Oneshot

Preface: Su Pin was my childhood friend, once talented in singing and dancing, and possessed a beauty akin to a flower. However, now she has transformed into something different. People often only see the results, never bothering to inquire about the reasons. Thus, Su Pin’s confession unfolds.

I am called Su Pin, 26 years old this year, both parents deceased. Now, I live alone in a suite with a courtyard left by my parents. But some people call me a lunatic.

I have six sisters, and I am the seventh. It is said that after giving birth to me, our mother didn’t see our father for two days. It was only when I was almost two years old that Father discovered a birthmark on my face. Thus, I was given the name Pin, and I had a name.

Father was too busy; he was a teacher and had to impart life’s principles to so many children every day. So, he had no time to pay attention to me. Moreover, Father favored the sixth sister. She was always rough and tough, like a boy.

Meanwhile, I was wrinkled, like a little old lady. No one paid attention to me, and Mother only counted the shoes by our bedside after we went to sleep to ensure there were seven pairs.

Father was a teacher, and people often brought their children to our home, frequently accompanied by fruits. Therefore, we often had fruits to eat, with apples being the most common.

Usually, I and the sixth sister shared one. Usually, I only took a few bites because the sixth sister wanted to eat. I resisted at first, and one time, she grabbed my little braid, pressing my head into the sink. I glared at her, not making a sound.

Mother rushed over to separate us, and she held the sixth sister while looking at me, saying, “This is very dangerous, Sixth Daughter.”

The following parts of the text will be scrambled to prevent theft from aggregators and unauthorized epub making. Please support our translators by reading on secondlifetranslations (dot) com. If you are currently on the site and and you are seeing this, please clear your cache.

Ysvbla’p tygl oyp xlzydnbszkn, yde kv oyp vbl qkapv vkxl R pyo bla zssj yv xl ps plakswpzu. Rv oyaxle xu blyav.

Gqvla vbyv, obldlhla vbl pkmvb pkpvla vakle vs pdyvnb yrrzlp, R elzkclayvlzu alpkpvle y ckv. Mbld, vbl pkmvb pkpvla oswze vau vs qkde oyup vs bkv xl, yde Ysvbla oswze yzoyup zssj yv xl okvb vbyv xlzydnbszkn tygl qsa y obkzl.

R zkjl vbl oyu Ysvbla zssjp yv xl.

Xdl bsv dktbv, R nswzed’v pzllr, yde xu ryaldvp olal vyzjkdt.

R blyae Ysvbla vlzzkdt Wyvbla, “Nkvvzl Flhld kp ps pvaydtl. Ohlau vkxl Fkm Fkpvla bkvp bla, pbl dlhla xyjlp y pswde, fwpv sxkdswpzu pkzldv. R’x yqayke Fkm Fkpvla xktbv cl kd eydtla.”

Wyvbla pyke, “Nlv Fkm Fkpvla ts vs pnbssz kd y qlo eyup.”

Tlyakdt Ysvbla’p osaep, R qkdyzzu wdelapvsse vbyv lhlau vkxl ol qswtbv, Ysvbla oyp yqayke Fkm Fkpvla xktbv cl kd eydtla. R pweeldzu oydvle vs zywtb, yde vbld xu vbwxcp qlzv vkdtzu, zkjl yd lzlnvakn pbsnj.

Mbl dktbv clqsal Fkm Fkpvla oldv vs pnbssz, kv aykdle blyhkzu. Mbl dlmv eyu, vbl aykd pvsrrle, yde vbl asyep olal qkzzle okvb oyvla. Fkm Fkpvla oyp yqayke bla dlo pbslp oswze tlv olv, ps pbl oydvle vs olya aykd cssvp vs pnbssz. Ysvbla ypjle xl vs ts vs pnbssz okvb bla vs cakdt vbl aykd cssvp cynj.

Six Sister, wearing a beautiful dress and carrying a new school bag, looked like a butterfly.

I walked barefoot behind her.

The ditches on the roadside were filled with water, like small rivers.

As we walked, I suddenly stopped.

Six Sister called me, scolded me, and then came over to push me. I dodged and pushed back.

Six Sister splashed into the water, and the bow on her dress was covered in mud. She grabbed my foot with one hand, and my nails sank deep into her flesh.

Six Sister continued splashing in the water, and I stood there, wanting to laugh, my thumbs feeling tingly.

I heard someone running over.

I was locked in the basement for two days. After coming out, Six Sister was unexpectedly polite to me, Mother was also very cautious, and even Father would secretly look at me, I could feel it.

The world is sometimes strange.

Women are like flowers, regardless of how they grow up.

I matured early; by the first year of junior high, I already had long legs and a full chest, with skin like condensed fat.

My academic performance was average, but I excelled in sports. I liked the tingling sensation when the wind blew past my ears during a long run, as if someone was caressing me.

But I liked my physical education teacher, Luo, even more.

When I entered the first year of junior high, Luo had just graduated from university. Arched eyebrows, square face, deep eyes, yet a gentle gaze. Besides teaching our regular courses, Luo also taught us kickboxing and women’s self-defense.

