No. 94 The Weakness of All Beings
“What’s your name?”
“Yi Yao…”
“Like the ‘Yao’ in ‘Qiong Yao’?”
“The ‘Yao’ in ‘distant’…”
” ‘Easy to shed tears of longing, hard to bear the pain of parting, gazing at the waterfall cascading from the distant cliffs.’ It’s a poetic name for a girl. I’m Mo Ziyang. The ‘Zi’ from Confucius, the ‘Yang’ from sunshine. I might be your older brother soon.”
The setting sun cast long shadows across the living room, illuminating the smiling face of the bespectacled boy seated across from me.
I maintained my carefully practiced posture, my cheeks flushed from recalling that night with Xiaodie, my demeanor a perfect imitation of a shy, awkward girl.
Despite my outward appearance, my mind was screaming with internal commentary.
A poetic name for a girl? What about for a boy? You never complimented me in my previous life…
“Um… yeah…”
“You don’t have to be so nervous. I’m not a bad guy… You know, you look so different from what I imagined. After seeing your photos and videos online, I thought you were… well, more… how do I say this… less refined.”
You could just say “tomboy.”
“Don’t… you like it?” I asked, glancing at him with a carefully crafted expression of disappointment.
“No, no, no! It’s not that… You’re adorable, really.”
My feigned sadness seemed to fluster him. He waved his hands frantically. “I’ve always wanted a little sister like you.”
I lowered my head, hiding my amusement.
Wang Cai had hacked into Mo Ziyang’s QQ account, analyzing his chat logs with friends and family. His conclusion: the “stepbrother” was anxious about our potential incompatibility but eager to connect with his anime-loving “sister.”
After all, a brother and a sister were different creatures.
In a conversation with a university friend, his concerns had been evident:
ForAiriBronze: I’m meeting my mom’s new boyfriend tonight. She wants me to call him “Dad.”
HuskyChick: That’s a sad story, bro.
ForAiriBronze: Not really. My parents divorced when I was little. I don’t have any feelings for my biological father.
HuskyChick: So what’s the problem?
ForAiriBronze: He has a daughter. I’m getting a stepsister.
HuskyChick: Whoa, congrats, man! Stepsisters are better than real sisters. You’re winning at life.
ForAiriBronze: Not really. You see, this stepsister… she’s kind of famous online. She’s a straight-A student, a taekwondo black belt, and a total badass. No one messes with her.
HuskyChick: Sounds awesome!
ForAiriBronze: That’s why I’m freaking out. You know I hate tsunderes and tomboys. What if she’s like that? I can’t even fight back. And if my mom marries this guy, I’m screwed.
HuskyChick: Don’t believe everything you read online. I posted online that you’re an idiot.
ForAiriBronze: You’re such a jerk.
HuskyChick: Come on, man, be grateful! You’re getting a little sister! You want a brother instead? I’m so jealous.
ForAiriBronze: A brother would be easy. Just ignore him and he’ll go away. But a sister? That’s a whole different level of responsibility.
HuskyChick: Dude, stop bragging about your sister or I’m blocking you.
ForAiriBronze: Okay, okay. Wish me luck. I hope I can make a good first impression.
Thanks to those chat logs, I knew exactly what he was thinking, what he was hoping for.
“So, Yi Yao, what was the first anime you ever watched?” he asked, breaking the silence, leaning closer.
His enthusiasm was startling. Was this the same quiet, reserved boy from my previous life?
“Um… I think it was… ‘Shakugan no Shana’…”
” ‘Shakugan no Shana’?”
I nodded.
“Really? Why that one?”
“I… I thought Shana was cool when she fought.”
I stuck out my tongue playfully, my voice filled with mock admiration. “If I could be as strong as her, my dad wouldn’t have to worry about me so much.”
Creating a idealized version of myself, a personality similar to Yoshino’s.
This was a critical hit, I was sure of it.
“So that’s why you started training in martial arts?”
“Yeah…”
Wow, I totally misjudged her—that’s what you’re thinking, right, dear onii-chan?
“But… you don’t look like you’ve ever trained in martial arts.” He glanced at my legs, their smooth, unblemished skin visible beneath my sundress. “You look like a normal, cute little sister.”
