Song Erya's fever lasted for several days.
She slept, woke, then slept again. Song Fang fed her medicine several times before she gradually regained consciousness.
When she opened her eyes, the first things she saw were the house's outdated décor and the gaudy, multicolored panda-patterned curtains.
Outside, the sky had already cleared. A breeze blew in, stirring the beaded curtain hanging at the doorway.
Everything here told her unmistakably that she had truly traveled back thirty years—that her mother, who had been dead for many years, was now her young older sister.
Song Fang lifted the curtain and came in. Seeing that she could get out of bed, she stepped forward, touched her forehead, smiled, and said it wasn't very hot anymore, telling her to hurry up and get up to wash.
Song Erya stared at her blankly.
Song Fang pushed her lightly. "What are you spacing out for?"
The washbasin was set up outside in the courtyard. A nail had been driven into the wall to hang a mirror with a red plastic frame.
When Song Erya saw the person in the mirror, she froze. Song Yao's appearance was almost identical to her own as a child—calling them twins wouldn't have been an exaggeration.
Then she excitedly touched the thick hair on her head. "I have hair again?"
Song Fang didn't understand her excitement. "Who doesn't have hair?"
Song Erya paused. For the sake of later treatment, doctors had had a caregiver shave her head. She had cried loudly for a long time back then.
As the sky grew brighter, the neighbors gradually got up. Song Guoliang's shouting rang out loud and clear: "Why do we eat salted fish every day?"
As her body recovered, many of Song Yao's memories began to surface in fragments.
She sipped her plain porridge in small mouthfuls, her eyes curiously fixed on the boy at the table—so fat he looked like a ball, the flesh on his face squeezed together.
The big fatty was Song Yao's brother, Song Guoliang—her troublesome, infuriating scumbag of an uncle.
Song Yao's mother had died from complications during childbirth. Her father didn't care much about her either. Since she was the youngest child, Song Dad casually named her "Song Laoyao." When registering her household record, the clerk found it unpleasant-sounding and changed it to Song Yao.
Song Guoliang, meanwhile, was the family's only treasure. While their parents were still alive, he had been spoiled into a giant baby—lazy and gluttonous.
Among the three siblings, Song Fang, as the eldest, dropped out of school after their father died and went to work, supporting her younger brother and sister all by herself.
Her mother rarely talked about her past in Coconut City. Song Erya knew little about her youth, had no deep feelings for this uncle, and had never even heard of Song Yao.
She hadn't even known she had a younger aunt.
She lowered her head to examine her current small body. Her limbs were thin and weak; only her cheeks had a bit of flesh.
This body was fourteen years old, yet it looked no older than ten—clearly suffering from severe malnutrition.
Song Fang glanced at her well-behaved younger sister, quietly eating porridge and dried salted fish with a spoon, then at her exasperating brother. A wave of irritation rose in her heart, only to be quickly suppressed.
"I haven't gotten paid yet. There's no money to buy meat."
"You say that every time." Song Guoliang shoved his bowl away. "I'm not eating."
Song Fang flared up. "If you're not eating, then get out!"
Seeing this tactic fail, Song Guoliang grew angry, jumped up, and ran out the door.
Still seething, Song Fang tapped the table with her chopsticks. "Yaoyao, from now on you stay at home and don't go anywhere. If you do, I'll beat you to death."
She thought her sister had been saved after falling into the sea while playing. The police hadn't told her that her sister had actually "come back from the dead."
Song Fang still had to go to work and couldn't keep an eye on her. Before leaving, she thought it over and said uneasily, "You'll go stay at Auntie Ming's place today."
Auntie Ming lived in the neighboring courtyard—she was Shen Mingsong's mother.
After breakfast, Song Fang led Song Erya next door and called into the courtyard. A teenage boy pushed the door open and came out, wearing a white tank top and loud floral shorts, tall and thin.
Shen Mingsong had already been released from the police station.
"It's Mingsong," Song Fang said with a smile, asking him for a favor. "Let my sister play at your place today."
The boy glanced at Song Erya, walked over to open the iron gate, and said, "My mom's still sleeping."
"She won't make noise," Song Fang said, patting Song Erya's hair and reminding her, "Before Auntie Ming wakes up, you just play in this courtyard, okay? No noise, no trouble."
Song Erya nodded obediently. After Song Fang left, however, her eyes couldn't help darting around, full of curiosity about everything.
Puddles remained on the ground after the heavy rain, leaving patches of wet and dry across the courtyard.
