism in her heart.

So when she heard the production team had failed to find me, she quickly set aside her earlier concerns and happily went on the show.

When the host asked, "In your heart, what kind of person is your eldest son?"

She actually paused to think seriously.

Then she said, "Well… sometimes I think he is rather stingy. And a bit pretentious."

Her earnest, slightly pouting expression sent the livestream into fits of laughter.

[Hahaha, what a character this old lady is!]

[Saying her own son is pretentious with a straight face—this is too funny.]

[She's hilarious!]

[If she were my mom, I'd treat her like a queen. Life must be so fun with her around!]

[Am I the only one who feels sorry for her?]

[As a mother, how heartbroken must she be to describe her own son like that?]

Even the staff on set couldn't help but smile, commenting that my mother had great "show presence" and that she felt authentic.

But in the next second, my brother suddenly burst into tears.

The lively atmosphere froze.

When the host pressed him, he waved it off, forcing a brave smile.

"It's nothing. I just… feel sorry for my mom."

The perfectly timed restraint only fueled speculation.

Viewers began to wonder what I, the so-called unfilial son, had done to make this usually strong, "most handsome top scorer" break down again and again.

Then, as if on cue, he brought me up himself, his eyes reddening at the corners.

"Actually… I feel sorry for my brother too. I don't know how he's been all these years, cut off from the family. I'm really afraid he might have gone down the wrong path."

That single sentence lit a spark among the audience.

[Exactly!]

[He was used to spending freely—how did he even survive after losing his main financial support?]

[Don't tell me he suddenly turned over a new leaf and became self-reliant?]

[Come on, don't make me laugh—self-reliant?]

[Isn't it obvious? A lazy guy like that probably became a gigolo.]

[Please—if he's ugly, don't insult that profession.]

[Wow, did this family show just crack a major case?]

Their baseless slander spread like a grotesque feast. They didn't know me at all, yet cloaked in righteousness, they condemned me without hesitation.

In an instant, despair wrapped tightly around me. I screamed myself hoarse, trying to defend myself—but no one could hear a single word.

The next moment, mother and son turned to the camera together.

"Nicolas, no matter what you've done out there, we're still your family. Once you start serving time, reflect on yourself and start over. We'll be waiting for you."

But before they could finish, the host interrupted, "Although we weren't able to invite Nicolas Soros today, we have brought in a special guest. And this guest has also brought two items on behalf of your son."

At the director's cue, a solemn-looking woman walked onto the stage.

I froze in shock.

How… could it be her…

As the first "gift" was presented, my mother's expression instantly stiffened.

It was a thin sheet of paper. The words on it were so clear that she stood there, unable to react for a long time.

And when the second item was slowly revealed, my brother suddenly went mad, lunging at her with a hoarse scream.

"No—don't!"