There were traces of someone having tidied up the hospital room, but it was still clear that it had been a mess not long before. No wonder Chang Xiaosui had those red marks on her neck. It was a good thing Shi Cainran wasn’t a paparazzo, or they’d have needed rabies shots too.
Xie Yingnian walked to the bedside and picked up the plush doll from the floor along the way.
“Cainran, is it okay to put it here?”
There was an L-shaped sofa against the wall that no one really used. Xie Yingnian thought piling everything on the stone ledge by the bay window would block too much light. She hoped Shi Cainran could get some sun without even getting out of bed.
The room’s heating was on full blast. Xie Yingnian had taken off her coat as soon as she came in, and now her brown-gray sweater revealed a sliver of waist as she bent down.
After calling her “Sis,” Shi Cainran had kept watching the woman bustle about. Her gaze held no emotion, yet lingered so long it almost seemed affectionate. That glimpse of tattooed skin flashed by, and it took Shi Cainran back to that night—the great fire.
The acrid smoke, thick with the stench of burning, had choked the air. Flames burst right in front of her eyes with a bang, instantly igniting the homework notebooks and study guides that Xie Yingnian had neatly organized for her little sister.
The cozy little room, full of everyday life, was swallowed by the inferno. Shi Cainran, barefoot in her camisole nightgown, screamed for Mama at the top of her lungs. No one answered. She sobbed for her sister. Still nothing.
Her mouth and nose filled with smoke, her breathing grew harder and harder. The air scorched her lungs. At twelve years old, Shi Cainran could barely move an inch. She finally collapsed by the window—she’d been trying to jump to safety—but a beam that had broken loose from the structure crashed down on her. Half-conscious, she was jolted awake by the searing pain in her legs. It went on like that, over and over. She couldn’t move, yet somehow she wouldn’t die.
The restaurant, which had stood deep in the alleyway for over twenty years, was reduced to nothing. It even took out a few neighboring shops. If they’d discovered it later, the whole block might have gone up.
The buildings were packed tight, old and rundown. The homemade additions used tons of wood—wherever the fire touched, it found fuel. Every doorway had junk piled up haphazardly, and a tricycle blocked the alley mouth. The fire truck had to clear a path just to get in.
Deep into the night, neighbors gathered in front of the ruins, chattering away.
They said heaven had no eyes, that good folks got no reward. Shi Jianguo and Liang Sufen had fostered a child for years—shouldn’t that have earned them some good karma? Yet their lives just kept getting worse.
Shi Jianguo had died in a car crash years earlier. Liang Sufen, a widow with two kids, ran a restaurant in an out-of-the-way spot. The place was tiny, with living quarters upstairs. She made do with whatever the alley locals could spare to keep food on the table.
Then residents moved out, old customers drifted away and rarely came back. Liang Sufen was getting on in years, her energy no match for the young bloods. Her taste buds dulled too—her cooking just wasn’t what it used to be. With competition popping up, business slid downhill.
Someone else chimed in that Xie Yingnian wasn’t some ungrateful wretch. After Shi Jianguo passed, she’d pitched in at the shop all the time. Hadn’t she quit school before? Liang Sufen chased her down the street with a broom for it. Those legs of hers flew, leaping and scrambling like a monkey, scaling walls and trees.
Hey, wasn’t it her who rushed in to save someone? Was it her, Xiaosui…?
Chang Xiaosui was there too, and she remembered it clear as day. It was the night after Gaokao ended. Friends had planned an all-nighter. Xie Yingnian showed up late, saying she’d argued with Liang Sufen. It was about her refusing college to start working and help make ends meet.
“Auntie Liang just wants the best for you,” a friend consoled her. “With your grades, med school would make you a doctor—what could be more respectable?”
Xie Yingnian stayed calm.
It wasn’t a shouting match with red faces and bulging veins. Outgoing by nature, she was born even-tempered. Her discussions starting with “I want” only stirred up waves of emotion in Liang Sufen because the older woman knew her too well. It wasn’t negotiation—it was declaration, the stubborn resolve she’d buried after too many rejections.
Shi Jianguo had gone early. That year, Xie Yingnian seemed to go through a growth spurt of sorts, reining in her wild side. After school, she no longer fooled around. She’d help Liang Sufen in the kitchen or tutor Shi Cainran.
Xie Yingnian had always been the righteous type. She’d chased off little thugs trying to harass Chang Xiaosui. When a kid by the roadside cried that her shuttlecock was stuck in a tree, Xie Yingnian—tall for her age with springs for legs—jumped and grabbed it. She squatted down to hand it to the girl with the sky-high pigtails, then yanked it back, demanding a sweet “Sis” first.
The kid wailed in terror. Guilty and awkward, not knowing how to soothe her, Xie Yingnian shared her Mailisu lozenges—the ones she’d bought for her sister. Back home, it was Shi Cainran doing the crying.
Sis. Nian Jie. That’s what everyone called her.
