North Family Letters

As the wave of educated youth returning to the city swept through, Xia He squeezed her way back to the northeastern city, but she couldn't find a place of peace.

With only five yuan in her pocket, she went to all the job postings at the neighborhood office and nearby factories, but the responses she received were always the same: "The quota is full," "Priority will be given to local educated youth," and "Your family already has children employed, so you don't meet the requirements."

She stood outside the red brick wall of the machine tool factory, clutching a crumpled resume, watching the young women entering the factory in their brand-new work clothes, smiles on their faces. The wind whipped up snowflakes that stung her face like the wind blowing across the fields of the Great Northern Wilderness. She remembered her hands, worn raw from picking corn in the countryside, her fingers cracked from digging in the frozen soil in winter, and suddenly her eyes welled up with tears—the hands that could earn work points in the Great Northern Wilderness couldn't even buy her a job to make ends meet back in the city.

Back home, the cramped room was still filled with the heavy smell of medicine. Mother lay on the kang (heated brick bed), having been ill for three years since she was sent to the countryside. Her withered hands were covered in blue veins; the quilts had been changed countless times, but nothing could conceal her decay. My eldest sister was sitting by the kang, wiping Mother's face with a hot towel. Seeing me return, she sighed wearily, "Didn't it work again?"

Xia He nodded, placing the tattered bundle on the table. Inside were only two dry, hard cornbread buns, her daily ration saved up. "People say that out of six sisters in the family, I'm the only one without a job," she said hoarsely. "My eldest sister is married and has a family to support her, my third and fourth sisters work in factories, my fifth and sixth sisters have jobs, and I... am like an unwanted burden."

Father Song Changqing sat on the edge of the kang (a heated brick bed), tapping his pipe repeatedly, scattering tobacco shreds all over the floor. He opened his mouth, but could only manage to utter, "Wait a little longer, there will always be a chance." But the guilt in his eyes was impossible to hide—back then, in order to "lead the way," he had sent his second daughter to the Great Northern Wilderness, and now that his daughter had returned to the city with no one to rely on, he, a demobilized cadre, couldn't even help her find a job.

Life went on like this. Xia He went out to do odd jobs during the day, mending clothes and picking vegetables at the market to earn some pocket money to buy her mother's medicine; when she returned home at night, she would stay by her mother's bedside, wiping her body and feeding her. When her mother was lucid, she would hold Xia He's hand, tears streaming down her face: "He'er, I'm so sorry, I didn't fight for you back then..."

Xia He would always try to comfort her, saying, "Mom, it's not your fault, it's all in the past." But only she knew that every time she looked at her mother's withered face, every time she was turned away from a job posting, the scar in her heart would crack open a little more.

Three years later, the winter was colder than ever before.

Her mother's condition suddenly deteriorated rapidly, making even drinking water difficult. In her final moments, she took Xia He's and Song Changqingshan's hands, placing them together one after the other. Her lips trembled, and she couldn't utter a complete sentence for a long time. Finally, she simply looked at Xia He, her eyes filled with reluctance and regret, sighed softly, and her hand fell limp.

"mom--!"

Xia He threw herself onto her mother, her sobs shaking the room. The grievances, hardships, and despair that had accumulated over the past three years erupted completely at this moment. She hated her mother for not being more assertive back then, hated her father for "considering the bigger picture," and hated herself even more for living like a stranger to herself for the past three years.

Song Changqingshan stood to the side, his eyes reddening for the first time in front of his daughter. He wanted to reach out and pat her back, but his hand fell heavily to the ground halfway up. This retired cadre, who had always been strong-willed and principled, felt a tightness in his chest at that moment—he had traded his daughter's youth for the stability of his entire family, and in the end, he couldn't even hold onto his daughter's last remaining hope.

After Mother left, the smell of medicine in the house faded, but a deeper sense of desolation settled in.

After the funeral, Xiahe sat on the edge of her mother's kang (a heated brick bed), touching the old cloth shirt her mother had left behind; her fingertips were icy cold. Her eldest sister came over and gently patted her shoulder: "He'er, I'm here for you from now on. We sisters will help each other."

Xia He shook her head, looking at the gray sky outside the window. She knew that her eldest sister had her own home, and her younger sisters had their own lives; she couldn't always rely on others.

But where does the road ahead lie?

She had no job, no savings, and lived in a tiny corner of her family's home. She had endured five years of hardship on the black soil of the Great Northern Wilderness, and after returning to the city, she was trapped in this cramped space, struggling to even earn a decent meal.

