Chapter Two: The Beginning of Spring

Page 1 of 3

February 4th, 2009—Beginning of Spring.

Stepping out of the City Youth Palace, Lin Nian clutched a thick wad of cash in his arms, and for some inexplicable reason, felt as if spring had arrived earlier than usual this year.

Earlier, when the young receptionist had counted out the money for him, he thought she’d made a mistake. But after checking several times, it was indeed the right amount—two thousand yuan in wages, stacked thick in his hands, enough to make someone want to burst into that song about spring his music teacher had been teaching since elementary school, “Where Is Spring?”

Winter fades, spring returns. Lin Nian, second-year high school student, sixteen, soon to be seventeen.

Orphaned from a young age, he’d grown up in the orphanage, where he’d recognized an older girl as his god-sister. When she came of age, they’d moved out together. The two had depended on each other for years, and finances were always tight, so he never let any odd job, legal or not, slip by.

Walking down the street, breath misting in the cold air, Lin Nian considered the buying power of two thousand yuan in today’s economy. It wasn’t a huge sum, but certainly not small—his sister’s monthly wage was just over a thousand. For a high school junior, to earn two thousand on his own was enough to make people take notice.

He knew the coach had given him a proper performance fee, and in this field, you needed real skills to earn such a sum. Lin Nian didn’t even have an official kendo rank, let alone any particular moves under his belt. So this wasn’t really a performance fee—it was a favor.

The coach had always looked out for him. Maybe, as the coach said, he saw potential in Lin Nian and took a liking to him. Or maybe it was simple sympathy—these days, when you see each other often, those who can help will.

The coach was certainly capable. Anyone running a training program at the City Youth Palace had to be. Kendo lessons cost five thousand per student per session, with classes of twenty, and this year alone, the coach managed five groups.

Lin Nian had done odd jobs at the Youth Palace before, and out of curiosity had picked up a bamboo sword a few times. The coach noticed his talent and let him join a class here and there. Any progress he’d made he owed to the coach’s support.

The coach had once asked if he’d like to train with him more formally, but Lin Nian refused—his sister wanted him to go to college. The coach never brought it up again.

Every family has its own difficulties; Lin Nian’s were especially hard.

Outside the Youth Palace was a bus stop. He rode the bus to the subway, transferred from Line 2 to Line 3, rode to the last stop, then caught another bus.

Home was on the inland edge of this coastal city, in an old residential area without a formal property management system. Rows of aged apartment blocks stood side by side on wide open lots—some seven or eight stories, others just four or five, their walls peeling and worn. A few had been renovated for appearances’ sake, tiled and painted, with storefronts below converted to breakfast shops or hotpot restaurants. The streets bustled with people.

Lin Nian headed straight for home—a ground-floor apartment above a shop selling spicy hotpot. He slipped into the alley, entered through the back, climbed to the fifth floor, and knocked.

Three knocks. Hands in his pockets, he waited. Soon, a girl’s voice called from inside, “Who is it?”

“Me,” he replied simply, and the door swung open.

Behind it stood a girl a few years older than Lin Nian, dressed in a fuzzy set of pajamas, a kitchen apron slung over her, feet in pink slippers, a spatula in hand as she opened the door.

Her name was Lin Xian—Lin Nian’s older sister.

She barely greeted him before launching into, “Where on earth did you run off to so early? Didn’t even leave a note. If you weren’t back by noon I was going to track you down at the internet café.”

“I wasn’t at the arcade,” Lin Nian said, stepping over the threshold and swapping shoes. “I went to the Youth Palace. Coach asked me to do a demonstration match.”

Lin Xian sniffed, as if checking for the scent of cigarettes, and, finding none, turned back to the kitchen to tend to lunch. “The coach from the Musashi training group?”

“Who else?” Lin Nian flopped onto the living room sofa, from which he could see his sister cooking. “Owe him another favor. Two thousand for a demonstration match.”

“Two thousand? That much?” Her voice rose in surprise, but was soon swallowed by the sizzle of oil.

“At least that covers next month’s rent.” Lin Nian placed the cash on the table.

“Aunt Wang said our rent’s going down a bit next month,” Lin Xian said over her shoulder.

“How much?”

Page 2 of 3

“Five hundred.”

“That’s good news,” said Lin Nian. “Let’s keep this money for household expenses.”

“We’ll see. I’ll deposit it later—I’ll go to the bank this afternoon.” Lin Xian turned off the gas stove, plated the food, and brought it to the table. “Don’t just sit there—go scoop the rice.”

“Alright.” Lin Nian obediently hurried to the rice cooker, served two bowls, and sat at the table with chopsticks.

“School’s about to start again. Are you ready for the entrance exams?” Lin Xian rapped her chopsticks on the table, eyes on him.

“More or less,” Lin Nian hedged.

“More or less? You got into Shilan with your grades. If you don’t do well on the exams, you might lose your tuition discount next year.” She gave him a meaningful look. “You know what’s at stake.”

“Yeah, I know. I’ll study tonight.” Lin Nian sighed, took a piece of preserved meat and asked, “Where’d you get this? Did you buy it?”

“Director Li from the orphanage brought it this morning... Don’t change the subject. Studying tonight isn’t enough. Not just tonight—until the 19th when school starts, you’ll stay home so I can help you review. The holiday’s over, you’ve played enough, time to focus.” Lin Xian chewed slowly, adding, “And stop hanging around that Lu guy at the arcade. The environment there is awful.”