My outstanding athletic achievements and equally outstanding cold and silent demeanor attracted more attention from Luo. I never asked questions proactively; whenever I had questions, I usually observed and pondered, yet Luo always took the initiative to tell me things I wanted to know without asking.

For so many years, no one had been so patient and meticulous with me. Luo even knew about the girls’ physiological cycles. When I wanted to take leave but found it inconvenient to speak, he would actively suggest that I go home to rest.

This made me feel both terrified and happy.

However, I liked him.

I liked his smile, his humor, and his gentle eyes.

But there were too few physical education classes, only twice a week. During meals, I often detoured past his office, hoping to bump into him or hear his voice. I also often stood from a distance, watching him teach other classes. I always had a faint feeling that we had met before, perhaps a very long time ago.

During this time, I experienced both pain and sweetness. My heart was warm, and I often laughed.

Happy days always pass quickly, and in the blink of an eye, graduation day arrived.

Everyone was busy writing messages in yearbooks, taking commemorative photos, looking very sentimental.

I had no friends, and my yearbook was prepared for only one person.

On a twilight evening before leaving school, I gave him the yearbook. He earnestly wrote something for me.

After finishing, I asked him, “Teacher Luo, can I be your wife?”

I had thought of a thousand opening lines, but I blurted out the most direct one.

He was stunned, looking very confused, even like a child. I turned my face away and asked again. My face felt tingly, as if slapped.

Finally, he understood and laughed.

“Silly girl, you’re still too young.”

“Have I grown up?”

“You still have to go to high school, then to college.”

“What about after I finish college?”

I was stubborn and persistent.

“All right,” he sighed. “When you grow up and finish college, come find me.”

I felt relieved, and from that moment, my life had a beautiful promise.

I was a happy student, and my grades were excellent. In my second year of high school, I couldn’t help but write a letter to Luo. There was no reply. I went to school, and a teacher told me that Luo was on honeymoon.

Seeing my bewildered expression, the teacher added that being on honeymoon meant he had gotten married and was currently on a honeymoon.

The twilight sunlight filtered through the dense maple leaves on the campus, casting a scattered glow on me, like something had shattered. My body felt empty, as if it could fly.

Something must have gone wrong.

I didn’t want to go back to school, nor did I want to go home. I was searching for something.

I didn’t know what that something was.

The next morning, a teacher who knew me called my home. My parents fetched me from the maple forest.

A doctor came to the house, and they said I had a fever. Then they gave me medicine. No one knew why I was like this. I stopped talking, stopped eating, only taking the medicine.

Three days later, I sat up, took out the yearbook Luo had written for me, and read it aloud. As I read, I felt like laughing.

Then I burst into laughter.

I laughed until tears streamed down my face, and in the haze, I saw my parents’ faces turn fearful and green.

I laughed for three days.

On the fourth day, a car and several nurses came to the house. My mother told me they were taking me to Beijing, where there was a sanatorium with excellent air quality.

I said I knew; that was a mental hospital. Mother opened her mouth wide, her eyes clouded with the familiar melancholy from my childhood. That touch of melancholy moved me, and I said okay, I’ll go.

Second sister’s husband accompanied me. I was very quiet on the train. No more laughter, no more words. Only my shell sat there; my soul was still wandering.

However, some things are indeed destined, and you can’t escape them.

When we were close to Beijing, a couple boarded, their bright clothes telling me they were newlyweds.

In a daze, I saw those eyes, gentle eyes, Luo’s eyes. And they sat across from me.

I stood up subconsciously, as if someone was pulling me. Luo also saw me. Smiling gently, he asked, “Where are you going, Su Pin?”

My soul instantly returned to my body, but it was restless, as if it couldn’t find its place, banging around as if it were about to explode.

I couldn’t speak; I just stared blankly at Luo. Brother-in-law, after confirming he was my teacher, pulled him aside and talked to him in a low voice.

When Luo came back, he looked regretful and sympathetic. He patted my shoulder, telling me my journey was still long and to cooperate with the doctor.

His wife was coughing, and Luo looked at her with great pity. That gaze made my heart ache.

Luo poured a glass of water for his wife. He turned around and poured another for me.

Boiling water.

I didn’t take it.

I said, “You owe me something.”

He was puzzled, “What?”

“You promised to wait for me and then marry me.”

He looked bewildered, “Did I say that? When?” Luo’s eyes were gentle, honest, and innocent as he looked at me. I felt like I was lying. It turned out that some promises were false from the beginning.

Brother-in-law said, “Do you believe her words too?”

I laughed, looked into his eyes, and took the water. That cup of boiling water.

Then I poured it on those gentle and honest eyes.

A year later, my father passed away. Another year later, my mother passed away.

I didn’t feel particularly sad; life was supposed to be this way, and I knew it early on.

I lived in the big house they left behind. My sisters came back on time to bring me some food. Then the entire house was just for me.

I sang, I laughed, and I was with Luo, who was just outside the window, looking at me with those gentle eyes, full of pity. 

The yard was filled with green grass, lush and vibrant. When the wind blew, it seemed like someone was dancing.