『The wind is always salty like tears』
In those days, in a place like a county town, a woman being too beautiful was not a good thing. When Zhong Nanxu was fifteen, people already started sending things to her house. Her mother scolded her, beat her, and locked her up, but it was no use. There was a reckless streak in her nature, like wild grass that would grow back even after being burned down. Their parents passed away. The day the funeral ended, she held Zhong Wuzhou's hand and said, "I'll raise you from now on." How? At sixteen, she became a prostitute. Abortions. Abortions. Abortions. From that day on, the people in the town started calling her a "whore" and a "bitch." Zhong Wuzhou was only ten then. She didn't quite understand the meaning of those words, but she knew that when her sister walked down the street, people would spit at her; when she went to the grocery store, the owner's wife would roll her eyes at her; when she walked in the alleys, men would whistle at her; she stayed out all night, wearing heavy makeup. The first time she saw "whoring bitch" written in chalk on the wall at home, it used her sister's name. She found a rag and spent half an hour wiping the words clean. She didn't tell her sister when she got home. She didn't know how her sister felt, because her sister never cried. Her sister would just walk past with a blank face and go about her business. She began to learn to face the gossip in the alleys alone. "Do you know where your sister goes at night?" "Do you know where your sister's money comes from?" She learned to walk past with a blank expression when those words drifted by—just like her sister. Twelve years old. Her sister had stopped going to school to put her through school. She worked hard and was at the top of her class, but during a home visit, the homeroom teacher was pulled aside by neighbors at the door and told some gossip. After that, there were no more home visits. She realized that even the identity of a "good student" couldn't wash away certain things. Thirteen years old. That was the first time she got into a physical fight with her sister. She asked her sister when they could leave this place. Her sister smiled. She didn't know if that smile was comforting or something else. Fifteen years old. She was cornered in an alley by older boys. One of them said, "How much is your sister for a night? Will you sell yourself cheaper?" She picked up a brick and smashed his head. The boy got seven stitches, and she paid him off with all the money her sister had hidden under the pillow. Her sister didn't scold her. She silently counted all the money, handed it over, then closed the door and crouched by the foot of the wall—without crying. That night, she realized for the first time that her sister probably wanted to leave this place even more than she did, but she just couldn't. In just one year, the relationship between Zhong Wuzhou and her sister became very bad. How bad? So bad that on the day Zhong Wuzhou left, her sister stood at the door and said, "Finally gone," and Zhong Wuzhou never even looked back. It was no longer clear what the root of their arguments was. Maybe Zhong Wuzhou hated her sister for dragging her down, making her the target of whispers wherever she went; maybe Zhong Nanxu hated her sister for being clean and innocent, able to walk and fly like a normal person; maybe they both hated this home, hated this town, and hated why they were women. At sixteen, Zhong Wuzhou left with a snakeskin bag, boarding a slow green train heading south. Her last words before leaving were—"Sooner or later, you're going to ruin yourself to death." A self-fulfilling prophecy. Half a year later, she received a call saying her sister was gone, having died in childbirth. A baby. She didn't know her sister had a child. No one told her. Her sister had never contacted her up until her death. She hung up the phone and sat in her rented room all night. The next morning, she bought a ticket back, sitting on a hard seat for over thirty hours, eating nothing and unable to sleep the whole way. Dawn was just breaking when she arrived. The town's station was dusty and gray, the air smelling of a mixture of animal manure and cheap tobacco, exactly the same as when she left. Someone led her to see the baby, rambling about her sister along the way, unable to avoid those few words no matter what they said. Zhong Wuzhou didn't respond. When she walked into the low-ceilinged room, the baby was crying. The sound wasn't loud, intermittent, like a cat running out of strength. The room was tiny and poorly lit, growing dark by three or four in the afternoon. The wallpaper was yellowed, and half a bowl of cold porridge sat on the table. Everything was broken, everything was old, everything was dirty. But the swaddling cloth was clean, white, washed to a faded state with frayed edges, yet perfectly clean. Zhong Wuzhou stood there watching for a long time, so long that the neighbor thought she would turn around and leave, never looking back just like before. But she bent down and picked up the baby. Whose child was it? No one knew. Zhong Wuzhou didn't know, the villagers didn't know, and perhaps even Zhong Nanxu herself didn't know. Zhong Wuzhou's movements were very stiff, her arms rigid, not knowing how to hold this soft, restlessly kicking little thing. The baby cried even harder in her arms. She looked down at the wrinkled little face and suddenly said something. "If you're smart, don't be like your mother." She really disliked this sister. She disliked the sister who always argued with her. She disliked the sister who, during arguments, always threw in the phrase "you and that cheap father of yours..." She disliked the sister who was not a good person in the conventional sense. She resented her sister for ruining her reputation along with her own. But now, her sister was truly gone, never to meet her again. Leaving behind a child. A child who looked a lot like her. This was her only relic. She was only sixteen. She didn't know what to do. But she still took the baby back to her rented room. She worked as a waitress, using her meager wages to buy a crib and baby formula. Everything was done clumsily; she even had to check the water temperature for the formula three times. She learned to change diapers, to coax the baby to sleep, and to distinguish what different cries meant. She went from saying "don't cry" to slowly learning to say "there, there, stop crying." She still didn't smile much, but she no longer made the air freeze. Later, at twenty-eight. Successful and famous. Twelve years. Carrying that child whose father was unknown, she rose from a lowly waitress to a store manager, then slowly saved money to open her own law firm. Every newcomer had to go through that process first. She would sit nearby and watch. For those who didn't pass, she wouldn't offer words of comfort, but after they left, there would be a cup of coffee left on the table. Her success was built on solid ground, with no element of luck, no mentors to lift her up. She broke herself down into bricks, paving a road, walking up by stepping on her own bones. When the baby was three months old, she flipped through the dictionary for two days and finally chose a name. She told her, "Your mother was named Zhong Nanxu, she was a very beautiful woman. I am your aunt. My name is Zhong Wuzhou—Wuzhou, meaning a day with no daylight."
"Should I hate you, or love you?"