Fang Zhiyi froze for a moment.
Then, as if long accustomed to her sister’s volatility, she silently stood up and walked toward the door. Her arm remained raised, her palm still pressing against the skin of her neck where Fang Rulian’s breath had just brushed past.
What a temperamental, ill-natured sister, Fang Rulian thought to herself. Before Zhiyi could exit the bedroom, Rulian watched that thin back and explained in a softened tone, “Xiao Yi, I just want to change my clothes. You go out first.”
Rulian watched as Zhiyi nodded slightly and turned away, showing no signs of discomfort. Only then did Rulian’s racing heart begin to settle. She stepped forward quickly; her finger hesitated for a second on the handle before she finally clicked the door shut and locked it.
Leaning against the cool wooden door, she heard the footsteps outside fade toward the living room. Rulian stared at her toes, frustration circling her mind like a relentless rainy season.
She had promised herself she would reform, yet she still couldn’t control her emotions. She was no different from before.
Though her actions had become absurdly reckless later in her previous life, objectively speaking, before Fang Zhiyi turned eighteen, Rulian had indeed fulfilled her duties as a sister. Her flighty personality might have been annoying to Zhiyi, but there was no denying that Rulian had been protective. Everything a typical older sister would do, she had done well.
All the erratic moods and the beginning of the wrong path could be traced back to that summer after Fang Zhiyi’s graduation.
…
The Summer in Luwei
Luwei City: humid, hot, and irritating.
Fang Rulian had used her face as a ticket into the entertainment industry. She signed with a company and landed a minor role in a xianxia drama—a “test run” the company gave her.
She played a minor goddess who loved the male lead in vain, a character meant to push the main couple together. Rulian wanted to do well, but the result was NGs after NGs. The director’s critique was: “You are beautiful, but you can’t get into character. With a face like yours, you don’t look like someone who knows how to love.”
Rulian had drifted through her studies, but for the acting career she truly loved, this was a severe blow.
What does it mean to know how to love?
Rulian began a crash course—binge-watching romance films, analyzing classic anime, and desperately trying to dissect how award-winning actresses portrayed immersive love. No one on set wanted to rehearse with a rookie, so she practiced against the air; at home, she rehearsed over and over in front of the mirror.
Then, one day, she saw Fang Zhiyi in that mirror.
Zhiyi had come to Luwei to find a tutoring job for the summer to earn pocket money for university. Fang Rulian hadn’t understood why she was so busy until she saw Zhiyi’s 400-yuan-per-hour fee. Then, she fully supported her sister’s decision.
Zhiyi moved into Rulian’s cramped one-bedroom apartment. They were busy during the day, but at night, Zhiyi was forced to become Rulian’s “acting partner” for practicing scenes of passion and heartbreak.
Zhiyi was unwilling, but she didn’t dare resist her sister’s overbearing nature, reacting only like a piece of wood. This resistance actually suited Rulian’s needs perfectly; the role she was practicing was exactly that of a bitter, unrequited love.
She couldn’t remember which day it was, but in that narrow rental, Rulian put down her script to deliver lines to her trembling sister. According to the plan, her gaze should have moved from the “male lead’s” Adam’s apple to his chest.
But Rulian didn’t follow the plan.
Because Fang Zhiyi didn’t have a prominent Adam’s apple—only a throat slightly protruding from the tilt of her head. That area, wrapped in fair skin, slid gently with the motion of swallowing. Even in breath, there were subtle rises and falls, pulling at the surrounding skin.
Because they were so close, Rulian’s gaze stayed there involuntarily. Her breathing began to sync with the other’s.
Rulian felt she had “broken character.” Acting against Zhiyi wasn’t helping her look like someone who “knew how to love.” She realized with a jolt that the identity of “sister” was too strong; she couldn’t equate Zhiyi with a male lead, the air, or a pillar on set.
She stopped the torture, tucked her sister—who had been trying so hard to memorize lines and cooperate—into the blankets, and promptly turned off the lights to sleep.
“Sister, are you angry?”
The window wasn’t shut tight; the noise of traffic swirled in the air. In the gloom, she heard her “good sister” ask this, her voice muffled by the quilt.
“Hmm?” Rulian looked at the blurry shadows of the lights on the ceiling. She thought carelessly: Zhiyi seems to have grown up.
