The Grinding Wheel and a Sister’s Embrace

I held but one understanding of work: it was suffering, an endless cycle of torment stretching into eternity. It differed from labor; work was not labor, but a forced obligation, an unavoidable task. Work was self-anesthetization, a grinder of the soul.

As I stared at the repair parts in my hands, I realized I was merely following instructions, turning screw after screw with various screwdrivers—large, small, Phillips, flathead. One finished, another awaited, piling up before me.

It was utterly mundane. Throughout my life, driven by necessity, I had taken on countless odd jobs, each as soul-crushingly boring as the last. Whether it was as a supermarket cashier, a hotel attendant, or even a prep cook chopping vegetables in a kitchen, every single one was excruciatingly dull.

My sole reason for enduring these tasks was money. I found no meaning, no personal growth in my work. Even with the money, there was no sense of accomplishment or joy. While these earnings sufficed to stave off hunger and cold, this world was brimming with desires not truly our own, compelling us to labor, to acquire the currency needed to satisfy them.

Yet, we all know desires are insatiable. We intentionally leave them unfulfilled, thereby willingly trapping ourselves in this endless cycle of work. It’s as if society itself is designed this way: they utilize us to propel their grand historical narratives, and we, in turn, utilize them to squander our own sad, meaningless lives.

How laughable it all sounds.

I observed the elderly men and women at their posts, and the street sweepers outside. They were all husbands and wives, mothers and fathers, among the countless common folk, one in billions. What had they gained in their entire lives? What had they achieved by toiling in this place for ten, twenty years? They married, had children. Did they find a happy family? If so, why did they still wear such worried expressions every day, drowning their sorrows at roadside stalls after work, only to lean against a tree and vomit?

Suffering, suffering. Everywhere I looked, there was only suffering. Not a single trace of value or meaning was to be found.

****

After my hourly shift, I grabbed a casual bowl of noodles at the food street before heading home. The alley I usually took was always blocked by neighbors’ haphazardly parked electric bikes, forcing me to take a detour.

I paid no mind to the stray cats rummaging through trash cans or the birds lined up on the power lines. Exhausted after a full day’s work, I yearned only to return to my room and sleep indefinitely.

Pushing open my front door, the first sound to greet me was not the usual quiet chill, but someone’s joyful laughter. I knew exactly who that ‘someone’ was; the shrill voice of my childhood memories had matured with age, becoming softer and more alluring.

“Hahaha, yes, that person, they absolutely cracked me up!” she exclaimed, speaking to someone on the phone. “No, no, no, I never want to go a second time. It wasn’t the place itself that was interesting. The people I went with probably wouldn’t even agree to go out now, so let’s just forget it.”

I first poured myself a glass of water from the kettle. She had noticed me when I opened the door, but offered no greeting.

“Alright, alright, that’s enough chatting for now. We can discuss where to go this weekend later. As for that report, you’ll have to figure it out yourself; I can’t help you. Mm, okay, that’s it. Bye-bye.”

She hung up the phone and sat up from the sofa.

“You’re back?”

“Mm,” I replied, accustomed to her strange greetings. “I’m back.”

“Pour me a glass too,” she said, burying her head back into her phone on the sofa, primarily replying to WeChat messages.

She was four years my senior and would be starting her third year of university next semester. At home, she wore only a tank top and casual shorts. Seeing the slight bulge at her chest, I knew she wasn’t wearing anything underneath her top. I could only let out a sigh, pouring her water while deliberately averting my gaze.

“I hear you’ve made some friends recently?”

“Mm.”

She glanced at me, just once, before lowering her head to her phone again.

“How rare,” she remarked. “When was the last time I heard you say you had friends? Elementary school?”

“Probably,” I mumbled, unable to recall, and just wanting to sleep. “I’m going back to my room.”

“Wait, Yi Chang.” She called out to me. “Do you remember playing by the river as a kid and getting a fever for two days? Wasn’t it me, your older sister, who took time off to look after you, wiping your sweat with a basin of water and changing your wet towels?”

Whenever she brought up old memories, it invariably signaled trouble.

“You remember, right? Good that you remember. See how good I am to you? Do your sister a favor, won’t you?” She was almost laughing as she spoke, as if knowing I wouldn’t refuse and deliberately using this persuasive tactic.

“So, what do you want?” I asked.

“Come here, come sit,” she patted the empty space on the sofa, gesturing for me to sit beside her. I noticed her phone was already set to camera mode, and my brow furrowed as I vaguely understood her intention.

“Remember that photo I took of you during dinner at home last time? My friends saw it and asked who the handsome guy was. I told them it was my brother, but they didn’t believe me, insisting it was a picture from the internet. So, let’s take a photo together.”

It was a rather uninteresting reason, driven by an inexplicable vanity and social obligation. Still, if it was just a photo, I had no strong objections, as long as it could be done quickly.

This was Yi Shi, my sister by blood. Despite attending a prestigious university, her thoughts and lifestyle were no different from an ordinary person’s. She had a self-centered social circle, enjoyed going out with friends to party and have a good time, and occasionally flirted with a guy or two to create gossip within her clique.

On second thought, there were some differences. She was perhaps more sharp-tongued than most, more adept at discerning and manipulating others. By Dorothy’s standards, my sister would likely be considered a social powerhouse.

“Why aren’t you taking it yet?” I couldn’t help but ask.

Since she had started, she had been pressing against me, striking various poses and adjusting different angles. Her chest brushed against my arm through my clothes, and the physical repulsion sent a shiver down my spine.

“I can’t find the right feeling from that day. How did I manage to make you look so handsome back then?” She scrutinized me from head to toe. “How about you go wash your face and change your clothes?”

