How exactly did Yu Luan die? Tao Tao didn’t actually know the details.
After leaving the Tao family, Auntie Yu took him and left Zhangxi Town, moving to a neighboring county to make a living. Tao Tao heard through the grapevine that she first found work as a saleswoman at a department store, thanks to someone’s introduction. Later, she heard that Auntie Yu had saved up some money, grown bold, and decisively taken Yu Luan to Hong Kong to seek out his eldest uncle.
But the two of them didn’t seem to find Yu Luan’s uncle’s family. Mother and son had a rough start, renting a small storefront to run a hair salon. Business picked up, and they gradually expanded into selling shampoo and conditioner.
Tao Tao had always assumed that Yu Luan and Auntie Yu were doing well. Until one day, when she was a senior in high school, right in the thick of exam preparation—her dad suddenly entrusted her to Grandma’s care. Without a word, he went to the bank, withdrew a thick stack of bills wrapped in newspaper, and caught the earliest long-distance bus, then transferred to a train, then a ferry, heading to Hong Kong.
Grandma lied to her, saying he’d gone to Hong Kong to buy inventory.
After the bakery closed, her dad had rented out half of the storefront and kept the other half to sell odds and ends like soap, brooms, and washbasins.
Would he need to go all the way to Hong Kong for that kind of junk?
Tao Tao was half-doubtful. Days later, her dad returned—unshaven, his eyelids swollen and red. In the following nights, when she got up to use the bathroom half-asleep, she’d notice the second-floor living room door closed, with light seeping through the crack and the smell of thick cigarette smoke drifting out.
She was stunned. Tao Guangzhi had quit smoking the day she was born.
Tao Tao crept over and cracked the door open. Her dad was slumped on the sofa, asleep, a cigarette still between his fingers. Beside his hand lay a black-and-white photo.
She tiptoed in and picked up the photo. In it was a teenager of sixteen or seventeen, with clean features and a pair of exceptionally bright, clear, unclouded eyes.
At first, Tao Tao didn’t recognize him. He looked familiar, but when she finally realized who it was, she felt as if she’d been struck by lightning. Even her fingers trembled as they held the photo.
Right—it was Yu Luan.
This… this was actually Yu Luan’s memorial photo!
“I remember…” A hoarse voice came from beside her. Tao Guangzhi had woken up.
“Xiao Luan is a year younger than you. Only seventeen this year, right?”
Tao Guangzhi murmured, “Only seventeen…”
That was the first time Tao Tao truly understood what it felt like when someone you knew died.
Tao Guangzhi said that even though Auntie Yu had earned some money and taken Yu Luan for training, he still didn’t like to talk much and struggled to make friends. He had a severe academic imbalance between subjects. But after high school, when the arts and sciences tracks split, Yu Luan’s grades improved dramatically. He was even selected to compete in math competitions.
But that’s just how people are—there are good ones and bad ones. Some people couldn’t stand to see the mother and son do well. Even though they only ran that small hair salon, there were always people picking fights and causing trouble.
“Sigh. They didn’t know anyone there, and Yu Luan’s eldest uncle was never found. There was no one to help them…” Tao Guangzhi stubbed out his cigarette, rubbed his face hard, and couldn’t even finish the sentence.
Tao Tao went back to her room and buried herself under her blanket, wiping away tears.
She couldn’t sleep for days. Every time she closed her eyes, images of Yu Luan when he still lived in their house would appear in her mind. In her memories, he was still so young—sitting on a little stool watching TV, lying on the floor tiles doing a puzzle, curled up on a chair doing homework. He’d call out to her in that tiny voice: “Jie jie.”
And she would think, uselessly and full of regret: What if she hadn’t stubbornly driven them away? Then Auntie Yu wouldn’t have had to leave her hometown, struggling alone in a strange place to make a living for herself and Yu Luan.
Would Yu Luan… not have died, then?
The sunset shifted, flooding the room with warm light. Bathed in it, Yu Luan beside the glass counter looked as soft and fuzzy as a little animal.
Tao Tao slowly crouched down, resting both hands on the glass, and peered at him.
He was very sensitive. He immediately noticed her watching. Holding the frog, he timidly glanced up at her, then quickly looked away. His entire body stiffened beside the cabinet, frozen.
Tao Tao looked at him through the glass, now drenched in sunset, for a very, very long time.
He didn’t speak. His black-and-white eyes stared fixedly at the floor. Finally, he moved. Under Tao Tao’s gaze, slowly and stealthily, he hid the little tin frog behind his back.
Tao Tao had been so sad she was about to cry, but his action made her laugh despite herself.
Little miser.
“What are you hiding? Do you think I want your frog?”
Tao Tao was just speaking normally, even with a certain familiarity she didn’t consciously notice. But Yu Luan was so startled he flinched backward. Behind him was the open iron gate. He bumped right into it with his bottom—clang—which scared him even more. His eyes flew wide open, and a half-tear instantly pooled in each.
