Miao Jing tugged at her dress, feeling her skin dried by the sweltering heat, only to be swiftly wrapped in the stifling sensation of a sticky plaster.
With no one to pick them up, the mother and daughter hailed a taxi, eventually getting off in a bustling residential area. Wei Mingzhen, holding Miao Jing’s hand with one hand and dragging a suitcase with the other, walked with her head held high toward a five-story residential building, amid the whispers and sidelong glances of passersby.
Miao Jing still remembered that scene—everyone stopped to stare. Her mother, with dyed blonde hair, wore a leopard-print dress, black stockings, and high-heeled sandals, strutting like a proud peacock. Miao Jing herself had her hair tied in a ponytail, the hairband adorned with two shiny, round pearls. She wore a white sleeveless dress with tiny purple floral patterns, a silk bow tied at the back, and a three-tiered skirt edged with a ruffled purple trim. When she looked in the mirror, even she was taken aback.
Wei Mingzhen led her to knock on the door of the second floor.
A man answered—slender and delicate, with a high nose bridge and large double eyelids. Seeing the mother and daughter, he smiled warmly and helped bring in the luggage. "You’re here. Welcome."
Wei Mingzhen discreetly nudged Miao Jing.
"Hello, Uncle."
"Ah, what a well-behaved child."
The apartment had two bedrooms and a living room. The two bedrooms faced east, the balcony faced west, and in between were the kitchen, bathroom, and living room—a fairly spacious layout. Having always lived in a single-story house, Miao Jing had never been in an apartment before. As she looked at the yellow wooden floor and the refrigerator outside the kitchen door, she felt a subtle unease.
In the bedroom, there was a white machine box with a keyboard and speakers, blaring loud music. Noticing Miao Jing’s curious gaze, Wei Mingzhen explained with pride, "Your Uncle Chen is a computer enthusiast. Once he sits in front of it, he can’t tear himself away."
Wei Mingzhen had spent a month familiarizing herself with the household and was already acting quite at home. With the air of a lady of the house, she instructed Miao Jing to change her shoes, wash her hands, and sit on the sofa. Then she went to the kitchen to boil water for tea, casually asking what to have for lunch—she could cook or they could eat out.
The man, very polite, turned on the TV and handed the remote to Miao Jing. He chatted with her briefly. His name was Chen Libin, an employee at the power supply bureau. His ex-wife had passed away a few years ago, and he had a son named Chen Yi, two years older than Miao Jing, currently in fourth grade. Since Miao Jing had come with Wei Mingzhen, Chen Libin would help with her transfer procedures, and she would attend the same elementary school as Chen Yi.
Miao Jing, her clear eyes wide open, nodded repeatedly, obediently saying, "Okay, I understand. Thank you, Uncle."
Before long, Chen Libin went into his room and sat in front of the computer. A little later, Wei Mingzhen brought him a cup of tea and leaned over the computer, perching on the arm of the chair. The two whispered a few words, then the door closed, leaving Miao Jing alone in the living room watching TV.
She carefully examined the house. The cleanliness was somewhat haphazard, but certain details hinted at clues—the teapot and cups were elegant and refined, the TV’s dust cover was hand-embroidered with delicate tassels, the walls were adorned with hazy, colorful paintings she couldn’t quite understand, and the dusty, empty cabinet held a few leftover cute porcelain dolls. In these small details, she could faintly sense the lingering presence of the former lady of the house.Wei Mingzhen came out of the room, smoothing her permed and dyed hair. Chen Libin was still sitting in front of the computer. Wei Mingzhen explained that he was trading stocks and asked Miao Jing if she wanted to go out with her—she was going downstairs to buy some prepared food. Miao Jing stared silently at the TV screen, only realizing belatedly when she heard the door close that her mother had already gone downstairs.
The first meal was eaten at home, with prepared dishes, stir-fries, and a bottle of baijiu. The table was set, and they were about to start eating when someone opened the door and came in. It was a boy, sweating profusely from playing. He stood at the entrance changing his shoes, glanced at the people in the room, blinked, but showed no sign of surprise. He casually picked up a bowl and sat down at the table.
He was a very good-looking boy, wearing a white short-sleeved shirt that was dusty and yellowed at the back. When his long eyelashes drooped, he inexplicably gave off a clean impression. But when he lifted his gaze, his eyes were unruly and hard as stone—clearly not someone to be trifled with among the kids.
"This is my son, Chen Yi."
"Hello, brother."
"Just call her Miao Jing."
Chen Yi chewed on a roasted chicken bone, his cheeks bulging, and spat the bone fragments onto the table with a careless, lawless air. Chen Libin kept his head down, sipping his wine slowly beside him. Wei Mingzhen smoothly steered the conversation elsewhere, urging the family to eat and drink.
At that time, Miao Jing wasn’t much to look at—her hair was dry and messy, her body thin and frail, and her demeanor resembled that of a numb, indifferent little old lady. But her eyes were beautiful, like a clear, tranquil spring, not as gaudy and flashy as Wei Mingzhen’s. Her nose and mouth also hinted at the beauty she would grow into, waiting to blossom as she matured.
Miao Jing was eight, and Chen Yi was only ten. Miao Jing was in second grade, Chen Yi in fourth. They were two years apart—actually less than two years, with only sixteen months between them. Chen Yi’s birthday was December 24th, a date remembered so clearly because Christmas Eve later became an unofficial Valentine’s Day in China. Miao Jing was born on April 19th, two years later. Chen Yi had started school a year earlier than her—rumor had it that during his elementary school entrance interview, he answered questions so brilliantly that he was allowed to enroll a year ahead of schedule.
There were only two bedrooms in the house, so Miao Jing had to share a room with Chen Yi. Fortunately, the room was rectangular and not too small. A single bed was moved in, with a desk placed between the two beds and a curtain drawn across. Miao Jing took the area by the window, while Chen Yi slept near the door. At night, once the curtain was drawn, it was a tolerable living arrangement. The other furniture in the room—the wardrobe and desk—were shared, divided equally and clearly demarcated.
After the adults had allocated the space, Miao Jing organized her few clothes and belongings and tried to put her stationery and notebooks into the drawer next to her bed. Chen Yi was also in the room. Seeing her open the desk drawer, he suddenly rushed over, his eyes cold and fierce, and kicked her hard in the calf. The pain made her tear up and curl into herself, her leg twisting awkwardly against the corner of the desk as she gasped in agony—only to have her mouth immediately and tightly covered by Chen Yi’s hand, muffling her cry.
Chen Libin and Wei Mingzhen were chatting in the living room. Miao Jing smelled the scent on his palm—rust, mud, sour garbage, grass roots, and roasted chicken, all mixed together in a repulsive, unbearable stench.
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