Chapter 1 — The Seat Not Meant for Me

On the eve of the new academic year, my family organized an auction exclusively for my twin sister and me. Every single item brought up for bidding was related to starting university: high-tech electronic devices for our studies, daily living essentials, and even a coveted seat in the family car for the private ride to campus. The currency used for these bids was the tally of how many times each of us had made our family laugh from childhood until today. I understood immediately that this auction was never meant for me, because my lively, adorable sister would forever be the family’s ultimate favorite. Soon, the final scores were announced. My older brother, Du He, chuckled and threw a casual arm around his sister’s shoulders.

Tieu Tieu has made our family laugh 1,088 times, while Man Man has only 2,7 times.

I declare the auction officially open! The first item is a laptop!

A laptop was an absolute necessity for university. I looked at the pitifully small number of points in my hands and slowly raised my paddle.

I bid 100...

Yet in the very next second, my sister triumphantly raised her own paddle with a smug smile.

I bid 300!

The score she offered far exceeded every single point I possessed. Afterward, my sister effortlessly claimed the brand-new Apple electronics set, along with the most crucial prize of all: a seat in the family car for the drive to campus. There were five seats in total, reserved for our parents, our brother, and my sister, while the final spot was saved for the family dog. I blinked back a sudden sting in my eyes and accepted the outdated, discarded smartphone my brother had handed me. At least I still had a phone. Yet when I dragged my heavy, battered suitcase to the station to buy a ticket, I discovered that this phone utterly refused to turn on. At that exact moment, my last lingering shred of hope for familial love vanished completely. Just because I was the older sister, every fine thing had to be yielded to my younger sibling. Very well, then. This would be my final act of yielding. Soon enough, I would find a harbor where communication lines were never permanently severed, but for now, I had to set forth on my own journey. I gripped the unresponsive old phone tightly. My fingertips pressed against the cold, pitch-black screen, repeatedly hammering the power button, but the display remained utterly dead, refusing to emit even a single spark of light. Initially, I had thought that once I arrived at the university and settled into my dorm, I would send a text message home to let them know I had arrived safely. Despite their blatant favoritism, I had long harbored the habit of wanting to be an understanding, obedient daughter who caused no trouble. But the completely darkened screen before me cut off every single path of communication. From the exact moment I stepped out of that house, I was utterly alone. I had naively believed that even alone, I could reach the campus without incident. But just as I arrived, a torrential downpour suddenly battered the streets. The broken wheel of my suitcase jammed deep into a brick crevice. I pulled hard with all my might, my foot slipped on the wet stone, and my entire body crashed into a muddy puddle. My knee slammed brutally against the concrete step, a sharp wave of agony shooting straight up my spine, while the skin on my palms scraped raw, oozing beads of fresh blood. I bit down hard on my lower lip, forcing myself to swallow the pain and heave myself back up. I muttered under my breath to keep myself going:

Du Man, you are the older sister, you are not allowed to cry.

Yet the rainwater soaked into the raw wound on my knee, leaving a dull, throbbing ache that made every single step feel agonizingly heavy. I did not stop. I forced myself onward, transferred to the subway, and then walked an immensely long distance on foot until the grand gates of the university finally loomed ahead. The rain had not ceased. But the moment I raised my head, I spotted the familiar family car parked right outside the campus gates. My parents stood beside it, carefully helping Tieu Tieu carry a brand-new leather suitcase. My brother Du He held a large umbrella, tilting more than half of its canopy toward Tieu Tieu so that not a single drop of rain could touch her. Tieu Tieu looked pristine and spotless, her clothes immaculately tailored. In her hands, she held the absolute latest model of a tablet, her fingers gliding leisurely across the screen. Every gaze from my family was drenched in profound tenderness as they directed it toward Tieu Tieu, their joyous laughter mingling in the warm, harmonious air. Not a single person turned their head to look at me—the girl covered in mud, marred by injuries, and looking utterly wretched. I stood silently in the driving rain for a few seconds, quietly lowered my gaze, and turned away. I dragged my crooked-handled suitcase behind me, walking toward the registration area designated for new arrivals. The fragile, lingering expectation in my heart—the faint hope that my family might remember my existence—sank completely beneath the surface. I uttered no words, nor did I step forward to greet them. It turned out that the warmth and liveliness of this family had never once included me.

