Vine City.
Just like the hot, humid, and lush memories from before. The air was heavy, dense, and thick with the distinct summer scents of sourness and the bittersweet freshness of flourishing vegetation.
The door was still the same old iron gate, and the lock was the same mechanical one it had been years ago.
Zora knocked for a long time, her gaze landing on the wall with an old, peeling ad—"Unlock in ten minutes."
The old locksmith charged a hundred. A quick twist of a wire in the lock, and with a "click," the door was open.
"Need to see my ID?"
"No need. It's your house, isn't it? No need to check."
She lugged two enormous suitcases, her eyes shadowed by faint dark circles from a sleepless night on the train, the lingering sour tang of instant noodles still clinging to her. The locksmith, noticing her accent wasn't local, studied her delicate features before glancing at the sparse furnishings in her home. Without a word, he packed up his tools and walked away.
The old building from the 90s, its walls and hallways streaked with black-grey spiderweb cracks, was in a state of disrepair. The stairwell was cluttered with residents' discarded belongings, and a cracked drainage pipe leaked dirty water across the floor, creating a filthy, stifling mess. The neighborhood was rundown and neglected, a place where no one could be mistaken for wealthy.
Zora pushed her luggage inside. The apartment, a two-bedroom unit, was about eighty square meters. The layout and furniture were mostly the same, except for a few new pieces. It wasn't very clean, but not terribly dirty either. The kitchen and fridge looked unused, though the ashtray on the table was piled high with cigarette butts, and a crushed soda can on the coffee table still had half a can of beer inside.
She glanced around the room before heading to the right bedroom. The lock was rusty and wouldn't budge. She had to force it open, and when the door finally creaked open, dust flooded the air, stinging her eyes. The curtains, faded and frayed, hung limply, letting in only a dim, grayish light. The old wooden bedframe was missing most of its parts, and the room was filled with scattered old furniture, leaving no space to walk.
Then, she opened the left bedroom door. The curtains were half-drawn, and the room felt light and quiet. The bed was a semi-new memory foam mattress, and beside it stood a single wardrobe and a desk piled with miscellaneous things. On the edge of the desk was a plastic lighter, a slightly worn steel-banded mechanical watch, and a pillow tossed carelessly on the bed, with a man's white undershirt and grey sweatpants draped over it.
She backed out of the room, grabbed some cookies in the living room, washed her face half-heartedly, and decided to nap.
The pillow was heavy with the smell of cheap tobacco, sweat, and skin, an intense, almost alcoholic scent, fermented and sharp.
Switching positions, her eyes suddenly locked on something near the pillow—there was a long hair on the bedsheet. It started black, then turned deep red in the middle, and faded to a yellowish brown at the end—definitely a woman's.
Unfazed, she got up from the bed, opened the wardrobe, changed the bedsheets and pillowcases, and lay back down, closing her eyes.
Zora slept deeply, only waking up at two in the afternoon.
Her two suitcases were stuffed to the brim—her entire belongings. They sat on the floor waiting to be unpacked, but Zora didn't know where to begin. She stood there dazed for a while, walking in circles through the kitchen, bathroom, living room, and bedroom. Finally, she opened an app on her phone and ordered curtains, a mattress, pillows, quilts, four-piece bedding sets, an air conditioner, fans, and other little things.
Then she went out to the supermarket, bought a mop, cleaning cloths, detergent, shampoo, body wash, toilet paper, and sanitary pads, then returned carrying a full shopping bag.
In the alley, a few old men and women were chatting. They watched her carrying things back and forth, their cloudy old eyes scanning her up and down.
Zora recognized one of them and called out, "Grandma Zhang."
"You're... from the Thorn family on the second floor, right?"
"Zora, Jax's little sister."
Grandma Zhang was shocked. "You... you're back?"
"Mm." Zora set down her shopping bags. "Jax isn't home. Is he doing alright these years?"
When Jax was mentioned, there was a lot to say. He was still the same after all these years, bound to end up in jail sooner or later, but somehow managed to live a stable life, enduring the spit of the neighbors until today.
