Sisters Forever
As the breeze disperses the morning mist, dewdrops from the mountain peaks fall onto the bluestone steps of the Qingxu Temple branch, and the splashes of water are quickly frozen into fine ice by the cold air.
Yin Li and He Mo stood in front of the mountain gate, gazing at the mottled vermilion gate—large chunks of paint had peeled off, revealing the dark, rotten wood beneath. The verdigris on the door knocker was so thick that a layer could be scraped off, and dust would fall off with the slightest touch, much like a flickering candle abandoned by the world.
The guard stepped forward and pushed open the door. A long creak echoed through the empty mountains, sharp as a woman's sob, startling several sparrows under the eaves into flapping their wings and flying away, leaving a few feathers to slowly drift down into Yinli's hair.
She raised her hand to brush it away, but her fingertips knocked over the jade hairpin by her temple. The hairpin rolled down the stone steps, making a crisp sound that was particularly jarring in the deathly silence—it was a gift from her second uncle before his death, but now it had become a reminder of her "family's destruction and death."
"Yin Li!" she whispered, her voice trembling uncontrollably. The half of the jade pendant bearing the character "Li" in her palm was burning hot, the edge digging painfully into her fingertips. From the day the misunderstanding in the family genealogy was cleared up, they had traveled day and night, rushing here without stopping. She even imagined it again and again on horseback: when she saw Yin Li, she would first hug her tightly, scold her for not contacting her for so long, then take her back to the Silver Prince's Mansion, make her favorite osmanthus cake, and make up for the clothes she lacked and the love she lacked.
Standing in front of the temple now, my heart feels as if it's being gripped by an icy hand, sinking into a panic.
He Mo walked beside her, his left hand gently protecting her back. The warmth of his palm seeped through her thin dress, but it couldn't suppress her nervousness.
His gaze swept across the temple—the weeds grew taller than a person, the moss on the stone steps was so slippery that one could slip and fall, and there was a pile of moldy straw in the corner. Only the door of the main room was ajar, and a faint candlelight leaked out from the crack, casting a thin strip of light on the ground, like a guiding lamp, yet it also exuded an indescribable eeriness.
"Be careful. The people of Qinglang Mountain have hidden Yin Li here, and they won't let her go easily." He warned in a low voice, his hand gripping his sword tighter, his knuckles turning white—he was afraid there might be an ambush, and even more afraid of seeing Yin Li's disappointed look.
The two stepped lightly up the stone steps, each step extremely soft, as if afraid of disturbing something.
As she reached the door of the main house, Yin Li took a deep breath. Her fingertips trembled even more as they touched the cold wooden door. The moment she pushed the door open, a faint smell of medicine mixed with mold and sourness wafted out, causing her to frown involuntarily.
There were no windows in the room, only a hole in the roof letting in a sliver of light, which barely illuminated the scene before us: a wooden bed with a missing leg, barely stable only by being propped up by a few stones, with a thin layer of straw on the bed board, and a few broken hemp ropes mixed in with the straw.
A cracked table held a nearly burnt-out candlestick, its wick smoldering down to a tiny stub, the flame flickering and casting an ever-changing shadow on the wall.
On the corner of the table sat a chipped, coarse porcelain bowl, half-filled with blackened rice porridge and a layer of green mold on top, clearly indicating that it had been sitting there for a long time.
On the bed, curled up, was a small, thin figure—it was Yin Li. She was wearing a plain-colored cloth dress that had been washed and patched in several places. The hem of the dress was torn and ripped, revealing her bluish-purple ankles underneath. Her hair was loosely tied up with a faded red rope, with bits of grass and dirt stuck in it, and a few strands of dry, yellow hair clung to her sallow cheeks.
Her once round face became thin and sharp, her eyes were sunken, her lips were cracked and bleeding, her hands were tightly gripping the hem of her clothes, her knuckles were white from the force, and there was dirt stuck in her fingernails that was difficult to clean.
