The Yang mansion stood cloaked in stillness as if every part of its walls mourned with the family. Even the faint rustle of leaves outside seed to hold its breath. The air felt heavier today, like it always did on this date. Eu-h had never been born, but her presence still lingered in the ho. A child who never had a voice and yet spoke through the ache in her family’s eyes this day every year.
Mingshen had returned to his room. But Jia couldn’t. She stood in the living room, thinking. She then moved quietly through the kitchen, her sleeves rolled to her elbows and apron tied around her waist. She rembered Yang Bingqing’s chirpy chatter of one ti and then got to work. The scent of simring lotus root soup, light soy and ginger, rose with the steam
Jia chopped the spring onions slowly, lost in thought. She wasn’t sure what exactly to cook at first - anything too festive might seem inappropriate but sothing too plain might deepen the gloom. So, she went for warmth and nostalgia. Dishes Mingshen had told her his mother used to make when he was young.
A bowl of scrambled eggs with tomatoes glistening with just enough oil, stir-fried green beans with garlic, so mushrooms and fish soup. And rice, of course. Always rice. For a mont, she pondered if she should make tofu pudding. Yang Bingqing had never had it since her daughter’s death. Not even once in these twelve long years. But she decided against it.
The mory of the food she craved while carrying her would only deepen the somber she thought. She wasn’t sure if Yang Bingqing was ready to face that sweet savory dish today.
Her eyes flicked to the wall clock. It was already past seven. The house was quiet. Not the comfortable, end-of-day kind of quiet but the one that weighed heavily on hearts.
Yang Cheng had closed himself in the study since morning while Yang Bingqing sat in the garden with a shawl over her shoulders, staring blankly at the fountain.
Jia knew that grief didn’t always co in sobs or loud wails. It was just there. Quietly. Yet with a force that was enough to plunge the wound deep until it bled. She didn’t wish to see this family lost in the darkness.
She set the table slowly. The wooden surface reflected the warm glow of the hanging bulbs above. She placed five sets of chopsticks even though she debated leaving one set out. But it felt wrong to do so. If anything, the table should always remain set for five.
Taking a deep breath, Jia wiped her hands and dropped a ssage from her phone. As a reply to her ssage, Bojing arrived at the mansion a few minutes later.
"Y-You called sis?"
She smiled. "I prepared dinner for everyone."
Bojing stared at the table and looked at all the warm dishes. His gaze fell on a fifth set of chopsticks and tears pooled in his eyes as he caught onto the aning. He broke down in silence with his shoulders trembling.
"Th-There should be only f-four sets, sis...I...I-I don’t..."
"How can you think of sothing like that?" Her eyes slightly widened. "You are a part of this family. Mingshen has always treated you like his younger brother."
He bit his lip hard, tears plopping down his cheeks. "I...I am not h-his brother, sis...E-Eu-h was his sister...I-I c-can never t-take her place..."
Jia stood before him and gently held his hands in hers. She wiped his tears and faintly smiled.
"You never had to take her place, Bojing. Eu-h cannot be replaced. But at the sa ti, you cannot be replaced either. You are Mingshen’s brother and Eu-h...his sister. It was always a family of five."
Bojing stared down at the floor.
Was that really so? He wondered.
Eu-h’s death had left everybody broken, him included. Yet whenever he watched the family mourn for her, Bojing failed to realize his own standing. At tis, he felt that Mingshen’s gaze reflected only the presence of his sister...or her absence - the real sibling he was supposed to have.
But was he considered a brother?
Bojing considered Mingshen as his benefactor and eventually, his elder brother. But did Mingshen ever see him the way?
He didn’t know. He wasn’t sure. Mingshen loved Eu-h despite being visibly uncomfortable with the large age gap that would have been between them. Yet, there was a distinct sense of doting in his eyes he had noticed at tis during Yang Bingqing’s pregnancy. That doting vanished with her death. He never looked the sa again. And sowhere, Bojing had started to feel a sense of distance between him and Mingshen.
It was Yang Cheng, Yang Bingqing, Mingshen and...Eu-h. That was the family of four.
Jia’s brows were slightly knitted. "If you don’t believe , then you can see for yourself."
She made her way to the study first and knocked softly.
No answer.
"Uncle," she said gently. "Dinner is ready."
"I’m not hungry," ca the deep, tired voice from behind the door after a long pause.
"I understand," she replied quietly. "But I made lotus root soup."
There was a pause. Then silence again.
Jia let him be, not pushing further. She went to the garden next, finding Yang Bingqing still unmoving, her eyes following the water pouring over the fountain.
"Aunt?" Jia said softly, kneeling beside her. "It’s getting cold. I’ve made sothing warm for dinner."
Yang Bingqing turned slightly to look at her, her expression unreadable. "...He told you, didn’t he?"
Jia nodded after a second.
She turned to gaze back at the fountain again. "So he told you..."
Her voice quivered, a sense of relief escaping through her breath.
"Sotis Cheng and I talk but Mingshen...he never once opened up. He refused to talk about her even with us," she quietly said, "He would get very angry if we tried to so we let him be. I thought it would always be lodged in his heart like a bullet. He can be very chatty to the point that he annoys everybody around him but...he can also go absolutely silent at tis. But he told you today..."
Her eyelashes trembled and so did her lips. "He finally talked about her..."
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