Shi Cainran called her Sis too—a habit from over a decade that Xie Yingnian couldn’t let go of.
After junior high, Xie Yingnian wanted to drop out. Anything beyond that wasn’t free anymore. Chang Xiaosui asked her, “Have you ever taken responsibility for yourself?”
Chang Xiaosui’s grandma grew flowers all over the rooftop. The two of them perched fearlessly on the windowsill, gazing out at the tangled web of wires crisscrossing the alleyway. Birds perched on them, the air thick with floral scent under brilliant sun.
Xie Yingnian wore faded jeans and spotless canvas shoes. The wind whipped strong, fluttering her shirt tails. She swung her legs and let out an “Ah,” saying, “I am responsible. I never did all that rebellious stuff you guys pulled.”
Chang Xiaosui, with her hair dyed every color under the sun, rolled her eyes dramatically.
Over the years, she’d figured her out. Xie Yingnian was a bleeding heart through and through—brash and bold on the outside, soft as butter within. Her foster parents seemed to have passed on those genes; she even acted more like their blood daughter than Shi Cainran did.
Everyone knew the family situation. Arguing further was pointless. Chang Xiaosui clinked her beer against the edge of the grilled fish pot, signaling the group. “Hey, why spoil escaping the grind with this? We’re all going our separate ways soon—no more hangouts. Let’s just drink and chat…”
They ate, drank, and partied till nearly ten. Xie Yingnian started to worry. She’d texted Shi Cainran earlier about barbecue—the shop had a Gaokao promo. That little glutton should’ve replied by now. She wouldn’t crash this early.
“Holy shit, is that fire over there? Hey, Nian Jie, isn’t that your family’s restaurant…?”
Xie Yingnian shot to her feet. Chang Xiaosui was quick too—she dropped her grilled skewers and bolted after her.
The one ahead was athletic as hell. Forget middle-aged and pudgy Liang Sufen—even Chang Xiaosui couldn’t keep up. She panted hard, wind whistling past her ears, carrying whiffs of that ominous burnt smell.
“Last inspection, the officials said hygiene was fine but wiring was outdated—needed a shutdown for fixes.”
Xie Yingnian’s mind raced with Liang Sufen’s grumbling to a nosy neighbor. She was terrified. Chaos everywhere—shouts, footsteps pounding. Some sprayed water from hoses dragged out of homes. Others called the fire department and ambulances.
The wooden sign for Shi Ji Restaurant was charred beyond recognition. Xie Yingnian’s heart sank. She borrowed a coat, soaked it in a basin, and charged inside without a second thought.
Chang Xiaosui, arriving breathless, yelled, “Xie—”
Too late. The firelight blazed, swallowing Xie Yingnian’s figure whole.
Minutes later, as the crowd fretted over the absent fire truck and debated rushing in themselves, Xie Yingnian staggered out, carrying Shi Cainran on her back. Her strength gave out at the threshold; she crumpled to the ground like a withered leaf.
Everyone rushed to help. Friends arrived too. Chang Xiaosui cried out in panic, “Nian Jie!”
Xie Yingnian, hacking and coughing, winced. Her wits were still about her. “Move your hands… it hurts…”
“Where? Your back? Your waist? You burned?”
Chang Xiaosui was near tears. Someone who knew first aid pushed through to check Shi Cainran first.
Xie Yingnian’s face was smeared black with soot. Barely audible, she told the helper, “Thanks… take care of my sister…”
She tried to stand. Furious, Chang Xiaosui yelled, “What are you doing? Going back in?”
“What else?” Propping on Chang Xiaosui’s grip on her wrist, Xie Yingnian steadied herself. Adults urged her not to. She knew the inferno best—some spots were impassable, smoke billowing, flames surging, visibility zero.
She stared at what was left of their home, choking back sobs. “Mom’s still inside…”
Mom. The first time Xie Yingnian had called Liang Sufen that. Before, it was always Auntie. Her real mother had abandoned her, wanted to send her to an orphanage. Liang Sufen couldn’t bear it and kept her, never changing her surname. “Your big sis can claim you anytime,” she’d said.
Such a good person, burned to nothing in one blaze. The fire crew’s high-pressure hoses finally doused it. From the smoke-shrouded building, they pulled a charred corpse.
The investigation pinned it on faulty kitchen wiring. Liang Sufen had likely dozed off by the stove while heating milk for Shi Cainran.
But Shi Cainran saw it differently. To others, it was fate’s cruel twist—their parents’ good deeds repaid with evil. When she woke in the hospital, she told Xie Yingnian, “You should’ve stayed in that orphanage. Why’d you come to our house and bring disaster?”
“If not for feeding an extra mouth like you, Dad wouldn’t have driven tired from overwork. If not for you, Mom wouldn’t have skipped the doctor when she was sick. If you hadn’t fought with Mom that night, if you hadn’t gone out partying, if you’d come home sooner…”
If only, if only—countless ifs. Xie Yingnian had always hated hypotheticals, but with Liang Sufen’s body reduced to ashes, she surprisingly found nothing wrong with casting herself as the chief culprit.