After completing all the registration procedures, the clothes on my back had been half-dried by the biting wind. The wound on my knee kept rubbing against the damp fabric, flaring with dull, persistent stabs of pain. I watched the steady stream of people passing by, a wave of foolish vulnerability rising instinctively within my chest. No matter how blatant their favoritism, Tieu Tieu and I were still twin sisters born of the same mother, bound by flesh and blood who had spent eighteen years side by side. Even if they loved their younger daughter more, surely there must be some small corner in their hearts reserved for me. From afar, I caught sight of Tieu Tieu standing beneath the shade of a tree, laughing and chatting happily with her newly acquainted roommates. I hesitated for a brief moment, yet my feet ultimately carried me toward her. I merely wanted to draw a little closer, to catch a glimpse of my family, to hold onto the final shred of familial warmth that remained. But the exact instant I approached, the bright smile on Tieu Tieu’s face vanished completely. She looked at my soaked, wrinkled clothes, her eyes swirling with an unmasked, intense disgust. Without uttering a single word to me, she simply turned back to her roommates with a forced laugh and swept past my figure. They sauntered away while playfully shoving one another, too lazy to spare even a single glance in my direction. I silently retracted my gaze, swallowing down the burning bitterness twisting in my throat, and quietly turned back to organize my enrollment paperwork. I had thought today’s humiliations were quite enough, but to my utter shock, around midday, my parents and brother actively sought me out. The second I saw them walking toward me, a faint, foolish spark of warmth ignited in my chest. I comforted myself in secret, thinking perhaps they had remembered me after all, and had simply been too preoccupied with Tieu Tieu earlier to pay me any mind. Our entire family sat around a dining table inside the campus cafeteria in a tense, heavy silence. I kept my gaze lowered as I sat there, quietly waiting for them to speak—waiting for even a simple acknowledgment that my journey had been difficult. But the words that finally left their mouths were the coldest and most wounding imaginable. Mother looked at me, her tone calm yet severe.

Man Man, you and Tieu Tieu are twin sisters who have dressed the same and used the same things since childhood, making it hard for outsiders to tell you apart.

I raised my head to look at her, saying nothing, merely listening in silence.

But Tieu Tieu is different. She knows how to dance, how to sing, she has a sweet tongue, a lively personality, and she knows how to make everyone adore her. The moment she speaks, everyone instantly knows who she is.

Father chimed in, his voice laden with undisguised partiality:

The two of you have been tightly bound together for eighteen years already. Now that you are in university, there is no need to keep clinging to each other like this.

My heart grew colder and heavier with every passing second. I understood their hidden meaning entirely.

You should learn how to mature, and Tieu Tieu should learn how to be independent.

My brother looked straight at me, pronouncing each word with stark, cruel clarity.

From now on, unless it is strictly necessary, do not constantly show up in front of Tieu Tieu, and do not hinder her from making new friends. You should go out and try to find friends who belong strictly to you.

I understood every single implication woven into their words. They found me rigid, dull, quiet, and sullen. They felt I lacked my sister's vibrancy, her multi-faceted talents, and her radiant charm that effortlessly won everyone over. Even my facial features and appearance, in their eyes, fell miserably short of Tieu Tieu's delicate, refined beauty. Therefore, they wanted me to proactively stay away from my sister. I was forbidden from entering her field of vision, forbidden from holding her back, forbidden from disrupting her new life, and forbidden from letting my plain, mediocre presence dim her brilliant radiance. That eighteen-year bond of sisterhood, that blood connection forged over nearly two decades, was regarded by them as nothing more than a redundant nuisance. I nodded slowly.

Very well. I understand. I will not eat today; I am going back to tidy up my own bed first.

After finishing my chores, I pressed a hand against my aching lower back and stepped out into the dormitory hallway. The moment I reached the threshold, the sound of bright, continuous laughter spilled from a nearby dorm room. I lifted my gaze. My parents and brother were all gathered inside Tieu Tieu’s room. They were laughing and chatting while patiently helping her make her bed, arranging high-end skincare products, setting up brand-new electronic gadgets, and carefully tending to every single item while sharing cheerful, loving conversations with her. I stood quietly at the far end of the corridor for a few seconds, then silently pulled back my gaze and walked away in profound solitude. It turned out they were not too busy to care; I had simply never fallen within the boundaries of their favoritism. That evening, once the family had finished organizing everything, they prepared to drive back home. Everyone cheerfully bade farewell to Tieu Tieu, showering her with endless reminders to eat well and rest properly, yet not a single soul came to say goodbye to me, nor did anyone spare me a single parting glance. As night gradually blanketed the campus, a gentle knock rapped against my dormitory door. It was Tieu Tieu. She stood outside the threshold with an impatient expression, her brows knitted in utter distaste as she spoke in a cold, perfunctory tone.

Du Man, I am making this clear to you right now. From now on, unless there is a true emergency, do not purposely come looking for me. If there is something you need, just send me a text message.

Without waiting for my reply, she whipped around and walked away, not pausing for even a fraction of a second. I stared at her resolute retreating figure, my fingertips brushing lightly against the old, perpetually dead phone resting quietly in my pocket. I did not tell her the truth. I was completely incapable of sending any text message whatsoever. The phone they had so casually shoved into my hands had been thoroughly broken from the very beginning.

The final day of military training happened to coincide with the eighteenth birthday of Tieu Tieu and me. From childhood onward, I had never anticipated anything regarding my birthday. The festive decorations each year, the flavor of the birthday cake, the celebratory arrangements, and the gifts were all prepared exclusively according to Tieu Tieu’s preferences. Everyone crowded around her with blessings, praising her for being lovely, sensible, multi-talented, lively, and universally adored. I existed forever at the edge like an attached shadow, meant only to stand quietly in the background—requiring no congratulations, no joy, and no remembrance. This year would undoubtedly be no different. Yet this time, a tiny, pitifully humble wish had quietly sprouted deep within my heart. I did not crave an exquisite cake, nor expensive gifts, nor bustling, noisy well-wishes. I simply wanted a functioning mobile phone. I refused to remain cut off from the world, refused to suffer isolation passively forever, and refused to be left completely empty-handed whenever a crisis struck.