Volume 1 / Chapter 5: Bicycle Maintenance
October 7th, 1999.
The final day of the National Day holiday.
School starts again tomorrow.
It was around noon, and the sunlight bathed the ground in a warm, golden glow. A cool autumn breeze brushed across Mo Xueyaoâs face, lifting a few strands of her jet-black hair.
It was already deep into fall. The days werenât hot anymore, and standing under the sun even felt pleasantly warmâthough if you stayed long enough, youâd still break into a sweat.
Her father had left the house early in the morning, but surprisingly, he was already back by noon.
He said he was worn out today. After finishing a morning run hauling goods with his tricycle, he planned to take the rest of the day off.
But instead of resting, he showed up with a pile of tools in hand and called Xueyao downstairs to help maintain her bicycle.
 âDad, itâs just an old bike. Is it really worth the effort?â
Xueyao crouched in front of the bicycle, resting her chin in her palm, lazily questioning the point of it all.
âEven old things deserve to be cherished and cared for,â
her father replied with a smile, wiping the frame with a damp cloth like it was a prized antique.
âIf you take good care of it, itâll last longer.â
 âBut just wiping the frame? Can that really be called âmaintenanceâ?â Xueyao remained skeptical.
 âEven if itâs something small, you canât ignore it just because it seems insignificant,â he answered, grabbing a can of oil.
âXiaoyao, help me turn the pedals.â
âOh, like this?â
Xueyao gripped the pedal with her fingers and started rotating it.
 âThatâs itâdonât go too fast.â
He nodded, then drizzled oil onto the chain with one hand while using a small brush in the other to scrub it clean.
 âDone yet?â
 âAlmost. Let me check the brake pads.â
He leaned in for a close inspection. âThey're pretty worn down. Time to replace them.â
 âWait, you know how to fix bikes?â Xueyao looked genuinely surprised, like she was seeing her father for the first time.
 âOf course. I assembled my very first bike all by myself,â he said, clearly proud of the memory.
âStill rideable, you know.â
In her mind, Xueyao pictured the old black bike buried in the back of the garage, completely covered in dust.
 âStill rideable⊠are you sure about that?â
 âJust needs some repairs. Not much use for it these days anyway. Besides, Iâve got that blue bike now. Though to be honest, ever since I started riding the tricycle every day, I hardly even use that one.â
That ânewâ bike was at least two or three years old.
After changing the brake pads, her father moved on to check the tires and handlebars, tightening the screws, and swapping out the wire-mesh basket with a sturdier one made from thicker iron rodsâso it could carry heavier loads.
Finally, he polished the bike with wax. Unless you looked really closely, it couldâve passed for brand-new.
 âNext time, letâs give it a new paint job.â
He squinted at the bike thoughtfully.
 âWhatâs wrong with the pale yellow?â
Xueyao asked.
 âGets dirty too easily. And the paintâs chipped in a few spots. If weâre repainting it, what color do you want?â
He scratched at the stubble on his chin, and before Xueyao could reply, he added:
âHow about pure white?â
 âHey, wouldnât that get dirty even faster?! Youâre contradicting yourself!â
She narrowed her eyes at him.
âIf it were up to me, Iâd go with black.â
 âBlack, huhâŠ? Hmm, feels a bit too somber.â
 âI just want something that wonât look filthy after a single ride.â Xueyao shrugged. She didnât really care.
 âWhat about black and red?â
She imagined it and gave a small nod. âThat⊠could work.âÂ
 âAlright, letâs call it a day.â Her father let out a long yawn.
âHavenât slept properly in days. Iâm going to shower and crash.â
âYou go on ahead. Iâll park the bike in the garage.â Xueyao waved him off and wheeled the bicycle away.
The wax was still fresh. It was best not to touch it too muchâor else sheâd end up with greasy smears all over her hands and clothes.
After parking the bike, she came back inside and glanced toward the master bedroom.
Sunlight streamed in through a crack in the curtains. Her fatherâs hair was still wet, but he was already snoring in rhythmic harmonyâdeep asleep.
Mixed in with his damp black hair were a few strands of white.
Xueyao remembered clearly: on the day she left for surgery in Shanghai, his hair was still black and glossy. But now, it looked more like dry straw, and time had left behind its traces in silver.
Still, he didnât seem to notice. He sprawled out in a starfish pose, snoring away without a care in the world.
Xueyao stepped into the room and quietly adjusted the curtains, closing them tightly to block out the remaining sunlight.
Then she tiptoed out and gently closed the door behind her.
Most ordinary peopleâs lives are like this.
Bittersweet, but mostly bitter. Sweet moments are rareâprecious exactly because theyâre fleeting.
And perhaps thatâs why, when sweetness does come, it feels especially wonderful⊠and worth cherishing.
