The Fragility of Boundaries

Zora lived in Z Province until she was eight years old. Her hometown was a small village in the mountains, nestled at the intersection of the north and south, with rolling hills, distinct seasons, and winters that were cold and summers that were scorching hot.

Her parents had long since divorced. The only family photo they had together was taken when Zora was two, with her family standing stiffly in front of a studio backdrop. She was a tiny thing, dressed in an awkward pink tulle dress with a red dot painted on her forehead, staring blankly at the camera. On either side of her were her parents, their faces blurred in the photo, but still, you could see the youthful beauty and handsomeness of her parents through the haze.

After that family photo, her home fell apart. Zora went to live with her mother, Megan Grace. Before long, she was sent to her grandmother's house in the countryside, where she grew up in a small village.

Megan had an unexpected pregnancy and a hasty marriage. She was just in her early twenties then, working as a sales assistant at a clothing store in town. She was beautiful and loved to have fun with plenty of suitors, and she paid little attention to her daughter. In the following years, as the labor wave grew, Megan followed her boyfriend to the coastal cities for work. She would return looking glamorous, always wearing fashionable clothes and bringing a small sum of living expenses for her mother, enough to get by.

There was supposed to be child support from Zora's biological father. In the beginning, he sent it for two years, but then he moved to XJ province, remarried, and started a family of his own. The distance was too far, and gradually, he severed all ties with his past life. The relatives on her mother's side were also struggling to survive and no longer kept in touch.

Zora grew up mostly on her own. With Megan away, her grandmother passed away, and Zora was sent to live with her aunt in the town. Her aunt's family had a daughter and a son, and they all attended the same school. They were her companions, but life with them wasn't as happy as it seemed.

Her aunt wasn't cruel or abusive, but life was tough. There was always a sense of distance and neglect. Her cousins always wore their house keys around their necks, but Zora didn't have one. If no one was home, she had to wait at the door, no matter the time.

One of Zora's clearest memories was when her aunt's family went back to the countryside for a funeral. They forgot Zora didn't have a key, and when she returned from school hungry, she had to wait at the door until nine o'clock at night. A kind neighbor saw her sitting there and took her in for the night. When her aunt's family came back and found out, there was no sign of sympathy from them at all.

At mealtime, she was always left out of the conversation. She never got good food, and when she shared a room with her cousin, she felt like a servant—always stepping back, doing the chores, washing dishes, sweeping the floor. Her cousins would argue over TV shows, and Zora would just sit and watch, not even able to make a choice about what to watch.

After her grandmother's death, Megan returned even less frequently. However, the child support still came regularly. Zora wore her cousin's hand-me-downs. In this household, it was normal for the younger daughter to wear the older sister's clothes. Fortunately, one winter, when Megan returned to her hometown, she saw Zora wearing a pair of worn-out cotton shoes, their soles full of holes, yet still on her feet. Zora's cheeks, ears, and hands were covered in frostbite. Everyone said she liked to play with cold water and didn't like to wear clothes, but mother and daughter shared the same fear of the cold. The winters back home were freezing, with no central heating or air conditioning, just a coal stove to survive the cold.

Although their relationship wasn't close, Megan couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy when she saw her daughter's frostbitten face.

Over the years, Megan had been picky and had never remarried. She had relied on men for support while working, living comfortably but without saving much. Her looks had faded since her twenties, but she still knew how to dress—lipstick, fashionable dresses, and a touch of femininity that she still carried well. Now, she was determined to find a good man to settle down with. And Zora? Well, she would have to bring her along, or else Zora might end up hating her.

It wasn't easy finding a suitable man, and Megan had high standards. Eventually, she met someone through online chats, a man from a city called Vine City, located further south. His city was wealthier than theirs. The two of them connected deeply, almost like soulmates. The man had a good job, worked for a government institution, and was well-educated. He was good-looking, and Zora had seen his photo—he was a refined, clean-cut middle-aged man.

