Susan Wright was fiddling with these things when some dark shadows had already begun to silently gather around. Most were yellow and white cats, some black ones, and farther away there was a scruffy Pekingese. More animals slowly approached from behind, their shapes unclear. In twos and threes, sometimes in groups, sometimes alone, just like on many previous nights, they came to this dead-end alley, planning to enjoy a feast.

In the dimness, many pairs of green eyes gazed at Susan Wright. The scene reminded her of a Hong Kong horror movie she had just watched. She shook her head and laughed, then squatted down and poured out some leftover porridge in front of her.

“It’s not easy to get a full meal, is it? This is hot porridge with meat broth. If you could think, if you could talk, you’d probably be grateful to me, right? You must like me quite a bit right now. But, in reality, who really knows? After a while, if you’re smart enough, you’ll regret eating so happily now.”

There were some things Susan Wright had no one to say to. Not even Bella Collins. She always needed a place to talk, whether to cats or dogs—it was better than blurting things out in her sleep at night and being overheard by her father or sister.

“This world, what it looks like and what it really is, are just not the same.”

“Just not the same.” She paused for a moment, then repeated it for emphasis.

“You’re the same, aren’t you? You look cute, but that’s just how you were born. How are you any different from spiders or centipedes? If provoked, you’ll bite or scratch just the same. Even if you look pleasing to the eye, in the places I can’t see, you’re covered in fleas, bacteria, and parasites.”

A black cat lifted its head and glanced at her.

“Can you understand me? Of course you can’t. People always think you’re so in tune with humans, but you only look that way. Just like me—on this street, except for my sister and my dad, everyone likes me. I’m smart, hardworking, sensible, and especially polite. These days, when I feed you, there’s always someone saying I have a good heart and love animals. But in reality, who really knows?”

The porridge on the ground was licked clean. Susan Wright waved her hand, shooing away the few cats that lingered, and in no time, new cats and dogs took their place. She poured out another third from the plastic bag; after this group finished, there would be another.

“If my mom dies, my dad will be sad; if my sister dies, my dad will also be sad; if my dad dies, my sister and quite a few people on the street will be sad. But if I die, no one will be sad, just like you. Don’t be fooled by all the praise from people on the old street—it’s not from the heart. What kind of people are they, what kind of temperaments? How could they truly like someone so different from themselves? If I die, they’ll say, ‘Oh, what a pity, such a good girl,’ but after a few words, who would really, truly feel bad? I don’t want to die, but if I can’t get into college, if there’s no way out for me in this life, how is that any different from dying? It’s even worse than dying!”

She giggled.

“As long as Shirley Wright is alive, I’ll never have a chance to get ahead. Honestly, sis, that year, if mom had died, we’d all be better off. The path I’ve walked all these years was chosen by you. Now, it’s my turn to choose a path for myself. I’m sorry, but I can only help you choose a path, too.”

Susan Wright kept feeding the cats and dogs as she spoke. These words weren’t really for the animals, nor for herself, but for fate in the darkness, for her absent sister, father, and mother, for this world that seemed so out of place for her yet she desperately wanted to fit into.

When the porridge was gone, the cats and dogs gradually melted into the darkness, and Susan Wright’s monologue had long since ended. The dead-end alley returned to silence. Susan Wright picked up her bag and started to leave, but then stopped. On one side of the alley, a door that had been closed was now ajar. There was no light behind it, but a sliver of clothing was faintly visible.

This was the back door of the deaf old woman’s house. Susan Wright knew the old woman wasn’t really deaf; she just didn’t like dealing with people. How long had she been standing there just now? Had she heard anything?

With a creak, the door opened halfway, revealing the old woman. Her white hair was disheveled, and she stared straight at Susan Wright.

Susan Wright greeted the old woman.

After a long while, the old woman made a sound whose meaning was unclear, something between a “hmph” and an “mm,” then closed the door.

Susan Wright stood at the door for a while longer, feeling the hairs on the back of her neck slowly settle down, then hurried out of the alley.

