Chapter 43: The Distant Her

The high-speed rail station in Chongxiang had been built in the new district extending to the north. But funding must have fallen short there, leaving the plans as nothing more than empty talk on paper. The area wasn’t all that new after all. Instead, it made the nearby old residential neighborhoods—alive with electric bikes zipping through the streets and little motorized tricycles puttering along—seem especially vibrant.

As Shi Cainran rode past in the car, the loudspeaker hawking fruits at a roadside stall filtered through the half-lowered window. It was in the local dialect, which she couldn’t understand. Just as she was about to look away, a tall, skinny girl on a bicycle appeared at the mouth of an alley. She propped one leg against the curb, her posture sleek and agile as she glanced around left and right, seemingly waiting for someone.

The scene felt strangely familiar to her.

In her dust-covered memories, there had been someone just like that. She rode an old heavy-duty bike that Chang Xiaosui’s family had passed down—a real antique. Chang Xiaosui wasn’t tall, and her legs were short, so it had felt cramped for her. In the end, she had simply passed it on as a gift to Xie Yingnian.

The squeak of that bicycle chain had threaded through every day of Shi Cainran’s life in San’an Li, from the moment her memories began.

Sometimes, when the bike broke down, the hard rear seat under her bottom would turn into the crook of Xie Yingnian’s arm instead. Along the way, they would run into all sorts of people: Old Uncle Li at the bike repair shop, Grandma Chang patching shoe soles, Little Bro Zhao, who fancied himself the lead suona player in the funeral band…

Old Uncle Li, bent over as he washed the grease from his hands, chuckled. “Little Year, you just can’t bear to let your sister walk a few steps, huh? Heart aching already?”

Xie Yingnian just laughed it off. “She’s light as a feather. No big deal.”

Grandma Chang wore her reading glasses, and Chang Xiaosui scampered about like a wild monkey, this way and that. Spotting Xie Yingnian passing by, she didn’t stand on ceremony and put her to work. Xie Yingnian agreed without hesitation, setting her sister down on the ground. Shi Cainran was terribly shy back then. She shrank her head and mumbled a greeting to Grandma, then hid behind her sister and refused to poke her head out again.

She would sew extra stitches into the old woman’s thread for spares. Before the sisters left, Grandma’s hands—spotted with age—would stuff them with candies, all colors of the rainbow in fruit flavors. Xie Yingnian had spoiled Shi Cainran’s palate, so she ate all the ones her sister turned her nose up at.

What had Little Bro Zhao chatted about back then, blowing his suona?

She couldn’t remember. It was all so long ago, so very distant. Shi Cainran only recalled seeing him for the last time at Liang Sufen’s funeral. The suona wailed straight into her heart, tearing open a hole riddled with wounds. The firecrackers exploded outside the mourning hall, sounding utterly hollow.

Her legs were still burned and hadn’t healed yet. She sat in a wheelchair, seeing off the person closest to her. Beside her was the only family left after the disaster—though “closest” hardly mattered anymore.

Getting hit by falling debris, slapped across the face, gossiped about by neighbors blaming her for the fire, even the sister she’d raised turning on her with tearful cries of “I hate you”… And still, Xie Yingnian had shown up. At eighteen, her shoulders were still so young and tender, but there was no one more suited to shoulder it all alone.

It wasn’t until Shi Cainran reached the same age of eighteen that she understood maturity had nothing to do with the legal line drawn in the sand. Xie Yingnian had always been there ahead of her, so even after coming of age, she still had the right to be willful.

But things had changed.

Home was gone. San’an Li was gone. She had changed, and so had I.

How much better would it have been if that later incident hadn’t happened?

“Cough cough cough…” A cold wind slipped into her lungs, and Shi Cainran coughed through her mask.

She was actually strikingly beautiful. After all, Liang Sufen had been the famous pretty widow of the whole alley. The daughter she bore couldn’t be anything less.

Her eyes resembled Xie Yingnian’s a bit, which was why netizens hadn’t been too shocked when they acknowledged their sisterhood. They were fox-like eyes, but not sharply so—the curve was softer and rounder. At first glance, she seemed approachable, even sweet and obedient. But once she opened her mouth, that facial filter shattered to pieces.

Not to mention how years of illness had thinned her down, tainting her natural allure with a sickly pallor that gave her an eerie, ghostly air.

Sang Zhi hurriedly closed the window that this stubborn diva had insisted on lowering despite all advice. An artist’s medical checkup was par for the course—inside and out, the same frail constitution. Sure enough, she was sickly through and through. There was a new song meet-and-greet next week; if her throat acted up and caused trouble, Jiang Nai would kill her with a look.

Zhou Chun sat in the front passenger seat, chatting with her son’s tutor. Suddenly, her seat took a kick. She rolled her eyes, refusing to indulge the habit. “I’m not your sister, so don’t give me that attitude.”

“Teacher Wang, where were we?” She picked up her phone, all smiles again.

Sang Zhi witnessed this ace manager’s face-changing skills—rivaling a Sichuan opera pro—and immediately decided there wasn’t a normal person in the car. No wonder the driver was implicated; a ’90s kid, and here he was in the urban-rural fringe, playing the traditional wedding sedan tune like a local.

As she thought that, the least normal one spoke up. “Xie Yingnian too busy? Why’d they send you instead?”

Shi Cainran stared down at her fresh manicure—Tiffany blue, studded with rhinestones. She’d loved flashy things since she was little. When buying hair clips, she’d get a whole pack. Chang Xiaosui hadn’t awakened her inner cosmetics counter girl back then and had nagged, “How many heads do you have to need this many?”