Yes, Zhiyi had passed her eighteenth birthday; she was an adult in the eyes of the law. But Rulian knew that wasn’t what she meant. As for what she did mean, she couldn’t figure it out yet.
“No,” she replied curiously. “Why do you ask?”
“Because I messed up the lines just now.”
Rulian blinked blankly. Messed up the lines? She hadn’t heard a thing. Even now, trying to recall it, the image of that vulnerable neck fluttering before her eyes was silent and still. She hadn’t even heard the cars outside.
“Go to sleep.”
She ended the conversation abruptly, for no reason at all.
…
The Rainfall
The days flipped by. Luwei remained stiflingly hot, with high-temperature alerts popping up on her phone. Until one ordinary evening, a torrential rain poured down without warning.
The film crew finished early that day. Rulian had returned to the apartment in the afternoon, exhausted from a 4:00 AM start. She fell asleep the moment she hit the bed, and when she woke, dark clouds were rolling in.
It was going to rain. In other places, this might be a relief, but in Luwei, rain only meant humidity; the temperature wouldn’t drop.
She got up to wash her face and noticed two umbrellas by the door. Zhiyi had gone out without one. Rulian sent her a message asking if she was back yet. It was almost 6:00 PM; the tutoring session should have ended.
Rulian checked her notebook where she kept Zhiyi’s schedule. Today’s location was near a subway entrance. From there to the apartment should take about fifteen minutes.
Zhiyi might be on her way. Rulian checked WeChat; there was no reply. She called.
The phone was off.
This had happened once before. Zhiyi’s explanation then was that her phone had died just as she left the subway. Rulian hadn’t scolded her then; she had just bought her a power bank. So why now? She had taken the power bank with her today.
Ten minutes later, the rain hammered down. Zhiyi was still not home.
Rulian deeply regretted not having the contact info for the parents Zhiyi tutored. However, she knew the address. She grabbed an umbrella, hailed a taxi, and went to the house. Even with an umbrella, she was soaked by the time she knocked on the door, only to be told Zhiyi had left half an hour ago.
Seeing Rulian’s frantic expression, the parent added, “Classmate Fang usually comes and goes with a boy of the same age. Why don’t you ask him?”
Rulian thanked them and went downstairs.
She stood in the rain, her face pale. The umbrella was useless in this storm. As she walked toward the bus stop, she thought: What boy? Zhiyi never told me.
She called again. Still off.
A black car roared past, sending a wall of muddy water crashing over Rulian, soaking her to the bone. Her mood was so wretched she didn’t even have the energy to curse the driver’s ancestors. Her soaked clothes clung to her like a cold suit of armor, making every step a struggle.
She dragged her water-stained shoes back to the apartment. She opened the door and found the living room lights on.
Water dripped from her pant legs, forming a muddy puddle on the floor. The bathroom door creaked—Zhiyi was coming out.
The girl wore a yellow nightgown with cute cat patterns. Her hair was blown dry and combed smooth, her fair face flushed pink from the steam of the shower. One was cold and wretched; the other was warm and composed.
The girl gasped and came over to close the door. “Sister, why are you in this state?”
Rulian stared at her. “Where were you?”
“Tutoring.” The girl tilted her head, confused. She reached out a clean hand to support the pale Rulian. “Sister, how did you get so—”
The clean were weak; the dirty were strong.
“You left there at 5:30. Isn’t 6:00 enough time to get home?” Rulian suddenly grabbed her and pinned her against the wall. Her wet clothes pressed against the girl’s clean pajamas. She raised dark, heavy eyes, her tone terrifyingly calm. “How come I never heard you mention that you have a classmate who commutes with you every day?”
They were very close. Water from Rulian’s hair dripped onto Zhiyi’s shoulder. Zhiyi flinched and turned her head away. “Sister… did you go there? I’m late because…”
The sound was being blocked out again.
Rulian couldn’t hear whatever Zhiyi was saying. In her silent vision, her gaze was fixed like a curse on the girl’s vulnerable neck, fully exposed by the turn of her head.
Rulian’s body felt cold. Her eyelashes trembled.
It was like an unspoken taboo. As long as you don’t touch it, don’t think about it, you can muddle through a lifetime. But once the thought occurs… the crime is established.
…
Knock, knock, knock!
Three knocks on the door brought Rulian back to reality.
Fang Zhiyi’s voice came from outside: “Sister, are you finished changing?”