Her father, Song Changqingshan, walked to her side, his voice hoarse: "He'er, I'm sorry. Back then... I was wrong."

Xia He looked up at him, her eyes devoid of hatred or tears, only a silent emptiness. "Dad, it's all in the past," she said softly. "Mom's gone, and this house doesn't feel like a home anymore. I'll walk my own path."

She stood up and dusted herself off. Her mother's departure seemed to have removed her last remaining attachment, forcing her to forge ahead.

The snow was still falling outside. Xia He pushed open the door and walked forward into the cold wind. Behind her lay a home she could never return to, and before her lay an uncertain future. She didn't know where she could go; she only knew that this time, she couldn't stop, and she couldn't turn back. Her mother had woken up sometime earlier, her cloudy eyes filled with tears that streamed down her wrinkled cheeks, soaking the pillowcase. She opened her mouth, but only a weak "hoarse" sound came from her throat. She wanted to persuade, to pull, to speak up for her second daughter, but she didn't have the strength to lift a single finger.

Her three-year bed rest dragged down her family, including her most sensible and disadvantaged second daughter.

Seeing her mother cry, Xia He's heart clenched, and the anger that had just erupted was instantly suppressed by a heavy sadness. She hurriedly stepped forward, wiping away her mother's tears with the back of her rough hands, her voice hoarse and barely audible: "Mother, I won't argue anymore, I won't be angry anymore... Please don't cry, please don't cry..."

Her mother gripped her wrist tightly, her nails digging into her flesh, her eyes filled with heartache, guilt, and helplessness.

She was saying: I'm sorry to have wronged you, my Xiahe.

The younger girls next to her could no longer hold back and lowered their heads to wipe away their tears.

The third sister bit her lip, her voice trembling, "Second sister, we've wronged you. If you hadn't gone in my place back then..."

"Stop talking," Xia He interrupted her, her voice as calm as still water. "It's all in the past."

Has it passed?

No.

The snowstorm in the Great Northern Wilderness hadn't passed, the despair after returning to the city hadn't passed, the three years of serving her day and night hadn't passed, and her older sister's nonchalant "You have nothing else to do anyway" hadn't passed either.

Only the mother's weak breathing and the ticking of the clock remained in the room, each tick striking a chord deep within one's heart.

That night, the younger sisters left one by one.

They left behind some money and a few words of cautious comfort, but their steps were quick, as if they were escaping the room filled with the smell of medicine, resentment, and an unrecoverable debt.

Xia He was left all alone.

As night deepened, she turned her mother over, changed her diaper, wiped her body, washed the basin full of dirty clothes and hung them on the line, then sat on a small stool to brew the medicine for the next day.

The firelight illuminated her haggard face, revealing deeper wrinkles at the corners of her eyes and a few gray hairs already growing in her hair. Though only thirty years old, she seemed more weary than someone in their fifties.

She looked at the bubbling medicine in the pot and suddenly smiled. As she smiled, tears silently fell down her face.

It seems she has never lived for herself in her entire life.

He earned work points for his family at fifteen, went to the countryside for his sister at eighteen, returned to the city at twenty-three and became unemployed, and at twenty-six he was taking care of his paralyzed mother. He never enjoyed a day of happiness or a day of peace.

The sisters all have a place to belong, jobs, families, and hope.

Only she, like a blade of grass trampled into the mud, desperately held up the family, yet no one ever truly asked her about it—

Xiahe, are you tired?

Xia He, are you scared?

Xia He, what will you do in the future?

The wind howled outside the window, just like the night in the Great Northern Wilderness.

She curled up on the cold bench, hugging her knees, and for the first time, a terrifying yet real thought arose in her mind:

If I leave too, will this family fall apart?

If I stop interfering, will things become easier?

But when she turned her head and saw her mother's still furrowed brows in her drowsy state on the kang (a heated brick bed), her heart softened again.

She can't go.

With her gone, her mother was truly left without anyone to care for her.

This family has truly collapsed.

Just bear with it.

Just keep going.

Relying on the last bit of bloodline, on the remaining conscience that hasn't been worn down, and on the daily patience and guilt, they continue to persevere.

But from that day on, half of the light in Song Xiahe's heart quietly went out.

She no longer argued with her sisters, no longer got angry with her eldest sister, and no longer placed any hope in anyone.

She simply served her mother quietly, washing clothes, brewing medicine, and tending to her bodily needs, like an emotionless shadow, guarding this old house and an endless stretch of time.

The bond between the sisters still exists, but it's as thin as a sheet of paper.

It broke when the wind blew.