“He pays for my internet time and drinks,” Lin Nian said solemnly. “Would you rather see your brother malnourished?”

“You’d have enough nutrition if you didn’t keep renting those ridiculous movies at the video shop,” Lin Xian replied, serving herself some chives.

A chill ran down Lin Nian’s spine, as if his secrets had been exposed in public.

Lin Xian shot him a glance but let it drop.

Silence settled over the table.

After a while, Lin Xian said, “I changed jobs.”

Lin Nian paused. “The café?”

“How did you know?”

“Coach said his daughter saw you in the High-tech Zone. Why’d you quit the office job?”

“It wasn’t suitable,” Lin Xian replied, head down.

Not suitable? What office job isn’t “suitable”—so long as you can sit in a chair, it’s suitable for anyone. Lin Nian thought, but after a moment, he sighed inwardly.

He knew full well what “not suitable” meant. Most likely, she’d been harassed at work again—for the third time now, counting the previous incidents. In her early twenties, fresh out of college without much experience, from a poor family, and with a striking appearance—of course she was targeted.

“As long as you found something. That’s what matters.” No emotion showed on Lin Nian’s face. “You weren’t taken advantage of, were you?”

“And if I was?” Lin Xian looked up from her meal.

“Then I’d beat someone up,” Lin Nian replied without hesitation. “At most they’d call it mutual assault. I’d hold back, no lasting injuries, maybe just a fine or a few days’ detention.”

“And then you’d have a criminal record,” Lin Xian said with a bitter smile.

“Do I look like I care about that?” Lin Nian grinned.

“You should care,” she said, shrugging. “And anyway, I wasn’t taken advantage of.”

Even if she had been, she wouldn’t tell me, Lin Nian thought, shoveling in another mouthful without replying.

Page 3 of 3

“By the way, Director Li came by this morning while you were out. She said she wanted to see you,” Lin Xian said, changing the topic.

“See me? I’m not missing any limbs,” Lin Nian muttered, clearly unmoved by the mention of Director Li.

“Seems she wanted to talk about the college entrance exam.” Lin Xian paused, chopsticks hovering. “She said if you haven’t picked a university yet, she could recommend you for study abroad.”

“Study abroad?” Lin Nian looked up, puzzled. “Since when does our orphanage have connections with foreign universities? I’d believe it if you said there was an exchange with another orphanage overseas.”

“Director Li didn’t seem to be joking,” Lin Xian replied, uncertain.

“But even so, isn’t it too early? I’ll only be starting the second half of my junior year. And studying abroad takes a financial guarantor, right?”

“Director Li said she’s willing to be your guarantor.” Lin Xian set down her bowl as if preparing for a serious conversation. “She mentioned she could recommend you to a private university in the outskirts of Chicago.”

“America? That’s even more far-fetched. What kind of family can afford to study in the US?” Lin Nian sounded uninterested. “Besides, I’d have to take the TOEFL—what a hassle.”

At this, Lin Xian spoke plainly: “Director Li said the school is willing to offer a scholarship.”

Lin Nian fell silent, ate two more bites, then said, “Director Li doesn’t plan to sell me off to dig coal in the Middle East, does she?”

“It’s possible,” Lin Xian replied, unusually serious—because, given their circumstances, it did feel like a plot twist.

After years of struggling to survive, the siblings understood well: in this world, every pie that falls from the sky is laced with something—just like the “free” cocktails from strangers in a bar.

“Director Li said the school’s name sounded something like... Kase... Kassel?” Lin Xian tried to recall. “Why don’t you check at the internet café this afternoon and see if it exists?”

“You can’t even remember the name—that’s just an excuse.” Lin Nian shook his head. “I’ll let the other former orphans know too, tell them to keep an eye out. You never know these days.”

“So, have you decided on a major?” Lin Xian asked.

“No idea,” Lin Nian replied. “If I do well, I can’t afford the tuition. If I do badly, I don’t want to go.”

“Apply for the best you can. There’s always a way to sort out tuition.” Lin Xian tapped the edge of her bowl. “Whether you get in is a matter of ability; whether you can afford it is a matter of money.”

“There are plenty of starving, unrecognized scholars throughout history. In the end, it’s always about money.” Lin Nian spoke indifferently. “Whatever happens, I’ll manage.”

“You know what you should do,” Lin Xian said quietly, and said no more.

She’d always mastered the art of leaving things unsaid—a skill that often left the person across the table with too much to think about, so much that it hurt, until, at last, came understanding and then concession.

“Mm,” Lin Nian replied.

“Clean up after yourself. I have work this afternoon and won’t be home for dinner.” Lin Xian put down her chopsticks, took off her apron, and slipped into her room to change.

Lin Nian sat at the table, holding his chopsticks for a long time before setting them down. Suddenly, he’d lost his appetite.

A chilly wind blew in through the wide-open window, the lingering cold of early spring arriving sooner than usual. The room was filled with a biting chill, seeping into his bones. If one listened closely, it even carried the unique, astringent scent of this coastal city.

February 4th, 2009—the beginning of spring.

Lin Nian, sixteen; Lin Xian, twenty. Two orphans, depending on each other in this coastal city.