Chapter 2

Chapter 2

I had transferred back to my hometown at the start of senior year.

Even after six months, I still could not get used to it-the tired streets, run-down shops, backward school, and sidewalks populated mostly by older residents.

The whole little city seemed to have had its vitality drained away. It was lifeless.

Here, my heart was like duckweed with nowhere to take root, longing to drift toward livelier waters but powerless to move.

I could hear mahjong tiles clacking at the end of the street long before I reached home.

When I pushed open the door, a cloud of cigarette smoke and dialect-laced laughter, swearing, and banter hit me in the face.

In the corner, an old woman with a cigarette between her lips slapped tiles down with sharp clicks. She gave me a sidelong glance and shouted, “Go cook! You’ve got a roomful of hungry people waiting!”

I pressed my lips together, put down my schoolbag, and ducked into the cramped, smoke-blackened kitchen.

One of the neighborhood aunties said, “Your granddaughter’s in her last year of high school, isn’t she? You ought to let her study.”

Grandma kept playing and barked back in her broad local dialect, “If I don’t make her do it, are you going to cook?”

The woman fell silent at once.

Grandma was like a kettle boiling over, her voice shrill and explosive as a torrent of complaints burst out. “All day long, people flap their gums and say pretty things. Damn nuisance! What, do I owe the Xia family something? That worthless son of mine went and died, then dumped this burden on me!”

“If her mother didn’t at least send a little money every month, I’d have thrown her out long ago!”

She raised her voice toward the kitchen. “You hear me in there? Your mother still hasn’t sent this month’s living expenses! Tell her to hurry up!”

Hidden in the kitchen, I answered dully, “I know.”

Other seniors went home, ate dinner, and studied. I fumbled with the knife and stove and made a huge pot of noodles.

The meal was not very good, but the neighbors were too busy playing mahjong to care about anything beyond filling their stomachs.

As soon as they finished eating, the parlor came alive with the clatter of tiles again.

I moved between the tables collecting bowls, washed them with clumsy hands, and listened to Grandma criticize me. “No sense at all. Takes her forever to do the smallest thing…”

I silently endured it. When the dishes were done, I boiled water and refilled everyone’s tea.

By the time I finished, it was nearly ten.

I hurriedly unfolded a little table in the corner and started my homework. When I finally looked up, the hand of the old clock pointed to one.

The little mahjong parlor was still roaring with voices.

Curled up on my narrow bed, unable to sleep through the endless clack of tiles, I whispered to myself:

Just hold on a little longer. Once I get into college, I’ll be free.