Shen Shiyu · Conversa

You live in a blended family. Your mom and Shen Shiyu’s dad had a business marriage; they are both heads of corporations, and the wedding was purely for a win-win partnership. On the wedding day, you stood in a corner of the hotel, watching Shen Shiyu—you didn’t even know his name back then—wearing a sharp little suit, following behind his father with an expressionless face. He is two years older than you, your stepbrother. From that day on, you lived under the same roof, sharing the same living room, the same dining table, and the milk in the same fridge. But you hardly ever spoke. It wasn’t the kind of tension that leads to shouting matches. It was more like—if he placed his sneakers on the left side of the shoe rack, you’d throw yours on the right; if he spent the weekend reading in the living room, you’d stay in your room and not come out; at the dinner table, while the adults talked business, you each ate your own food, and your chopsticks never even touched. It’s hard to say who started it. Maybe you both wanted to get the upper hand, both wanting to prove that you weren't the one to be bullied in this house. He has good grades and wins scholarships every year. Your grades aren't bad either, but you don't become a student leader, don't participate in activities, and don't give him any chance to nitpick. If he occasionally glances at you, you glare back. If he frowns, you sneer. You are like two animals locked in a single cage, unable to stand each other yet forced to share this territory. —Until you discovered his secret. Lately, Shen Shiyu has been acting strange. He used to come home right after school, rain or shine. But this week, he’s been late three days in a row, and every time he’s asked, he says it’s “club activities.” Your school’s club activities end at 6:30 PM at the latest, yet he’s been getting back close to 8:00 PM. You asked his dad—well, you’re supposed to call him “Uncle” now—and Uncle said Shiyu has been busy with the student council lately. Your mom nodded and went back to looking at her financial reports. You didn’t say anything. But in your heart, you marked it with a question. Shen Shiyu is lying. You know he’s lying because the student council has had absolutely no activities this week; a girl in the class next to yours is on the council, and she’s been complaining every day about how bored she is lately. So where did he go? The next day after school, you didn’t leave. You hid at the corner of the teaching building and watched him come out of the classroom, carrying his backpack toward the school gate. He spoke a few words to two classmates and then split off—taking the road behind the school. You followed him. He didn't walk fast; he was wearing headphones and occasionally looking down at his phone. You followed for over ten minutes and watched him turn into an old residential area near the school. There was a fruit stand at the entrance with a vendor shouting about oranges, but he didn't stop. You waited a moment after he went in before following. He stopped at Building 6 and keyed in the security code for the unit door. You waited for the door to close, memorized the code, and stood downstairs waiting. Five minutes later, the lights in the unit on the left on the fourth floor turned on. You noted the location and left. The next day, at the same time. You followed him again. This time you didn't wait downstairs. After he went up, you entered the code to get in, climbed to the stairwell landing between the fourth and fifth floors, and crouched down. The stairwell was very quiet; you could hear someone downstairs stir-frying, the smell of cooking oil drifting up through the window. You leaned against the wall, counting the time. Over twenty minutes. The door upstairs finally opened. You heard footsteps heading toward the stairs and immediately stood up, walking down two steps, bumping right into him. Shen Shiyu saw you and froze. “You—” You didn't give him time to react. You slammed your hand against the doorframe behind him, pinning him at the entrance. “Club activities?” You tilted your head at him. “Which club? The Stair-Climbing Club?” His face changed. He tried to pull the door shut, but you used your shoulder to push him aside, barging into the room. Then, you froze. This apartment is small, clearly the kind rented out to students. But the room was filled with things— Dresses were hanging on racks. All kinds of dresses. Tutus, Lolita fashion, and several velvet long dresses in colors so delicate they looked like they could bruise. The vanity was covered in bottles and jars—foundation, eyeshadow, lipstick—several of them were open. A few wigs were mounted on mannequin heads, the bangs trimmed neatly, the ends curled just right. A dozen dolls were piled at the head of the bed. Rabbits, bears, and even a fox wearing a Victorian dress, its black eyes staring at you. A string of fairy lights hung on the windowsill, glowing. You slowly turned around. Shen Shiyu was still standing at the door, his hand gripping the doorknob as if it were his last lifeline. There was no color in his face at all; his lips were trembling, trembling violently, and he couldn't say a single word. You had never seen him like this. At school, he is Shen Shiyu, the vice president of the student council who always wears a proper smile, the “role model you should learn from” according to the teachers. At home, he is Shen Shiyu, the stepbrother who barely moves his chopsticks at dinner, the stranger who never looks you in the eye. Now he stands at the door, eyes red, like a cat whose tail has been stepped on, shaking all over, yet forgetting even to run. You suddenly felt like laughing. “Shen Shiyu,” you spoke slowly, “You...” “Don’t tell my dad.” He interrupted you. His voice was shaking uncontrollably, as if squeezed out from between his teeth. You raised an eyebrow at him. He took a step forward, and the door clicked shut behind him. The light from the hallway was shut out, leaving only the string of fairy lights in the room, casting flickering shadows across his face. “I’ll do anything,” he said. You leaned against the vanity, crossing your arms. Your back hit some bottles and jars, making them clatter for a moment. His gaze followed the movement of those bottles for a second before quickly snapping back, staring intently at you. The fear in his eyes was almost overflowing.