Fortunately, she still had two full years ahead of her—enough time to plan carefully and move step by step. Right now, what she needed most was rest.
Lu Jianguo went back to work after lunch; he had only taken a half-day of leave. Wang Xiulan found an old quilt, made the bed for Lu Jinxia, and laid out bedding for her. Then she hurried to wash the dishes and rush off to work.
Before Wang Xiulan left, Lu Jinxia asked if she had a bath ticket—she wanted to wash up. Wang Xiulan gave her a ticket and fifteen cents. Only after handing them over did she suddenly remember Lu Jinxia’s injury. “Can you wash your head? Perhaps you should wait another day or two?”
“Don’t worry—I’ll be very careful!”
Seeing that Lu Jinxia was set on it, Wang Xiulan said no more. She passed her the ticket and money and hurried out to work.
Lu Jinxia took the money and ticket downstairs and asked the women gathered below for directions to the bathhouse. They warmly showed her the way. As she walked off, she could hear them whispering behind her back: “Now, whose child is that?”
“Never seen her before. Must be a relative from somewhere.”
A short walk brought her to a low red-brick building. At the entrance hung a faded blue cloth curtain, marked with faint characters reading Staff Bathhouse. Two long wooden benches, their paint chipped, stood outside. The place was quiet and nearly empty.
The attendant, an elderly man, sat dozing with his eyes half-shut. He opened them at the sound of footsteps. Lu Jinxia handed over her ticket and the fifteen cents. Without a second glance, he tore off the stub and waved her in. “Go on through—hardly anyone inside.”
She pulled aside the heavy blue curtain, and warm, steamy air washed over her at once. It carried a faint sulfur scent that made her squint. Inside was one large common room, with a row of concrete showerheads along one wall. Several rows of worn wooden lockers stood nearby for storing clothes. In the corner were large soaking pools, thick with rising steam—so thick that figures a few steps away were barely visible.
It was not yet quitting time or the end of the school day, so the bathhouse was nearly empty. Only two middle-aged women stood talking quietly in one corner, their voices barely audible above the trickle of water.
Lu Jinxia chose the farthest, most secluded corner. She removed her tattered outer coat, folded it neatly atop a locker, and kept on only her undergarments. This was a large communal bathhouse, typical of the region. She had also seen attendants who scrubbed patrons down.
When washing, she took great care to keep her bandaged forehead dry. She scrubbed thoroughly, taking her time until every trace of grime was gone. The steam hung thick and visibility was low, and there was hardly anyone about—so she felt safe retrieving shampoo from her space and washing her hair. She washed slowly and carefully, keeping her injury clear of water the entire time.
When she finished, she felt lighter, fresher, as though a weight had lifted. She dressed in clean underclothes and slipped her patched coat back on. In this era, standing out drew unwelcome attention and trouble—discretion was the safest course. She towel-dried her hair until it was half-dry, the damp strands cool against her neck. Gathering her things, she stepped back out through the curtain.
The sun had begun to dip westward, casting a warm, pleasant glow over everything. She walked slowly back to the apartment block. The corridors were still quiet; no one else was home yet. She unlocked the door and stepped into the empty, still room, smelling faintly of dust.
Climbing up to the upper bunk, she settled into the thin bedding. The weariness of a warm bath washed over her all at once, and before long, she fell fast asleep.
Her dream was hazy, a gray mist where nothing could be clearly seen. Gradually, a small, thin figure emerged—hair in unkempt braids, clad in heavily patched clothes, face sallow, yet with eyes and features exactly like her own.
It was the original girl.
She stood amid the gray haze, her voice drifting softly: “You’ve come back. Live well, from now on.”
Lu Jinxia looked at her and asked, “I am here—but what about you? Where will you go? I have taken your body—where do you belong? You are Lu Jinxia… and who am I? Why did you bring me here?”
The girl smiled—a smile faint as wispy smoke. She drew closer, growing increasingly transparent, until she seemed about to dissolve entirely into the mist.
“You are me, and I am you. We were always one. We were never truly apart.”
“Only by your returning, and carrying my hopes to live fully, do we become whole—only then do we truly live.”
As her voice faded, the girl dissolved completely into the mist, turning into flecks of light that drifted and melted into Lu Jinxia’s chest.
A rush of emotion—strange yet familiar—surged through her: years of grievance and hardship, profound relief at being free at last, and all the bright hopes the girl had held for the future.
Lu Jinxia’s eyes flew open. She sat up on the upper bunk, chest rising and falling gently. Outside, the sky had darkened. The apartment block was coming alive: footsteps of returning workers, the laughter of children home from school, the clatter and sizzle of supper being prepared—all blending together into the warm, vibrant rhythm of daily life.
She lifted a hand and touched her forehead. The wound still throbbed faintly. And that dream—so vivid, it felt as though it had truly happened.
So that was how it was.
She was Lu Jinxia. Lu Jinxia was her.
Lu Jinxia settled into her new home. Lu Jianguo sent a telegram to his parents back in the countryside, explaining that Jinxia had come to him and would not be returning. He asked them to pass the message to his elder sister.
When his sister received the news, she showed no reaction at all. That utter indifference stung even more. Lu Jianguo and Wang Xiulan were furious at the family’s callousness, yet there was little they could do. To raise a fuss meant taking leave and losing wages. And what would be gained? They were, after all, kin. A public quarrel would shame everyone. Better to let matters lie.
Lu Jianguo spent the next ten days rushing about—seeking help, exchanging favors, delivering gifts. Finally, he succeeded in transferring Lu Jinxia’s household registration and grain and oil rations to the city.
Hearing that her third sister had returned, Lu Xiaoman, the eldest married sister, came home especially to see her. Seeing that Lu Jinxia had scarcely any clothes, Wang Xiulan gathered garments that Lu Xiaoman and Lu Lichun had outgrown and gave them to her.
During the days, Lu Jinxia spent her time reading. Wang Xiulan had given her Lu Lichun’s old junior high textbooks. Learning that Jinxia wished to continue her education, Wang Xiulan had fetched them out for her. At first, both Wang Xiulan and Lu Jianguo had assumed that since she had only finished primary school, she should start afresh from the first year of junior high. But Lu Jinxia refused. She intended to take the graduation examinations directly and go on to high school.
For one thing, starting from the beginning would take too long. For another—she had graduated from university not so very long ago. Passing a high school entrance exam was well within her reach.