After helping Aunt Ming wash her hair, Song Erya was called to drink some mung bean water that Shen Mingsong had cooked. He himself lay down on the rocking chair under the eaves to catch up on sleep, only to be woken repeatedly by mosquito bites. Each time, he sat up in irritation to swat them—until he opened his eyes and found the scrappy little girl standing beside him, staring.
He waved the palm fan to chase the mosquitoes away. "What are you looking at?"
Song Erya answered honestly and without the slightest embarrassment, "I'm looking at how handsome you are, brother."
Shen Mingsong was accustomed to hearing baffling remarks from her mouth. He clicked his tongue. "Enough flattery. Go on—what do you want me to help you with this time?"
She seized the opening, thought for a moment, then said, "I haven't decided yet. You can owe me for now."
Shen Mingsong: "..."
She added, "Brother, do you have a girlfriend?"
People in the 1990s married early; it was common to start dating in one's teens. With Shen Mingsong's looks, it was impossible that he lacked admirers.
He narrowed his eyes. "What, you want to set me up?"
"You get excited the moment this comes up," Song Erya said with a sidelong glance, full of disdain. "You really have no shame."
Shen Mingsong: "?"
What was wrong with her?
"Get lost," he said, waving the palm fan at her as if she were another mosquito.
~
That afternoon, when Song Erya went to split the money with Tao Dongdong, she noticed faint whip marks that had not fully faded from Tao Dongdong's calves.
Tao Dongdong was the youngest and most doted-on child in her family. Fishermen all knew how dangerous the sea was, and her mother was especially opposed to letting her take anything from it, believing the sea would always take back what it gave. She forbade Tao Dongdong from going tide-pooling to make money—absolutely not a cent.
Still shaken, Tao Dongdong told Song Erya that she could never go tide-pooling again. If there were a next time, her mother would beat her half to death.
That scared Song Erya enough that she didn't dare mention it to Song Fang either. She was afraid of being beaten too. When she got home, she only handed over the ten yuan she'd gotten from the old woman and hid the rest.
With Song Guoliang gone, the atmosphere at home became much warmer. After dinner, Song Fang suddenly launched a surprise inspection of Song Erya's summer homework.
Song Fang hadn't had much schooling herself, but she held a deep obsession with education. She was determined that, no matter what, her younger siblings would attend school. Her brother was uncontrollable, so all her hopes were placed on her sister.
She flipped through the exercise book and checked the answers one by one, only to find them all correct. Suspicious, she asked, "Did you copy the answers?"
"Do I even need to copy?" Song Erya retorted absentmindedly. She was someone who had scored 706 on the college entrance exam—why would she copy answers?
Still unconvinced, Song Fang brought out Song Guoliang's first-year middle school textbooks and workbooks. They were tattered, and not a single problem had been done—leaving them unused would be a waste.
"After summer you'll be starting middle school too. Use your brother's books to preview. If you don't understand something, go ask Aunt Ming."
As she spoke, Song Fang tore out the answer pages from the workbook.
Song Erya sighed. So her mother had already been this much of a "mom" at twenty—exactly like how she used to force her to study.
The next day, she went next door. Shen Mingsong wasn't home; the front gate was locked with a heavy padlock.
"Aunt Ming!" Song Erya called loudly. Hearing a response from inside, she announced, "I'm coming in," and squeezed through the gap between the iron gate bars.
Being skinny had its advantages—the gate couldn't stop her.
"Aunt Ming, I'm here to play with you again, hehe." Smiling faces were hard to refuse, and Song Erya's grin was openly ingratiating.
After losing her legs, Mingzhu disliked socializing, but for some reason she couldn't resist this sweet-smiling little girl. Perhaps it was her cute, pleasing looks—Mingzhu found herself liking her more with each passing day.
"You're running around all day. Aren't you doing your summer homework?"
Song Erya dumped everything from her small backpack—notebooks, pencils, erasers—onto the table. "My sister gave me tons of homework. That's why I came to you, Auntie."
Mingzhu nodded. "You should study properly."
Song Erya thought to herself: you didn't used to say that.
Ming Grandma had always pitied her for being sick for so many years and had practically raised her to be a freeloader, never demanding anything of her, even saying the Shen family could support her for life.
Shen Mingsong disagreed and wouldn't allow her to become useless.
After she turned eighteen, her treatment went well, and the doctor congratulated her on being discharged and returning to normal life.
By then she had been out of school for too long and had no academic credentials. She was briefly lost, fell in with bad company, and went wild—until Shen Mingsong went to fetch her personally.
She still remembered him appearing among that crowd of idle youths, shattering their decadent revelry. Everyone sobered instantly, watching her get dragged home, not daring to breathe.
That was the only time Shen Mingsong had ever been that harsh with her. He didn't slam tables or shout; instead, he was terrifyingly quiet, his expression dark with a coming storm.
It was a long psychological battle. Song Erya couldn't withstand it. She replayed all her foolish deeds in her mind and, utterly spineless, admitted fault on the spot. Right or wrong didn't matter—begging forgiveness came first.
In the end, she wrote a three-thousand-word self-criticism, repented her sins, cut off her social circle, and, not knowing what else to do, returned to her studies. The family hired renowned teachers to cram her intensively.
Because Song Fang had always yearned for education and had demanded since childhood that Song Erya attend a good university someday—so she could burn a college acceptance letter for her mother when visiting her grave—Song Erya had no resistance. She studied diligently, planning to attend university and then pursue further studies in the United States or Germany.
She did well on the exams. Then her illness relapsed.
All that knowledge was still intact in her mind, yet after half a lifetime, she had returned to being a child with only an elementary education.
Her thoughts drifted from studying to another topic. "Auntie, you have so many pretty necklaces."
Because of her limited mobility, Mingzhu stayed home year-round and rarely went out. Her only pastime was constantly crafting shells and stones into handmade pieces—she was exceptionally skillful.
Shell wind chimes hung by the window, tinkling in the breeze. The shells shimmered with iridescent colors in the sunlight, adding a touch of life to the room.
Song Erya said, "Auntie, your crafts are so beautiful. If you sold them, wouldn't you make lots and lots of money?"
"Who would want things you can find everywhere?" Mingzhu laughed at her innocence. By the sea, shells were the one thing in endless supply.
Song Erya immediately declared that she lacked a concept of paid design. Back then, she had run a studio while studying, and it had unexpectedly grown large.
Orders for private custom jewelry kept increasing, and she hired more and more designers. Some clients undoubtedly came out of regard for Mr. Shen, deliberately commissioning pieces to build her reputation.
So what? Money earned and in her pocket was her own skill. She introduced herself everywhere as a jewelry merchant.
The richer she had once been, the poorer she was now—so poor she couldn't even tell where her pockets were torn.
She couldn't make money from tide-pooling; she simply didn't have that skill. Rubbing her hands together eagerly, she said, "If I can help sell your work, Auntie, could you give me a little commission?"
Mingzhu was amused by her expression and answered casually without taking it seriously, "Sure."
Song Erya patted her chest. "I promise I can sell them."
In truth, she was boasting. The specifics would depend on action; opportunities had to be discovered and tested in practice.
When she wasn't deliberately being annoying, Song Erya was obedient beyond measure. She chatted with Mingzhu while smoothly filling in the blank exercise book. By afternoon, the sun was scorching enough to seem ready to ignite the ground, and the cicadas' noise grew even louder, making people drowsy.
There was a floor-standing metal fan in the room. When its blades spun, it roared like a weapon, but the breeze it blew was deliciously cool—the only salvation during the sweltering heat.
After yawning once, she fell asleep without realizing it.
***
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