She slowly raised the syringe, the needle pointing skyward, about to bring it down. She looked at her sister’s face—a face quite similar to her own, now calm and expressionless, neither joyful nor sorrowful, perhaps dreamless, resting in a tranquil darkness. She realized that if she truly began, then this face so like her own would cease to exist. She didn’t want to remember, didn’t want to recall, but at this very moment, she couldn’t help but think back to that stifling summer afternoon years ago, when she stood in this very room, facing her mother, stepping forward one step at a time.

She froze. She looked at her right hand holding the syringe; it didn’t tremble in the slightest. Susan Wright suddenly realized how resolute she truly was! The path of her life had already veered decisively in another direction, never to coincide with her sister’s again. A tremendous sorrow seized her—not necessarily for her sister, nor for herself, but for this situation, this fate that had befallen her. Tears streamed down her face like rain; she set the syringe on the bed, crouched down, and sobbed with her head in her hands.

She cried until she was gasping for breath. Looking up through tear-filled eyes at her sister, she recalled all the unmistakable kindness Shirley Wright had shown her over the years, though she had always thought it was a foolish and meaningless kindness, and ultimately a kind of hypocrisy.

Maybe it was best to leave it to fate. Just like when she couldn’t make up her mind, she would think of a random phrase, count the knuckles and gaps on the back of her hand—if she landed on a knuckle, she would do it; if on a gap, she would give up.

Sister, will you die? Knuckle, gap, knuckle, gap, knuckle, gap, knuckle. You will die.

Try again.

Will I kill you? Knuckle, gap, knuckle, gap, knuckle, gap. No.

Susan Wright sat in a daze for a while.

Sister, I’m sorry. Knuckle, gap, knuckle, gap, knuckle, gap, knuckle. Knuckle.

She gradually calmed down, wiped away her tears, turned around, and walked toward her mother.

“Mom, I’m about to do something bad.”

She paused, then said, “Mom, I can’t let sister keep living. If she lives, I can’t go on. In this family, one of us has to die. Mom, there’s no other way. Mom, unless you blink. If you blink right now, I’ll give up.”

Beatrice Collins’s eyes were half-open, not fully closed, leaving a sliver, like the eyes of a great Buddha statue in a temple—no matter where you stood, it always seemed to be watching you. Susan Wright used to fear those eyes, but later, when no one else was around, she would always gaze at them. In their deep darkness, they contained everything, yet were empty. She felt her mother was like a deity, worshipped with incense, collecting countless prayers and wishes from the world, solemn and imposing, but if shattered, would be nothing but a pile of clay. She had once tried to break free, and though she hadn’t succeeded, she was liberated from her bonds and no longer afraid.

Susan Wright looked at her mother and gradually calmed down. She turned back, walked to the bed, straightened her sister’s arm, patted the crook a few times to make the vein stand out, picked up the syringe, and slowly injected all the liquid into that body.

From beginning to end, she never looked at her sister’s face.

After tidying up the syringe, before leaving the inner room, she turned to glance at her mother again. In a moment of daze, she thought she saw her mother’s eyelid tremble slightly.

“Mom,” she called.

There was no response.

“Well then, you go on sleeping.”

4

Sometimes, it feels like there’s really no such thing as choice. Life offers no choices. We think we can go left or right; we think we can do something or not do it. But in truth, there is no choice. Realizing this is true maturity, I suppose. Once you’re clear about your own path, clear about what you want, then there are no more choices. I’ve only recently come to understand this.

Or maybe, you have to work extremely hard to even have the right to choose. That’s how it is for me, but for Bella Collins, probably not. Bella Collins, you have the right to choose, don’t you? I really envy you. In your last letter, you said you were hesitating about whether to go to college. For me, there’s no choice, but you have one—because even if you don’t go to college, you can still have a good future. You’ve always walked on the bright side of the world, while I’ve fallen behind, shrouded in the world’s great shadow, running desperately just to stand beside you. I have no choice but to keep running, to run fast, to run with all my might.

It’s summer again—the last summer before Shirley Wright’s college entrance exams.

Shirley Wright was feeling a bit listless. Maybe it was the summer, but there was something odd about it. Her younger sister told her to rest more, saying she’d just overworked herself studying and her body couldn’t take it. Shirley Wright’s grades in the final exams of her second year were average; given her previous performance, she should have done better. The day before the exam, she inexplicably slept through the whole afternoon, only waking up when her sister shook her for dinner, but she still felt groggy and couldn’t review at all, and then couldn’t sleep well at night, with a headache.

