Moonlight Doesn't Reach | Chapter 12 | A Choice of Love | Novela.app

My name is Lin Yunsheng. My mother gave me this name. She wasn't well-educated. While she was pregnant with me, she borrowed a dictionary from a childhood friend and flipped through it every day until she found the characters *Yun* and *Sheng*. Melodies drifting, rhymes lingering around the rafters. Had I been a boy, she would have changed one character to make it *Yunsheng*, meaning "prosperous rhythm." Perhaps because I’ve carried this name for so many years, I find the feminine version much more pleasing to the ear. However, I didn't learn these things from my mother’s own lips; her childhood friend would occasionally tell me these stories when I was small. She always spoke with a sense of regret and sorrow. I often felt that her sadness far outweighed my own. I knew it was strange, but I had never met my mother—she died on the day I was born from a ruptured uterus and excessive blood loss. My mother’s friend had her own family and children, but she would always help look after me. Sometimes we would sit side-by-side on bamboo chairs in the doorway of the old house to soak up the sun. She would pinch my cheeks and say that Yunsheng looked just like her mother, that my eyes and nose were just as beautiful as hers. Was that true? I would go back inside and pull out the only two photos I had of my mother: one was her wedding photo with my father, and the other was of her and her friend on a swing. I would look at the photos and then at the mirror. In truth, I couldn't tell if we looked alike; I only felt a sense of profound strangeness. I was raised by my father. He was what people nowadays call an "honest man"—of few words, but with no malice in his heart. When there was no work, he stayed home looking for chores to do. When there was work, he labored at construction sites, returning once a week. He would bring me playful little trinkets to coax a child’s smile and give some money to my grandmother to pay for my care. Sometimes I would hear my grandmother pressuring him to find me a new mother, to which he would only reply, "No rush." What did "no rush" actually mean? As a young child, I didn't know. But listening to the voices of him and my grandmother, intentionally lowered, I could sense that this wasn't a conversation I was meant to hear. All I could do was stay quiet and well-behaved, finishing the bowl of rice in my hands. Later, I was sent to the town’s primary school. My classmates mocked me for being a motherless child; the crueler ones said I had jinxed my mother to death. I hated being talked about like that, so I fought them with words and fists. But once I returned home, I would hide in my room and cry in secret, not daring to make too much noise for fear of my grandmother hearing. I would pull out my mother’s photo again and look at that young, smiling woman. My tears would drip onto the image, and I would ask silently in my heart: *Did I really jinx you to death? Do you blame me? I’m sorry...* This life continued until I was in the second grade. One day, I came home to find a strange woman in the house. She had short hair and looked very plain, and she was holding the hand of a small child who couldn't even walk steadily yet. "Sheng-sheng, this is Auntie Chen. Say hello." I looked up at my father, then at my grandmother, whose expression was grim. Unsure whether I should speak or not, I cautiously managed to say, "Hello, Auntie." Auntie Chen was very gentle. She walked over, stroked my hair, and said, "Good girl, Sheng-sheng." Then she leaned down to pick up the child and coached her: "Yueyue, call her Big Sister." The child didn't speak; she only stared at me with wide, round eyes. That night, I heard my father and grandmother arguing. Grandmother questioned him, asking why he had to bring back a divorcee with "baggage." Her voice was loud; I imagine everyone could hear. I knew what "baggage" meant... I had heard my classmates call me that. I thought of the eyes of that child who was still learning to babble, and I felt she was just as pitiful as I was. When I woke up the next morning, I found Auntie Chen in the kitchen cooking noodles for everyone’s breakfast. There was a portion for Grandmother too, but she refused to eat. I sat beside my father while Auntie Chen held the child in her arms. The four of us sat around the folding wooden table, before us bowls of steaming tomato and egg noodles. "Sheng-sheng, Auntie Chen is a friend I met at the construction site. She’ll be living with us from now on. Yueyue is Auntie Chen’s daughter, so she’ll be your younger sister. You’re a big sister now, so you must learn to look after her." Hearing my father say this wasn't a