"Same as usual," Grandma Zhang sighed. "Still not settling down at his age, hanging out with troublemakers..."
Zora knew Jax hadn't achieved anything in the last six years. He'd gone out of the city for two years, then came back and started a business with friends, mixing with bad people, dating cheap women. His latest job was as the owner of a billiard hall near a vocational school, but he seemed to have gone out again and hadn't been home for over half a month.
She never expected him to amount to much. A high school dropout, a small-time thug—if he didn't end up in jail and somehow lived a normal life, that would be an achievement.
Zora didn't wait for Grandma Zhang to turn the conversation back to her. She quickly said she had something to do and headed upstairs with her bags.
She spent the next few days cleaning up the place, starting with the kitchen and bathroom. Anything that needed to be thrown out was gone, anything to be bought was bought. Hungry, she ate instant noodles and biscuits, tired, she slept on the memory foam mattress. She waited for the furniture she ordered online to arrive and started cleaning up the rooms, assembling furniture, and washing sheets and clothes.
While sorting through the dusty, spiderweb-covered cabinets, she found a lot of her old clothes and things from high school, including piles of exam papers and textbooks. They were all bundled up in a big sack, so Zora spent a long time organizing them into storage boxes and putting them under the bed. She finally unpacked her suitcases and cleared up the room.
She also gave Jax's room a thorough cleaning. The dust on top of the cupboard, the curtains that hadn't been washed in years, the laundry and bedding, the floor was mopped, the windows cleaned, and when she swept under the bed, she found crumpled cigarette butts, a colorful hair tie, and an unopened contraceptive. She disposed of them all as garbage.
She spent an entire week cleaning and organizing. Her neighbors, hearing and seeing the activity on the second floor, knew someone from the Thorn family had returned. Some of the newer neighbors didn't recognize her, but those who had lived here longer knew the gossip about the family. They couldn't stop talking about the Thorn family's drama.
Jax had gone to Yunnan for a trip with a friend who had an opportunity to sell small items like lighters and flashlights. He hired a truck driver to transport the goods to the Golden Triangle, then brought back bananas and mangoes. After covering expenses, he made a few thousand yuan in hard-earned money.
During the summer break, his billiard hall business had been slow, so it was a small supplement to his income.
The trip had been rushed, spending the entire journey on the truck, eating and sleeping there, covered in the stench of sweat and heat. When he finally returned to Vine City, everything was settled, and he planned to head home for a shower and then meet friends for drinks.
He didn't have much luggage. He simply carried a nylon bag with dry clothes, cigarettes, a toothbrush, and a phone charger. The humid climate of Vine City made it unbearable, so Jax took off his stinky T-shirt and draped it over his shoulder, casually smoking as he walked.
His appearance wasn't ideal, but he still had that confident, youthful energy—tanned skin, a jade pendant hanging from a cord around his neck, broad shoulders, defined muscles, and a few shallow scars. His chest was well-defined but not overly muscular, with a smooth line leading to a flat stomach and narrow waist. His black pants clung to his legs, outlining his muscular thighs.
He was about twenty-five or twenty-six, with a sharp jawline, a high nose, and full lips that gave off a seductive vibe. His eyes were wild, fierce, and rebellious, full of energy but with a laid-back edge, always alert and ready to lash out.
As he climbed the stairs, he noticed the faint smell of chicken soup drifting from the kitchen. He fumbled for his keys and opened the door. The apartment was bright, almost too clean, and the familiar furniture felt strange.
On the shoe rack by the door were women's sandals and high heels. But underneath, there were his sneakers and flip-flops, neatly cleaned and arranged.
The smell of chicken soup... It was coming from the kitchen, and he saw a familiar silhouette in the corner of his eye.
The floor was spotless, and he tossed his bag on the floor. Holding his cigarette between his fingers, he said with a cocky grin, "I thought you said you'd come over at night, give me a surprise? But now you're acting all domesticated?"
