Chapter 4 — Mother and Twin Daughters

The day the little girl broke the speaker, the day the little girl wavered over the doll, the day the little girl stumbled through her testimony at the courthouse. Kieu Kieu wrote until midnight, weeping as the pen scratched across the paper. Tinh Hoa sat faithfully beside her, chiming in every now and then with a quiet reminder.

You misspelled this word.

Kieu Kieu glared at her through tear-swollen eyes.

My life is already in ruins, and you are worried about my spelling?

Tinh Hoa answered with absolute solemnity.

A mistake must be corrected.

I was boiling noodles in the small kitchen, and hearing that exchange, I nearly laughed out loud. In the years that followed, the rules of our household were forged in just that manner. If you feel wronged, you must speak your voice. If you desire something, you must strive to earn it. If you make a mistake, you must bear the consequences. You are permitted to weep, but once the tears are dried, the problem must be solved. Kieu Kieu still loved vanity, still craved praise, and occasionally still resorted to petty cleverness. Yet she never again pushed her younger sister into the line of fire to shield herself. Tinh Hoa remained quiet by nature, but gradually she learned to lift her chin and look others in the eye. She developed a fascination for legal programs, turning minor domestic disputes into meticulous mock case files. On the day of her elementary school graduation, Kieu Kieu won a prize for her dance performance, hugging her certificate as she ran joyfully across the schoolyard. Someone pointed at Tinh Hoa and laughed aloud.

Why does your sister look like a block of wood?

Without missing a beat, Kieu Kieu rolled up her certificate and tapped the boy firmly on the head.

What do you know? Someday soon, she is going to be a brilliant attorney.

Tinh Hoa stood nearby, the tips of her ears slowly turning a deep, burning crimson. I foolishly believed that the most treacherous trials were finally behind us. That was until the ninth grade, when Chen Jingxuan stepped back into our lives. He drove a gleaming new automobile, idling insolently right outside the school gates. The moment Kieu Kieu emerged, he rolled down the window, dangling a brand-new smartphone between his fingers.

Kieu Kieu, your father was overwhelmed before, but now I want to make it all up to you. You are growing up, and it is time you realized who can truly provide you with a prosperous life.

Standing across the street, I watched as Kieu Kieu froze in her tracks. The ethereal comments that had slumbered in my vision for so many years abruptly blazed into neon life once more. Careful! The narrative plot is beginning to reel her back in.

That year, Kieu Kieu turned sixteen. She blossomed like the most breathtaking flower on a spring branch. Amidst any crowd, her radiance was the first thing to command attention. She possessed a natural grace in dance, a confident eloquence as a master of ceremonies, a honeyed tongue, and a lightning-fast wit. Whenever the school held an arts festival featuring her, the ensuing applause was always thunderous. Tinh Hoa stood as her complete antithesis. Year-round, she wore her hair in a low, unassuming ponytail, zipping her school uniform all the way up to her chin. While her peers chattered endlessly about pop idols, she buried herself in case law briefs. While others spent weekends strolling through shopping malls, she haunted the public galleries of the municipal courthouse. Even my modest wonton stall had outgrown its humble pushcart days, transforming into a neat, cozy little noodle shop tucked into the alley behind the school. It was not extravagant, but it was immaculately clean. A price list hung neatly on the wall, and the glass display case was always stocked with savory side dishes. Every afternoon as classes let out, the room brimbed with the lively chatter of students. I had not grown wealthy, but at last, I possessed the means to keep my two daughters well-fed and warmly clothed. Whenever they required textbooks, dance shoes, or registration fees for competitions, I no longer had to frantically empty my purse, scrounging for crumpled coins. Chen Jingxuan chose this exact juncture to reappear. First, he bestowed the smartphone upon Kieu Kieu, followed swiftly by expensive tickets to theatrical performances. He even dropped hints that he maintained connections within a prominent film agency and could easily arrange for her to star in commercial advertisements. Initially, Kieu Kieu resisted taking them. Yet I understood the hunger gleaming in her eyes. She desperately wanted those luxuries. I refrained from scolding her. That evening during dinner, I placed the phone squarely in the center of the table.

It is not forbidden to accept costly gifts, but you must understand that the more valuable the object, the more likely there are invisible strings attached.

Kieu Kieu shoveled a mouthful of rice into her mouth, her expression sullen and defiant.

Is it not natural for a father to buy things for his daughter?

Tinh Hoa raised her gaze from her bowl.

He defaulted on three whole years of court-mandated child support.

Kieu Kieu scowled.

Must you always ruin the mood?

Tinh Hoa replied evenly.

I am merely stating facts.

Sensing an impending argument, I gave the table a light tap.

Kieu Kieu, you are free to wish to see your father, and you may accept reasonable gifts within bounds. But you must never conceal anything from me, you must never lie, and you must never sign any documents whatsoever.

Kieu Kieu muttered under her breath.

I am not a fool.

A cryptic comment drifted across my vision uninvited. In the original storyline, she is seduced into leaving by a simple mobile phone. Later on, a young man with the surname Lu will appear. He has a glib tongue and pretends to be wealthy, though he specializes in manipulating pretty young girls. My heart seized with a sudden, suffocating panic. The very next afternoon, I crossed paths with that very Lu boy. Lu Xiao, a student from the vocational institute down the street. He was draped in designer labels from head to toe, his hair slicked into a sharp pomp, astride a roaring motorcycle parked right outside our gates. As Kieu Kieu walked out, he thrust a cup of milk tea toward her.

Are you Chen Kieu Kieu? You are even more stunning in person than in your photos.

A cluster of nearby schoolgirls shrieked with teasing laughter. Kieu Kieu flushed, a bright scarlet blooming across her cheeks. Standing in the doorway of the shop, the wire strainer in my hand nearly slipped into the boiling broth. Tinh Hoa witnessed it as well. Adjusting the straps of her backpack, she strode forward and planted herself firmly between Kieu Kieu and the boy.