I love my younger sister, Chen Jinyue, very much.
I loved her when she was still babbling and called me "Sister Sheng-sheng." I loved her when she was five or six and would run to hold my hand—her own palm too small, so she would only grasp two of my fingers. I loved her even when she was mischievous, finding every possible way to provoke me just to get my attention. Even when she was being spoiled and difficult, forcing me to humble myself to coax her back into a good mood, I still loved her with all my heart.
I know what it feels like to live a life of constant caution, perpetually reading the room and fearing that a single misstep would invite cruel words. Hurting me was always far too easy. All they had to do was mention my mother, attack my gender, and finish by saying I was the reason my father couldn't marry another wife.
None of those three things were my choice, nor were they things I could change.
If Chen Fang hadn't eventually taken me away, I imagine the things that could have hurt me would have only multiplied. I can envision that kind of life all too clearly.
Because of this, I was almost obsessively unwilling to let Chen Jinyue experience even a fraction of it. I didn't want her to feel inferior because of her unconventional family, nor did I want her to be scolded for eating an extra half-bowl of noodles because she was hungry. I didn't need her to spend her days scrutinizing herself for flaws. She was perfect as she was; she would always be my dearest sister.
I spoiled her. I wanted her to grow up surrounded by love—the love of Chen Fang as a mother, and my love as an older sister.
But things did not go as I intended.
It began to shift subtly on that night of thunder and lightning.
At the time, I was still reeling from a lingering sense of fear and anxiety. I remembered the feeling of seeing Chen Jinyue standing downstairs, soaked to the bone. I was afraid she would get sick, afraid she’d had an accident, afraid she’d been bullied. If something had truly happened to her... it wasn't Chen Fang's blame I feared, but rather that I wouldn't have been able to bear it myself.
Tears welled in my eyes. I looked at my sister sitting on the bed; her head was bowed, unwilling to look at me, or perhaps afraid to. For no reason at all, I felt it was the latter.
Then I heard her call me. She used my name, not "Sister."
She looked up at me then, her eyes filled with a terrifying desolation that made my heart tighten. Then she asked, "Can you... always be mine?"
I cannot describe the sensation of that moment. I only felt a string snap in my mind as thoughts that shouldn't have existed flashed through my consciousness. Suddenly, I understood why she had asked about the boy who walked the same way as me, even though he was entirely unimportant.
Whether she had been afraid to look at me before no longer mattered; I only knew that in that instant, I was the one afraid to let her finish her sentence.
In a panic, I pulled her into an embrace.
She rubbed gently against me in my arms, an intimacy that felt excessive. She called my name again.
I said, "Of course. You are my most precious sister."
After saying it, I didn't dare let go. I didn't dare face her eyes, nor did I dare confirm her reaction. It wasn't until she told me she wanted to sleep for a while that I hurriedly left.
That night, as usual, Chen Fang was busy at the construction site and didn't come home.
My emotions didn't settle all night. The lightning outside made my heart race. Once certain thoughts appear, they take root in the depths of the heart, impossible to ignore even for a second.
At first, I found it absurd and denied my suspicions. But when the details I couldn't ignore—her hugs, her touches—filled my nerves, I chose to rationalize it all. I used her age as an excuse, her "misinterpreted love" as a pretext. I clung to that microscopic, near-nonexistent possibility like a lifeline, struggling through the dark. I desperately fabricated and amplified every positive attribute of our bond to convince myself.
Yet I failed whenever I looked into her eyes.
Helpless, I still couldn't face it. Among all the self-deluding defense mechanisms, I ultimately chose repression and detachment. These were things I was good at.
I just didn't expect my sister to be so much like me—she made the same choice. Though she wasn't nearly as practiced at it as I was.
Soon after, I realized that while I could take care of Chen Jinyue, it was only because she *let* me, because she *liked* me doing so—not because I *had* to.
