Chapter 8: Nine Years Apart

Her sister seemed to be angry.

Realizing it, Cen Mingchan obediently stood up, pulled out her chair, and stood properly before the desk. Clutching the notebook where she’d copied out her speech, she actually began to memorize it in earnest.

What is love, exactly? Cen Mingchan couldn’t say. She pinched the corner of the notebook.

What she could say for certain was that she liked her sister very much.

Lowering her head, she murmured, “Sister, I’ll be good and memorize the script. Please don’t be angry with me, okay?”

She deliberately dropped her voice, playing the pitiful part to the hilt.

But before her beloved sister could even answer, Shen Huan—who slept in the bed across from hers—had been lying there scrolling through Weibo. Hearing such a shameless display of coaxing, she couldn’t resist poking her head out and mimicking her tone. “Sister, please don’t be angry with me, okay—”

Cen Mingchan’s embarrassment flared into fury. But the call was still connected, so she gritted her teeth and tattled through her earpiece. “Sister, someone’s bullying me. Are you going to do anything about it? She’s copying me. She’s mocking me.”

Then she heard her sister laugh softly. “All right. I’ll call the police and have her arrested. How does that sound?”

How does that sound?

It sounded wonderful.

Cen Mingchan pressed her lips together but couldn’t suppress the curl at the corners of her mouth. She turned to Shen Huan and adopted her most vicious tone. “Huanhuan, my sister says she’s going to have you arrested any minute now.”

Shen Huan clearly couldn’t care less. She rolled onto her side, propped her chin on one hand, and looked down at Cen Mingchan with an air of profound disappointment. “Oh, I’m so scared. Cen Mingchan, just look at how pathetic you are.”

“I’m happy to be!” Cen Mingchan shot her friend a glare, a silent order to shut up.

Shen Huan didn’t need to mock her—Cen Mingchan already knew exactly how pathetic she was.

It had taken only a handful of days for her to fall completely.

Her sister was wonderful. Good-natured, even-tempered, perfect in every way. She was willing to spend time revising Cen Mingchan’s speech, willing to sacrifice her weekend rest to practice with her, willing to put thought into choosing in-game skins she’d like and preparing little surprises.

And yet Cen Mingchan still felt her sister was far away. It made her uneasy.

Her sister was cautious.

Like a butterfly alighting on her knee, silently fanning sapphire wings. Just as she cupped her hands to catch it, it would drift lightly away, giving her no chance to draw near.

The reins of this relationship had been in the other woman’s hands from the very start.

That realization left Cen Mingchan somewhat defeated.

She had always been confident.

In her view, no one in this world could make her lose. And that had proven true—no matter how aloof, how impossible to approach, how difficult others said a person was, they all ended up bending for her.

In matters of the heart, she had always come out on top.

Now, at last, she had met her match.

Or rather, she had met a challenge.

She was clumsy as that foolish donkey led by the nose with a carrot—knowing full well the carrot dangled from a thin string.

But there was nothing to be done. The carrot always kept a delicate distance from her—not far, not near, hovering just where it seemed within reach.

Every so often it offered a taste of sweetness, and she kept chasing it. By the end of the chase, a thread of resentment and possessiveness had taken root.

Such a sweet carrot. She didn’t want to give it up—and even if she did, she absolutely would not let someone else get it cheap.

That was her carrot. She had chosen it. She had set her sights on it. She had liked it first.

“Sister.” Cen Mingchan couldn’t hold back any longer. “I dreamed about you last night.”

Her sister seemed curious about the dream. “What did you dream?”

Slowly, Cen Mingchan recounted it. “I dreamed I was in a debate competition, and you were sitting in the spectator stands, watching me. I couldn’t see your face clearly, but I knew it was you.”

Her sister was quiet for a moment, then sighed softly. “That really is a beautiful dream.”

Cen Mingchan bit her lip, her neck flushing faintly. “Yes. It was a very beautiful dream.”

Cen Mingchan had lied.

That wasn’t the scene she’d dreamed of at all.

She had dreamed of her sister—and, as she’d said, her sister’s face had been veiled in a thin mist she couldn’t see through.

But her dream had been lush and sensual.

She dreamed her sister took her hand and led her into a room that looked like a dance studio, its floor covered in soft carpet.

Three walls, each fitted with a mirror nearly the size of the wall itself; the last was a floor-to-ceiling window, facing a wall of blooming roses.

The sunlight was perfect.

Her sister’s fingers were pale and slender, wandering freely beneath her gaze.

And she knelt on the carpet, seized by a fierce shame, clutching her sister’s arm.

The next second, she was pushed down onto the carpet.

Her sister’s lips and tongue were warm and soft and wet.

She wanted to surrender.

She turned her head and saw herself in the mirror.

Biting her finger helplessly, whimpering in broken little gasps, the corners of her eyes red, a fine sheen of sweat on her skin.

And then she woke.