Back in her small room, Xueyao saw the two freshly washed school uniforms lying neatly in her wardrobe.
Aside from those, everything else in there was from her time as a boy.
Her parents had been busy lately, and she hadnât brought up buying any new clothes. So her wardrobe remained a little time capsuleâfilled with echoes of boyhood.
Xueyao stared at the girls' uniform for a long time. Then, suddenly, she reached out and grabbed the hem of the skirt.
âI mean⊠I have to wear it tomorrow anyway. No point putting it off. Might as well give it a try now, right?â She muttered, taking down the blue-and-white uniform.
The fabric was soft and smooth. Just touching it made her cheeks flush a faint pink.
It felt⊠almost like reaching out and touching a girl standing in front of herâwearing that very skirt. Her hand brushing against the fabric as if by accident.
That thought made her momentarily dizzy.
But the daze quickly turned into a hollow emptiness.
Because this skirt wasnât on some other girl. It was hers.
Xueyao took off her boyâs shirt and looked at her reflection in the mirror.
Pale skin. Petite frame. A soft, delicate appearance that seemed gentle, almost doll-like.
Her chest was still flat, no different from before. No obvious changes.
She studied her reflection in silence, then took a deep breath and slipped on the short-sleeved blouse.
 âHuhâŠ? Whatâs that?â She narrowed her eyes. On her chestâbarely noticeableâthere seemed to be the faintest sign of a bump.
That had never been there before.
Maybe it was a sign of puberty? Body development?
She gently pressed down, and a strange sensation rippled through her brainâso foreign that it startled her into pulling her hand back in panic.
The skirt was easier to wear than pantsâjust slip it on.
But the moment she did, her ears turned beet red.
This was real.
She was wearing girlsâ clothes.
For the first time in her memory, she was really wearing something made for girls.
A breeze drifted in through the window, rustling the hem of her skirt.
More wind funneled in from below, making her lower half feel unusually chilly.
It was nothing like wearing pants.
Her heart started beating faster.
She stood in front of the mirror, long hair falling down her shoulders.
She was looking at her reflectionâbut it didnât feel like looking at herself. It was like seeing someone else. A girl. A stranger.
Whoâs the person you know best? Yourself.
And who do you know the least?
Also yourself.
She stood frozen like that for three whole minutes.
Then, with a long breath, she removed the uniform and put her boyâs clothes back on.
Pants really did feel more⊠secure.
Like they let her pretend, if only for a moment, that she was still a boy.
Maybe it was a kind of psychological self-defense.
She carefully folded the uniform and returned it to the wardrobe, then sat at her desk to prepare her things for tomorrowâs class.
Her plan was to bring all the textbooks on the first day and stuff them into her desk at schoolâso that sheâd only have to carry her homework and the dayâs materials from then on. Itâd lighten the load.
Time passed without her noticing. By the time she looked up, the sun was already dipping below the horizon.
Click. Creakâ
The sound of the front door unlocking and opening.
Xueyao ran over, puzzled, and saw her mother stepping inside, taking off her shoes.
 âHuh? Mom, why are you back so early today?â
 âThe family I work for doesnât need a nanny tonight,â
her mother replied.
âYour dad home yet?â
 âHe came back at noon.â
 âOhâŠâ She nodded, then seemed to remember something and handed Xueyao a paper bag.
âI bought you some clothes. Youâll need them sooner or later.â
 âBut I already have a uniformâŠâ Xueyao grumbled, opening the bagâand instantly turning bright red.
Inside were girlsâ undergarments and a set of tiny triangle panties, no bigger than a palm.
 âYou probably arenât used to wearing bras yet,â her mother said matter-of-factly, causing Xueyao to stare at her toes in embarrassment.
âSo I got these undershirt-style ones. Thereâs a strap in the backâyou tie it around your neck. Iâll teach you later.â
 âMmm⊠okayâŠâ
 âI also got hair ties and clips. Iâll show you how to do a ponytail later. Pretty sure your school doesnât allow girls to just let their hair down, right?â She looked her daughter over.
âBut for now, come help me with dinner.â
âHuh? You never make me help beforeâŠâ
âGirls need to learn this stuff. You canât go through life not knowing how to cook,â her mother said, gently pinching her cheek.
âNow come on.â
 âWhy do girls have to learn all this stuff anywayâŠ? Being a boy was way betterâŠâ Xueyao muttered, too soft for her mother to hear.
But her mom had already gone into the kitchen, and the sound of running water echoed out.
âHurry up and help out!â
she called out again.
 âYeah, yeah⊠coming.â
Xueyao walked in, resigned.
It was still her homeâs kitchenâbut now, it felt oddly unfamiliar. The only things sheâd ever cooked here were noodles⊠and scrambled egg fried rice. And come to think of it, the last time she made noodles was⊠about a week ago.
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