What good was hating the heavens? Hating a person, at least, brought some echo, a vent for the emotions bottled up inside with nowhere to go. Just like now.
Xie Yingnian opened her mouth woodenly and said, “Cainran…”
The little sister who had trailed clingily behind her from childhood to adulthood slapped her across the face. Shi Cainran knew she probably couldn’t dance anymore—not since the moment those burning wooden planks had crushed her legs.
Her dreams lay in shattered pieces, her life’s path utterly derailed. And there, by the bedside, was this so-called older sister with a fresh handprint blooming on her face, nailed into her uncertain existence like a stubborn screw.
“I hate you,” Shi Cainran said, her lips bitten until they bled, her eyes rimmed red.
Xie Yingnian hadn’t expected those words. She’d always taken her little sister everywhere she went—sweet-tempered, popular, with friends from all walks: schoolmates, street toughs. Some spots were too rough because Cainran got scared, and Chang Xiaosui always teased her about it. “Your sister’s got the guts of a mouse—what’s she so afraid of?”
She never cursed, never hit anyone. Even her tantrums were quiet little complaints of “Why’d you do that?” If she lost the argument, she’d just squat in the corner and cry.
For the first time, her twelve-year-old sister expressed hatred clearly—with her face and her words, subject and verb in perfect alignment. Xie Yingnian, honored as the object, felt a tangle of emotions. She lowered her head with a smile. “Then rest well. I’ll call Xiaosui over to keep you company.”
She pushed back the plastic stool, her own back burns treated with careless haste.
Every penny had to count now. Liang Sufen’s remains and Cainran’s surgery came first; the damaged shops that had been dragged into the mess needed compensation too. The silver lining amid the disaster: no other casualties in the fire, or they’d be facing criminal charges.
Xie Yingnian stood abruptly—she just couldn’t stay any longer. But in that instant, the hand with the IV needle tugged at her, trembling with surprising force.
She turned to see the girl who’d just professed her hatred now crying as she said, “But you’re all I have left.”
Ten years passed, and Shi Cainran had become a different person altogether. Her old elementary school classmates surely wouldn’t recognize her now.
She hadn’t dropped out because of the fire. That came later, from something else.
She kept her black hair long, her bangs grown out to veil her brows and eyes. Her skin was sickly pale, her frame so slender it seemed a stiff breeze might topple her. The fire’s scars twisted across her legs; even after multiple reconstructive surgeries, they stood out from normal skin—pitted and uneven, ugly. So Shi Cainran wore only long pants, nothing cropped to nine-tenths length, and certainly no skirts.
For safety, the room held no sharp objects. Xie Yingnian had snipped the tag off the doll in the car and now handed it over. “You should get out more.”
Shi Cainran’s episodes weren’t frequent; the sanatorium was just for emergencies, a last resort.
She lived in an apartment otherwise. Her face had been spared disfigurement, but she was a total shut-in—no outings, no socializing. Doctors came on call, and an aunt stayed with her around the clock. She wasn’t idle, though—a singing streamer on the platforms, even taking the stage for a live performance last year.
“I just wanted to see you. Now that I have, I’m good,” Shi Cainran said. She’d always loved plush toys. Back when they were too broke even for meals, Xie Yingnian had clawed dolls from machines to cheer her up—later, near-perfect shots every time.
Once she broke into entertainment and money flowed, Xie still bought dolls, though she had no eye for quality. She’d take the clerk’s word and grab whatever they pitched as top-tier. Sometimes she bombed; Cainran clearly disliked them.
This one didn’t seem to hit the mark either. Shi Cainran tugged its bunny ears twice before tossing it aside. Glancing at Xie Yingnian, who was peeling an apple, she said, “I’m fine now. You can go.”
“And I want to check out.”
After raging all day, she declared herself cured in under ten minutes—as if the whole meltdown had been staged just to drag Xie Yingnian away from work for an overnight flight.
“I took time off to come here. I can stay for your birthday,” Xie Yingnian offered.
“No need,” Shi Cainran replied.
Xie Yingnian was used to it. She murmured a flat “Mm.”
Shi Cainran found it all so pointless. She remembered that international call she’d eavesdropped on years ago, when Xie Yingnian’s mother spilled the truth about her flash marriage and quick divorce.
Was it true? Did people like that really exist? What set them apart from lunatics? Xie Yingnian didn’t seem the type.
She’d buried the question deep for so long, even as Xie dated here and there, but got no answers.
Shi Cainran stared at the Band-Aid on Xie Yingnian’s neck, her gaze drifting for several seconds. Then, abruptly, she asked, “This new movie of yours is another yuri flick, right? Qiao Yingqiu’s daughter—gonna catch feelings for her on set too?”