The boy was cold in attitude. After giving her one look, he turned toward the low stove in the yard. He pulled over a small stool, sat down, added some coal beneath the stove to stoke the fire, and a clay pot began to bubble, releasing the unpleasant smell of herbal medicine.
From his slender back, Song Erya vaguely saw the shadow of another person. She walked over and sat down on the small stool beside him.
Song Yao hadn't left her many memories. She only knew that the Song and Shen families shared similar hardships—one with three siblings and no parents, the other with a widowed mother and orphaned son. Both were pitiful.
Shen Mingsong used the palm fan in his hand to push away the head she leaned toward him. "Why are you getting so close?"
Song Erya pretended not to see the rejection in his eyes, staring boldly and openly at his face. "Uncle, you've become so young."
Shen Mingsong's eyelid twitched. "Song Yao, is your brain still not right?"
By seniority, she should have called him "brother." She hadn't adapted yet and was trying to remember how Song Yao used to address him when memories suddenly surfaced.
Song Dad had once wanted to send Song Yao to live next door—not as an adopted daughter, but as a child bride. The two families had intended to arrange a childhood engagement.
She knew that Uncle Mingsong had had a first love when he was young.
Could it have been Song Yao?
Song Erya licked her lips and changed how she addressed him. "Brother?"
The heat from the stove made the summer even hotter. Fine sweat appeared at Shen Mingsong's temples, his gaze fierce and cold. "Brother my ass!"
Song Erya's pupils shook. "...You're really rude."
Uncle Mingsong had never spoken to her like this.
The person before her was completely different. He exuded a ferocity all over. Fortune-tellers said that both he and his mother were cursed stars, bringing death to most of the Shen family. Most importantly, he was said to recognize no kin at all—just last month, he had chased his uncle with a brick and smashed a huge gash in the man's head. The entire street had witnessed it, reinforcing the belief that the boy was vicious.
Afterward, he had been taken by the police for "education," but nothing could correct his foul temper.
Children in the neighborhood were afraid of him. Song Yao even more so—she usually avoided him altogether. The two had hardly any interaction, not even childhood playmates, let alone any so-called engagement. No one took that seriously.
If not for Song Fang's sake, Shen Mingsong would never have allowed her into his courtyard.
This attitude was nothing like how one would treat a first love.
And the Uncle Mingsong who had lived with Song Erya for years had always been gentle and indulgent toward her.
Was the difference between a teenager and a middle-aged man really that great?
A gust of wind shook the branches overhead. A few droplets splashed onto Song Erya's neck, making her shiver. She touched the wet spot and looked up at the fruit trees in his yard, making conversation just to say something. "Your trees have so many lychees. They're really good trees."
It was the season for lychees. Clusters of bright red fruit hung heavily from the branches. After the torrential rain, the leaves were washed clean.
The stove fire burned hot, heat rolling toward them. Shen Mingsong couldn't be bothered with a child and kept fanning her farther away. "If you want some, pick them yourself."
Song Erya said, "But I can't reach."
Shen Mingsong told her to get lost.
Song Erya thought to herself that this person definitely wasn't her Uncle Mingsong.
~
Coconut City was a coastal city, with much of its land preserving its natural ecology. The air was filled with the salty dampness of seawater.
During summer vacation, children were hard to control, splashing and jumping through puddles everywhere.
A group of children passed by together and spotted Song Erya sitting on the doorstep peeling lychees—Song Yao's usual playmates.
"Song Yao, want to come play with us?"
A little girl named Jiang Ling looked at the big bunch of lychees in her hands, then sneaked a glance into the courtyard. Seeing no one there, she lowered her voice. "Did you steal lychees from Shen Mingsong's place?"
"I didn't," Song Erya shook her head. Shen Mingsong had picked them for her. He was tall—standing up and reaching out, he had easily snapped off several bunches and tossed them to her, telling her to get lost and eat them elsewhere.
He found her too noisy and annoying and had driven her to sit outside the courtyard.
The lychees had thick flesh and small pits, very sweet and juicy. Song Erya generously shared them, but Jiang Ling waved her hands, afraid to take any.
Another boy spoke up. "Their lychees are sold for money. If you steal them and he finds out, he'll beat you."
The boy was Shen Mingsong's uncle's youngest son, Shen Xiaonian.
Song Erya didn't understand. "What are lychees worth?"
"My dad just climbed the wall to pick a few lychees from his place, and he beat my dad for it. Stingy jerk!"
Shen Xiaonian was referring to the brick-chasing incident.