The woman in the kitchen slowly stirred the chicken soup in the earthen pot. Hearing a sound behind her, she turned around, meeting the man's gaze.
She had softened, matured, and wasn't as fierce as before.
He froze, his pupils narrowing sharply. The cigarette in his hand dropped to the floor, and he muttered, "What the hell..." His thick brows furrowed, and his sharp gaze locked onto her as though peeling an orange or some fruit, the sour, lingering juice dripping from his fingertips.
It was Zora who spoke first. "You're back?"
"Want some chicken soup? I'll serve you a bowl."
Jax spat out a few words. "What the hell... how... how are you here?"
"Why can't I be here?" Zora lowered her eyes and slowly filled a bowl of soup. Her voice was light, almost drifting. "Can't I come back?"
"What the hell are you back for?" He pulled on his wrinkled T-shirt, squatting down to pick up the cigarette butt, shoving it back into his mouth and taking a deep drag. His brows furrowed even deeper as he scanned the house. The light was bright, the atmosphere warm and cozy. The doors of the two bedrooms were wide open, their interiors clearly visible. Clothes were hanging on the balcony, the old sofa in the living room covered by a light-colored slipcover, and a vase of fresh flowers sat on the coffee table.
He had only been gone for a few weeks, but the place had completely changed.
"What the hell... you..."
Zora was used to it. "Would you even talk without throwing in that 'what the hell'?"
Jax's face shifted rapidly, cooling down in an instant. "How did you get in?"
"I had someone unlock the door," Zora placed the soup bowl on the table and turned to serve herself. "The spare key's in the drawer. I found it."
"I landed a job in the development zone where a new car company branch has just opened. I'll be starting there next week, but since the company housing isn't great, I'm staying at home for now."
"You, a top student from a prestigious university, came to work in this godforsaken little city? Did a car hit you in the head, or did you short-circuit?" He seemed irritated, kicking a low stool aside and pacing a few steps, hands on his hips. "Are you out of your mind?"
"These days, college grads are a dime a dozen. It's hard to find a job. In big cities, everyone's got a high degree, making just enough to cover rent and working overtime till midnight. People are going back to their hometowns to live and work, too."
"This your hometown? What does it have to do with you? Your hometown's in Z province, over five hundred kilometers from here."
"Bro... haven't I lived here for ten years? Finally found a job, and now I can't even stay here for a while?"
"I'm your brother?" He shot her a dark look, sitting down in a chair. From her angle, his broad back and thick, dark hair were clear. Jax furrowed his brow. "Am I your brother?"
"If you are not, you are not." Zora sat at the table, sipping her soup slowly. "I'll pay the rent for you."
"Where the hell have you been? Haven't been back for days. You smell awful."
His face was frozen, cold, and menacing. He didn't bother to answer her, getting up abruptly and heading to the bathroom for a cold shower.
Six years without living together, and suddenly there was someone else in the house—yeah, that was annoying.
After his shower, he went to grab his clothes but couldn't help kicking the wardrobe. "Did you touch my clothes?"
"I washed a few of your dirty clothes. I put them away." Zora stood at the door of his room, watching water droplets drip down his hair. "T-shirt on the left, pants on the right, socks and underwear I didn't touch."
He clenched his jaw, angrily messing up the pile of clothes. He heard her soft voice: "There's also a woman's nightgown and lingerie. I put them in the drawer."
Jax's temples throbbed.
"Your girlfriend's?"
"Mm." He growled under his breath.
"Redhead?"
"Are you crazy?" He bit down hard on his cheek, slamming the wardrobe door shut. His eyes burned with fury. "Zora, are you out of your mind?!"
Zora pressed her lips together, the sound of her slippers echoing on the floor as she walked past him, heading toward the bedroom. The door to the room next door shut softly behind her.
She sat at her desk, opened her laptop, checked a few emails, browsed some websites, and left the room. By the time she returned, the house was empty. The bowl of cold chicken soup still sat on the table.
Wild dog. You better not say anything, or I'll knock your teeth out.