But Yuxiu had a cold edge and a bit of arrogance. She seldom stopped to chat with anyone. When she was alone, she walked with a light step, her head cocked to one side so that half her face was covered by her hair and only one eye was visible. That left the impression that she was sulking for no apparent reason, which invested her with a haunted beauty. If startled by an unexpected encounter, she would sweep her hair behind her ear while a smile spread slowly across her face. That smile, unique to her, became famous in the compound. Rather than explode on her face, it formed in measured stages, from slight to broad, the corners of her mouth slowly retreating—silent and flirtatious, revealing a restrained coquettishness, an almost wanton and yet refined quality.
None of this escaped Yumi’s eye. Yuxiu did not dare to put on her seductive, fox-fairy act in front of her sister, but she had not changed. She was like the dog that can’t stop eating shit. In fact, she was getting worse. Sooner or later, Yumi would sound the alarm. But not yet, given her relationship with Qiaoqiao. But then again, Yumi knew that she must say something because of that relationship. When she did, the results would be less than ideal. They would be back to being sisters, two girls “born to be enemies.”
Qiaoqiao came home early one day, having chosen not to participate in the school’s afternoon of manual labor. She told Yuxiu to bring the photo albums out into the yard, where they looked at the pictures together. Yuxiu took pride in her assumption that she’d become a part of the family, that she’d made her way into its private places, its closely held secrets. It was a privilege denied Yumi. Yuxiu was treated to photos of Guo Jiaxing as a young man, Qiaoqiao’s mother as a young woman, and Qiaoqiao herself as a little girl. She took after neither her father nor her mother, but had inherited the least-fetching features of both. They all came together to produce her homely face. But Yuxiu heaped compliments on every photo, her flattering words filling the air. On one page she spotted a young man who bore some slight resemblance to Guo Jiaxing but was better looking, with softer eyes, moist like a young mare’s. With the refined, cultured look of someone with high ideals, he was dressed in a neatly pressed tunic. Yuxiu knew it could not be Guo Jiaxing—the aura was different. “Is this a picture of Director Guo as a young man?” she asked disingenuously.
“Are you kidding?” Qiaoqiao asked. “That’s my older brother, Guo Zuo. He works in an automobile factory in the provincial capital.” Now Yuxiu knew: Qiaoqiao had an older brother who worked in an automobile factory.
Before Yuxiu could learn any more, Yumi came home and spotted the two girls with their heads together, holding something secretively. They were never that intimate with her. What were they looking at so intently? Her curiosity piqued, she leaned over to get a look. But Qiaoqiao must have had eyes in the back of her head because— bang! —she slammed the photo album shut, stood up, turned, and walked off alone to her room.
Rebuffed in front of Yuxiu, Yumi spun around and went quickly to her own room, where she leaned unhappily against the window and silently observed Yuxiu, who noticed the look on her sister’s face through the window—it was a mixture of humiliation, anger, and helplessness. Instead of lowering her eyelids, Yuxiu looked off in another direction so she wouldn’t have to see that sight. It’s none of my business, she told herself. But as Yumi saw it, Yuxiu was being provocative.
“Yuxiu,” Qiaoqiao yelled from her room. “Come here!”
Yuxiu headed to the east room, first shaking her head as a sign of reluctance—for Yumi’s benefit, obviously. This has to stop, Yumi said to herself, alone at the window. I can’t let Yuxiu keep living off of one person and helping another.
Yumi held her feelings in until it was time to make dinner. She went into the kitchen and looked out into the yard—it was empty. After a few perfunctory swipes on the counter with a dishcloth, she turned to her sister. “Yuxiu,” she said, “you’re my sister.” Coming out of the blue like that, anyone hearing this would not know what to make of it. But as she picked up a large spoon to stir the rice porridge, Yuxiu knew what was on Yumi’s mind; she could hear it in her voice. The sudden comment may have sounded forceful, a strict warning, but it seemed weak. The atmosphere in the kitchen took a strange turn that would test both sisters’ tolerance.
Without looking up, Yuxiu kept stirring the porridge and said, after pausing a moment to think, “I’ll listen to you. Tell me what to do, and I’ll do it.” But what sounded submissive was actually a honey-coated rebuke. She had gained the advantage by feigning innocence and had turned the tables on Yumi, who was stuck for a response. What could she tell Yuxiu to do with Qiaoqiao in the picture? What could she dare ask her to do? She stood there, dishcloth in hand, stymied. A long moment passed before she said to herself, All right, Yuxiu, go ahead, do what you want.
On the surface it had been a trivial dispute, but one of enormous significance, especially for Yuxiu, for whom it was a turning point. Yumi had sounded the alarm for Yuxiu, only to discover that it was actually sounding for herself. Undeniably, the day would come when Yuxiu would openly defy her.
One of Yuxiu’s tasks was to shop for the day’s groceries. Seldom feeling obliged to rush home, she took advantage of the outings to wander around town, often gravitating to the supply and marketing co-op. It was her favorite spot. In the past, when she lived in Wang Family Village, she had always gone to the co-op simply to linger and take in its ambiance. Well-suited to people seeking a place to rest or be a tourist, it owed its attraction in part to well-stocked shelves, but even the process of buying something was itself interesting. The cashier sat high above the salesclerks, who stood beside a steel cable, each with its own metal clasp. When a clerk wrote out a sales ticket or was given cash, she clasped it onto the cable and flung it upward like a tiny locomotive making its way up a suspended track, all the way up to the cashier. A moment later, the little locomotive whizzed its way back, carrying change or a receipt. Magical, inscrutable, wondrous.
Yuxiu carried a secret in her heart from when she was a little girl filled with envy: She had a fascination with the cashier sitting high above the others. The woman had been sitting in that spot for years, and the way she clicked her abacus fascinated Yuxiu. Her fingers reminded Yuxiu of a butterfly or a bewitched moth that skimmed the surface of water then darted off. When the woman’s fingers stopped, they looked like a dragonfly resting lightly on a lotus leaf, creating indescribable beauty. So soft it seemed to contain no bones, the cashier’s hand formed Yuxiu’s childhood dream. Too bad she isn’t pretty. Wouldn’t it be wonderful, she often mused, if she could sit up there one day?
Yuxiu would make herself up like a lovely snake crossing a river, a sight for everyone in the commune, young and old, when she slithered around. An ambitious child who harbored secret plans, she’d believed with all her heart that she would not spend her whole life in Wang Family Village, that she would not hang herself from that particular tree. She’d always had faith in her plans for the future. Now, of course, that faith had died; her plans would not pan out after all. And so for her, the supply and marketing co-op was a place of shattered dreams and a broken heart. But people are strange creatures, because sometimes they actually develop a fondness for just such a place and cling desperately to it with no thought of ever leaving.