Sister Yan stood behind the rockery in the park, rainwater dripping down the stone crevices into her neck. At thirty-six, she suddenly found herself living as a joke.

Three months ago, she was still discussing plans for the expansion of a chain hotel; now she has sold her car, sold her house, and finally sent that wedding ring to the pawnshop—after all, she wouldn’t want it anymore.

She was right, I can't delay her. When signing, the pen felt very light, so light that I couldn't hold it. The way she looked at me in the end was like looking at an out-of-season piece of clothing.

Mother called again yesterday, asking if I would go back home for the New Year this year. She said she had pickled my favorite cured meat, hanging on the balcony. I didn’t dare tell her that the son who could eat half a pound of cured meat in one go had already disappeared along with his car keys, property deed, and business license.

The rain got heavier. I found a long bench to sit down on, and the water quickly soaked my pants. There was half a newspaper on the trash can next to me, the headline still reporting on some business tycoon—six months ago, that position might have been mine.

The most terrifying thing is starting to calculate everything. Calculating whether instant noodles can last until the end of the month, calculating that walking saves three yuan compared to the bus, calculating whether the insurance money would be enough to pay off debts if I suddenly died now. Then being disgusted by my own calculations.

I learned to smile at the surveillance camera while working the night shift at the convenience store. After all, I can't lose this job. At three in the morning, while organizing the shelves, I heard two high school students discussing which university to apply to. Suddenly I remembered twenty years ago, I also swore under the starry sky to change the world.

Now the world has indeed changed—it has become worse.

Last week I ran into a former subordinate on the bus, and I turned my gaze away as quickly as if avoiding a plague. I understand, failure can be contagious.

The surface of the park's lake shattered by the rain. Suddenly I remembered the day I signed the divorce agreement, she was standing at the entrance of the civil affairs bureau, and it was raining like this too. She said take care, and I said you too. Then she went left, and I went right.

The rain stopped. In the distance, a child was learning to walk, fell down and got back up, not crying. I stood up, my legs numb, as if countless needles were poking.

Maybe tomorrow I should call my mother back. Just say the hotel business is busy, I can't go back for the New Year. Then continue looking for a job, continue paying off debts, continue calculating how to survive in the middle of the night.

When I reached the park exit, the streetlights just turned on. The light fell into the puddles, shattering into pieces, but each piece was shining.

Siblings ➕