I Still Miss Her [Rebirth] - Chapter 4

Chapter 4: “I… I’m your sister!”

Fang Rulian froze for half a second.

Realizing that Fang Zhiyi was calling her by her full name, she frowned. “Fang Zhiyi, who are you talking to? Show some respect.”

Her “big sister” complex kicked in. Forgetting her earlier trepidation, she leaned back against the sofa and corrected her sternly: “Call me… Sis-ter!”

“Sister,” Fang Zhiyi on the other end changed her address quickly, her pace calm and steady. “If everything is fine, then why did you end up in the hospital?”

This wasn’t something she could explain in a few words. Fang Rulian scratched her neck. “We’ll talk when you get back. Where are you now? Do you have much luggage?”

The background noise in the phone quieted down, and Fang Zhiyi’s clear voice drifted through. “I’m at the gas station. No luggage, just a backpack.”

“Okay, I’m hanging up then. In a bit, I’ll ride the bike—” Fang Rulian glanced down at her treated ankle. “In a bit, Auntie Mu or my mom will ride over to pick you up.”

She hung up the phone.

Only then did she realize her hands were shaking and her heart was drumming—like a thief, restless and anxious.

She took several deep breaths, felt a momentary sense of loss, and then turned to shout toward the kitchen:

“Mom! Auntie Mu! Fang Zhiyi is at the gas station!”

Mu Yunshu answered from the kitchen, shared a few more words with Fang Hong, then took off her apron. She grabbed the keys from the shoe cabinet in the living room and went downstairs to get the bike.

The living room fell silent of human voices, leaving only the drone of the range hood from the kitchen.

Fang Rulian lowered her gaze, her eyes landing on the bandage wrapped around her ankle, and she pursed her lips slightly.

In the past, as long as Fang Rulian was home, the task of picking up Fang Zhiyi almost always fell to her.

Fang Hong always complained that her cooking was terrible and that she was more of a hindrance than a help in the kitchen, so she’d simply send her off to pick up her sister.

Fang Rulian was always happy to do it. She’d set off on her little electric scooter, humming songs and enjoying the breeze all the way to the South Passenger Station. Like a motorcycle taxi driver, she’d whistle at Fang Zhiyi, who would be squatting by the road waiting for her, and joke: “Twenty bucks a ride, you coming?”

Fang Zhiyi was used to her sister’s antics. Neither surprised nor puzzled, she would simply stand up, walk over, and climb onto the back seat of the scooter, reluctantly grabbing the fabric of Rulian’s clothes at the waist.

“Lean against me, hug my waist,” Fang Rulian would remind her. “If you sit too far back, the center of gravity shifts and the bike is hard to steer.”

“Mhm.” Fang Zhiyi would ignore her sister’s nonsense, swaying back and forth as if testing the balance, while her butt remained exactly where it was.

Fang Rulian, of course, knew this. She’d smile slightly, suddenly twist the throttle, and then slam on the brakes. The scooter would screech, and the person behind her would slam into her back.

She’d hear Fang Zhiyi let out a tiny grunt of annoyance, followed by two slender hands finally wrapping around her waist.

Only then would Fang Rulian smile with satisfaction.

Heaven as her witness, at that time, Fang Rulian truly had no designs on her sister; it was pure teasing. But looking back now, she felt a wave of goosebumps, feeling as though she had been sexually harassing Fang Zhiyi all those years.

Perhaps Fang Zhiyi felt the same way.

“A-choo!” The temperature dropped quickly in the evening. Fang Rulian rubbed her arms, guiltily shaking the memories out of her head.

“Fang Rulian, do you have a cold?!” Fang Hong called out from the kitchen.

Fang Hong was always extra concerned about her catching colds. Even if Rulian just choked on spicy food, Fang Hong would ask if she was sick just so she could take the opportunity to nag her.

“No!” Fang Rulian shouted back. “Someone is thinking of me!”

She could walk on her sprained ankle, but she didn’t dare move too much. She used her hands to support herself on a stool, pushing it forward as she limped to close the balcony door.

Before closing it, she heard the mechanical female voice from the electronic speaker downstairs: “Thank you for your patronage!”

The cold wind finally stopped swirling through the room. Fang Rulian limped her way to the kitchen door, sticking half her head inside. “Mom, you didn’t close the supermarket downstairs.”

Fang Hong was stir-frying vegetables. With a sizzle, a rich aroma wafted out, making Fang Rulian’s stomach growl.

“Your Auntie Mu will close it when she gets back.” Fang Hong turned to glance at the shadow in the doorway. “Go sit down. If you don’t want to sit, then come over here and cook two dishes.”

Fang Rulian giggled. “I’m hungry.”

“Hungry? I think you’re just being picky!”

Fang Rulian stood guard at the kitchen for half a minute until Fang Hong finally brought over a small bowl of side dishes. She happily took the bowl and pushed her luck, pointing to the cupboard with a flattering smile: “Chopsticks.”

It was a good thing she had just come from the hospital looking a mess, otherwise, ordering Fang Hong around like this would have earned her a “bamboo shoot stir-fried with meat” (a spanking).

She hadn’t tasted her mother’s cooking in years. Fang Rulian took two bites, and whether it was from the emotion or genuine hunger, her eyes grew a bit misty.

Home-cooked meals really were the best.

In those final years, only she and Fang Zhiyi were left in the house. The meals they struggled to make were things even a dog would reject. After all that work, they’d end up ordering takeout anyway.

After finishing the food like a whirlwind, Fang Rulian wiped her mouth with a tissue.

She really was hungry; once she finished eating, the urge to cry vanished, replaced only by the urge to ask Fang Hong for another bowl.

