Chapter 1

Mom said I was picked up from the garbage bin.

I felt sad, but suddenly everything made sense.

No wonder during holidays, only my brother got new clothes, while I always wore his old ones.

No wonder when relatives brought milk candies, orange soda, and Wahaha drinks, most of the time I didn’t get any.

No wonder my brother could run wild around the village, while I had to stand on a stool to wash dishes, do laundry, cook, and pick vegetables.

No wonder every time I had a conflict with my brother, Mom would say, “He’s a boy. Why do you bother provoking him when you can’t beat him?”

I wasn’t her biological child, so naturally I didn’t get the same love.

In the village, besides me, Shasha was also picked up by her parents.

It’s said that at first Uncle Zhao and Aunt Zhao treated her well, but soon they had a son of their own.

So Shasha became the extra one.

She slept in a drafty woodshed and had to do lots of chores.

Skinny as a stick, she was never full.

Whenever her little brother cried, Aunt Zhao would get angry at Shasha.

She would whip her with a bamboo broom, leaving bloody welts all over her body.

Even so, Aunt Zhao would often shout, “If I hadn’t picked her up, she would’ve died long ago.”

“It’s only because I’m kind-hearted. Otherwise, who would waste food raising her? I would’ve thrown her out already.”

Shasha was frail, and Aunt Zhao kept her hair cropped short for convenience, plus she always wore oversized, ill-fitting clothes.

None of the village kids wanted to play with her.

Once, when I went up the mountain to cut pig grass, I found her hiding and crying in the dilapidated Earth God Temple.

Children who aren’t loved don’t even dare to cry out loud.

She curled up into a tiny ball, her shoulders shaking nonstop.

The back of her shirt was torn, and red scars, like earthworms, twisted across her pale skin.

Driven by impulse, I walked over and took out a small piece of rock sugar wrapped in scrap paper-a treat I couldn’t bear to eat myself.

“Here, don’t cry.”

We sat together on the hillside.

The autumn wind swept through the uneven grass, lifting the ragged edges of our clothes.

She asked me, “Do you think my real parents might actually be rich? Do you think they’ve always wanted to find me and bring me home?”