Megan stayed in Vine City for a month and returned glowing with vitality, overjoyed to help Zora pack her luggage. She insisted on discarding all the old cotton-padded jackets that her cousin had left behind, saying that Vine City had a pleasant climate with long summers and mild winters, making such heavy clothing unnecessary. She threw the clothes in front of her aunt, whose face turned bright red. In the end, her aunt went to the mall and bought her a beautiful, expensive dress as a farewell gift.

With their meager belongings packed, mother and daughter took the train to an unfamiliar city and a foreign family. It was Zora's first time on a train, her first time leaving the province. As the green train chugged through the mountains, entering dark tunnels, Zora held her breath, eagerly awaiting the light at the end of the tunnel. She reveled in the sensation of the journey, surrounded by people from all walks of life, each with their own accents. The smell of instant noodles and peanuts filled the air, and the train made its gradual stops at distant stations.

Vine City.

The city was lush with trees, thick and rich in greenery, and the air was heavy with a strange, damp heat. Flowers bloomed everywhere, their fragrance mixing with the humid air. Zora tugged at her dress, feeling the air dry her skin and then envelop it in a sticky heat.

No one came to pick them up, so the mother and daughter took a taxi. They finally got off in a bustling residential area. Megan, holding Zora's hand with one hand and dragging the suitcase with the other, walked with her head held high toward a five-story residential building amidst the whispers and curious glances of passersby.

Zora still remembered that scene. People couldn't help but stop and stare. Her mother, with dyed blonde hair, wore a leopard-print dress, black stockings, and high-heeled sandals, strutting like a proud peacock. Zora's hair was tied in a ponytail, with a hairband adorned with two shiny, round pearls. She wore a white sleeveless dress with tiny purple floral patterns, a satin bow tied at the back, and three layers of skirt hemmed with a wavy purple trim. When she looked in the mirror, even she was stunned by her own reflection.

Megan knocked on the door of a second-floor apartment.

A man opened the door, thin and delicate with a high nose and big eyes. Seeing the two of them, he smiled warmly and helped bring in their luggage. "You've arrived, welcome, welcome."

Megan gave Zora a subtle push.

"Hello, Mr. Thorn."

"Ah, such a well-behaved girl," Leo smiled warmly.

The apartment was a two-bedroom unit. The bedrooms were side by side, facing east, while the balcony faced west. In the middle were the kitchen, bathroom, and living room. The layout was quite spacious. Zora had always lived in a single-story house, so this was her first time seeing an apartment. She looked down at the yellow wooden floor beneath her feet and the refrigerator outside the kitchen door, feeling a strange sensation in her chest.

In one of the bedrooms, there was a white boxy machine with a keyboard and speakers. The music blasting from it was loud and booming. Megan noticed Zora was staring curiously, and with a hint of pride, explained, "Mr. Thorn is a computer enthusiast. Once he sits down in front of the computer, he can't get up."

Megan had been here for a month, and she was very comfortable, already taking on the role of the "lady of the house." She directed Zora to change her shoes, wash her hands, sit on the sofa, and go to the kitchen to boil water and make tea. She even asked what they were having for lunch, offering to cook or go out to eat.

Leo, ever polite, turned on the TV, handed Zora the remote, and made small talk with her for a while. His name was Leo Thorn, an employee at the power company. His ex-wife had passed away a few years ago, and he had a son, Jax, who was two years older than Zora and in fourth grade. Since Zora was moving in with Megan, Leo had already helped with her transfer to the same school as Jax.

Zora looked up at him with her bright, clear eyes, nodding obediently, saying, "Okay, thank you, Mr. Thorn."

Not long after, Leo retreated into his room and sat down in front of the computer. After a while, Megan brought him a cup of tea and sat next to him, whispering a few words in his ear. The door was closed, leaving Zora alone in the living room, watching TV.