Maybe it was time to relax a bit, she thought, she’d been too tense before.

But after a few days’ rest post-exam, she still felt a lack of energy. Senior year was about to start, and there was no way she could really relax for a few weeks. By this morning, she even suspected she had a fever, but when she checked her temperature, it was fine.

At that point, Susan Wright suggested going for a sauna.

Saunas were a new thing, imported from abroad, said to be very relaxing. The high heat would force out all your sweat, and with it, the toxins in your body—just like the principles of Chinese medicine. A new bathhouse had opened on Siping Road, handing out discount flyers everywhere, and it had a sauna room.

Of course, even with the discount, it still cost some money. Shirley Wright hesitated, but couldn’t resist her sister’s urging. Susan Wright said, “I’ll treat you, it’s better than medicine, good for your health.” Shirley Wright replied, “I have pocket money, let me treat you.”

When they left, the weather was a bit overcast. Shirley Wright wanted to go back for an umbrella, but Susan Wright said there was no need, it wouldn’t rain—she’d heard the weather forecast.

It was the biggest bathhouse they’d ever been to, though the sauna room was just a small space. Being naked together in such a tiny room was a first for both sisters.

“It’s really hot, sis,” said Shirley Wright.

Susan Wright grunted in agreement.

The white steam swirled, making even the face right in front of you look blurry.

“What’s wrong?”

“No, nothing, it’s just hot.”

“If you can’t take it, let’s go out.”

Susan Wright glanced at her sister. What about those parasite eggs in her body—had they matured? Having so many parasites inside could cause serious illness, and they were hard to detect; routine blood tests at the hospital didn’t check for parasites. But usually, this kind of illness wasn’t fatal. Given enough time, the hospital would eventually find the parasites after round after round of tests.

Unless the eggs reached the brain. That was difficult, because even though Shirley Wright’s blood was full of parasite eggs, the human body had a natural barrier—the blood-brain barrier—which kept the eggs out of the brain. To break through that barrier, a person’s body temperature would have to rise to an extremely high level.

“Sis, are you enjoying the sauna?”

“I’m sweating a lot, it feels good.”

“Then let’s stay a bit longer, I’ll keep you company.”

After the sauna, Shirley Wright felt completely relaxed—it was money well spent. As they left, Susan Wright walked ahead but stopped at the door. It was raining.

Susan Wright looked at the rain—not a downpour, but a fine, dense drizzle.

Weather forecasts were often wrong, but this time, it was right. Susan Wright sighed. This too was fate, she thought to herself.

Then she turned back and gave her sister a wry smile.

“No umbrella—let’s ride fast and dash home.”

Shirley Wright climbed onto the battered twenty-six-inch Phoenix bicycle, Susan Wright hopped on the back seat and hugged her sister’s waist. Her sister was warm, but the raindrops on her body were icy cold. By the time they got home, both girls were soaked through, and the next day, both came down with a fever. Susan Wright had a temperature of thirty-eight degrees, while Shirley Wright’s reached forty.

Adrian Wright scolded the sisters harshly, saying after a sauna your pores are open, and then getting drenched in the rain lets the cold in—no wonder you got sick. He had to skip work that day to take care of all three of them at home. After a day, Susan Wright felt a bit better, struggled to get up, and told Adrian Wright to go back to work—she would take care of her sister and mother. Adrian Wright said no, their mother had no immunity, and if she hadn’t fully recovered, she’d pass on the infection through close contact.

Adrian Wright stayed home for three full days. On the fourth morning, as he left for work, he said to Shirley Wright angrily, “The money I lost these three days is enough for a month of your college living expenses. Do you know how long it’ll take me to make it back? Hurry up and get well so you can get back to your studies!” At that point, Shirley Wright’s fever still hadn’t fully subsided, and she had to rely on her sister’s care. She drank lots of water every day, and her sister even bought a watermelon and scooped out half of it for her to eat. But the lingering fever just wouldn’t go away, and she never quite recovered. She spent her days propped up in bed reading, but in a daze, she’d forget half of what she’d just read; when doing exercises, even simple equations took her ages to solve, and steps she used to do in her head now had to be written out one by one on paper.