Chapter 3: The Pretty Sister

The North City Ink Factory was responsible for supplying ink to shops all over North City. It was a small factory, only employing a few dozen people. The factory itself was set up in the academy owned by Chen Xuan’ang’s maternal family—borrowed by the government to run their operations.

That’s right, the Chen family’s academy was large enough to house an entire factory, which showed how wealthy they had once been.

Originally, the family didn’t move away. They still lived in the large West Room where Xuan’ang’s mother had grown up. But after she passed away, Xuan’ang took it upon himself to move into the gatehouse. So now, Chen Siyu’s “new home” was just a small gatehouse.

Earlier, the first person who spoke to her, Aunt Xu, pointed and said, “The door’s not locked. If you’re looking to settle down, just go in.”

But just as Chen Siyu was about to enter, a cold voice called out from behind her, “You think that frail little body of yours actually passed into the Arts Troupe? You must think I’m blind. I say you’re just a draft dodger trying to escape being sent to the countryside!”

The precision of that accusation sent a chill down Chen Siyu’s spine. Based on memory, she quickly greeted, “Director Guo!”

He was the head of security at the Ink Factory. The first step to staying here was getting his approval.

“How about this,” Chen Siyu suggested, “I’ll perform a piece for everyone right now. It’s a good chance to report to Director Guo on what I’ve achieved over these years.”

As she spoke, she stood at attention, puffed out her chest, lifted her head, and saluted everyone in the courtyard.

Director Guo was unexpectedly pleased by her sudden formal approach. He took two steps back, a look of officialdom appearing on his face.

“That skinny little body of yours probably can’t belt out a tune. Just sing The White-Haired Girl for us, give us a little taste.” Aunt Xu, seeing how slender she was, tried to help her out by suggesting a simpler piece.

Not just the Ink Factory, the entire street hadn’t seen any child pass into the Arts Troupe. Naturally, people were curious. Old folks and kids all sat at their doorsteps, chiming in: “Yeah, sing The White-Haired Girl! We can all sing along too.”

Of course, The White-Haired Girl was so popular that even kids could hum its melodies, and people had seen its dance segments so many times they had calluses on their eyes.

But ballet in this era was very different from how it would be in the future. Though Chen Siyu had the memories of those routines, she worried that if she made a misstep, it would ruin her image. So, she said, “I’ll sing then. Let’s do The Bitter Taste of Yellow Lotus and Gallbladder.”

The original body’s natural vocal talent was even better than Chen Siyu’s own. This was her best piece.

But Azalea Mountain was a Peking opera—it tested vocal skills far more than ballet ever could.

And for Peking opera, seven-tenths of the performance lay in the singing, but the remaining three-tenths relied on the percussion.

Thus, people didn’t really believe she could pull it off. They thought she would, at most, hum a few lines.

Who would have thought—after a simple step back and a poised stance—her large, glistening eyes suddenly lit up. Her already stunning face bloomed with an expression that was both as radiant as a morning glow and as brilliant as a sunflower turning toward the sun.

With a slight furrow of her brows, her face became a blend of sorrow and righteous fury—both emotions vividly alive at once.

Before the crowd had time to admire her expressive, theatrical face, a bright, resonant voice soared into the air.

“All the suffering people under the heavens…”

Her singing shifted from forceful to tender, then to mournful. Just through her voice and expressions alone, she had already swept the audience into the world of Azalea Mountain.

Director Guo was about to utter, “There’s something to this kid,” when Chen Siyu suddenly lifted her pitch with a sharp flourish:

“…share the same rage!”

It’s important to know—the original Chen Siyu had fought her way through hundreds of fierce competitions and passed the rigorous selections of the Central Arts Troupe. Her foundation in singing and dancing was rock solid.

And in that one line, she unleashed all the years of vocal training—high-pitched exercises, diaphragm projection, resonance techniques—fully displaying her superb fundamentals. Her voice was rich, rounded, powerful, and effortlessly fluid. The listeners felt their scalp tingle the instant her voice rang out.

The leaves on the courtyard wall trembled with the resonance of her voice, and among the children watching, some were so mesmerized that their drool hung in long threads.

Before the crowd could gather closer, another powerful line rang out:
“Bitter as coptis, gall hard to tell apart! He pushes the cart, you lift the sedan, hearts united in hatred, hating the injustices of the world, injustices of the world—”

Her voice alone could convey narration, song, acting, and gesture all in one, instantly rousing the entire courtyard into a lively stir.

When Chen Siyu finished singing, there was a long silence. She thought perhaps her performance hadn’t been good enough. But suddenly, Director Guo raised both hands and exclaimed, “Excellent!” He gave a thumbs up and praised, “Your singing—sharp, refined, and resonant—lingers in the air. You’re no less than a veteran performer.”