After this fright, she didn’t go straight home, but wandered to several places in the old street. These were spots she had discovered where the cats and dogs usually defecated. She picked up the small, dry droppings, putting them into the plastic bag that had held the porridge, tied it tightly, and hid it in a cloth bag. Finally, she put the cloth bag back in its original hiding place.

With that, all the tasks that had to be done tonight were finished.

There would be many more nights like this.

2

I’ve never been to Mount Tai. I want to go, but I don’t know when I’ll ever have the chance. I really envy you. Given my family’s situation, there’s no opportunity to travel out of town. I haven’t even been on a train yet. I’m afraid I’ll have to wait until I’m working and independent before I get such a chance.

Actually, I know you’re trying to comfort me. That’s what you mean, right? Telling me to look on the bright side, not to let my current life limit me. You’ve climbed Mount Tai, stood at the summit, and looked down on all the other mountains—that’s how you gained this insight. But I don’t even have the chance to go to Mount Tai. To stand high and see far, you have to climb step by step. I’m climbing now, working so, so hard, giving it everything I’ve got.

Susan Wright found a previous issue of “China Travel” in the school library, which happened to have a feature on Mount Tai—four whole pages, with several photos. The scenery in the pictures was exactly as Bella Collins had described in her letter. She placed the open magazine under her letter paper and began writing a reply to her pen pal. When she heard Shirley Wright calling her, Susan Wright quickly closed the magazine, covering the letter.

Shirley Wright’s gaze fell on the magazine, making Susan Wright a little uneasy. She asked her sister what was up.

“The math teacher is holding a tutoring session. It’ll probably go late. You and Dad don’t need to wait for me for dinner.”

Susan Wright nodded. As Shirley Wright was leaving, her eyes lingered on the magazine again.

She probably thinks I’m writing a love letter too, Susan Wright thought. I’d better be careful.

Back home, Susan Wright first went to the inner room to check on her mother. It had become a habit, even though there was usually nothing to do. Then she went out, retrieved the cloth bag from its hiding place, walked a few blocks along the checkerboard-like old street, and stopped in front of an ordinary, dilapidated wooden door.

This place was just one house away from the dead-end alley where she fed the cats and dogs every night. In fact, this was the front door of the deaf old woman’s house.

The door was closed. She knocked, but no one answered. She lifted a loose brick from the windowsill; the key was underneath. She took the key, unlocked the door, and gently pushed it open.

The old woman was sitting right in front of her, watching her.

Just like always.

The old woman was knitting, two needles flashing back and forth. It looked like a scarf, one end trailing on the floor. The old woman didn’t lower her head; it was as if she wasn’t the one knitting, as if her hands and head belonged to different people. She stared straight at Susan Wright, or perhaps not at her at all, but through her, through the door, into some unknown distance.

These days, Susan Wright often came to check on the old woman. The old woman had lived alone for a long time; her children rarely visited. In recent years, as she got older, her mind became more and more confused, and all she knew how to do was knit. When people become senile, their children care even less, and she would often sit in her chair from morning till night, not even knowing to eat. If no one checked on her regularly, who would know if she died? People on the old street often said this in front of Susan Wright, praising her for being kind-hearted. Susan Wright would purse her lips and smile faintly, but in her heart, she thought, you can know a person’s face but not their heart.

There was a pot on the coal stove, with cold rice inside. Susan Wright sniffed it; it was a bit sour, but probably still edible. She poured some water from the thermos, scooped out a bowl of warm rice soup, added two spoonfuls of pickles on top, and set it in front of the old woman. The old woman kept stubbornly staring ahead, so she just put the food on the small table beside her. When the time was right in the old woman’s mind, she would eat. For now, it was still okay—the old woman sometimes still remembered to light the coal stove and cook a little rice or boil some water. When she forgot even that, would she have to help her light the stove? That would take a lot of time. After having so many children in her life, what was the point? The thought popped into Susan Wright’s mind, and she smiled and tossed it aside.

Susan Wright sat down in the hallway near the back door of the old woman’s house. She sat on a small stool and took out the things from her cloth bag, laying them out on the floor.