MAMA-05: It’s all your fault.
After passing security at the metro station, the two had to separate.
Li Yin said, “I’ll find you next weekend.”
Mi Shanxin shook her head. “It’s okay if you don’t. Didn’t you say the New Year is very busy?”
Both of Li Yin’s parents had very busy jobs, so the number of times Li Yin’s whole family could travel together since childhood were few and far between. It was usually activities organized by her dad’s work unit, with her as the kid brought along.
Her mom’s vacations couldn’t align with her dad’s; it was generally activity groups of two.
This year seemed to be a rare New Year’s holiday that Li Yin’s family could coordinate. They planned to return to their hometown to celebrate.
“But it’s not like New Year’s is next weekend,” Li Yin pinched the soft flesh of Mi Shanxin’s cheek. “You don’t want me to find you to hang out?”
“Are there other classmates besides me inviting you out?”
“No, not really close with anyone.”
Mi Shanxin had fulfilled her grandfather’s long-cherished wish, becoming a student in the Calligraphy Department. But it was visibly clear this major had no prospects, less even than music students whose per-hour teaching fees were higher. She’d once squeezed into the metro with a music department upperclassman from her university; the other had asked about Mi Shanxin’s fees, her gaze pitying. Not being close, after all, the music major wouldn’t be as direct as Li Yin in telling you that you were being exploited layer by layer.
College classmates weren’t like high school classmates, confined to the classroom from morning till night.
Mi Shanxin didn’t live on campus either, making it even harder to get familiar with people. She relied entirely on group message notifications for course info and lectures that could earn credits.
Many times, the class officers almost forgot someone like her existed.
If one said the handwriting mirrors the person, Mi Shanxin’s writing revealed no secular ambition whatsoever. It looked practically like something written while dozing off. Writing serious, proper small-regular script, yet outstanding in a pile of homework papers, it confused people whether she was half-full or completely empty.
It wasn’t that no one had tried to approach Mi Shanxin. She was sesame-seed tiny, and though slender and delicate, her features weren’t bad—at least within the pretty spectrum. If one momentarily overlooked the dark circles, in some moments she was rather pleasant to look at.
But Mi Shanxin was highly guarded. Appearing gentle and harmless, what she said wasn’t very pleasant either. After pushing people away, she was even more solitary.
Every semester, the Counselor had to find her alone for a psychological assessment, fearing something bad might happen, concerned about her family, her state of living independently. Finding a part-time job this time had also been through the Counselor’s help.
“…You, sigh.” Li Yin rubbed her hair, watching another train pass by. Under Mi Shanxin’s listless eyes, the heavy dark circles held a helplessness like black sesame paste leaking out of a glutinous rice ball. “Forget it, go home early and sleep.”
“I’ll look for other sleep-aid methods. My mom mentioned before there’s a doctor at the Chinese Medicine Hospital…”
“No need,” Mi Shanxin interrupted her. “That costs too much money.”
Li Yin swallowed the words she’d been about to say. Once again, she fantasized about being the daughter of some wealthy magnate, perhaps able to solve her friend’s such troubles. But her parents’ money wasn’t blown in by the wind either; there was still the high-position, apartment-swap mortgage loan. Her mom didn’t skimp on grumbling. Even though Li Yin was just a student, she was still careful about buying graduate exam prep courses, and her saved allowance had to be diligently managed.
She watched Mi Shanxin board the train, seeing her get on with practiced ease, taking advantage of her small stature to squeeze into the farthest corner and wave goodbye.
If only Mi Shanxin’s stepdad were a tycoon.
Unfortunately, her mother’s second marriage was to a second-generation factory owner. They’d probably have to wait until the in-laws passed away for power and money to be released. Mi Shanxin’s half-sister from a different father was also an autistic child. This family’s troubles couldn’t be finished chanting. It might well end in divorce.
Mi Shanxin had never voiced these concerns. These were things Li Yin told her that the parents had discussed.
Then what was Mi Shanxin to do?
Mom said she’s already trying very hard; just help within your means. Treating her to meals, giving small gifts, Mom supports you all. But if you want me to raise another child, then Mom has no way.
Mi Shanxin didn’t need her to do that anyway.
She lived much like an elderly person. Recreational activities were also not trendy, just charging fifty bucks on a website to read novels for a very long time.
This was also because she read things very slowly. She walked slowly too. Running the eight-hundred-meter dash always relied entirely on the PE teacher letting her slide to pass.
Ordinary animals were hard-pressed to describe Mi Shanxin. Her long hair wasn’t glossy and sleek either; rather, due to neglect of care, it looked somewhat slovenly. Not agile, not clever, so slow that danger was right before her eyes and she was still sizing up what this danger looked like.
