Chapter 10

Intentional homicide. Fifteen years in prison.

The sentence was upheld on appeal.

Officer Tao sent me the news on WeChat.

Then he added: “Your mother, Zhao Guiying, was sentenced to eighteen months for fabricating evidence and obstructing testimony.”

Eighteen months.

I read it twice.

Set down the phone and went back to chopping vegetables.

I was making sweet-and-sour ribs. Ms. Zhang had told me they were on sale at the grocery store.

After I finished slicing the scallions and ginger, the phone vibrated again.

Mr. Fang.

“Ms. Zhao, the verdict’s in. Thank you for the evidence and leads you gave us. At last, there’s some justice for my father.”

I replied, “My condolences.”

Another message came.

“You’re a good person.”

I didn’t reply.

A good person.

I didn’t know whether I counted as one.

I had simply refused to take the blame.

A lot had happened in those three months.

Zhou Xue divorced Zhao Yanwen a month before the verdict.

The baby was born. A boy.

She took him back to her parents’ home and never appeared again.

Her online statement was deleted too.

My eldest aunt came to see me once.

Before the protection order was issued.

She stayed downstairs and called instead of coming up.

“Yanqing, your father’s in hospital. Stomach bleeding.”

“Which hospital?”

“The county hospital.”

“How much does his medical insurance cover?”

“About sixty percent.”

“How much will he have to pay himself?”

“Seven or eight thousand.”

I transferred ten thousand yuan to my aunt’s account.

“This is for Dad’s treatment. Pay it straight to the hospital. Don’t let my mother get her hands on it.”

“Yanqing—”

“Auntie. That’s all.”

I hung up.

Later, I heard he had been discharged.

He never called me.

Not once.

I wasn’t waiting for him to.

During those three months, I moved.

Out of my old rented room and into a residential compound on the east side of the city.

One bedroom, one living room. South-facing. A large balcony.

I brought the pothos and set it outside where the sun could reach it.

Changed my phone number too.

Only six people had the new one.

My landlord. Property management. Ms. Zhang from the grocery store. Officer Tao. Mr. Fang. And an old high school friend, Song Yao.

Song Yao had messaged me after seeing what happened online. We exchanged contact details again.

She was teaching kindergarten in the next city now. On some weekends, she took the intercity bus over so we could have a meal.

Last week, she brought me a little potted succulent.

“Your balcony’s too bare. This’ll brighten it up.”

I put it beside the pothos.

One tall, one short. One big, one small.

While packing for the move, I found an envelope at the bottom of the wardrobe.

Inside were old receipts and documents I had kept.

The first was a train ticket from six years ago. From the county town to this city. Hard seat. Forty-seven yuan.

The second was a receipt from that grocery store. My first month in the city: a bag of rice, a bottle of soy sauce, a packet of salt.

The third was the purchase agreement for the old apartment.

Useless now.

I put the first two back. Tore up the third and dropped it in the bin.

Today was Saturday.

The vegetables were cut. The ribs were blanched. I put them in the wok with the caramelized sugar.

The extractor fan roared.

I turned the ribs. The glaze clung to them, glossy and even.

The phone rang in the living room.

I wiped my hands and went to pick it up.

An unknown number.

A call from another province. The area code was from home.

I looked at it for three seconds.

Didn’t answer.

Put it back on the table.

Twelve rings. Then it stopped.

A minute later, it rang again.

The same number.

I picked it up and rejected the call.

Then opened the settings and blocked the number.

Back in the kitchen, the ribs were nearly done.

I added vinegar and reduced the sauce.

Plated them and carried them to the table.

A table for one. A dish of ribs, a bowl of rice, a glass of water.

A few leaves on the pothos trembled in the breeze.

The succulent sat solidly beside it, unmoving.

I sat down and picked up a rib.

Sweet, with a little sourness.

Cooked just right.

After two bites, something occurred to me.

I would never again receive a call with “Mom” on the screen.

That name would never be in my contacts again.

I would leave the space empty.

I wouldn’t fill it later.

Outside the window, the sun was bright.

I drew back the curtains and let the light in.

Then ate.

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