Chapter 7 — Just Because I'm the Older Sister

Forgive me, Vi. Forgive us, we were the ones in the wrong...

I turned toward the warm sunlight, continuing my steady pace without offering a single word in response. Throughout four long years of university, I had never returned home, not even once. Then, on a quiet afternoon, I logged back into a QQ account I had abandoned years ago. The interface froze for a brief second, and in the next moment, an avalanche of notifications flooded the screen. A blank avatar profile had sent me over ten thousand messages across those four years. They reminded me when the weather turned cold so I would remember to bundle up. They warned me when rain was approaching, urging me not to forget my umbrella. They told me that the Dragon Boat Festival had arrived, and that they had sent rice dumplings straight to my campus. They announced the Mid-Autumn Festival, noting that they had meticulously baked the mixed-nut mooncakes I loved most before mailing them off. They mentioned seeing the university promotional poster where I stood beneath the maple tree, remarking on how lovely I looked. Interspersed among these were occasional hesitant questions asking who I might be. After a short while, the sender would panic and write frantic explanations, claiming the messages were sent by mistake, yet lamenting that they could not be recalled. The wording was always excessively cautious, as though terrified of provoking some unseen anger. I stared at the screen, momentarily dazed. This old account had been hastily set up during my primary school days just to follow a passing trend, and I had discarded it long ago. I never imagined that someone would persistently pour so many heartfelt words into a void that would forever remain unanswered. Just as my finger hovered over the exit button, it accidentally brushed against the video call icon. The other end connected almost instantaneously.

The image that materialized before my eyes was that of a painfully frail, skeleton-like elderly woman. Her hair was nearly entirely silver, so frosted with age that I failed to recognize her at first. It was only when she began to tremble and called out in a fragile voice that reality set in.

Vi... Vi...

A shock went through me, and the hand holding the phone shook uncontrollably until the truth finally settled in. The person on the other end was my mother, whom I had not seen in four years. The next second, I heard the sharp scraping of a chair against the floor, followed by a heavy thud. Someone had clearly scrambled up in a desperate rush, tipping over their seat and crashing down with it. Perhaps a few minutes passed, or perhaps merely a few dozen seconds, before another figure stumbled into the frame, their voice strained and breathless.

Is... is that Vi?

It was my father. Though he was barely past fifty, his hair had turned completely white, and his back was deeply hunched. I remained entirely silent. Separated by a glass screen, by the vast gulf of time and unrelenting distance, I gazed at them, utterly at a loss for what to say. My mother reached out with a trembling hand, as if trying to caress my image through the display, while tears streamed down her cheeks.

My little Vi has grown even prettier. You have truly blossomed into a young woman...

My father choked back his emotions for a long time before finally managing to speak.

Over there... are people treating you well? Are you being bullied?

My finger rested squarely over the end-call button, yet I found myself completely unable to press down. In the midst of that lingering, heavy silence, I slowly shook my head. After four long years, I finally spoke my very first words to them.

To be honest, I have always been deeply curious. We are both your daughters, so why on earth was the way you treated me and Jiang Changzhou so vastly different?

On the other side of the screen, the expressions of both my parents instantly drained of all color. After a prolonged silence, my father spoke in a low murmur.

The day we carried both of you home from the hospital, we happened to run into a fortune-teller. She pointed straight at Changzhou and declared that the child was blessed with an auspicious fate, destined to bring immense fortune and luck to her parents and the entire household. Then she looked at you, furrowed her brow, and pronounced that you carried the curse of the solitary star, fated to bring death and misfortune to everyone close to you.

I widened my eyes, my voice rising uncontrollably in disbelief.

Just because of such an absurd reason?

My father’s voice thickened with tears.

At first, your mother and I refused to believe it. Your mother even cursed her out and chased the fortune-teller away. But later on, every single time something unfortunate happened to us, we couldn't help but wonder—what if... what if it was actually true? And so, from then on...

And so from then on, they pampered Jiang Changzhou more and more with each passing day, while finding my mere existence increasingly intolerable. My mother suddenly broke down into deep, racking sobs.

I am sorry, I am so sorry, Vi. It was my fault, your father and I were wrong to treat you that way... But you are still a piece of flesh torn from my own body; how could a mother not feel the pain? When you ran a high fever at six years old, I was so worried I spun around in circles not knowing what to do. When you caught the chickenpox at nine, everyone said you wouldn't make it. It was your father who stayed by your side day and night for three full days. And there was more...

She wanted to continue, but I raised my hand slightly and cut her off, speaking their names softly.

Father. Mother.

Their eyes instantly lit up with a fragile glimmer of hope. This was the very first time in four years that I had addressed them as such.

Yet immediately afterward, I spoke in a quiet, detached tone.

Actually, I almost wish you had treated me terribly from the very beginning to the end. That way, at least I would only harbor hatred toward you, and leaving would have been so much cleaner and more decisive. I wouldn't have had to endure the torment of before—unable to truly hate, yet unable to love either, trapped in that agonizing limbo year after year. Until every last shred of genuine affection was completely worn away. Until my heart became riddled with hollow, weeping wounds, yet I still had no choice but to walk away forever.

On the other side of the screen, the two of them were crying too hard to utter another sound. Within the frame, I caught sight of numerous tiny wooden carvings scattered across the desk—the handiwork of my father. He used to craft such things exclusively for Jiang Changzhou, but every single carving sitting on that desk now bore my name carefully etched into the wood. On several of the pieces, there were dark red stains, though whether they were mere paint or the blood of the maker remained unknown. Right beside them lay a diary, filled with my mother's familiar handwriting.