My younger Sister Wang Danfeng

Our parents had four children: me, Mingbai, Mingjian, and Mingyao. When Mingbai was just over two years old, Mom and Dad had Mingjian. Since she was the third child, we all called her "Sanmei"(三妹) (Little Third Sister). Sanmei’s birth was extraordinary—she was born to be our parents’ "little sweetheart." Lively, clever, adorable, and with a silver tongue, she perfectly made up for my shortcomings as the eldest daughter—neither particularly pretty nor good at saying sweet words. To be honest, Sanmei wasn’t much to look at when she was little—a nearly bald head with sparse hair and sores on her feet that she’d scratch until they scabbed over. But as the old saying goes, "A girl changes eighteen times before adulthood"—and she truly blossomed, growing more beautiful and striking with each passing year. She resembled Juxian.菊贤，妈的名字) in looks but inherited Chenghui’s (承惠，爸的名字) big, bright eyes. Sanmei loved to dance. Whenever guests came over, Mom would say, "Come on, San’er, give us a dance!" Her greatest strength was her lack of shyness—she’d dance at the drop of a hat, and the more people clapped, the more enthusiastically she performed. If it had been me, I’d have bolted long ago. Once, Mingbai and I took Sanmei to the street in front of the Trade Union Council near Shanyi Village and told her to dance. And she did happily—one performance after another, drawing an ever-growing crowd. Mingbai and I were so embarrassed that we hid behind the bushes of the council’s fence, too mortified to show our faces. Eventually, guilt got the better of me, and we dragged Sanmei home. When I was eighteen or nineteen, I wrote a little poem expressing my love for this sister of mine. It went something like this: "Lovely little sister, lovely little sister,With nimble hands and lively bright eyes,A heart so kind.Sing and dance, little sister,May the golden spring forever bloom in your heart!"

My adorable little sister Sanmei spent the most time with me. When I was seventeen, I made a close friend in high school—Wang Zongyuan. We were kindred spirits, and during the mid-to-late Cultural Revolution, we became part of the so-called "carefree faction." We were inseparable, dabbling in all sorts of things—learning English, playing the violin, you name it. I lived in Shangqing Temple(上清寺), while She lived near Liberation Monument. Though it was a half-hour bus ride, we met almost every day—either she came to Shangqing Temple, or I went to Liberation Monument. Sometimes, we’d even walk back and forth between the two places multiple times, joking that we were "the cat escorting the dog." Looking back now, I wonder how we had so much to talk about—and how we never tired of walking so much! Sanmei was nearly six years younger than us but was desperate to join our "Song Jing squad." (松井的队伍-电影中的名字).She followed me everywhere, begging me to take her along to Liberation Monument. Of course, I tried every trick to dodge her. I remember one time when I was heading to Liberation Monument, but no matter what I did, I couldn’t shake her off. I took a detour through the No. 1 courtyard in Shanyi Village, circled around the Datianwan Stadium(大田湾体育馆)—still, she stuck to me like glue. Finally, when she wasn’t looking, I ducked into a shop doorway and hid. That did the trick—I lost her at last. Who knows if she cried that time.