“No wonder the Art Troupe accepted you. That was amazing!” Aunt Xu clapped until her palms turned red.

The other elderly ladies chimed in too, “Isn’t she like a little oriole? Such a tiny girl, yet her voice can pierce the heavens.”

Oh wow, a single performance won over the whole courtyard?

Seizing the moment, Chen Siyu smiled and said, “Director Guo, could you take me to find Xuan’ang?” Best to meet him first, then talk about everything else.

“No need for you to go yourself. I’ll fetch him for you right away.” Director Guo instantly transformed into a personal delivery service.

Entering the house, it was clean and tidy—though “bare-bones” might be a more accurate description.
The bed was a fine one, carved with intricate designs, but all the drawers above, below, and to the sides were missing. The quilt was once luxurious satin, yet now riddled with countless holes. As Chen Siyu touched it, two mice—who had evidently made it their home—scurried out like evicted tenants, fleeing with their entire family in tow.

There was a single table, a small frying ladle placed on it, with one pair of bowls, and a pair of ebony chopsticks with the lacquer flaking off.

An open cabinet, missing its doors, held a few old, tattered clothes. At the very bottom, several wilted sweet potatoes lay in a pile.

When she went to put down her toothbrush cup, Chen Siyu nearly burst into laughter. On the windowsill sat an old toothbrush cup, with exactly five bristles left on the brush. She blew gently on it, and one of them promptly fell off.

Sprinkling water, wiping down windows—how nice it felt to have functioning legs again. Jumping up, she even cleaned off the thick dust hanging from the ceiling beams. Humming the tune of Xiao Erhei Gets Married, by the time the song ended, the torn bamboo mat was replaced with a fresh quilt, the floor gleamed, and a tattered blanket lay neatly at her feet. At last, this was beginning to look like a cozy home.

In these times, cotton was a precious commodity. Chen Siyu planned to dismantle the old quilt, clean the cotton, and use it to make a mattress.

Just then, hurried footsteps approached. Director Guo returned, saying, “That rascal Xuan’ang still has a problematic mindset. He insists you’re here to harm him and flat-out refused to leave the boiler room. He said unless someone named Nianqin comes, he won’t come out.”

Offering him a chair, Chen Siyu smiled, “Uncle Guo, it’s not that Xuan’ang has issues. It’s me, as his elder sister, who used to be so focused on getting into the Art Troupe that I neglected family bonds. We’ve grown distant. Don’t worry, Uncle. I’ll take my time and slowly rebuild our relationship.”

In truth, it was because the original “Chen Siyu” had been a terrible sister. When the stepmother had taken Xuan’ang to visit her, the original Chen Siyu only doted on her foster brother, deliberately cold-shouldering Xuan’ang for fear of being taken away. She even teamed up with the foster brother to bully Xuan’ang, her own blood-related sibling.

On the contrary, Nianqin had a more kindhearted nature. She treated Xuan’ang better—offering him some sunflower seeds or a piece of candy from time to time.

That’s why Xuan’ang preferred Nianqin over Siyu.

“You just stay here for now. Don’t worry about him. When he’s hungry, he’ll come back on his own,” Director Guo said. He glanced back at the tidied room and sighed, “Now this finally feels like a home.”

When you’re busy working, a day flies by in a blink.

Soon, the cotton was fluffed clean and laid out to dry on the steps. Chen Siyu began preparing for dinner.

Right outside was a state-owned store. Given the era, even though this was the capital, supplies were desperately scarce. The shelves were almost empty. After much searching, Chen Siyu bought a bundle of dried noodles, a bunch of scallions, and a new toothbrush.

Prices were ridiculously cheap—only 22 cents in total.

But obviously, plain noodles wouldn’t suffice. Chen Siyu asked, “Pretty sister, do you have any meat?”

The stern-faced shop assistant burst out laughing, “You must be dreaming. Meat? You’ll need to go to the state-owned butcher shop for that.”

As Chen Siyu was about to leave, the shop assistant added, “The butcher shops have been closed for three days. They’re supplying meat to the Northeast for the sent-down youths. If any family has meat now, they’re probably from a cadre household. We do have one last can of Meilin luncheon meat. Want it?”

“Pretty sister, you’re not just beautiful, you’re so kind too.” Chen Siyu’s voice, naturally sweet and crisp like sugarcane, rang out charmingly.

Meilin luncheon meat would still be a luxury delicacy in the future, let alone now.

And it wasn’t even expensive—just fifty cents, cheaper than a pound of fresh meat.

Thanks to the shop assistant’s reminder, Chen Siyu finally realized she was living in an era of extreme scarcity. Stockpiling supplies was more crucial than anything. Climbing onto the counter, she asked, “Sister, do you have any candy? Or peanut-sesame biscuits?”

“You could call flowers out of thin air and I’d still not have any… Come by tomorrow, I’ll save some for you,” the shop assistant replied.

