Chapter 3 — Four Hundred Kilometers to Home

At fourteen years old, working manual labor at the brick kiln.

My father's voice began to wear thin with impatience.

What do you mean by that? We sent her there for a reason.

Her younger sister's health is delicate; she couldn't live at home, so we had no choice but to send her back to our hometown.

I understand, but we need to establish the facts clearly.

Because if it is confirmed... if there were casualties among minors at the collapsed kiln site, this matter involves...

Could you please refrain from blowing things out of proportion?

My father's voice turned shrill.

My daughter is in good health! Are you people mistaken?

There are so many brick kilns over there, how can you be certain it is my mother's?

The address provided by the informant matches your mother's address, sir.

Who made the report?

A villager from the Chu clan.

He said he saw a bird continuously carrying fragments of broken bricks toward the town, sensing something amiss, which led him to investigate the collapse site.

A bird. It was that swallow. It had not given up. It had carried the brick fragments to a distant place, bringing them somewhere that would catch people's attention.

...A bird?

My father's voice held sheer disbelief.

You are telling me that a bird reported a crime?

Not a reporting bird. The villager discovered the signs of the collapse because of its unusual behavior.

Sir, I must ask you and your wife to make a trip to Luo Ping as soon as possible.

My daughter is still alive and well.

Do you not have any other cases to investigate?

If the girl is indeed well, please put her on the phone right now.

My father parted his lips. He picked up the phone and opened his contact list. I watched his fingers scroll downward. G, H, J, K... He scrolled past L, stopping at Lan Chi. Then he scrolled backward, and forward again.

Did you save her number?

He turned to ask my mother. She shook her head.

Call your mother, then.

The landline rang seventeen times, and no one answered.

Let me try her cell phone instead.

My mother took out her device and dialed grandmother's number. Dial tone... dial tone... dial tone... The phone was powered off. A device meant for the elderly had run out of battery, or perhaps grandmother had never bothered to charge it in the first place.

I cannot get through.

My mother spoke into the receiver.

Then I must ask the two of you to come here in person for direct verification.

My mother ended the call and looked at my father.

Shall we go?

My father's brows knitted tightly together.

Nian Sheng still has a follow-up medical checkup next week.

Can you go alone?

I cannot manage it either; I have to present a project proposal on Wednesday.

The two of them sat facing each other on the sofa, discussing the journey just as if they were debating whether or not to attend the wedding of some distant, insignificant relative.

Perhaps we should ask the eldest uncle to take a look?

My father suggested.

The eldest uncle is currently in Hainan.

Then... shall we go over the weekend?

Very well, let us send a WeChat message to the others in the village first and see.

I stood beside the coffee table. Eight days. Eight days had passed since the kiln collapsed. They sat on the sofa, debating their schedules for a full fifteen minutes. Not a single tear was shed, nor a trace of panic shown. Not one person stood up to declare: "I am leaving right now." Outside the window, that swallow had returned. It perched upon the balcony railing, carrying nothing in its beak. It simply stood there, its feathers ruffled as if whipped by a fierce wind over an arduous journey. It was waiting. And I was waiting, too. Waiting for someone to lose their composure, waiting for someone to feel genuine fear. Waiting for someone to finally utter the words: "What if something has truly happened to Lan Chi?" At three in the afternoon, the phone rang for the third time. My mother answered. The person on the other end spoke for less than thirty seconds before the look of irritation on my mother's face transformed into utter emptiness. The phone slowly slipped away from her ear. My father watched her expression, the fruit knife pausing mid-air in his hand.

What is the matter?

My mother parted her lips.

They are telling us to come and collect her.

Collect what?

Collect... her remains.

Wu Nian Sheng emerged from the bedroom holding a cup of yogurt, arriving just in time to catch those final two words. The yogurt cup slipped from her fingers and crashed onto the floor. Four hundred kilometers stretched between this place and Luo Ping. My mother drove, my father occupied the passenger seat, and Wu Nian Sheng sat in the back. I sat right beside my younger sister. Every so often, her arm brushed against my knee, yet there was no exchange of warmth whatsoever. For the first two hours, nobody spoke a single word. The dividing lines on the highway streamed past incessantly, green then white, white then green. My father broke the silence first.

Do you suppose... it is truly Lan Chi?

My mother gripped the steering wheel so tightly that her knuckles turned stark white.

It is not certain.

There are so many brick kilns there, and workers come and go. It could be someone else entirely.

Indeed, it might be someone else.

My father echoed the sentiment, as though desperately trying to convince himself.

But she didn't answer her phone.

Wu Nian Sheng murmured softly. In the rearview mirror, my mother's gaze flickered.

Your sister's phone is constantly out of battery. Even during the New Year, we couldn't get through.

The previous New Year. And the time before that had been a year and a half ago. In that span of a year and a half, they had called only once. It was New Year's Day. I had stood outside the kiln entrance, my hands frozen purple, the signal cutting in and out. The call lasted all of thirty seconds. My mother asked only a single question: "How is your grandmother's health?" I told her it was fine.