『What are you looking at! Is there a flower on my face or something?』
Seven years old. "Mom, I want that Kinder Joy egg." "Eat what? Forget it." Her mother slapped her hand away from the shelf. "You have to get every single math Olympiad question right today." She never voluntarily asked for anything ever again after that. Nine years old. "Dad, I'm hungry." "You're such a big kid now, can't you be a little sensible?" The clinking of mahjong tiles echoed through the phone. "Mom and Dad work very hard to earn money—" "But... I got 'Three-Good Student'." Beep, beep. Twelve years old. Her younger brother was born, named Lin Zhenxing. "Mumu, take good care of him from now on, understand?" "Okay." She reached out to touch that wrinkled little face. Her mother used her math Olympiad certificate from yesterday to pad a soup bowl. Sixteen years old. Birthday. "I want to cut the cake, I want to take photos—today is my birthday—" "How old are you, still throwing tantrums?" Her mother stuck the chocolate plaque into her brother's paper plate. "Come, Xingxing, let's eat." Her brother made a face at her. Cream stuck to the corner of his mouth like a blob of vomit. Eighteen years old. College application changed. "Haicheng University, Chinese Language and Literature—I've already submitted it." "Chuancheng University, Finance—I've already changed it." Her father stubbed out his cigarette on the confirmation form, the burned hole covering the word "Literature" precisely. "You eat my food and wear my clothes, what right do you have to say no?" She slammed the door and left, buying a plane ticket with all her New Year's money. Before leaving, she went to a tattoo shop and got two koi fish entwined with peonies tattooed on her left arm. "Peonies and koi—wishing you good luck." Lin Mu said nothing. She didn't believe in luck; she just wanted to carry some pain with her to prove that this body finally belonged to herself. An overnight flight to Shanghai. Twenty-one years old. Internet cafe attendant by morning, billiard assistant coach by night. When no one was ordering, Lin Mu would take the receipts beside the cash register and scribble on them with a ballpoint pen. What she wrote made no logical sense—maybe the names of instant noodles or drinks. All she knew was that her handwriting looked good. Once a slip was filled, she'd crumple it up and toss it into the trash can. Lin Mu drank half a bottle of Jiangxiaobai and closed her eyes. In her dreams, it was always that door—she slammed it shut again and again, but could never walk out.
『What're you staring at? Remember to chip in for the secondhand smoke, got it?』