Xie Ling · Chat

【The Return】 --- The living room is huge—so huge that sitting at the very edge of the sofa, you feel like the person on the other end is half a galaxy away. Your father sits in the main seat, rarely wearing a perfectly pressed deep gray suit, even swapping his cufflinks for the emerald pair he usually saves. Your mother sits beside him, her skirt embroidered with fine gold thread, clutching a handkerchief so tightly her knuckles are white. Opposite them sits a girl about your age. She wears a white dress; the fabric isn't bad, but the style is outdated, and the threads at the cuffs aren't cleanly trimmed. It was the best item in her closet before she came to the Xie family. She sits very straight, spine erect, hands placed neatly on her knees, only her fingertips unconsciously wringing the fabric of her skirt, betraying the poise she is struggling to maintain. She looks up and glances at you. That glance is brief, almost too short to identify the emotion, but you see it—there is envy, unease, cautious testing, and a survival instinct of someone thrown into unfamiliar waters by fate, desperately trying to grab a piece of driftwood. Your mother clears her throat and looks at you, her voice softer than usual by more than a few degrees: "This is your sister, Wanwan." She pauses, seemingly realizing her phrasing is inappropriate. Her eyes hold guilt, difficulty, and a complexity you can't quite read. You are also her daughter, raised for twenty years, a daughter nurtured with her life's blood—but blood relation, sometimes, carries more weight than nurturing. Your mother’s voice drops lower, "You... you two must get along well from now on." The girl named Xie Wan—Su Wan, now she should be called Xie Wan—immediately stands up and gives you a slight bow. Her movements carry the service-industry habits formed by long-term part-time jobs, submissive to the point of being humble. "Hello," she says, her voice thin, as if afraid of disturbing something, "I am... Xie Wan. Please look after me." Did she call you "Sister"? No. She knows her place; she knows the most awkward person in this house is you, and she doesn't want to step on your heart again. You sit there, the cup of tea your mother pressed into your hands earlier now cold on your lap. You open your mouth, but your throat feels blocked, and no sound comes out. Your father takes over the conversation at the right time, his tone carrying unconcealed joy: "Wanwan studied design at C University before and had excellent grades, winning scholarships for three years. I've already made arrangements; she'll transfer to your school next week. She's in the same grade as you, so you can go to school together and look out for each other." "That's good," you hear yourself say, your voice so calm it doesn't sound like your own. "Welcome home." Xie Wan freezes for a moment, seemingly not expecting you to be so polite. A hint of surprise flits through her eyes. She sits back down, the corners of her mouth curving into a very faint arc, like the first crack on the water's surface when ice melts in spring. Footsteps sound at the door. Everyone turns their heads. Xie Ling walks in from the entryway, his silver-white hair still carrying the dampness from outside. His shirt sleeves are rolled up to his forearms, revealing the smooth lines of his wrist bones and cold white skin. He has just returned from a business function; his tie hangs loosely around his neck, and his whole being exudes a weary lethargy. "You're back?" Your mother stands to greet him. "Come quickly, meet your sister." Sister. The word is tossed around repeatedly in this living room like a red-hot coin; everyone catches it carefully, afraid of getting burned. Xie Ling's gaze passes over your mother, over your father, over that girl sitting upright and clutching her skirt in tension, and lands straight on you. Just one look, so fast no one noticed. Then he turns to Xie Wan, the corners of his mouth curving into a perfectly measured smile—polite, warm, neither too close nor too far. It is the proper mask he always wears for outsiders. "Xie Wan, right?" he says, his voice lazy. "Traffic was bad, so I'm late. You'll be living at home now; if you need anything, just tell the butler. Don't be a stranger." He speaks flawlessly, like a dutiful elder brother. Like a thorough host. You lower your eyes, staring at the tea leaves floating in your cup. The string that had been pulled taut in your heart finally snaps with a "pop." When he said "don't be a stranger," his tone was exactly the same as when he entertains guests. Xie Wan, however, clearly sighs in relief, offering him a grateful smile, her eyes even slightly reddening: "Thank you... Brother." Brother. Those two words are like a needle, pricking you gently. Before, you were the only one in this house who would call him that—dragging out the end, a bit coquettish, entitled, because you knew he would always answer. Now, someone else can call him that too, entitled and rightful. Your father nods with satisfaction, your mother smiles with relief, and Xie Wan is trying to smile through her red eyes. The living room is full of harmony, like a family portrait finally pieced together. Only you know that one piece in this picture is redundant. You stand up with that cup of cold tea and say, "I'm going to the kitchen to add some hot water." As you turn, out of the corner of your eye, you see Xie Ling tilt his head toward you, his lips moving as if he wants to say something. But in the end, he doesn't speak. Your father is pulling him into a conversation about Xie Wan's transfer, and he is cut off. He can only watch you walk away. With your back to him, you don't see the thing that flashes in his eyes—something a hundred times deeper than all his previous politeness. It's like a deep pool finally cracking open a fissure, with scorching magma underneath, which he forcibly suppresses back down. The kitchen light is on, and it's empty. You pour the cold tea into the sink, watching the brown liquid swirl down the drain. Footsteps approach from behind, very light, but you know exactly who it is.