My sister was thirty-three years old when she disappeared.
On the twenty-third day of the twelfth lunar month, it was snowing. She went out and never came back. We searched for three days, three months, and one year. Finally, in a ravine in a neighboring county, I found a pile of bones and a piece of red cloth that was in disgrace - the sweater I knitted for her, with frayed edges on the collar.
My sister's life has been so miserable. When I was seventeen, I opened a barber shop so that I could study. When I was twenty-three, I was defrauded of all my money by my fiancé and his apprentice, and fell mad. Later, she got married twice. The first time the man was honest, but the child was gone. The second time the man beat her, she ran back and then went back. The medicine she had been taking all year round prevented her from giving birth to a son and a half, and when she left, no one even burned paper for her.
Everyone said that this girl had a bad fate.
Only I know that she was pushed into that snowy night step by step.
When I woke up, I was back in 1987. My sister is eighteen years old and she is holding up a fried dough stick and smiling at me. The sunlight came in through the cracks in the window and fell on her face.
This time it's me.
Sister, you have protected me all my life. In this life, I will protect you.
We're not going anywhere. Right under my nose. Live until you are eighty-three, live until the snow stops, and you are still there.
