Jiang Mu didn’t know why Jin Zhao had gotten out of the car. She just waited quietly inside. Soon he returned, holding a newly bought pack of cigarettes and a drink. He casually handed the drink and straw to Jiang Mu, who quickly sat up straight and accepted it with both hands, saying, “Thank you.”
Her overly polite gesture caught Jin Zhao’s attention, but he said nothing as he closed the car door.
The north wasn’t as humid as the south, but summers were still very dry. Jiang Mu hadn’t drunk anything since boarding in Beijing. Perhaps because of anticipating meeting long-separated family members, she had barely slept the previous night, too anxious to even think about drinking water, leaving her voice hoarse when speaking with Jin Zhao.
Now that Jin Zhao had specifically stopped the car to buy her a drink, Jiang Mu felt somewhat embarrassed, even wondering if he had bought the cigarettes just to mask this awkwardness.
She lowered her head to insert the straw into the milk tea cup. The cool sensation slid down her throat through her taste buds, making her eyes narrow in pleasure—it was her favorite strawberry milkshake.
The taste immediately unlocked her memories. She could still vaguely remember loving strawberries as a child. Once, Jin Zhao had taken her to an old woman’s yard where there was a patch of cultivated strawberries. They weren’t large, small like wild strawberries, but especially sweet. Jin Zhao had taken off his shirt to carry away a large handful.
Later, they sat on the grass of the back mountain. Jin Zhao gave the strawberries to Jiang Mu to eat. She had held up a bitten strawberry to Jin Zhao, saying, “Brother, the back isn’t sweet.”
Jin Zhao had carelessly taken it: “I’ll eat the not-sweet parts.”
Remembering this childhood moment, Jiang Mu couldn’t help but smile. Jin Zhao started the car and glanced at her: “What are you smiling about?”
Jiang Mu lowered her head to drink the strawberry milkshake, her smile gradually fading, because she remembered that after sunset that day, when Jin Zhao had led her home, the old woman had already found their doorstep. Jin Qiang had repeatedly promised his children wouldn’t steal strawberries, but then saw the bright red strawberry stains on Jin Zhao’s clothes. Jin Qiang could only apologize to the old woman.
That evening, Jiang Yinghan had been furious, scolding Jin Zhao for corrupting his sister—today it was stealing strawberries, tomorrow would it be stealing money?
Seeing Jin Zhao’s stubborn neck and complete lack of guilt, she angrily took out a clothes-hanging pole and struck his arm hard. Though Jin Zhao was the one beaten, Jiang Mu had cried even more fiercely than him. That night, she had sneaked into her brother’s room, holding his arm and gently blowing on it, asking if it hurt. But she remembered Jin Zhao hadn’t made a sound that day, only telling her: “We can’t go eat strawberries tomorrow, but when I grow up and earn money, I’ll buy you some—big ones.”
Retrieving these memories while sipping the strawberry milkshake, Jiang Mu felt a mix of emotions, as if even the milkshake’s taste had turned somewhat bitter.
She turned her head to ask, “Is this your car?”
Jin Zhao’s hand on the steering wheel paused before he answered, “No.”
Jiang Mu had asked this trying to indirectly learn how Jin Zhao was living now, so she asked again, “Are you still in school?”
His answer was two words: “I’m not.”
“Did you just graduate this year or…”
Jiang Mu didn’t know how to continue the question. Jin Zhao seemed to hear her concern and caution, directly telling her: “I stopped after graduating high school.”
Those words made Jiang Mu’s heart sink. She had imagined many possibilities, including perhaps not seeing her brother on this trip because he might be away at university but had never expected this answer. She remembered how smart Jin Zhao had been as a child. Every time their father returned from parent-teacher meetings, his face had been beaming. Their home had been covered with Jin Zhao’s model student certificates. Learning had seemed effortless for him—he’d even had plenty of time to play soccer, coming home sweaty and falling straight asleep, yet always ranking at the top of his class. His teachers had all said he was naturally suited for academics, so how had he stopped studying?
Jiang Mu’s mind was full of questions, but being new to this place and separated for so many years, their current unfamiliarity didn’t allow her to touch upon these sensitive topics.
Soon, the car turned into an urban village. This area was notably livelier than the outskirts, with narrower streets and many motorcycles weaving through. As Jiang Mu looked around wide-eyed, suddenly a motorcycle cut in front of their car unexpectedly. Startled, Jiang Mu jabbed her lip with the straw. Jin Zhao slammed on the brakes, lowered the window, and cursed at the rider: “Get lost!”
The rider was huge, with a shaved head and thick, dark eyebrows like Guan Gong’s. Deep nasolabial folds carved a figure-eight on his face. Jiang Mu rarely saw such terrifying appearances and instinctively gripped her seatbelt. Yet when cursed at, the man not only didn’t get angry but smiled and called out to Jin Zhao: “Drinking tonight?”
Jin Zhao replied coldly: “Drink your head off.”
The man swerved his bike beside Jin Zhao’s window, leaning down to say, “What’s got you so fired up?”
Just as he finished speaking, he noticed the delicate young girl in the passenger seat. His eyes brightened as he winked: “Oh, You Jiu, who’s this little sister?”
