share time: 2025-11-19 06:01:17
Lin Xiaoman, a career-obsessed ad planner, took her boyfriend Chen Mo’s silent devotion for granted—daily soft-boiled eggs with runny yolks, hot milk after overtime, even date cakes baked perfectly for her period. She never valued it until her birthday: she stood him up for a pitch, hung up on his third call mid-sentence ("Xiaoman, I…") and snapped, "Stop being clingy." When she got home at midnight, the hallway light was on, her favorite mango mousse on the table, and a note: "I’m leaving." Chen Mo vanished—no texts, empty apartment, even the breakfast shop owner said, "Chen Mo said he won’t buy eggs anymore." Xiaoman initially felt relieved, until she found his stomach cancer diagnosis and three-year diary: "Today she liked my ginger tea; I hid painkillers so she wouldn’t know I hurt." "She wants a beach wedding—I checked Sanya hotels for when her project ends." "Doc says I have two months left; I don’t want her to see me bald…" When she found Chen Mo, he sat on their favorite beach bench, skinny with prominent collarbones, holding a warm mango mousse: "It’s not melted." Xiaoman threw herself at him, sobbing: "Why didn’t you tell me?" Chen Mo wiped her tears, fingers cold as winter milk: "I was scared you’d cry, scared all you’d remember is me in a hospital bed…" The sea wind lifted his shirt, and Xiaoman remembered their first meeting three years ago—he squatted to help her pick up scattered files, sunlight on his face: "I’m Chen Mo; I’ll help you carry files from now on." Now his voice faded: "Xiaoman, I love you so much…"
mute, 2x speed, if you want to adjust, please click the controller bar to adjust
02:03:49
full video
full video