She stopped asking about my schedule. She no longer needed me to wake up early to prepare her breakfast. She didn't ask me how to solve difficult school problems, and she certainly didn't act spoiled to get me to go for a walk with her. I played along, saying nothing.
When Chen Fang came home, she always felt gratified, saying Yueyue had grown up and become sensible, no longer a source of worry. Chen Jinyue would just chuckle at those words, her gaze now able to meet mine with ease.
The only one who seemed trapped... was me.
If "no longer needing me" was called being sensible, then I had no room for rebuttal.
Was it I who had made her grow up? And in such a distorted way? I had no answer; I only knew this was the polar opposite of my original intention.
We lived like this for a long time, close yet estranged. We chatted about mundane, trivial things, exchanging words that seemed important between an elder and a junior but which, in reality, no one cared about.
It wasn't until the end of her first semester of high school, when I thought this matter had been buried forever in the sands of time, that she stirred up that nameless sense of loss and confusion in my heart once more.
That day, I went to the end-of-term parent-teacher conference in Chen Fang's stead. Parents and students were squeezed together at the desks; naturally, Chen Jinyue sat right beside me.
Her grades were never great, but they weren't bad either—she floated comfortably in the middle of the pack. This wasn't my first time at such an event. I thought it would be no different from the others: the teacher would give a few simple reminders, and we could go home. After all, Chen Jinyue wasn't the kind of child to be singled out as a negative example, and I, as the "parent," also floated comfortably in the middle, content with the anonymity.
But I forgot this was high school, and I forgot they were sixteen. Academics were pressing, and first loves were blooming. The head teacher stood on the podium, speaking sternly about the issue of "early love," urging students to stay focused on their studies and warning parents to be vigilant.
I felt awkward. Although I had never had an open conversation with Chen Jinyue about this—and of course, it was impossible to do so—I felt a groundless sense of guilt.
I turned my head to look at her, and she happened to be looking at me. We hadn't locked eyes like this in a long time. Even in such a serious setting, with other parents and students frowning in the classroom, Chen Jinyue gazed at me with eyes as soft as silk.
"What about you... do you have someone you like?" Before I had even finished the sentence, I already regretted it. I shouldn't have asked, but facing her gaze, my mouth had made a decision before my brain could intervene.
"Yes." I didn't know how she could be so candid, without the slightest intention of hiding it, her tone even sounding relaxed.
I didn't speak again. I had the courage to ask, but not the courage to follow up.
"Is it okay if it's a girl?" As it turned out, Chen Jinyue pursued the answer herself.
Alarm bells rang in my head instantly, but I had nothing else to say. "It's okay," I replied, feigning the composure a "parent" should have when giving the correct feedback regarding a teenager's sexual orientation.
She actually smiled when she heard me say those two words. At that smile, my heart sank. I wondered if she realized that I actually knew exactly who it was she liked.
I didn't dare look at her; my eyes would surely betray me. I noticed her mood brighten and then dim within those few short seconds.
She added, "But it's too exhausting. I don't want to like her anymore."
I remained silent. Once again, I felt her leaving me. I closed my eyes briefly, and she stopped talking as well.
That night, just like the night of the thunderstorm, I tossed and turned, unable to sleep. But my emotions were entirely different. I read her words over and over: "But it's too exhausting. I don't want to like her anymore."
I couldn't say which made me feel more dazed: the old "always be mine" or the current "don't want to like her anymore."
At two in the morning, there was a knock on my door. It was Chen Jinyue. She hadn't done this in nearly two years.
My heart leaped into my throat again. I took several deep breaths before I could calmly say, "Come in."
She pushed the door open but didn't enter. She said she was hungry and asked if I could make her something to eat.
Naturally, I wouldn't refuse. I put on a padded coat and went to the kitchen to cook noodles for her. She stood behind me the whole time. Even though I couldn't see her, I was certain her gaze was fixed on me, never wavering.
It must have been that conversation during the day that piqued her suspicion. I was secretly annoyed with myself—why did I have to ask if she liked someone, giving all of this a chance to sprout again?