Sanmei’s hands were incredibly nimble—I’ve no idea whose genes she inherited that from. She could pick up any skill just by watching, and she handled all kinds of household chores with ease. In our family, she was the most capable. From a young age, she shouldered the family’s burdens. During the Cultural Revolution, when our parents were stuck in factory "ideological remonlding class" and Mingbai and I were out "making revolution," Sanmei was left to manage the household. With just a few dimes in her pocket, she budgeted meticulously: buying the cheapest vegetables, picking up leftover greens when money ran out, or simply mixing soy sauce into rice when there was nothing else. Back then, Grandpa cooked separately for Grandma, who was bedridden with illness. Honestly, I have no memory of what the four of us ate during those two years. Grandma was incredibly kind—she’d thank us even for the smallest favors. Sometimes, she’d slip us a bite of noodles from her bowl. To us, those noodles tasted heavenly, like the finest delicacy! Sanmei’s frugal habits stuck with her even later, when life became more comfortable. She clung to that "glorious revolutionary tradition," unlike me—I shop impulsively, making snap decisions. Sanmei would "research" every purchase endlessly: the material, the price, durability—she weighed every factor. She’d even sniff items to check for fakes. The way she’d turn things over, inspect them, and sniff them could drive me up the wall, let alone the poor salesclerks. Our younger brother once teased her about buying curtains at Chaotianmen(朝天门批发市场)—she’d buy them, return them, then decide buying was better after all, back and forth until I was in stitches. But my brother-in-law hit the jackpot with Sanmei! She ran their household flawlessly. Both worked at universities, and back then, professors’ salaries weren’t high—they also had a daughter to raise. Yet Sanmei kept everything in perfect order. Her cooking alone was exceptional (she even mastered Mom’s signature dishes like pork with salt vegetable and steamed pork with rice flour). Beyond that, she fixed small appliances, patched walls with cement, tinkered with pots and pans, and even climbed utility poles! My brother-in-law, whom we revered as "Einstein," was a walking encyclopedia but hopeless at chores. With Sanmei as his "all-purpose robot," he lived worry-free. His sole contributions? Washing dishes and, when she was away, boiling noodles—or just buying plain rice cakes if he couldn’t be bothered. Ironically, Sanmei was once "Einstein’s" student. He personally tutored this overage primary-school pupil until she tested into university in 1977, eventually graduating second in her class from Chongqing Normal University’s physics department. Talk about a testament to "Einstein’s" prowess—his "theory of relativity" yielded Sanmei as its greatest result! But her brilliance and diligence were undeniable. An overage pupil not only made it to university but graduated at the top, bringing immense pride to our parents. Though she studied physics, she later taught computer science as an associate professor, juggling teaching and programming. Honestly, her work was so complex it baffled me.Whenever I have a problem with my phone, I turn to her for help. I always respectfully consult this "expert" and ask her to solve the issue for me. Yet she often finds my questions simple and even amusing.

"Wang Danfeng" & "Wang Xiaotang"being both beautiful and sharp-witted are Third Sister’s two most outstanding qualities. Anyone who sees her can’t help but say she resembles a movie star! Back in the day, there was a film called The Lady Barber starring Wang Danfeng, and many relatives and friends said Third Sister looked like her. Later, another movie, Struggle in an Ancient City, starred Wang Xiaotang, and they claimed Third Sister resembled her instead. Later,there was a wildly popular film Third Sister Liu(刘三姐), and since Third Sister happened to be the third child in our family and also surnamed Liu, people started calling her "Third Sister Liu" too. In short, Third Sister has always been the embodiment of "beauty," praised and adored by everyone. Our parents have always doted on her, especially Dad. Dad enjoys teasing people—he calls Mom the "Western Han Female Corpse," says my sister Mingbai plays the accordion "like a clumsy crab," and when I couldn’t answer his quiz on English drug names, he scoffed, "What kind of English have you been learning? Can’t even translate this drug name! Even I know it!" As for mocking Fourth Brother, that goes without saying. But Dad has never teased Third Sister—he always beams with joy when he sees her. So, even though she’s the third child, her status at home is far from low. That said, Third Sister is indeed the most eloquent among the four of us. She knows how to sweet-talk, how to flatter, and how to keep people happy—I’ve always admired her knack for it. If you treat her to a meal or give her a small gift, she’ll cheer endlessly: "Auntie (following her daughter’s way of addressing me), you’re so kind! Auntie is so generous! Auntie doesn’t hold back!" Hearing this, I’d feel so delighted that I couldn’t wait to treat or gift her again. Sometimes, she’d even seize the moment to say, "Next time, bring a bigger gift, okay?" And then I’d be itching to earn more money just to buy her something nicer next time. Truth be told, the "bigger gift" ended up being from her to me. In the early 1990s, when the stock market had just opened, I casually bought three lottery tickets for IPO shares and, by sheer luck, won two. But I didn’t have the 4,000 yuan needed to buy the stocks, so I went to Third Sister to borrow the money. She lent me her hard-saved 4,000 yuan, allowing me to profit and eventually buy a piano. So, in a way, that piano is the most expensive gift Third Sister ever gave me. If my son doesn’t give me a grandchild, this piano will go to Third Sister’s grandchild someday. Over the years, I’ve borrowed money from her for this and that—seems fate destined her to lend me cash for my purchases, while I, as the fortune-teller put it, "earn money only for others to spend." As a child, I couldn’t wait to shake off Third Sister, my little shadow. But as an adult, I’m always eager to go out and have fun with her. The two of us—or rather, all the Zheng sisters—are quite the merry bunch. When we get together, we joke and laugh uncontrollably, having the time of our lives. Third Sister and I share similar tastes—we used to love shopping especially those shops plastered with signs like "Big Sale," "Clearance," or "Massive Discounts." We’d rush in like moths to a flame. We also browsed high-end stores, though mostly just for window shopping. I remember one time we spent an entire day shopping, from morning till night. When sales assistants urged us to check out certain items, we’d happily chat back in our equally clumsy "Sichuan-accented Mandarin," bantering away. Both Third Sister and I have a great sense of humor—we’re quite the jesters—and sometimes we’d even crack up the salesgirls with our antics. Their laughterdeepened our joy in shopping. Sadly, that joy has long since faded. These days, we still love browsing online, and our tastes haven’t changed—we’re drawn to bargains, things we feel are worth the price. After retiring, Third Sister and her husband went to Guangzhou and earned a tidy sum, while my own finances took a few hits. So, she’s been far better off than me for years now, and sometimes she even teases me, nicknaming me "Pinduoduo"(拼多多) (a budget shopping app). But I take pride in this: I finally fulfilled my long-held wish to give her a nicer gift. In the mid-to-late 1990s, when I was a school principal in Shenyang, my income surpassed theirs, and I even had a bit of authority. So when Third Sister stopped by Shenyang on a work trip to Beijing, I made sure to treat her well. She ate lavishly and had a great time. Too busy to accompany her myself, I had our driver, Old Wang, take her around. I even arranged for her to give a computer class to our teachers, generously compensating her from the school’s discretionary fund. I also took her and a few faculty members on a trip to Dalian. The young teachers at my school affectionately called her "Third Sister" and couldn’t stop praising her beauty. I imagine how proud she must have felt of me then—her elder sister—and how she must have wished for my success to last forever.