surprise. So, Auntie Chen was my new mother. But I couldn't bring myself to call her that; I simply smiled and called her "Auntie Chen" again. Then, putting on the air of a sensible child, I said to the oblivious toddler, "Hello, little sister." I let them know I accepted it, even though I had no other choice. Because of my grandmother’s fierce opposition, my father and Auntie Chen never officially registered their marriage, but we lived together as a family as a matter of course. After that, Chen Fang stopped working at the construction sites and stayed home to look after me and Chen Jinyue. I began to spend a lot of time with her. I know it might sound bad to say, but I liked Chen Fang much more than my grandmother. She was always gentle and patient. She would worry if I was cold on my way to school, ask if she should knit me another sweater, and ask if I liked the food she cooked. Grandmother often made things difficult for her, but she always accepted it submissively. Sometimes I couldn't stand it and wanted to help her, though there wasn't much I could do—after all, my grandmother didn't like me much either. But Chen Fang would stop me, intentionally sending me away to look after my sister. Then, lying in bed at night, she would say, "Good girl, Sheng-sheng, it’s alright. Grandmother hasn't had an easy life either." I liked those days. I felt a glimmer of what people meant when they described a "mother." At the same time, like everyone else, I assumed these days—not perfect, but beautiful enough for me—would come to a halt on the day Chen Fang announced she was pregnant. If it happened to be a boy, everything would change completely. Perhaps Grandmother would even come to like her because of it. But it never happened. We lived together for two years. By the time Chen Jinyue could clearly call me "Sheng-sheng Jie-jie" and had become exceptionally clingy toward me, Chen Fang still hadn't brought a third child into the home. I didn't know why, but I knew it wasn't a bad thing. But what truly constitutes a "bad thing"? A bad thing is a development you never anticipated, one that upends your life without warning. I was still in class that day when my homeroom teacher hurried in and called me out. I saw my uncle with a heavy expression; he said something had happened to my father and he was there to take me home. It wasn't until I got home and saw my grandmother wailing to the heavens and Chen Fang huddled in a corner wiping away tears that I realized it wasn't a minor accident. My father was gone. I heard a colleague from the construction site say that Lin Chengjian hadn't taken proper safety measures while working at a high altitude; he had accidentally fallen and died instantly. He told the family to accept their grief. My tears fell instantly, unstoppable. In the corner, Chen Jinyue saw me crying and toddled over, nearly tripping. She grabbed the leg of my school trousers, calling out, "Sheng-sheng Jie-jie, Sheng-sheng Jie-jie..." I knelt down and pulled her into my arms, crying while trying to wipe away her tears. Chen Jinyue was too small to understand what had happened; her tears fell only because she saw her mother and me crying. But half of my tears were for my father, and the other half were for myself. I didn't go to school for the next few days, staying home to help the adults handle the funeral arrangements. The atmosphere became heavy and subtle. Neighbors discussed how Chen Fang would surely leave and remarry immediately; others said I was pitiful, having lost my mother and now my father. I couldn't tell which words hurt more. Unable to withstand the blow, Grandmother became exceptionally sharp and cruel. She cried for days on end, from dawn until dusk, barely eating. Whenever she saw me, she cursed me for killing my own mother and now jinxing her son to death. She called me a "jinx" and a "useless burden." I was humiliated by her scolding, but in truth, I felt nothing inside. Was I born without a heart? My own emotions were a mystery even to me. But for the first time, Chen Fang stood up to Grandmother, and she did it for me. "Why are you cursing her! She’s your granddaughter!" She shielded me behind her. "Who wants her?! Her mother’s relatives didn't want her back then either; that’s the only reason Chengjian raised her. Ha! If it weren't for me, would she have even grown this big? Ungrateful wretch!" Chen Fang turned around, looked at me, and with trembling hands, wiped the tears from my face. "It’s not true," she said. "Your father loved you very much. He never 'didn't want' you." I knew this, of course, but I didn't speak. "Chen Fang, take your baggage and get the hell out of this house! Don't you play-act here. You won't get a single cent of the