“I—” Tao Tao stared, dumbfounded. “You—”
Tao Guangzhi tucked his money into his apron. Hearing the noise, he turned and saw Yu Luan sitting on the ground, with his own daughter glaring at the boy like an ox. He felt a headache coming on. He strode over in a few steps, scooped Yu Luan up with his big hands, and brushed the dust off his pants.
Then he turned and gave Tao Tao’s cheek—still marked with bamboo mat imprints from her nap—a gentle pinch.
“Girl, where did you pop out from? You’ve been gone all afternoon! I’ve told you before, Xiao Luan is very shy around strangers. And you keep picking on him!”
Tao Tao quickly raised her hands to defend herself: “I didn’t pick on him! I said one sentence, and he scared himself.”
Tao Guangzhi, clearly tired of mediating kid disputes, frowned and poked her forehead. “Better be true. Yesterday, you swatted his puzzle—the one he spent days putting together—right onto the floor. This morning, you hid his homework in the bathroom. Then you climbed over the wall and hid at Lily’s place, thinking I wouldn’t know?”
That did sound like the kind of terrible thing she would’ve done as a kid… Tao Tao’s cheeks flushed with heat. She gave a sheepish, awkward laugh.
“But I really didn’t bully him this time,” she muttered under her breath.
“What difference does that make? The kid is scared to death every time he sees you now!” Tao Guangzhi shook his head and let it go. He bent down to brush the dust off Yu Luan’s bottom, then took one child by each hand. “Alright, enough about that. You go inside and fix your hair—it looks like a chicken nest!”
After dismissing Tao Tao, he immediately softened his voice and said gently to Yu Luan, “Xiao Luan, come inside too. Come watch some TV. We’ll wait for Mom to get home and then we’ll eat. There’s green bean porridge tonight—your favorite.”
Tao Tao rolled her eyes.
She had a pretty good idea now why she’d hated Yu Luan as a child.
Tao Guangzhi, like most ordinary dads, was used to yelling at his own kid and being polite to other people’s children. But little Tao Tao couldn’t distinguish that strange dynamic. All she felt was that ever since her new mom and new little brother arrived, her dad—who had belonged to her alone—had been taken away. Of course she wasn’t going to be nice to Yu Luan.
Tao Tao snuck a glance at Yu Luan through the gap in her father’s arm.
He always cried silently, and it was always over quickly. Tao Guangzhi had roughly wiped his pale cheeks with his palm, leaving the skin pink from the friction. His eyelashes were wet with tears, making him look even more pitiful. But even though Tao Guangzhi had grabbed his hand so roughly, Yu Luan didn’t say a word or look at anyone—yet he obediently followed along.
Everyone thought Yu Luan was just young, introverted, quiet, and timid.
They all said he’d grow out of it naturally.
Tao Tao hadn’t known any better either.
Yu Luan had attended first grade at a village elementary school on Lipu Island. That school was practically shut down, and the teachers barely supervised the children. So at first, no one noticed anything wrong. After Auntie Yu married Tao Guangzhi, Yu Luan transferred to the town central elementary school—the same one Tao Tao attended. Zhangxi Town Central Elementary was considered the best among the surrounding townships. They were strict about academics, and Yu Luan stood out immediately.
When the teacher called roll, she had to call his name several times before he responded. Every week when it was time to swap seats, the other kids would excitedly scream and shove their desks around, but Yu Luan alone would clutch his backpack in panic, frozen. A moment later, tears would silently stream down his face.
He would also tie and retie his shoelaces, line up his pencils on the desk until they were perfectly aligned in length, color, and pattern orientation. He couldn’t focus in class—he’d stare at the ceiling fan instead. Apart from scoring perfect on math, his grades in Chinese, natural sciences, and ethics were even worse than Tao Tao’s, who spent class sleeping or drawing little figures.
Both of the Tao family kids became well-known at school. Tao Tao was always getting into fights or causing trouble, resulting in her parents being called in. And Yu Luan, despite being so well-behaved, was ostracized and didn’t fit in. That was when Auntie Yu began to suspect something was wrong.
Around the same time, Tao Guangzhi also thought Tao Tao was constantly failing her exams and was hyperactive, perhaps intellectually challenged as well. The couple worried endlessly. After following the elderly’s advice—burning incense and praying to various gods—to no avail, they quickly became pragmatists and decided to trust science. They loaded up both kids and took a two-and-a-half-hour long-distance bus ride to see a doctor in the city hospital.
The examination showed nothing wrong with Tao Tao—she was just a bit more mischievous than the average child. The doctor said she was the type of kid who matured a little later. Sitting in the classroom, she didn’t understand what the teacher was doing up there, nor why she couldn’t just go outside and play instead of sitting in “prison” all day. She also couldn’t figure out why she had to do homework every day. Tao Tao still remembered how the doctor had gently asked her: “Do you know what class is for?”
Tao Tao answered honestly: “No idea.”
“Well, when the teacher is up there lecturing, isn’t she teaching you things? Don’t you hear her?”