Li Yin took the opposite-direction metro. She once again urged Mi Shanxin: Don’t be overly kind to strangers.
[Good night, hope you can sleep well today.]
Mi Shanxin replied: [I will sleep well.]
Li Yin: [So certain? Don’t abuse sleeping pills!]
Mi Shanxin: [I started exercising.]
Li Yin: [For real?]
Mi Shanxin: [For real.]
She sent some exercise videos from a few websites, pretending.
Li Yin: [That effective? Then I’ll try it too. I’m in online classes every day; my butt is about to die.]
Mi Shanxin replied with a sticker.
She felt guilty, but not much. This exercise was not that exercise, but it still fell under the same major category.
As long as she played herself to the point of collapse, she could sleep soundly until dawn; better than sleeping pills.
It was just that the dark circles were age-old relics, not something a week or two of good sleep could eliminate.
She’d heard hemorrhoid cream was effective, but Mi Shanxin didn’t dare try, fearing it’d sting her eyes.
The downside of playing with yourself was extreme exhaustion. Occasionally she wished she could find someone to proxy the task, yet couldn’t find a channel.
Dating was too troublesome. Finding someone to sleep with at least had to match her preferences.
Mi Shanxin had never told Li Yin her sexual orientation, nor her preferred type.
If Li Yin found out she’d liked a teacher, Li Yin would probably be scared off, or say things like “she’s just two years younger than our mothers, have you gone mad” and so on.
But Mi Shanxin didn’t know why it was like this; she just liked people older than herself.
Old was fine too. Die early, die late, everyone dies anyway. There’s also the white-haired person sending off the black-haired. Even with a thirty-year age difference, it’s uncertain the younger one dies first.
She just wanted someone to stay by her side forever.
Mi Shanxin lived right in Ning City’s downtown. It was, instead, the tutoring class that was somewhat far.
But the city center also had very rundown, non-demolishable houses—scars of the city, appearing on cultural-creative fridge magnets.
Tourists could check into renovated guesthouses for two days without issue. Living here year-round, in the morning, in the bathroom, you could smell the neighbor’s cooking fumes seeping through. The floorboards were very thin. People seemed to live in cages, separated by old iron railings, yet could see the city’s brightest pearl-like landmark.
It frequently rained here in winter. Her clothes were always not quite dry and would carry a smell.
The little kids at the tutoring class said she had a smell on her. It should come from clothes air-drying in the shade. On the way, Mi Shanxin searched for some deodorizing methods.
By the time she got home, the landmark had already turned its lights off.
After washing up, she was lying in bed about to begin her routine self-play when her phone suddenly rang.
Unknown caller.
Mi Shanxin hung up, reaching her hand back down.
The phone rang again.
The old house had only Mi Shanxin living in it. The memorial portraits of Grandpa and Grandma had originally been placed at the genkan. At the end of last year, Father had come back once, found them creepy, and told her to put them away. Mi Shanxin put them away in the cabinet.
The two-bedroom-one-living-room apartment had only her breathing in it. Li Yin asked if she was scared living alone. Mi Shanxin said at first she was a little scared, then later not scared anymore.
People get too easily accustomed. Accustomed to liveliness, also accustomed to desolation. Once accustomed to being alone, then finding collective life loathsome.
Even if Li Yin was Mi Shanxin’s best friend, Mi Shanxin also couldn’t imagine herself entering the future Li Yin described, living together with her.
Li Yin wouldn’t stay with her forever. Mi Shanxin was all too clear on this.
She shouldn’t be thinking of Li Yin now, making insomnia even easier. She should be conforming to her preferences…
The incoming call vibrated frequently, more forceful than Mi Shanxin’s movements. The inherently listless girl frowned and pressed answer.
Her phone’s receiver had some issues after a drop. If Mi Shanxin didn’t wear earphones, she had to use speakerphone.
“Shan~xin~ class~mate~”
A strange yet familiar woman’s voice transmitted into the cramped room. Mi Shanxin was so startled that she pinched herself painfully, letting out a pained whimper.
“Why are you crying?” Jian Wanji had just left the hospital. Her day had been quite busy: meetings, listening to others’ meetings, personal matters, handling others’ personal matters.
The grandmother who held significant connection to her life had entered life’s countdown. Finding Mom had become her priority.
She wouldn’t take anyone but Mi Shanxin.
Teacher Wang from the tutoring class had pushed Mi Shanxin’s WeChat business card, but Mi Shanxin hadn’t accepted.
Fortunately, the little one’s WeChat account carried a phone number. At first, Jian Wanji thought she’d gotten the wrong number. After hanging up on several calls, she decided this next one, if no answer, she’d stop trying. Unexpectedly, it connected.