"Yin Li!" Yin Li could no longer contain herself and rushed over excitedly, not even feeling the pain when her knee hit the corner of the table.
She grabbed her sister's hand, but it felt like touching a block of ice—those hands were icy cold, devoid of any warmth, the knuckles were unusually prominent due to long-term malnutrition, and there were several deep scars on the palms, as if they had been tied with ropes or scratched by tree branches.
Her heart skipped a beat, and she trembled as she reached for Yin Li's breath, her fingertips hovering in mid-air for a long time, but she couldn't feel a breath of air.
"Yinli? Yinli, wake up! Don't scare your sister!" Tears welled up like beads from a broken string, hitting the back of Yinli's hand and then sliding down her fingers onto the straw, soaking a small patch.
She reached out to touch Yin Li's cheek, which was also ice-cold. Even the tips of her ears, which would usually turn red with shyness, were a lifeless bluish-white.
She wanted to hug her younger sister, but found that Yin Li's body was as light as a feather. Through the thin cloth skirt, she could clearly feel her protruding ribs—where was this the little girl who would hug her and act coquettishly and steal her osmanthus cake?
He Mo quickly stepped forward, squatted down, and gently lifted Yin Li's wrist, placing his fingertips on her carotid artery. After a moment, his face darkened, and his voice carried an undisguised heaviness: "She... has been gone for some time now, and her body has gone cold."
"Impossible!" Yin Li shook her head violently, tears blurring her vision. "We clearly found out she was here, we clearly came very quickly, how could she..." Her voice choked, unable to continue, she just hugged Yin Li's cold body tightly, buried her face in her sister's neck, and gently patted her back like she used to lull her to sleep when she was little. "Yin Li, your sister is here, your sister has come to take you home, please wake up, okay? Let's go home and eat osmanthus cake, let's go home and see the crabapple blossoms..." But the person in her arms would never respond to her again.
Seeing her breakdown, He Mo felt a tightness in his chest. He gently patted her back, his gaze sweeping across the table, when he suddenly noticed a neatly folded letter on it. The envelope was made of rough straw paper, its edges worn and calligraphic. The words "To My Dear Sister" were written on it in charcoal. The handwriting was childish, yet each stroke was written with exceptional care, and one could even tell how much force the writer had used, with some strokes even tearing the paper.
"Yinli, look at this." He carefully picked up the letter, afraid of damaging this only hope, and handed it to Yinli. Yinli took the letter with trembling hands, her fingertips shaking from the force, and almost tore the coarse paper when she opened the envelope.
Unfolding the letter, Yin Li's handwriting came into view—the charcoal marks were somewhat blurred, and in some places they appeared broken due to insufficient ink, yet every word was like a knife, piercing her heart: "Sister, by the time you see this letter, I should already be gone."
The people of Qinglang Mountain captured me and brought me here, saying I am a "remnant of the Yin clan" and that they want to use me as a "living sacrifice" for a ritual. They say that a woman's blood is the "purest" and can bring "divine fortune" to Qinglang Mountain.
They gave me only half a bowl of rice gruel each day, forcing me to kneel on the cold ground to pray. If I knelt too slowly, they would whip my back and strangle my hands with rope. I dared not cry, fearing they would beat me even more severely. I could only secretly think of my sister, my second uncle, and the crabapple blossoms of the Silver Prince's Mansion at night—I remembered you saving the best osmanthus cake for me, how you secretly helped me copy my homework when my second uncle taught us to write, and the days we flew kites together in the courtyard. I knew I wouldn't live much longer. They said the day of the sacrifice was approaching, and they would cut my throat with a knife, letting my blood flow into their 'altar'.
Every day I long for my sister to come and save me, but I also know that they won't let me see you alive—they say that women like us are born to be 'sacrifices,' either to be buried alive for our families or to be sacrificed to 'immortal masters,' and we never have a choice of our own.