Chen Siyu stood upright and gave a deep bow, “Thank you, beautiful sister!” She really could charm flowers into blooming if she wanted to.

Though in her past life she had lost the use of her legs, she still stood tall in the dance world, adept in both conversation and the arts, and could have young male idols wrapped around her finger. She was also a culinary expert.

But now, as her stomach growled, she found herself defeated by something as simple as lighting a coal stove.

Other households had their stoves roaring, but hers sat stubbornly smoking and sulking.

Seeing her fumbling into a soot-covered mess, Aunt Xu came over with a chunk of her own coal and said, “That boy Xuan’ang knows how to light a stove. Should I go call him for you again?”

So, her little brother not only played piano at level ten but also knew how to start a fire?

Though they hadn’t met yet, Chen Siyu was already beginning to like this brother.

She quickly replied, “No, no need. Once dinner is ready, I’ll go find him myself.” Seeing that Aunt Xu was about to leave, she added, “Auntie, you are such a good person. How lucky I am to have met you.”

The original Chen Siyu had never been like this. But now, seeing her behavior and hearing her words, it was impossible not to like her.

It must be because she had grown up and started working. After all, the Art Troupe wouldn’t accept someone lacking in character.

“What a good child! If Xuan’ang still refuses to come home, you just call me, I’ll help talk to him,” Aunt Xu promised.

Truthfully, it made sense that Chen Xuan’ang didn’t want to see Chen Siyu.

The original Chen Siyu had not only bullied Xuan’ang alongside her foster brother, but because Xuan’ang had some foreign blood and looked a little different, she had even called him a “mongrel” and once slammed his fingers in a door when no one was looking.

If she wanted to win him over now, how could she not show genuine sincerity?

Although she had prepared a pile of ingredients, when it came time to actually cook, Chen Siyu realized—there was no oil!

How was she supposed to cook without oil?

But she had a sudden idea. She sliced off two pieces of luncheon meat and slowly simmered them in the pan. In this era, luncheon meat was made with real ingredients. As it sizzled, oil began to seep out, nearly half a spoonful. She sprinkled in some chopped scallions, and an irresistible aroma filled the air.

This was a time when ordinary households didn’t use oil for cooking, or at most added a bit of lard. The scent of pan-fried ham instantly attracted a few snot-nosed kids from the courtyard, who gathered around to watch. Out of politeness, Chen Siyu smiled at each of them.

Aunt Xu, drawn by the smell, came over again. “Girl, you’ve just arrived and you’re already improving your meals?”

Chen Siyu glanced at her ladle. “Auntie, this barely counts as improving my meals.”

“These days, during this gap between harvests, the grain supply can’t keep up. We’ve been eating cornmeal porridge for half a month now. You’re already eating ham—how can that not be called an improvement?” Aunt Xu nearly drooled, but after scanning the scene, she felt something was missing. She went home and returned with a bottle of soy sauce, carefully dripping a single drop into Chen Siyu’s ladle.

Just one drop. Afterward, she wiped the bottle’s mouth with her finger and licked it clean.

Chen Siyu set the fragrant, golden-brown luncheon meat—infused with soy sauce and scallion aroma—aside. She then added thin noodles to the pot. After boiling them twice, she rinsed them in cool water, then mixed in the fried scallions and luncheon meat. This created a bowl of springy, flavorful noodles. She found a chipped plate to serve them on.

During these hard times, the water used to rinse the noodles was also served as soup. Carrying everything together, Chen Siyu asked for directions to the boiler room and headed over.

In the sweltering summer heat, a wave of suffocating warmth hit her from afar.

“Xuan’ang, are you there? It’s me, your sister. I brought you food,” Chen Siyu called out.

Suddenly, the door opened. An elderly man with a hunched back and wrinkled skin emerged from the boiler room. Bare-chested, he swaggered past Chen Siyu with a bold, unbothered air, his pigeon-toed steps leaving a trail of falling soot behind him.

Startled by the eerie sight of the old man with his ghostly white hair, and worried that his soot would dirty the food, Chen Siyu quickly shielded it with her hand and called again, “Xuan’ang, it’s me, your sister.”

She waited for a long time, but no one answered. She called once more, “Xuan’ang, it’s time to eat.”

The door creaked open just a crack. A boy’s cold voice came from inside, “He’s not here. Go away.”

A hand was gripping the doorknob. The fingers were particularly long and slender, with every joint clearly defined.

Although the hand was stained a gleaming black with coal dust—

It was unmistakably a hand that only a piano prodigy could have!

It was, in a word, perfect.

“It’s you, Xuan’ang, isn’t it?” Chen Siyu approached, but at that moment, the door slammed shut with a loud bang. “Go away!”

Well, well. Small as he was, he sure had a fiery temper.