Jin Zhao ignored him. The man continued: “Aren’t you worried about Little Green Snake making trouble at your place?”
Jin Zhao simply closed the window and drove away. Only then did Jiang Mu release her breath, having feared Jin Zhao might get into a conflict. But then she realized something.
She asked, “Is that person your friend?”
Jin Zhao grunted in the affirmative. Jiang Mu fell silent, lowering her gaze as her mind churned. Dropping out after high school, seemingly surrounded by unreliable friends—what kind of life had Jin Zhao been living after leaving Suzhou? These questions weighed heavily on her mind.
She asked again, “Why did he call you ‘You Jiu’?”
Jin Zhao glanced at her but didn’t answer.
Soon the car entered a cramped residential complex. After several turns, Jin Zhao simply drove up onto the curb at the edge of the complex—that counted as a parking space.
After turning off the engine, Jin Zhao suddenly leaned over and asked her, “Did it break?”
As evening fell, the light in the car wasn’t great. Jin Zhao’s sudden proximity made Jiang Mu inexplicably nervous. She turned to meet his dark, bright eyes and saw the faint scar above his left eyebrow. Her heart instantly began racing. Though his features were sharper than in his youth and it was now hard to find traces of his former self, that scar remained—the one he’d gotten because of her. She’d heard from their father that when she was just over a year old, Jin Zhao had cut himself on the glass surface of the bedside table while catching her as she rolled off the bed, bleeding profusely.
Since her earliest memories, that faint scar had been hidden in his eyebrow. She hadn’t thought much of it before, but now it seemed to add to his dangerous air.
Jiang Mu stared at the scar as if finally finding a trace of the past in the present Jin Zhao. The overwhelming familiarity nearly suffocated her, even bringing tears to her eyes.
Jin Zhao’s gaze lingered on her lips, checking where the straw had indeed broken the skin, drawing blood. Her red lower lip reminded him of cherries. He shook off the thought with a frown. Only at this moment did he seem to notice that the spoiled, somewhat willful little girl had grown into an elegant young woman. It didn’t seem appropriate for him to keep staring at her. Jin Zhao straightened up, moving away from her, but then saw Jiang Mu’s tearful, aggrieved expression. He suddenly said, “His name is Jin Fengzi.”
Jiang Mu was confused by his random statement: “What Jin Fengzi?”
Jin Zhao rested both hands on the steering wheel, a faint smile on his lips: “That guy from earlier.”
“Who? Guan Gong?”
Jin Zhao paused, his faint smile spreading: “That’s him. Next time you see him, let him punch you once. Let’s go.”
Jiang Mu opened the car door in confusion, not realizing Jin Zhao had thought she was upset about her cut lip.
Jin Zhao took her luggage from the trunk. This place hadn’t implemented garbage sorting yet—several large garbage bins were piled together in the old complex, emitting a terrible stench. Jiang Mu held her breath. Jin Zhao glanced at her, lowered his head, and said, “Suzhou’s developed well, hasn’t it?”
Jiang Mu didn’t know how to respond. There was indeed quite a gap, but this was where Jin Zhao lived, and she didn’t want to show any sense of superiority. She just replied, “It’s alright.”
Jin Zhao walked ahead, dropping the words: “Tell me if you can’t get used to it.”
Jiang Mu didn’t understand what Jin Zhao meant, but when she followed him into the building, the stark contrast still made her uncomfortable.
The cracked walls in the stairwell, partially peeling paint, even missing handrails on the second floor with exposed rebar, and narrow passages made narrower by large jars outside some apartments, made the already cramped building darker and more confined.
This place was somewhat like the old complex they’d lived in as children, but she and her mother had moved into an elevator apartment building years ago, with spacious balconies and floor-to-ceiling windows, pleasant landscaping, and complete facilities. It was as if Jin Zhao’s life had been paused, remaining in place for ten years, unchanged. Thinking of this, Jiang Mu felt somewhat heartbroken.
Jin Zhao climbed straight to the fifth floor, carrying her suitcase effortlessly while Jiang Mu was already panting. He looked at her and shook his head with a smile: “A few flights of stairs tire you out this much?”
“Yeah, feels like I climbed a mountain.”
“Your physical fitness needs improvement.”
Jin Zhao commented. Jiang Mu asked him: “Why aren’t you even out of breath climbing stairs?”
Jin Zhao took out his keys: “It’s trained.”
Jiang Mu blurted out: “How did you train, by carrying your sister?”
Both of them froze at her words. Their old house in Suzhou had been on the fourth floor. When she was little, Jiang Mu had liked clinging to her brother’s back as he carried her upstairs, her arms around his neck, her feet swinging at his sides. Jin Zhao had always rushed up in one go, their laughter filling the stairwell. It had become their little game.
After learning Jin Zhao had a new sister, Jiang Mu had several similar dreams where Jin Zhao carried his new sister up the stairs while she could only stand outside the building. That feeling of abandonment had been unbearable.
Perhaps it was her subconscious thought, but as soon as Jiang Mu blurted it out, she regretted it, looking helplessly at Jin Zhao. Jin Zhao said nothing, opening the door at the right moment.
Through that doorway, Jiang Mu seemed to enter another world—a family completely foreign to her.