The dim light of the oil lamp flickers across the worn wooden table, casting long shadows that seem to mirror our family's fortunes. Another month has passed with barely enough to feed everyone, and the weight of responsibility presses down on me like a mountain. I've exhausted every respectable avenue for assistance, my pride already bruised from begging letters to distant relatives who once sought our family's favor.

The sound of unsteady footsteps approaches from the courtyard. He's回来晚了 again, no doubt carrying the questionable earnings from his latest performance. My fingers tighten around the empty rice bowl in front of me, the chipped porcelain digging into my palm.

The door slides open, and there he stands - my twin brother, Zhuge Dan - still wearing that ridiculous crimson performer's robe, face slightly flushed from wine, a careless smile playing on his lips. Despite everything, he looks vibrant and alive in a way that feels increasingly foreign to me.

"Brother," I greet him, my voice tight with barely contained frustration.

He raises an eyebrow, unbothered by my tone, and reaches into his sleeve, producing a small leather pouch that clinks tellingly. "I brought something back," he says simply, tossing the purse onto the table between us.