My only hope was to go to college. While other children clamored for toys, I was determined to get into Qinghe University. Mom said that winter in Qinghe is cold and damp, the kind that chills you to the bone. I silently resolved that once I got in, I would never return.

I had no friends and didn't need them. I wasn’t playful, involved in early relationships, or behaving poorly. I dedicated all my energy to studying because I had no other options. Day after day, year after year, I persisted. Though I was of average talent, my hard work made up for my shortcomings, and my grades remained among the top.

No one had ever managed my studies from childhood until now. Dad was unwilling, and Mom was unable to care. Mom had dropped out of junior high school to help my grandfather at home, and later went to work outside with others. My grandfather was a butcher, renowned for his swift and ruthless knife skills. I had never met him, but I believed it without a doubt because Mom was the same.

I once saw Mom handle half a pig. The butcher knife in her hand seemed alive, and with a few smooth, effortless cuts, she had skinned, deboned, and dissected the pig into eight pieces. I thought, even a legendary butcher wouldn’t be as skillful! I once asked her why she only sold pork instead of slaughtering pigs. She said, "There's too much blood."

After I was born, she stopped killing animals.

Not only pigs, but she also wouldn't kill chickens, ducks, or fish, because her hands trembled badly. Dad scolded her for being "pretentious" and mocked her as a "butcher with a Buddha's heart." He even forced her to kill a chicken once. The chicken, with its neck cut open, ran around the house spraying blood everywhere, while Mom's hands kept trembling and only recovered a week later.

It was precisely because Mom no longer killed animals that I was home the first night Dad brought Aimo over.

After entering senior year of high school, the school began organizing night self-study sessions, with a major subject teacher on duty each night to answer questions. Although attendance was voluntary, I never missed a single day because it allowed me to stay at school until 9:30 PM. By the time I got home, it was almost 10 PM, and my parents were usually already dead drunk. I would sneak into my room like a mouse, and after they were deeply asleep, I would come out to wash and tidy up.

That day, before the night study session began, I received a call from Mom. She said, "Come home and help me kill a fish."

This wasn’t good news.

I took twice the usual time to dawdle home, but I heard clear laughter before I even entered the house. When I opened the door, I saw Aimo.

Aimo was a girl as beautiful as a flower, young, pretty, and slender. Dad would pat her hand and touch her back now and then. They were chatting and laughing, looking very close. Mom was hunched over in the kitchen, preparing dinner.

I slipped in like a shadow; Dad didn't even lift his head, and Aimo's gaze followed me into the kitchen.

"That's Aimo, Jun's friend," Mom said.

"Friend?" I looked at Mom. Her face remained expressionless.

For dinner, Mom prepared seven dishes and four bottles of beer. Dad said Aimo liked beer.

"I don't really like it that much, but we," Aimo clinked glasses with Dad, "met because of it." Aimo said she worked as a beer maid at a restaurant, and when drunk customers caused trouble, it was thanks to Bai Jun that she was saved.

Wasn't this guy the one who also got drunk and caused trouble at home every day?

I unconsciously tugged at my sleeve, revealing a large purple bruise on my left arm, horrific and still faintly aching. Since childhood, I only dared to wear long sleeves and long pants. Aimo wore a short skirt, and I saw Dad touch her knee and thigh deliberately from time to time.

"Anyway, thanks to Jun Jun, I finished my sales quota, and next month I can be promoted. Jun Jun is such a good person!" Aimo's voice was soft and sweet.

Jun Jun? Bai Jun was five years younger than Mom, 40 years old.

"Girl, how old are you? Where are you from?" Mom asked.

"Auntie, I'll be 20 soon." Aimo raised her glass to Mom, "I'm from Qinghe. Have you been there?" Qinghe University! My heart skipped a beat, and I couldn't help but look at her. She stared at Mom, her face smiling but her eyes cold, even showing a hint of... hatred?

"She hasn't been anywhere, always staying in Dongmei," Dad said.

"Is that so—what a pity! But I quite liked Dongmei when I first came here," Aimo's smile seemed frozen on her face, very strange.

Mom didn’t respond.

"So why did you come to Dongmei?" Dad put a piece of braised fish in her bowl.

"To meet Jun Jun, of course!" She sweetly smiled at Dad, then turned to Mom, "Auntie, your cooking is great! This tastes just like Qinghe’s. Braised fish is my mom’s favorite dish."

"Just a home-cooked dish. She used to be a cook for hire and was very popular with employers." That was during the two years when Dad was loafing around at home. Back then, to make ends meet, Mom not only ran a butcher shop but also worked as a housemaid.

Aimo seemed very interested and asked many questions about Mom’s experiences, how she learned to cook, how to prepare meals for pregnant women and children, and other small talk. Perhaps due to her work, she was very good at interacting with people. Mom answered them all one by one. Dad occasionally joined the conversation, becoming quite lively when talking about local plays in Dongmei, even drumming on the chopsticks and singing a segment impromptu.

After helping them buy more beer halfway through, I slipped back into my room, only hearing the noisy sounds of the TV, laughter, clinking dishes, and voices outside the door.

At around eleven o'clock at night, my door opened, and it was Dad. I jumped up from my desk in fright and hadn’t even had time to hide under the table when I heard him say, "You’ll have to share a bed with this girl tonight. We'll discuss renting a place tomorrow."

Then, Aimo came in, repeatedly apologizing to me, her eyes red and pitiful. Bai Jun looked calm, his eyes roving around Aimo. "You're new here, treat this place like your own home."

Mom busied herself, bringing in pillows and quilts, and then tea cups and slippers, appearing as obliging as Bai Jun, but she never looked at Aimo, as if Aimo were invisible.

Once both Bai Jun and Mom had left, I asked, "Are you... are you okay?"

"How old are you?" Aimo responded with an unrelated question.

"17."

"I’m two years older than you," Aimo took off her knee-high boots and put on slippers, looking at me with a smiling face, "Little sister, please take care of me from now on!" This sentence had a deeper meaning, something I only realized later.

Three days later, Aimo moved into our home with a small travel case.