A shadow passed in front of her eyes. Xie Yingnian said nothing, just went to pay. She walked with a limp, her fifty-yuan beach pants dragging to her knees. Her calves were slender and straight, but her left ankle was swollen.

Around that time, the diner had been trashed. Even knowing it was a dirty trick from competitors, they were powerless. Money solved many problems, but they had none. Even Shi Cainran’s dance classes had been suspended multiple times over unpaid fees.

She had to help in the kitchen and tutor her sister, so Xie Yingnian picked up side gigs at school to make ends meet. The track field had installed a card scanner to monitor morning runs. She’d run her own laps and swipe for others too. The pay hit the account instantly—small amounts, but it added up.

This outing was because Shi Cainran had thrown a tantrum for a new skirt. Children’s Day was coming up, and the school event had the class buzzing, stirring up comparison among the kids.

Xie Yingnian gave her the money and had Chang Xiaosui take her. But her ears still rang with complaints. The girl on the low stool couldn’t even be bothered to ice her injury. She yanked off her sock, sprayed some medicine haphazardly, washed her hands, and dragged her tear-streaked sister out the door.

The window slid shut, and the rush of warmth enveloping her only made Shi Cainran more irritable. Why did today keep dragging up the past, over and over?

The rising singer had great vocal talent, but pure vocalists rarely blew up these days. Jiang Nai had asked if she had any dance background—maybe send her on a survival show to boost popularity and fame.

Shi Cainran zoned out for a moment. Dance background? Yeah, I’d been the best in class, won a provincial youth award. Teachers said I had talent. And then… nothing.

She told Jiang Nai calmly, “I don’t dance. And I hate it.”

Jiang Nai gave an awkward smile. “Never mind, then.”

“Not enough for me to come? What, you think you’re all that?” Zhou Chun didn’t hold back her sarcasm.

Shi Cainran scoffed.

The driver and Sang Zhi had long sensed the tension between these two. The vibe was a powder keg in the inescapable confines of the car, and they wished they could shrink into invisible quails.

Zhou Chun switched her screen to WeChat. It had been over half an hour since leaving the set, and Xie Yingnian hadn’t sent a peep.

Unusual, but perfect—suited her just fine.

Her first impression of Shi Cainran hadn’t been great. The girl was too spoiled, rude—no greetings for anyone. Drama queen written all over her.

And she really was one. On her coming-of-age birthday, she’d begged shamelessly for Xie Yingnian to rush back. Wouldn’t blow out the candles till she arrived.

Xie Yingnian had driven through pouring rain from a mountain shoot for the period drama. She’d just hit the tollbooth when the radio news hit: flash flood on the stretch she’d passed. A ten-minute gap, and she and her car would’ve been swept down the slope.

It wasn’t a one-off. Zhou Chun figured Xie Yingnian had nine lives not to have been done in by Shi Cainran.

What grudge could warrant that? And they called themselves sisters.

“By the way, Manager Zhou.” Shi Cainran spoke up suddenly, startling Sang Zhi.

Zhou Chun: “Spit it out.”

The woman behind her smiled. “Did you know Xie Yingnian’s dating again? Qiao Yingqiu’s daughter.”

“Like I need you to tell me?” Zhou Chun stayed cool, as if it were just evening news.

The short-haired woman leaned back casually, saying into her phone, “Teacher Wang, I’m almost there. Video’s cutting out—we’ll switch to WeChat.”

She finished the call and hammered out a furious triple message to Xie Yingnian: You’re dating? Zhong Jia? Your daughter? Are you human?!

Xie Yingnian couldn’t check that voice-message-laden WeChat yet. Last night’s rain had dropped the temperature fast, and she’d caught a cold. During her lunch break, she reclined the business van’s seat, threw a thin blanket over herself, and drifted in a hazy half-sleep.

True to form, she brushed off such minor ailments—they’d pass with some grit. But her girlfriend treated it like a crisis, making her down medicine. No appetite? Skip the boxed lunch. Zhong Jia borrowed a pot and stove from logistics to cook a small pot of thick white congee.

Nong Siqing teased her. During Reed Shoal Moon, you’d cared for her mom. Now it’s flipped.

Gong Wenyin had wrapped her scenes, but a few young ones on set hooted. Flipped? It’s all the same. Younger partners sure know how to pamper.

“She was good to me first.” Zhong Jia handed the empty bowl—not a grain left—to A Cha, her eyes sparkling as she smiled.

Jujiu was thrilled with her white-collar salary and had grown accustomed to Xie Yingnian’s constitution, which left her falling ill every ten days or half a month. Her once perfectly healthy body was a thing of the past anyway. Seeing Zhong Jia bustling about like a spinning top, Jujiu’s starved shipping brain could only muster an excited “I’ve got a ship!” and nothing more.

There was still over an hour left in the lunch break. Zhong Jia headed toward the car parked by the roadside, wanting to keep Xie Yingnian company.

“Miss Zhong.” A clear female voice called out to her from behind.

Shi Cainran flashed her standard social smile. “Interested in a chat?”

Zhong Jia was too far away to hear clearly, so she read the words from Shi Cainran’s lips. She nodded. “I’ve seen you online. You’re Xie Yingnian’s sister, right? Sure.”

The two found a slightly more secluded spot—a backdrop from an earlier shoot—with fallen leaves piled high on the stone bench.

Shi Cainran didn’t beat around the bush and got straight to the point. “Has Xie Yingnian told you…”

“She has an illness,” Zhong Jia said. “It’s hereditary in the family, the incurable kind.”