Neighbors picking a bit of fruit or vegetables from each other's yards—who would call that stealing? Who would make a fuss over it?
Song Erya held the lychee pit in her hand. "Your dad must've been beaten for something else. How could it have been because of lychees?"
In Song Yao's memories, Shen Xiaonian's family were not good people.
Besides, she wasn't really thinking like a child. If Shen Mingsong's uncle just wanted lychees, why climb over the wall?
Where widows were concerned, gossip was plentiful—who knew what kind of filth he hid in his heart.
"Song Yao, how can you speak up for him today? We're not playing with you anymore." Shen Xiaonian hadn't expected her to say that. He glared at her as if she were a traitor.
Song Erya didn't care. "Oh."
"I'll beat you to death!" Shen Xiaonian shouted.
"Go play somewhere else, little brat." Being threatened by a child was truly funny; Song Erya almost laughed, then suddenly thought—was this how Shen Mingsong saw her too?
Shen Xiaonian was infuriated by her attitude and took two steps forward. Suddenly, his body stiffened, and he retreated several steps in fear. The other children ducked behind him even faster.
Shen Mingsong had appeared behind Song Erya at some point, staring straight at Shen Xiaonian with a chilling gaze.
They were cousins, and the relationship between their families was like that of enemies.
Shen Xiaonian's older brother was a notorious local bully, and Shen Xiaonian followed him around, swaggering every day. Among children their age, he was a little boss himself. He felt he shouldn't lose face and forced himself to straighten his back.
His brother was older than Shen Mingsong—already a high school graduate. Why should he be afraid?
Imitating his brother's usual bluster, he raised his voice. "Why are you staring at me? Am I not telling the truth? My mom said you still haven't paid my dad's medical bills!"
Shen Mingsong was still holding the fire tongs he had used to tend the stove. He smiled oddly. "Fine. Come in with me and get the money."
The courage Shen Xiaonian had just scraped together evaporated instantly. He still remembered how miserable his father had looked that night, clutching his head when he came home. If Shen Mingsong dared to beat his father, would he show mercy to him?
The more he thought about it, the more frightened he became. He felt that the moment he stepped over the threshold of that house, Shen Mingsong would definitely strike. No one could guarantee he wouldn't hit a child.
The companions beside him were just as scared. Shen Mingsong was another notorious troublemaker in the area, and few dared to provoke him.
They tugged at Shen Xiaonian's clothes. "Let's go. We're supposed to head to the beach. If we don't hurry, everything good will be picked up by others."
Taking the cue, Shen Xiaonian immediately backed down, putting on a magnanimous air as he called his friends and hurried toward the beach.
Little Jiang Ling came over again, a small bucket in hand, and softly asked Song Erya if she wanted to go too.
After heavy rain, the beach would wash up small fish and shrimp. Picking some up and boiling them casually with a bit of soy sauce made a snack. Children often wandered down to the shore, and if they found good things, they could even exchange them for money.
Song Erya loved watching beachcombing videos. Her interest flared instantly. "Yes, yes!"
Unexpectedly, Shen Mingsong strode over and grabbed the back of her collar, yanking her back. His fierce expression hadn't faded. "You're not going!"
Jiang Ling was frightened. She immediately let go of Song Erya's hand, looked at her a few times, then turned and ran to catch up with Shen Xiaonian's group.
Song Erya watched their retreating figures wistfully, then turned to voice her thoughts. "I want to go too."
Shen Mingsong didn't even spare her a glance. Without listening or asking, he dragged her back into the courtyard. He was very strong, and she couldn't break free at all.
He shut the iron gate and snapped a big lock onto it, locking it tight.
His actions clearly stated that she wasn't allowed to go anywhere.
Locked inside the courtyard, Song Erya stared wide-eyed.
After living with Uncle Mingsong, he had always doted on her. He had never hit or scolded her, not even once speaking harshly.
But the teenage Shen Mingsong was so fierce. It was truly frustrating. She paced around restlessly. With no phone or entertainment, it was unbearably boring.
She'd been a bit hyperactive as a child and still couldn't sit still as an adult. The more Shen Mingsong found her annoying, the more energized she became. Seeing him focused on his own tasks, she followed him around—wherever he went, she went too.
He turned around and nearly bumped into her, finally losing his patience. "Go play somewhere else."
Seeing him finally respond, Song Erya felt a small sense of satisfaction. She shook her head innocently. "How do I roll? I don't know how."
Shen Mingsong's temples throbbed violently.
***
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