The mechanical “Thank you for your patronage” drifted in from outside the balcony door, the sound muffled now.

Fang Rulian put down her bowl. She didn’t have the heart to bother her mother again.

She checked the time on her phone to estimate where Mu Yunshu might be, then looked up. Her wandering gaze suddenly stopped as it crossed the living room wall.

Focusing.

On the slightly yellowed wall hung a photograph—a group photo of her, Fang Zhiyi, Fang Hong, and Mu Yunshu.

The photo was old, its edges yellowed. The lacquer on the wooden frame was peeling, revealing the mottled grain beneath.

In the photo, Fang Hong and Mu Yunshu stood side-by-side in the back, hands resting on their respective children’s shoulders. Twelve-year-old Fang Rulian was grinning widely at the camera, one hand holding Fang Hong’s hand on her shoulder, the other holding eight-year-old Fang Zhiyi’s hand.

Fang Zhiyi had been a late bloomer with her teeth; her new front teeth hadn’t grown in yet when the photo was taken. Her smile revealed two little gaps, making her look exceptionally cute.

What a warm scene. What a harmonious family.

Fang Rulian thought: I really am a—

A nasty word flashed through her mind, but she still loved herself too much to apply it to herself. She just pursed her lips and stared blankly at the “family portrait.”

In reality, Fang Rulian wasn’t Fang Zhiyi’s biological sister; they shared no blood relation.

Fang Hong had divorced when Rulian was still at an age where her memories were fuzzy. She raised her daughter alone, building a house on a plot she fought her brothers for. After enduring a difficult period, her luck finally turned.

The village was to be relocated.

The state had designated the area for a large ecological project, and the villagers were to move to a distant county town—well, the outskirts of one. The government helped build houses and provided land compensation.

The houses varied in size. Fang Hong chose one near the road, a modest-sized home.

The villagers mocked her, saying she was foolish for not having a man; her house was smaller than the others and lacked a yard. Where would she raise chickens or pigs?

Fang Hong said nothing, but used all her savings to add a second floor.

The county town developed rapidly, soon merging with the relocation village. Traffic grew heavy. When a gas station was built nearby, Fang Hong rented out most of the first floor to a hardware store. Business was surprisingly good.

She used the remaining small space to open a small supermarket.

Mu Yunshu moved in when Fang Rulian was six.

Also a single mother, carrying a two-year-old child, she and Fang Hong met through a misunderstanding. Once it was cleared up, Fang Hong saw she had nowhere to go. Mu Yunshu carried herself with the elegance of an intellectual, so Fang Hong took the mother and daughter in for a low rent.

Fang Hong’s intuition was right—Mu Yunshu soon found a job as an English teacher at a private high school in Heqi County. The two adults hit it off, and the two children played well together. After over a decade, though the second floor had two living rooms and two doors, they were essentially one family.

By coincidence, Fang Rulian took her mother’s surname, Fang. Mu Yunshu’s late husband, who died in the line of duty, also happened to be named Fang, and her child was named Fang Zhiyi. The two children grew up together and actually began to look somewhat alike; anyone who didn’t know the truth would assume they were biological sisters.

Fang Rulian’s gaze scanned the features of the little girl in the photo.

They really did look a bit alike.

They looked similar as adults, too. When Fang Rulian heard friends mention it, she used to think it was because they kissed so much they swapped bacteria, but it turned out the resemblance was already obvious when they were little.

Their features were similar, but their temperaments as they grew were poles apart. Fang Zhiyi was reserved; Fang Rulian was outgoing.

Fang Rulian suddenly thought: perhaps if their roles were swapped—if Fang Zhiyi were the older sister and she were the younger one—it would be much better.

At least Fang Zhiyi wouldn’t drag the sister she raised into her bed. Not to mention Fang Zhiyi was sensible, obedient, and a top student—the “child from another family” that parents always praised.

But then Fang Rulian thought: if she were the younger sister, she wouldn’t be any good, either.

She’d probably rely on Fang Zhiyi’s sensible nature to be even more unscrupulous. She’d play out those classic scenes from taboo “Gl” (Girls’ Love) novels where the sensible older sister, Fang Zhiyi, would say that classic line: “I… I’m your sister!”

And imagining Fang Zhiyi’s cold face saying that… it was actually a bit exciting.

Fang Rulian slapped herself.

Clearly, the problem is me.

There probably wasn’t a more scandalous person in the world than her.

“What are you doing?”

Fang Hong walked out of the kitchen with a dish and saw her daughter suddenly slap herself. She asked in confusion, “Are you having a fit?”

“No, the wind slapped me.” Fang Rulian smiled bitterly to herself.

If Fang Hong knew what she was just thinking, or knew what she had done in her past life—she wouldn’t wait for the wind; she’d grab the nearest heavy object and slap her herself.

“Acting all weird.” Fang Hong glanced at her and tilted her chin. “Call your sister and ask where they are.”

Fang Rulian picked up her phone, but before she could dial, she heard the “clatter” of the supermarket’s rolling shutter being pulled down.

“No need to call, they’re back.”

Fang Hong leaned toward the balcony to look. Her peripheral vision caught the ceramic shards and the wreckage of her plants on the floor. “Fang Rulian! You—”

She knew something had fallen, but she didn’t realize it was this much! Her succulents!

“That spendthrift girl!”

“Mommy~” Under Fang Hong’s murderous gaze, Fang Rulian listened for the footsteps and conversation on the stairs while putting on a cutesy voice to evoke motherly love. She smiled guiltily. “Can we do the execution after autumn? Let’s eat first~”