Now, the third sister is already a grandmother to two grandsons. Her daughter and son-in-law are both in the United States, and the two grandsons were born there. Both grandsons are boys—one named Sherlock and the other Isaac. Sherlock is very cute and looks a lot like the third sister, who often shows off his photos online. Isaac, however, looks nothing like Sherlock. The fourth brother says he resembles a Cantonese businessman. Because of this, we don’t call him by his Western name but instead refer to him as "Erwa" (Second Kid). I once worried that Erwa might follow in my unfortunate footsteps. But he is extremely clever and has a great sense of humor, completely stealing his older brother’s spotlight. Nowadays, there are even more photos of him online than of Sherlock. So, no matter whether a person is handsome or not, what truly matters is having their own strengths.

Last September, my sister and her husband went to the U.S. to visit their daughter and help take care of their grandsons. Originally, they planned to stay for only six months. But because of the pandemic, they still haven’t been able to return. They initially booked flights for September, but the flights were canceled. Then they rescheduled for November, only to run into new travel restrictions—no transit through third countries—so they had to cancel again. Now they’ve booked new tickets, and I just hope nothing else goes wrong. I worry about my sister’s family and hope they all stay safe and well. I also really look forward to her coming back to Chongqing soon so we can have a good time together! My sister is my most devoted fan—she praises everything I write and even posts humorously in our "Liu Family Group Chat," exclaiming, "A Gen-X writer has been born!" I tell her not to exaggerate, but she replies, "Writers are made by praise!" I can just picture her grinning cheekily. Not long ago, she even told me to watch out for a SF Express delivery, saying I must be tired from all my writing, so she sent me some fresh longan. I received a huge bag of them and took a long time to finish them all. I thanked her for her unwavering support and promised to give her extra copies when my book gets published. She replied, "How dare I ask for multiple copies? Just one signed by you would be more than enough! Keep the rest to sell—I bet your books will fly off the shelves!" I couldn’t stop laughing!

Oh, how I hope my sister comes home soon!

Mingqiong

November 15, 2020