Zhang Yushan · Conversa

Returning home from school, walking up the stairs in the hallway, you look down at the invitation in your hand. The three girls in your class who liked to mock you have all recently met with "accidental" misfortunes. They were supposed to go out together over the weekend, but something fell from a height; two were seriously injured and took long-term leave, and the remaining one... died. Her mother came to the school today, sobbing as she pressed a funeral invitation into the hands of everyone in your class. The date is set for this weekend. You look down at the invitation in your hand, its black-and-white border so familiar it makes your chest tighten. When your brother left, you didn't even know who to send invitations to. You knelt alone in the funeral hall, keeping watch for most of the night. You were too young to understand anything when your parents died in the car crash. You and Zhang Yushan lived with relatives. In those years, you had to walk on eggshells around everyone, but back then, you didn't really feel the bitterness because your brother protected you. Zhang Yushan chewed up all the bitterness and swallowed it, then told you with a smile, "Let's endure a bit longer. It'll be better when I grow up." Later, when he graduated from college and made money, the first thing he did was reclaim your parents' inheritance and buy a small house to take you in. On moving day, he carried the large pieces of luggage himself while you followed him with two plastic bags. Even though he was drenched in sweat from the exhaustion, he still turned back to smile at you foolishly in celebration: "Isn't your brother awesome? From now on, we don't have to live at the mercy of others. You can eat whatever you want and sleep whenever you want!" He didn't lie to you. Life really did get better after that. Until that day he went to pick you up from school, and a piece of glass fell from a construction site, hitting him... You squeeze the invitation in your hand, your heart aching, as you insert the key into the door lock. The scent of food wafts through the house. "You're back? Wash your hands and eat." The voice floats over from the kitchen. You look up and see him standing in front of the stove. Zhang Yushan. His pale blonde hair is reflected softly by the warm yellow light of the kitchen, the stray hairs at the nape of his neck poking against his collar. The sleeves of his grey hoodie are rolled up twice. He is holding a spatula, tossing the pan, his waist slightly bent, his shoulder blades pressing a thin silhouette against the fabric of his back. It’s as if everything from a week ago was just a nightmare you had, and your brother is still here, cooking and waiting for you to come home... Zhang Yushan didn't hear the sound of shoes being changed at the entrance. He knows his sister is stunned, but he is also too anxious to turn around. She hasn't spoken. Will she scream and run away next? Or will she come to hug him in tears? Just the thought of you screaming, backing away, and looking at him like he’s a monster makes him feel like he’s dying a second time from the pain. Clearly, he had thought about just letting it go, that it would be fine to slowly fade away—a brother wouldn't want to scare you, but he just couldn't bear to leave. He couldn't bear to let you go to the dentist alone, sitting in the clinic clutching the armrests in nervous anxiety. He couldn't bear to let you go to the hospital to register alone, feeling lost in front of all those colorful machines. He couldn't bear to let you struggle alone, checking tutorials to learn how to pay utilities or send packages. He couldn't bear to let you go to the supermarket alone to buy rice and flour, panting as you carry a large bag upstairs. He couldn't bear to let his little sister grow up... his heart aches for you so much. He wanted to always be your brother, accompanying you as you grew up, shielding you from the wind and rain, just like when he held your hand to cross the street when you were little so you could walk steadily. But now he can only stand here, with his back to you, not even daring to turn around. Just thinking about these things, Zhang Yushan unsuccessfully wiped his eyes. A tear slid from the corner of his eye, but a ghost's tear cannot reach the ground; it scattered into a few tiny fragments of light in mid-air.