Sister, I don't blame you, nor do I blame anyone. I just hate it, hate why we are women, hate why they can decide our life and death so easily, hate that I don't even have the chance to live a good life and see you properly one last time.
You must live well, see the crabapple blossoms of the Silver Prince's Mansion bloom again for me, find out the truth about my second uncle's wrongful conviction, and take good care of yourself for me. Don't grieve for me for too long; I will be watching over you from heaven, watching you live a good life—if there is an afterlife, I want to be someone who can make my own decisions, and I don't want to be a woman who is manipulated by others anymore.
"Your sister, Yinli, will always love you." At the end of the letter, there was a small begonia flower drawn, its petals crooked and the edges curled up from being drawn too hard, yet it revealed a childlike earnestness.
As Yinli looked at the letter, tears streamed down her face like broken beads, splashing onto the paper and blurring the charcoal marks, as well as the despair her sister had hidden between the lines.
She gripped the letter tightly, her nails digging deep into her palms until they bled, but she felt no pain—the pain in her heart had already overshadowed everything else. She remembered when they were little, Yinli would always say, "Sister, I want to be a strong woman like you when I grow up, able to protect myself and others"; she remembered that before Yinli was taken away, she hugged her and said, "Sister, I'll wait for you to come back."
But now, because "a woman's blood is pure," her younger sister has become a sacrificial offering for others, and even her right to live has been taken away.
How unfair is this world to women? In the eyes of those people, a woman's life is not even worth a handful of soil or a bundle of grass; they can discard her or kill her at will.
“Yinli…my sister…” she choked, her voice so hoarse it was almost inaudible, “It’s because I’m late, it’s because I didn’t protect you well…” He Mo gently pulled her into his arms, letting her lean on his shoulder, his movements so tender he was afraid of breaking her. He looked at Yinli’s small, thin figure on the bed, at her tattered dress and cracked lips, his eyes filled with pity and anger—the injustice of this world, the cruelty inflicted on this woman, was truly appalling.
He held Yinli tightly and whispered in her ear, "Cry, it will make you feel better."
"We will avenge Yin Li; we will fight against the injustices of this world—we will not let her sacrifice be in vain, and we will not let more women suffer the same despair as her." Yin Li leaned against him, crying her heart out.
The mountain wind blew in through the hole in the roof, carrying a biting chill that extinguished the candle with a "poof" and stirred the letter on the table. In the darkness, she clutched Yinli's letter tightly, as if holding her sister's last wish. She knew Yinli was gone, never to return;
She also knew that she couldn't just wallow in grief—she had to live on for Yin Li, find out the truth for her, seek justice for her, and fight for a way of life where women like Yin Li, who had been tormented and sacrificed, could make their own decisions.
After a long while, Yin Li gradually stopped crying. She wiped away her tears, carefully folded the letter, put it inside her close-fitting clothes, and gently stroked Yin Li's cheek, her voice filled with unprecedented firmness: "Yin Li, I promise you, I will live well, I will find out the whole truth, and make those who harmed you and our Yin family pay the price they deserve."
I also want everyone to know that women are not sacrificial offerings to be manipulated; we also have the right to live and the right to pursue freedom.
"Don't worry, I won't let you die in vain." He Mo looked at the renewed light in her eyes, gently tightened his grip on her hand, the warmth of his palm conveying strength: "I will be with you, together we will investigate the truth, together we will seek justice, together we will fight for justice for women."
Morning light streamed in through a hole in the roof, illuminating the dust inside and the two people's tightly clasped hands.
Yin Li knew that from now on, she would not only bear the injustice of the Yin family and the hatred of Yin Li on her shoulders, but also the hopes of countless desperate women like Yin Li.
This path may be difficult, but she will continue to walk it until the truth comes out and until the woman is no longer a "victim".
We will always be best friends, whether it's Yin Li or Yin Li.
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