Chapter One Hundred and One

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Xiao Jian understood that, though their talk was all in Japanese, they were speaking up for him. In the moment he had felt most helpless, it was Lin Zimo’s father, Lin Yeyi Fu, who had defended him, and Xiao Jian felt deeply moved. In his heart he thought that not all Japanese people were cruel; what mattered was whether one’s own heart was willing to open.

After scolding Lin Zimo, Lin Yeyi Fu turned to Xiao Jian and said warmly, “You can stay as long as you want. From now on, you are one of our family. No matter what difficulties come, we will shoulder them together. Little Lily, take him to the room prepared for guests.”

Lin Xiaoxin understood at once. Lin Yeyi Fu had already accepted Xiao Jian as part of the family. The room he meant was the spare room, the one usually left for visitors to stay overnight. With Xiao Jian’s arrival, that room became his room as well. Seeing how uneasy Lin Zimo looked, Lin Xiaoxin had no choice; when your father has to reprimand, everyone is intimidated. She pushed him gently toward the spare room.

She heard every sound outside clearly. Aside from Xiao Jian, who could not understand Japanese, everyone out there was speaking Japanese. He did not hear a word from Lin Zimo. It was all the silence her father had forced on him, and she had no way to explain her own behavior.

That night, no one had returned except Lin Zimo’s mother, and everyone else welcomed Xiao Jian warmly. It was the first time in a long while he had felt such a warm home atmosphere; for him it was a night hard to sleep through.

It was only after Lin Yeyi Fu had said so much to him that Lin Zimo began to understand: one should not cling too tightly to results; trying and waiting is not too late. Results are often less important than they seem. What truly moves people is a heart that still burns with sincerity.

Lin Xiaoxin led Xiao Jian back to the spare room. She was about to speak, then swallowed her words. Xiao Jian turned his head to her and said calmly, “If you have something to say, say it. Bottling it up will make you sick of your own heart. I may not know who you are, but I can sense it with the instinct of an honest fool.”

Xiaoxin scratched her head. “If you can tell that from me, then I’m still very far from good. I won’t pretend anymore.”

She loosened the band on her hair, and it spilled over her shoulders in a graceful way. Xiao Jian felt nothing stirring inside. He had long grown accustomed to Lin Zimo’s face; even looking at Lin Xiaoxin now felt like something he had already become immune to.

“I am beginning to wonder whether coming here was a mistake,” she said, turning away so he wouldn’t see her tears. What she meant was simply this: had she really made the right choice in coming to China? Since her return, even when she came home, Lin Zimo rarely smiled, and she often gave him trouble.

“Why are you saying that? Wasn’t this your own choice?” Xiao Jian asked, thinking she had come to China willingly. Did she have hidden reasons?

She went on quietly, “Since I was born, no one in my family really took care of me. Except my sister, who stayed by my side, there was no one else. As I grew up, she grew too. I don’t know if it was because of my parents’ wishes that they took my sister to China to live with them and left me with grandmother, but I could never accept that.”

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Xiao Jian did not interrupt. He kept listening as Lin Xiaoxin spoke, and he could not tell how much pain could be hidden behind words that sounded so simple.

“I worked and studied endlessly just so I could meet my parents as soon as possible. They never came back. Only once, during your country’s National Day, did they return. I came here completely alone. My family didn’t want me to see them and kept narrowing my freedom, all the time. Now that I’m here, I only want one thing: to see them once.”

“That sounds like a hard life. You must have suffered a lot,” Xiao Jian said.

Xiaoxin let out a short, dry laugh. “Just the small troubles. You don’t even know how much more there is.” Her meaning was clear: coming to China had not been a single hardship.

Facing away from him, her voice already rough with tears, she said, “After they restricted my freedom, I tried my best to act right, hoping grandmother would grant me more freedom. But things turned out nothing like that. I was met instead by more cold, pitying stares.”

The more she spoke, the more Xiao Jian felt sympathy. At first he had thought she was merely playing on emotion, trying to show he was one of her kind. By the end, he had nothing to say; her feeling sounded real, not put on.

Xiaoxin then said, “Can I carry you to bed first?” better to set aside that conversation and get him settled.

Xiao Jian smiled. “No need. I can get up onto the bed with just my own arm strength. There’s no need for you to worry.”

He said this, but when he reached the bed it was obvious he still struggled. It felt as though he could hardly pull himself up. The bed itself was not especially high; he merely felt too high inside himself. Xiaoxin saw through the show and said, “If you can’t, don’t force it. I’ll help you.” She moved close, lifted him, and held him carefully, never touching his legs. She was so careful even while carrying him to bed.

“Sorry,” she said awkwardly, rubbing her head, “I still need a girl’s help sometimes. Thank you anyway.”

“Hey, you’re really hurting me,” Xiaoxin shot back in mock irritation. “I, a beauty, carried you to bed, and you still complain? If I’d known, I’d just put you in a wheelchair to sleep. Carrying you up here was a favor.”

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“Oh. Then I owe you an apology,” Xiao Jian said, lowering his head, and Xiaoxin felt only slightly relieved.

Only when she was sure nothing was wrong did she leave the room. One more question remained: what if Xiao Jian needed to go to the toilet? She thought that if he needed help, she would be the first to arrive, fearing he would try to endure it alone and force himself again.

When everyone had fallen asleep, only Xiaoxin stayed awake. She dared not relax even for a moment; if she dozed off and Xiao Jian needed help, she would feel deeply ashamed. She tapped her own cheeks to keep herself from sleeping.

After two hours, she finally could no longer resist and fell asleep. Certainly he did not need help now; if he did, she would wake at once. Still, she thought to herself, why has she worried about this man for so long? She did not know herself. What was there in this stranger—so strange, so familiar—that made her care so much?

So eight hours passed. Xiaoxin stood before the mirror in the bathroom and looked at herself. The dark circles under her eyes had grown much darker.

But a quick makeup routine only takes a few small steps. In five minutes she had touched up her face; quickly, the dark circles were no longer obvious.

Then she heard a sound from Xiao Jian’s side and hurried over. She found him curled tightly in his body, staring fearfully at the floor.

“What happened?” Xiaoxin asked.

His hand trembled as it pointed to the ground. He seemed unable to speak. After swallowing hard, he finally said, “A cockroach. A huge one.”