compensation money. If you like this useless burden so much, feel free to take her with you. Chengjian was jinxed to death by the two of you together!" Chen Fang didn't respond, but I saw the hesitation on her face. I knew I would eventually have to face this moment. I turned to go back to my room, but Chen Jinyue grabbed my hand and wouldn't let go; she must have been terrified by the loud shouting. I looked down at her, so small and huddled in fear, and my heart was a mess of conflicting emotions. In the end, I steeled my heart, pried her fingers away, and pulled my hand back. I heard her voice turn from a whimper into a wail, but I didn't look back. I closed the bedroom door, shutting everything else out. Seven days later, my father was buried next to my mother’s headstone. During those days, I avoided any unnecessary interaction with Chen Fang. After kowtowing before my father’s grave, I hid in my room again, crying until I was breathless. I clutched my hair and buried my head in my knees, hating myself for ever being born into this world. Once again, I held my mother’s photo. I felt I had no origin and no destination, living like a piece of floating duckweed. I looked at the photo, at this face that should have been the most familiar in the world but was, in fact, utterly foreign. It was so painful. I felt as though I didn't know who I was. Then, Chen Fang knocked on the door. I let her in. I didn't hide my tears, but I tried to appear composed. I figured she was about to leave. She and Lin Chengjian had no children together and no legal marriage; with him gone, all ties were severed. I asked with feigned casualness, "Where’s Yueyue?" "Sleeping in the room." She walked over to me and huddled in the corner just as I was. I was squatting with my arms around my knees; she sat directly on the floor. She saw the photo in my hand and gently pulled it out. I didn't stop her. She asked if I missed my mother. I didn't answer. I almost wished she would just say what she had to say and get it over with. Waiting for the other shoe to drop felt like a blade slowly flaying me alive. If there was truly anything I was loath to part with, it was Chen Fang, and it was Chen Jinyue. Most of all, I was loath to lose that tiny bit of familial warmth that I couldn't hold or grasp—warmth that didn't even belong to me. I didn't understand why the happiness that seemed so effortless for others was always so distant for me, dissipating so easily. I didn't believe that love was something reliable, let alone something that would fall upon me. I thought with a sense of self-abandonment as my tears splashed onto the concrete floor. Chen Fang reached out to wipe my tears. I became somewhat resistant; I felt all of this was too cruel. She pressed the photo back into my hand. I lightly took the paper, waiting for her next words. "Sheng-sheng..." She called my name first. I wondered if I would ever hear anyone call me so gently again. "Will you keep being Yueyue’s big sister? Please?" ... I looked up at her in shock. She was looking back at me, her eyes full of acceptance and sincerity. I wasn't sure if I had misunderstood her words. "Let me take you with me," she continued. I couldn't hold it in any longer. I didn't know if this was a dream, but my tears surged like an uncontrollable tide. I threw myself into Chen Fang’s arms, sobbing so hard my words came out in broken fragments. I said, "Okay." —I had a home again. A little over a month later, the compensation for my father’s death arrived. It was twelve thousand yuan in total. I thought human life was truly cheap; a few stacks of banknotes on a table were the trade-in for a person’s entire life. On the condition that she take me with her, Chen Fang took ten thousand of it. Later, she helped me transfer schools and found a small, dilapidated house in the city for us to stay in temporarily. The day we left the village, we took only two pieces of luggage and some scattered odds and ends. Both of Chen Fang’s hands were full; I helped carry a bit with one hand, and with the other, I held my sister, Chen Jinyue. We got into the vehicle and stowed our luggage. I pulled my sister into my lap. I looked at her bright eyes as she sweetly called me "Sheng-sheng Jie-jie"... she was excited for the journey. I kissed her cheek. I didn't know where the car was going, but it didn't matter. Chen Fang knew, and I would follow her. I was nine years old then, not yet ten. Looking at the sister in my arms, I knew that Chen Fang’s love for her was instinct, but her love for me was a choice. I will be forever grateful for that choice. There is so little I can do, except to love my sister a little more. With that thought, I kissed her cheek once again. ***