“Changing my clothes won’t make much of a difference,” I stated. “You know that the ‘handsome’ part was just that frozen moment in time, so there’s no point in fussing over my actual self.”

“Don’t give me that,” she snapped. “Just go do it. If you get it done, I’ll take you out for dinner.”

‘I’ve already eaten,’ I thought, but didn’t voice it. She had already revealed her usual domineering nature; her offer to take me out to dinner was utterly perfunctory. Even without this photo, she would have gone out to eat anyway, then asked if I wanted to join her.

“Alright, I’ll go change then.”

My sister and I weren’t particularly close. The time we truly lived together was only a few short years. We attended different schools and stayed with different host families, and our interactions weren’t always harmonious. I lacked her understanding of social maneuvering and interpersonal skills, often fumbling both relationships and situations. Whenever this happened, she would criticize me, scold me, and demand to know why I hadn’t followed her advice.

Back then, she didn’t understand that some things, which came naturally to her, were simply beyond my capabilities.

Despite this, she was genuinely good to me. Perhaps it was the innate bond of siblinghood, coupled with her sense of responsibility as an older sister, but she truly did look after me. Therefore, a part of me must have longed to be closer to her, to repay her kindness.

Opening my wardrobe, I found a predictable array of black, white, and gray garments, all perfectly sized for my frame, with no patterns whatsoever. There was absolutely nothing to choose from.

I tried to recall the fashion styles of her friends, but to no avail. The outfit I eventually picked out merely transformed my all-black attire into an all-gray one. I smoothed out the wrinkles and prepared to go downstairs.

Then my phone rang. It was nothing special, just a notification that a streamer I followed had gone live. Wait, I don’t watch streams, so why would I get an alert?

Then it clicked. It was that virtual streamer Huang Zhouyu followed, named Linglongzi. I tapped into the stream. Sure enough, he had set her as a special notification, which was why my phone had alerted me. Just as I was about to unfollow, the virtual streamer began to speak.

“Good evening, everyone~ Good evening,” the Gothic vampire avatar on screen waved its hand. “Did you miss me?”

Indeed, the voice sounded somewhat familiar, yet I couldn’t quite match it to any memory.

“Hmm? No gaming tonight… Hmm~ we’ll see. After all, I’m almost done, so I’ll save it to finish tomorrow in one go,” she replied to the chat messages. “I’ll be singing tonight, hehe. Hasn’t it been a while since you heard me sing?”

She said she would sing, but didn’t for quite some time, instead continuously replying to chat messages. Most of her replies were directed at those who had sent many gifts and were high on the leaderboard. I wondered if Huang Zhouyu was among them.

It was incredibly boring. I couldn’t understand why Huang Zhouyu enjoyed watching this. Aside from a two-dimensional character moving around on screen, all one heard was someone speaking in a bizarre tone about utterly tedious things. She was far more engaging when she was gaming.

The day’s exhaustion, combined with the hypnotic effect of this uninteresting content, and the convenient presence of a bed nearby… What a coincidence. Although I felt I had forgotten something, I couldn’t resist collapsing onto the bed. My socks were already off in the entryway, and though I hadn’t showered, I had briefly wiped away the sweat with a towel.

Yes, I felt I could sleep very comfortably. I left the stream playing beside me; it was perfect for lulling me to sleep.

****

“Yi Chang? Why is changing clothes taking so long?”

Yi Shi, growing impatient, went upstairs and pushed open the door without knocking.

“Asleep?”

He truly was. Yi Chang, exhausted from a day of labor, lay sprawled on the bed, deep in slumber. One slipper still dangled from his foot, and the phone by his pillow played a virtual streamer’s broadcast, a soothing Japanese anime song drifting from it.

Yi Shi quietly approached, crouching by the bed and poking his face, distorted from being pressed against the pillow, to confirm if he was truly asleep.

There was no reaction. She then poked her brother’s particularly sensitive side, an area he would normally squirm away from due to ticklishness. But he didn’t. Clearly, he was genuinely asleep, Yi Shi concluded.

“Sleeping on your stomach isn’t good for you, silly,” she murmured softly.

She attempted to turn Yi Chang over, but her brother was no longer the small child she could easily maneuver. It took considerable effort to adjust his sleeping posture, so much so that she let out a long sigh of relief. Afterward, she turned off his phone, but not before checking which female streamer her brother had been watching.

Her own phone suddenly rang. It was Yi Shi’s. She didn’t even glance at the caller ID before immediately hanging up. Her first priority was to check if her brother had been woken, and only then did she check who had called. Seeing it was just a friend, she casually sent a WeChat message: [Busy].

She opened Yi Chang’s wardrobe, where the clothes were haphazardly folded. She took them all out, sat on the floor leaning against the bed, and refolded them neatly.

She finished quickly, but didn’t leave. Instead, she began searching Yi Chang’s room, looking everywhere, even checking the trash can, though it was unclear what she was seeking.

After tiptoeing around the room, seemingly having found nothing else to do, she finally prepared to leave. As she closed the door, she paused, turning back to gaze at her sleeping brother, a tide of tenderness welling up in her eyes.

She crept back to Yi Chang’s bedside, poking his side once more to confirm he hadn’t woken. Still no reaction; it seemed today’s work truly had worn him out. Yi Shi knelt by the bed, her palms clasped on the bed frame, cushioning her chin, as she smiled foolishly at her brother’s sleeping face.

After watching him for a while, something suddenly occurred to her.

She lifted Yi Chang’s hand to the level of his pillow, then slipped under his covers, resting her head on his arm and embracing half of his body. She then pulled out her phone and snapped a photo of herself with her brother.