Memories (I)

She watched Yun Lan, waiting for his answer. Her gaze held a mixture of curiosity, a touch of unease, and the instinctive wariness girls felt when another close female appeared beside someone they cared about. In the afternoon classroom, even the aroma of the food seemed to hang still for a moment. Only the faint chirping of cicadas outside the window remained, along with the little ripples quietly stirring in the girl's heart.

When Yun Lan really did start listing names, the faint jealousy Ichinose had felt was like a pond struck by a pebble—the ripples spread at once. Her eyes widened slightly as she watched him calmly mention the names of three girls she had never heard of.

"Two of my junior sisters are actual sisters," Yun Lan said, lightly tapping his fingertips on the table as if locating them in his memories. "The older one is Yi Jiang, and the younger one is Yi Xuan." He paused, then added a third name. "There's also a junior sister who's the youngest. Her name is Ye Shunguang."

"Wow..." Ichinose let out a drawn-out exclamation. Surprise briefly drowned out her other feelings, but soon the indignation of having been "kept in the dark" welled up again. She set down the chopsticks she had been holding, folded her arms across her chest, and leaned back slightly. Puffing out her cheeks, she glared at Yun Lan like a little squirrel who had stockpiled too many nuts only to be caught red-handed.

"Brother Lan! You never, ever told me you had three junior sisters!" Her tone was accusing, and her blue eyes plainly said, "How could you keep this from me?" The three names, along with the close bond of "fellow apprentices," suddenly became real to her. She realized that there might be a considerable gap in what she knew about an important part of Yun Lan's past.

Yun Lan looked at the puffed-up Ichinose without much reaction, though his gaze drifted slightly, as if it had passed through the classroom walls to some scene from long ago. He explained in an even tone:

"After all, I officially 'graduated' from my sect a long time ago. I got busy after that, too." He didn't keep in touch with his three junior sisters very often, so there hadn't been any need to mention them. He didn't explain what kind of sect it was or what the junior sisters were doing, leaving their story shrouded in mystery.

But what he said next revealed, almost by accident, a sense of responsibility and concern that went beyond ordinary fellow apprentices, almost like family:

"But I always remember to send them gifts during the holidays. And..." He paused, the faintest hint of a smile curving his lips, tinged with both helplessness and amusement. "...clothes."

"Clothes?" Ichinose blinked, drawn in by that specific detail. "Brother Lan, you've never bought me clothes. Hmph!"

"Mm." Yun Lan nodded. The look of nostalgia in his eyes grew clearer, now mixed with a little fond teasing about the past. "I couldn't very well leave it to that old geezer of a master to buy them clothes, could I?" He shook his head, clearly unconvinced. "His taste... tsk, tsk, tsk..."

He clicked his tongue several times but didn't elaborate. Still, his vivid look of distaste and reluctance to say more were enough for Ichinose to imagine an old geezer with questionable taste who would inevitably make a disaster of trying to pick clothes for his young female disciples. That little detail instantly brought the distant memories of his sect closer, making them vivid—and almost comical.

Seeing the longing in Yun Lan's eyes, Ichinose still asked the question that had been on her mind: "Brother Lan, if you miss them, why don't you go back and see them?"

As if something had occurred to him, Yun Lan touched the cold sweat on his forehead and answered as casually as he could, "I'm too busy most of the time, and I still have school, so I never have time to visit them."

Seeing that Yun Lan didn't seem keen to talk about it, Ichinose tactfully let the subject drop.

But inwardly, Yun Lan was grumbling to himself: Are you kidding? Go back and see them? I'd be lucky if they didn't eat me alive.

Yun Lan vaguely remembered that one year, he had gone down the mountain by himself for New Year. His master hadn't wanted to spend the holiday with the Yun Family, but had driven him down the mountain, saying, "If you're not going home to spend time with your parents, what are you doing here with an old geezer like me?"

The sky hung low, its leaden clouds so heavy they seemed ready to press down on the eaves. It was cold enough for breath to frost in the air. The bitter north wind carried its chill into every gap in his collar and sleeves. Snowflakes drifted soundlessly from the depths of the night sky, where neither moon nor stars could be seen. They began as a sparse flurry, then thickened until they fell like torn goose down and floating willow catkins, blanketing the whole world in a quiet, desolate white.

Snowflakes settled softly on the shoulders of hurried passersby, on the bare branches lining the streets, and on Yun Lan's eyelashes and the corners of his eyes as he wandered alone. A trace of icy dampness lingered there for a moment before turning into a faint streak of water that slid slowly down. It was impossible to tell whether it was melted snow or something else.

Wrapped in a thick, dark coat, Yun Lan kept both hands in his pockets, his fingertips cold. He had just gotten off the train and was heading home, hurrying along on this New Year's Eve—or perhaps some other equally cold winter night. The streetlights' yellow glow looked hazy and lonely amid the swirling snow, stretching his shadow behind him before shortening it again. Most of the shops had already closed. Warm lights glowed in their display windows, but they had nothing to do with him. The world seemed to hold nothing but the sound of wind and snow and his own nearly silent breathing.

Just as he passed a bun shop that had long since closed for the night, its sign dark, a voice—thin and frail, torn apart by the cold wind—reached his ears.

"Big sister... I-I'm so hungry... I want a barbecue pork bun..." The voice was childlike, full of unconcealed yearning and trembling with cold and weakness.

He instinctively turned toward the sound, looking at the mouth of a narrow, darker alley beside the bun shop, where snow and discarded cardboard boxes had piled up.

The dim streetlight barely illuminated a small patch at the alley's entrance. There, two little figures huddled tightly together, trying to shield themselves from the cold with the wall and the stacked cardboard boxes.

They were two little girls who looked to be around ten years old. Their clothes could hardly be called "clothes"—just scraps of dark, tattered fabric barely wrapped around them. Their exposed arms and legs were bright red with cold, some patches even purplish. Their hair was filthy and matted, caked with dust and flecks of snow, yet their unusual color was still unmistakable. It wasn't dyed; it was natural, pure white as snow. Against the snowfall, it looked strangely fitting.

The girls clung tightly to each other. They seemed close in age, and their faces bore a faint resemblance, so they were probably sisters. But what stood out most were their eyes. The slightly taller girl was looking up at the dark sign of the bun shop. In the dim light, her irises glimmered an unusual, brilliant gold, like embers that had never gone out in the dead of night. Her younger sister, who had just said she wanted a barbecue pork bun, leaned against her. When she looked up at her sister, her eyes were a deep crimson, like rubies submerged in ice water, filled with nothing but hunger and hope.

Golden eyes and crimson eyes glimmered in the snow-covered alley, their almost eerie brilliance out of place amid the girls' wretched circumstances. Their faces were bluish with cold, their lips cracked, yet their mismatched eyes shone startlingly bright as they stared fixedly toward the shop, where no buns were left for sale—as if a trace of their imagined fragrance still lingered in the air.