I finished the noodles and handed them to her, intending to return to my room, but she stopped me, asking if I could stay until she finished. She knew I couldn't refuse, and I wouldn't. I said, "Okay..." and sat opposite her, feeling as though I were sitting on a bed of needles.
She was eating, but I had nothing to do. I just watched her by the dim light.
I hadn't looked at her so intently in a long time. Had her hair really grown this long? My gaze fell on her downcast eyes, her moving lips, and then her reddening ears.
She really had grown up—beautiful and poised—but she no longer clung to me like she did when she was little. I stared at her, lost in thought.
Suddenly, she looked up and caught my gaze. It was too late to look away, so I could only meet her eyes. She didn't speak, just looked at me. My ears began to turn red just like hers; I could feel the blood rushing to them.
She looked at me for a long time before calling out, "Lin Yunsheng..."
This was not good.
She called me that again, and I couldn't escape.
"Aren't you curious what the person I like is like?" she asked with a smile.
What could I say? The fact that she didn't directly ask "Who is the person I like?" was already an act of mercy, a way to leave me a path of retreat.
"What are they like?" I asked, feigning calm and forcing a smile.
She put down her chopsticks and said, "Sensitive, gentle, strong, and beautiful. The best in the whole world."
"I've tried. Even if she becomes cold toward me, I can't leave."
This must have been an answer she had prepared long ago; every word described me. The hunger and the noodles were just excuses.
I desperately wanted to explain that I hadn't become cold, but I couldn't say it.
Once again, I tried to flee. I said, "You're in high school now; you should focus on your studies."
The words were out, but I didn't dare look at her.
But she called my name again: "Lin Yunsheng..."
I was forced to face this chess match once more, even though I was on the verge of losing.
She looked at me, her eyes shimmering. I felt as though the night were stretching on forever. I was drowning in those eyes, utterly lost.
She placed the penultimate stone. "Do you have someone you like?"
—*"What about you? Do you have someone you like?"*
—*"Yes."*
"No..." I answered, resigning myself to fate.
She placed the final stone. "Can it be a girl?"
—*"Is it okay if it's a girl?"*
—*"It's okay."*
Our roles had reversed. The outcome of this match had been decided long ago, I thought. From the first night I couldn't sleep, from the moment I realized she was leaving.
I was good at repression and detachment, but she knew how to maneuver and test.
A battle raged in my heart, but she had already won by more than just half a stone. I didn't want to see her leave; I didn't want to admit she didn't need me.
—I love my younger sister, Chen Jinyue, very much.
—I wanted her to grow up in my love.
I wanted her back.
The game reached its end. I threw down my stones and admitted defeat, declaring her victory.
I parted my lips slightly and said, "It can be..."
With those two words, it was as if I had signed a contract with a devil, falling into an abyss I could never have predicted.
Chen Jinyue always believed she was the one who fell in love first, but in reality, I was the one who lured this love out. If I hadn't tacitly allowed her to continue, if I hadn't set the stage for the story to begin...
Perhaps it wasn't that Chen Jinyue needed my love, but rather that I found satisfaction in the illusion that she needed me.
I think this love is something that should never have appeared.
***
**Glossary**
Chinese | English | Notes/Explanation
--- | --- | ---
声声姐姐 | Sister Sheng-sheng | A childhood nickname for Lin Yunsheng (using the "Sheng" from her name).
落子 | Placing a stone | A term from the game of Go (Weiqi), used here metaphorically for emotional moves.
征子 | Tactical maneuvers | Literally "ladder" in Go; used here to describe Jinyue's relentless emotional pursuit.
投子认负 | Resigning / Admitting defeat | Literally "throwing down the stones" in Go.
早恋 | Early love / Puppy love | A common Chinese term for romantic relationships among primary or secondary school students.
班主任 | Head teacher / Homeroom teacher | The teacher in charge of a specific class.