Jian Wanji’s grandmother, Wan Qingqing, had only one son and one daughter in her life.
The son married earlier than the daughter and passed away from illness a few years ago. Jian Wanji had even pushed Grandmother’s wheelchair to attend her uncle’s funeral.
A life where children precede you in death; at the funeral, everyone looked at Grandmother with very strange eyes.
Jian Wanji could understand, but Uncle was seventy when he passed, his hair also white. The white-haired sending off the white-haired—wasn’t that also normal?
Uncle had one son, seven years older than Jian Wanji. The older male cousin had one son and one daughter; the daughter was about the same age as Mi Shanxin.
In Jian Wanji’s social circle, many business partners had children around this age. Peers’ kids were in elementary school or younger; DINKs (Dual Income, No Kids) existed too, relatively few.
She didn’t interact with these children unless necessary; she wasn’t even as familiar with her own niece from her older male cousin as she was with a friend’s daughter.
Based on her shallow impression of college students, kids nowadays stayed up very late gaming. But she was nearly forty and also stayed up late; it was nothing. Anyway, no kids, no elderly above, no young below, no million-dollar assets or imperial throne to inherit; this was already the pinnacle of relative freedom.
Jian Wanji just wanted to accompany Grandmother on her final journey, so when she died, she could be certain it was her daughter staying by her side, not her despised granddaughter.
But in the end, it was still only her—Jian Wanji, who had grown up being detested—there to see Grandmother off.
Now awake only an hour or so a day, still waiting for her daughter to come home from school.
Her time was frozen before her daughter’s marriage, believing that that way there would be no running away, no rash marriage, no car crash and death.
The man who deceived away her daughter sent the child before her eyes. Not long after, he committed suicide to his death.
To Jian Wanji, the death of her parents thirty years ago was the tale others spoke of—a foolish couple’s love-death.
As the sole remnant, she, like a pearl returned to Hepu, ought to have been raised by direct blood relatives.
But not everyone loves the house for the crow on it. She was the vile fruit of intertwined love and hate. The mother who loved her daughter did not treat her kindly.
“Why aren’t you speaking? Where are you? Is someone bullying you?” Jian Wanji thought the call had disconnected again and glanced at the screen. It was in-call.
After a moment, the sound of someone sniffing came through the earpiece. Mi Shanxin had her head lowered, looking at the place she’d pinched painfully, but couldn’t see clearly. Her voice was very aggrieved, “It’s all your fault.”
Jian Wanji made a surprised noise, “My fault? What did I do to you?”
The girl’s voice had a hint of sobbing. The surroundings were very quiet, not the joyous college-student winter-break night Jian Wanji had imagined. “I could have slept well originally.”
“You were about to sleep?” Jian Wanji was utterly shocked. “It isn’t even ten o’clock yet, little sister.”
Mi Shanxin: “Who’s your little sister? I’m not familiar with you.”
She put her phone aside, still struggling to spread herself out and look. Only then did she recall to ask, “How did you get my cell phone number?”
“I’m going to call the cops.”
Jian Wanji wasn’t afraid at all, laughing heartily. “What do you think?”
The pain having subsided, Mi Shanxin thought for quite a while. “Did Teacher Wang give it to you?”
Jian Wanji made an “Mhm” sound, her teasing, drawn-out tone very melodious, voice extremely pleasant: “Sort of~”
“I’m sincere,” the woman paused. “The price is negotiable. You can also state other conditions. As long as I can do it.”
Mi Shanxin refused very quickly: “I don’t want it.”
Jian Wanji gritted her teeth. “Is there really nothing you especially want?”
This age of female college students is when material desires are most abundant; that’s how she was back then.
How could anyone be so utterly desireless?
Mi Shanxin stopped talking again. At such moments, only each other’s breathing could be heard.
Jian Wanji’s car was parked by the roadside. Inside the car, she concentrated on negotiating with the twenty-year-old girl.
“…I’m begging you, truly.” She bowed in submission.
Mi Shanxin recalled her face, the pungent perfume scent, the attitude of still keeping a smile after getting a drink thrown at her, the beauty mark so eye-catching when she smiled.
The place she’d pinched painfully also felt odd.
Mi Shanxin knew she needed to seize the time to sleep; she couldn’t miss this opportunity.
“Let’s talk tomorrow. I’m very busy right now.”
Jian Wanji feared she’d hang up and urgently shouted: “Don’t! Busy with what? Need my help?”
The person on the other end’s breathing was somewhat erratic. Jian Wanji kept feeling the sounds were strange, little kitten-like whimpers and hums. Just about to ask for specifics, the girl tossed down a “You can’t help me” and hung up.