She opened her eyes and heard her racing heartbeat. Thump—thump—thump.

Cen Mingchan was acting spoiled again.

“Sister.” She whined softly. “If I keep standing here being punished, my legs will be so sore tomorrow I won’t be able to walk.”

“Practice properly.” Her sister no longer sounded angry. “Sit down.”

“Sister, you’re the best.” Having received her sister’s “imperial decree,” Cen Mingchan plopped down at once and promptly delivered her praise.

Her sister wasn’t buying it, though. She changed the subject. “From now on, no more chitchat. Script first.”

Cen Mingchan picked up the notebook and said meekly, “Yes, my sister.”

That call lasted a full three hours. By the end, Cen Mingchan’s mouth was dry from practicing.

The competition was set for the following Tuesday. The department had provided a classroom specifically as the venue for the Debate Club’s internal selection.

The audience would be drawn from the department’s freshmen—each class volunteering five students, with course credit as the reward.

For the credit, and more for her friend, Shen Huan had taken a seat in the front row of the spectator stands well ahead of time.

Before the match, Cen Mingchan messaged her sister.

[Sister, I’m about to compete. I’m a little scared.]

The reply came after a moment.

[You’re the one who’s going to be debate champion. Don’t be afraid.]

Cen Mingchan read that line and broke into a smile.

[Sister, wait for me to bring the championship home for you.]

[All right. I’ll be waiting.]

Seeing those four words, Cen Mingchan hesitated no longer. She put away her phone and reviewed her script one last time before going on.

At last she sat upright at the table, quietly awaiting the host’s opening remarks.

She heard her heartbeat quicken again. Thump—thump—thump.

*

The competition went smoothly. Cen Mingchan was lucky—her teammates were excellent, from the First Debater to the Fourth, each of them clearly outmatching the opposing side.

Her script and the First Debater’s were both original, while the other team’s had obviously been pulled straight off Baidu.

The arguments they raised—she had long since discussed them with her sister.

She was confident. She would win.

Yet before the host announced the results, she still began to get nervous, the traitor.

She was afraid.

The adjudicators had to score all eight debaters and their respective teams, then select the winning team and the Best Debater.

“Today’s winning team is—the Affirmative Side.”

The Affirmative Side. Cen Mingchan’s team.

“Today’s Best Debater is—”

Cen Mingchan pressed her lips together and sat up straight. Her teammates had all performed beautifully today. Whoever it was, she would be happy for them.

The host was a senior from her own major, someone she’d met a few times before—sweet-faced, and now smiling as she looked toward the four debaters of the Affirmative Side.

Cen Mingchan met her eyes.

She heard her senior announce: “Fourth Debater, Cen Mingchan.”

Applause thundered through the spectator stands. Instinctively, Cen Mingchan sought out Shen Huan, who was filming her with one hand raised holding her phone, while the other hand patted the back of her own hand—barely, as if by accident.

Their eyes met. They smiled in understanding.

The first thing Cen Mingchan did upon leaving the classroom was message her sister.

[Sister, I’m done competing.]

As though she’d foreseen it all, her sister congratulated her outright.

[Congratulations.]

Cen Mingchan began to act spoiled.

[I haven’t even told you the result yet, sister. What if I lost?]

[You’re the one who’s going to be champion. How could you lose?]

That line pleased her immensely.

[Sister, guess who the Best Debater is?]

[I’d guess the First Debater.]

Cen Mingchan stared at the words “First Debater,” her lips pursing in displeasure. Come on—sure, the First Debater had done well, but even out of fondness alone, her sister should have guessed her!

She still had patience at this point. She replied:

[Wrong.]

[Then it must be the Second Debater?]

Cen Mingchan’s eyes went wide. Fine, fine—the Second Debater was decent too. But why was her sister turning her arm outward and praising everyone else?

Cen Mingchan began to feel wronged.

[Still wrong!!!!!]

The string of exclamation marks made her little temper perfectly clear.

[Then it must be the Third Debater.]

Cen Mingchan was so furious she didn’t want to speak to her sister anymore. She’d never met anyone as infuriating as her.

[Hmph!!!!!!!]

[Could it be the opposing Fourth Debater?]

Staring at the chat history, Cen Mingchan finally realized the truth—her sister was doing it on purpose.

She immediately sent a Samoyed sticker with ears drooping in grievance.

[I don’t like sister anymore. Sister is mean!]

Then she sent the photo she’d taken earlier in the classroom—her Best Debater certificate.

Before long, a voice message popped up.

Cen Mingchan hadn’t brought her earbuds, so she could only tap it open and press the phone straight to her ear.

The campus was quiet at this hour, the sunlight just right.

She heard her sister say gently: “I always knew it. Mingchan is the finest debater there is.”

Cen Mingchan’s palm came to rest lightly over her heart.

She had lost count of how many times she’d heard it now.

Thump—thump—thump.