She studied the house. It wasn't very tidy, but the details told a different story. The teapot and cups were elegant and delicate. The TV's dust cover was hand-embroidered with fine tassels. On the walls hung paintings she didn't understand, their colors blurry and soft. In the dusty, empty cabinets, a few porcelain dolls remained, remnants of a woman's presence. In these small details, Zora could still feel the faint aura of the previous mistress of the house.

Megan emerged from the room, her hair styled in glossy curls. Leo was still seated at his computer. Megan explained that he was busy trading stocks. Then she asked Zora if she wanted to go out with her to buy some ready-to-eat food downstairs. Zora didn't respond, her eyes glued to the TV screen. After a moment, she heard the door close and realized her mother had gone downstairs.

They ate their first meal at home: ready-made dishes, stir-fried vegetables, and a bottle of white wine. Just as they were about to dig in, the door opened, and a boy walked in. He was covered in sweat from playing outside. He stood at the door, changing his shoes, and when he saw the group at the table, he blinked without showing any sign of surprise. He grabbed a bowl and sat down at the table.

He was a very handsome boy, dressed in a white short-sleeved shirt, which was a little dusty and yellowing at the back. When his long eyelashes lowered, it gave him a strangely clean appearance. But when his eyes lifted, his gaze was sharp, mischievous, and hard, as though he was not someone to be easily messed with.

"This is my son, Jax."

"Hello, Jax."

"Just call her Zora."

Jax chewed on the bone of a roast chicken leg, spitting the bone fragments onto the table without a care in the world. Leo, his head lowered, sipped his drink leisurely. Megan continued chatting, drawing the conversation to a lighter topic, signaling for everyone to eat and drink.

At that time, Zora wasn't very attractive. Her hair was dry and messy, her body thin and frail. She looked like a little old woman, numb to the world, but her eyes were beautiful—like a quiet, clear spring. Unlike Megan's gaudy, flashy beauty, Zora's features suggested she was a hidden gem, waiting to blossom as she grew older.

Zora was eight, and Jax was ten. She was in second grade, and he was in fourth. They were just a little over two years apart, not quite two, with only sixteen months between them. Jax's birthday was December 24th. Zora remembered this because Christmas Eve and Christmas Day had come to resemble Valentine's Day back home. Zora was born on April 19th two years later, and Jax had started school a year earlier than her. She heard he had been accepted early because he had answered the interview questions too smartly.

There were only two bedrooms in the apartment, so Zora had to share with Jax. Fortunately, the room was long and rectangular, not too small. They added a single bed, and between the two beds was a desk. A curtain was drawn down the middle to separate their spaces. Zora had the side by the window, while Jax slept on the other side, near the door. It wasn't ideal, but it would have to do. The wardrobe and desk were shared, divided equally, each of them having their own half.

After the adults had assigned their spaces, Zora unpacked her few belongings and began organizing her school supplies and notebooks into the drawer by her bed. Jax, still in the room, watched her open the desk drawer. Then, in one swift motion, he walked over and kicked her hard on the calf. The pain made her gasp and shrink back, her leg contorted at an odd angle, and she winced, biting her lip to stop herself from crying out.

Jax quickly covered her mouth with his hand, preventing her from making a sound. His hand smelled of rust, mud, sour garbage, grass, and roasted chicken—an unpleasant mixture that made Zora want to pull away.

"If you say anything, I'll kill you," he whispered, his voice cold and threatening. The words scraped out of his throat like a warning.

Zora's frail body trembled.

That night, after everyone had finished their baths and gone to bed, the two bedroom doors were shut tight. Zora lay in bed, slowly rubbing the bruise on her leg, unable to sleep. She turned over and, through the gap in the curtains, saw Jax lying on his side with his head covered, his back to her. He wore a white tank top and knee-length shorts, his body curled up, the sharp lines of his shoulder bones making him look like a silent mountain.

Bone, Zora, you've outdone yourself.