Chapter 3

When I was fourteen, a man came to our town to buy local medicinal roots and wild herbs.

His name was Marcus Miller. He was in his forties, thin, wore glasses, and spoke very gently. He rented a small space in town to buy herbs like wild ginseng, goldenseal, and elderberries. He paid better than the local trading posts, and he always paid in cash on the spot.

Grandma had spent her whole life foraging in the mountains and knew every plant. She took me up the trails, pointing them out one by one. *This is wild ginseng, you dig the root; this is elderberry, you harvest the fruit.*

I had a sharp mind. I remembered everything after seeing it once. Grandma nodded and said, "Good. You can go up the mountains by yourself from now on."

That summer, I carried a heavy woven basket on my back, heading up the mountain trail before dawn and returning only after dark. I sold whatever I gathered to Marcus. He would weigh them, calculate the price, and hand me the cash. "You're harvesting even more than your grandmother, kid," he’d say with a smile.

I would clutch the money tightly and hand it to Grandma.

Grandma counted the bills, a rare smile appearing on her face.

"This is enough for your school fees next year."

I smiled too.

But that night, Grandma started coughing again. It was worse than before, a violent, unstoppable hacking that went on all night.

I got up to rub her back, but she shook her head, wheezing that it was just her old ailment. Yet she grew thinner and paler by the day.

Before school started, I took her to the county hospital.

The doctor asked Grandma to wait outside and called me into his office. He looked at me and asked, "Are you her granddaughter?"

"Yes," I replied.

He was quiet for a moment, then sighed. "Go home and start preparing."

"Preparing for what?" I asked, my voice trembling.

He didn't answer.

But I understood.

On the way back, Grandma kept insisting she was fine, that it was just a minor bug. I supported her frail body, unable to say a single word.

The winter I turned fifteen, Grandma passed away.

Before she closed her eyes, she reached out, her vision already gone, searching for me.

"Patience..."

I pressed my face against her cold cheek.

"Grandma, I'm here. I'm right here."

"Patience, remember... you have to live well... live well and show them all..."

I nodded, my tears spilling onto her face.

"I know you've had a hard life... I'm sorry I couldn't do more for you..."

"Don't say that, Grandma," I sobbed. "You're going to get better."

She weakly shook her head, her hand slowly losing its grip.

"Your mother... she is cold-hearted. But don't waste your life hating her... hating someone is too exhausting... don't..."

Before she could finish, her hand fell limp.

I knelt by the bed, calling her name over and over until my voice went hoarse, until no more tears would come.

Grandma never answered me again.

After she was gone, I couldn't stay in that town anymore.

My mother returned for the funeral. She dressed in black, but there were barely any tears on her face. Serena didn't come; my mother said she was preparing for her high school entrance exams and couldn't afford to miss class.

After the funeral, my mother sat in the quiet cottage, looking at me.

"Come back to the city with me."

I stared at her.

"Your grandmother is gone. How are you going to survive out here on your own?"

"Okay," I said.

That day, I packed my few belongings, tucking Grandma's photo into my pocket. She didn't leave much behind—just a few old clothes, a pair of worn-out shoes, and a small metal tin. Inside the tin was three hundred dollars I had saved from foraging, and that old, melted candy wrapper.

I took the candy wrapper with me.

The day we drove into the city, a light drizzle was falling. I sat in the back of the SUV, watching the rural town slowly shrink in the distance, watching Grandma's small cottage get smaller and smaller until it became a tiny dot and vanished completely.

My mother drove in silence, never saying a word to me.

I pressed my forehead against the cool glass, tears silent as they slipped down my face, blending with the rain outside.

In the city, I moved into my mother’s apartment.

It was a spacious three-bedroom place, clean and modern. The living room had a plush sofa, a large TV, and a family portrait on the wall. In the photo, my mother wore a beautiful red dress, standing next to a man, with Serena standing beside them, smiling sweetly.

I recognized the man's face. There was a black-and-white photo of him on Grandma's cabinet.

My father.

He had passed away years ago, and I barely remembered what he looked like. But in this portrait, he wore a tailored suit, his hair neatly combed, smiling warmly.

Serena walked out of her room, stopping short when she saw me.

She was much taller now than when she was eight, the exact same height as me. She was wearing comfortable silk loungewear, her long hair draped over her shoulders, her skin fair and flawless.

She glanced at me, then at my mother, said nothing, and retreated back into her room.

My mother pointed to a tiny door off the hallway.

"You'll sleep in there."

The room was incredibly small, fitting only a single mattress and a small plastic dresser. The window faced the brick wall of the adjacent building; even during the day, it was pitch black without the light on.

I put my bag down, sat on the edge of the mattress, and stared at the window.

There was nothing to see outside.

Just a cold, gray brick wall.

For dinner, my mother made three dishes: roasted chicken, steamed vegetables, and garlic shrimp.

Serena sat across from me, her head down as she ate, never looking up to meet my eyes.

My mother kept putting food onto Serena's plate, piece after piece, saying, "Eat more, sweetie, you're still growing."

She didn't put a single piece on my plate.

I reached out with my fork, taking a small piece of broccoli and placing it in my bowl, chewing slowly.

The food was delicious. Much better than anything we had in the countryside.

But I couldn't taste a thing.

That night, I lay on the small mattress, listening to the muffled sounds from the living room.

The TV was murmuring, accompanied by laughter. Serena and my mother were watching a show together, sharing some private joke.

I turned over, facing the wall.

The wall was freezing cold.

***

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