Martial arts training didn’t necessarily result in bulging muscles. Yi Yao had focused on agility and technique, not brute strength. And her taekwondo training had included tai chi, which emphasized grace and fluidity.
But I had to admit, her physique was exceptional.
No matter how much she sweat, how intensely she trained, her legs remained slender and toned, her skin fair and unblemished. She wasn’t particularly curvy, but her figure was undeniably attractive.
“Hee hee, I’m still clumsy,” I said, playing dumb, scratching my head awkwardly. “I have a lot to learn. I need to work harder…”
Diligent, humble, eager to learn.
You like perfection? I can be whatever you want me to be.
“Yi Yao!”
My father called out from the kitchen. “Can you go to the fruit stand and get a bottle of soy sauce? We’re running low.”
“O-okay!”
I jumped up from the sofa, bowed to my “brother,” and hurried towards the door, my new crystal sandals clicking against the floor.
My father’s fruit stand had recently reopened after a brief closure. It was located in a nearby shopping district.
He often cooked at the stand when he was too busy to come home, so he kept a supply of cooking ingredients there.
The streets were deserted as I made my way to the fruit stand, most people busy preparing dinner. The employee, Da Hui, was lounging on a pile of pineapples, engrossed in his phone.
“Um…”
I forgot to switch back to my usual persona, my voice a soft whisper.
“Huh?” He looked up. “Can I help you, little girl?”
“A bottle of soy sauce…”
“Soy sauce?”
He stared at me, dumbfounded, then pointed at the sign above the shop. “This is a fruit stand. We don’t sell soy sauce.”
“Oh… I, um, sorry.”
I snapped out of character. “Da Hui, it’s me, Yi Yao.”
“You’re Yi Yao?”
He scrutinized me, his jaw slack. “Wow, I’ve never seen you dressed like this. What’s the occasion? Got a boyfriend?”
“No…”
I ignored him, entering the back room and grabbing an unopened bottle of soy sauce.
“I’ll be going now.”
“You look great, by the way,” he called out as I left. “You’re already pretty, but with a little effort, you could be a goddess. Just standing here would attract customers.”
Is that so?
His words triggered a moment of introspection.
So much of this world was artificial.
The shop assistant’s smile was fake, but it made customers feel welcome.
The boss’s words of encouragement were insincere, but they motivated employees.
So girls had to learn to wear makeup, to dress up, to present a curated version of themselves, to bring happiness to others… Right?
If everyone embraced this artificiality, if they never expressed anger or resentment, if they always wore a mask of happiness, wouldn’t that lead to a harmonious society?
Everyone wearing a mask, their left hand holding a knife, their right hand extended in a gesture of friendship.
“I’m back…”
I entered the apartment, slipping back into my “little sister” persona, and handed the soy sauce to my father in the kitchen.
Mo Ziyang was gone.
I knew where to find him.
As expected, he was in my room, his eyes wide with fascination as he admired the anime posters on my walls.
Entering a girl’s room without permission? Such a bad onii-chan.
“S-sorry…”
I rushed towards him, flustered, as if he had caught me doing something embarrassing. I closed the lid of the half-eaten container of dried plums on my desk and shoved it into a drawer.
“I was in a hurry after school… I didn’t have time to clean… It’s a bit messy…”
A perfectly tidy room would raise suspicions. A few strategically placed snacks and a hint of disarray created a more realistic, less contrived image. And if he happened to enjoy snacks, it would add to my “cute little foodie” appeal.
Did university students like snacks? Of course they did. They had the most free time of any demographic, their days filled with classes, gaming sessions, and endless boredom. Those who didn’t pick up smoking often developed a fondness for snacks.
“It’s not messy. It’s cute for a girl to be a little messy.”
He gestured towards my meticulously decorated desk and bed, his voice filled with curiosity. “Do you spend a lot of time at home?”
“Not always,” I replied, settling down on my bed, my legs swinging nervously. “But… I don’t have many friends. If I go out, it’s usually just for a walk…”
Hinting at my loneliness, my lack of a boyfriend, further reinforcing the image of a semi-otaku.
And it was true.
I had very few friends.
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