Chapter Three: Brother and Sister

"I scrimped and saved, putting away my pocket money and breakfast money every day, and after months I finally saved up a few hundred yuan to buy a pair of shoes as a gift for my brother, and he still scolded me..."

When faced with the tearful Little Fish, Lucien never knew what to do except apologize. To show his sincerity, he even cooked an extra fish for her that evening—Little Fish was especially fond of seafood, particularly fish.

"Well, Lucien was definitely in the wrong," the landlord, the old master, commented, helping himself to a generous chunk of the fish's cheek.

Lucien felt a pang as he watched; the cheek was the most tender part of the fish, and there were only two bites to a fish, Little Fish's favorite. But then the old master turned and placed the precious piece into Little Fish's bowl with a beaming smile, urging her to eat more.

"Sir, for such a wealthy landlord, you come here to mooch our food without even bringing a dish, only some wine—which I don't even drink. Isn't that a bit much?" Lucien said.

He and the landlord were quite familiar by now, having lived here for years, but it was the first time he'd ever been treated to such freeloading.

He had picked up Little Fish from school, assuming the old master had already left, but to his surprise the old man had stayed, invited himself to the table, and truly made himself at home.

"Who's a landlord? Not me! Landlords were the ones who got overthrown. I'm a true-born member of the people!" The old master thumped his chest. "My father was a revolutionary soldier!"

Lucien kept silent. If you really want to be part of the proletariat, why not donate your four buildings to me? I'll be the landlord for you.

"Besides, Lucien, you owe me three months' rent, don't you? Consider this meal the interest, what's the harm?" the old man said.

"You're right," Lucien replied, too lazy to argue further.

"Little Fish is sensible, but you really aren't," the old master said, sizing them up. "You don't look like siblings at all, not a bit. What were your parents thinking, abandoning such a fine pair of children?"

His words made Lucien frown, and Little Fish cast him a nervous glance. Thankfully, the old man didn't pursue the topic.

"Lucien, you can't just drift along like this. For Little Fish's sake, I'll introduce you to a job at my son's electronics factory—learn a skill, it's better than idling about all day," the old man offered.

Lucien was taken aback; so this was why the old man insisted on staying?

"My brother has a job—he's about to join the provincial track team as a sprinter!" Little Fish protested immediately, displeased at the old master belittling Lucien.

"Sprinting? Provincial team?" The old man shook his head with a laugh, clearly skeptical.

"My brother will not only join the provincial team, he’ll win the provincial championship, the National Games, the Asian championship, and even the Olympic championship!" Little Fish declared proudly.

The old man chuckled. "Tell you what, if you make the provincial team, I’ll waive three months’ rent. If you win any national championship, you can live here rent-free for life."

"And if he wins the Asian or Olympic championship?" Little Fish pressed.

"Then I'll give you a whole building! That's what it means to win glory for the nation!" The old man slapped the table. "My father brought honor to our country on the Korean battlefield. My son, well, he’s just a small-time businessman. But if you can win glory for the nation, I’ll give you a building!"

Lucien eyed the wine glass in the old man's hand and his flushed face, wondering how little he'd had to drink—the old man's tolerance must be low.

"Grandpa, it's a deal! Let's put it in writing..." Little Fish's eyes sparkled.

"Stop that!" Lucien cut off Little Fish’s attempt to get the old man’s fingerprint as a signature. If word got out, people would say they were plotting to steal the old man’s property, and his two sons and three daughters would tear the siblings apart.

Though Lucien was only eighteen, his years as an orphan had taught him the cold realities of the world.

...

Ten o’clock at night.

Lucien finally saw the old master out.

Watching his unsteady steps under the alley’s streetlamp, Lucien figured he’d be all right—after all, the old man lived just next door.

Back inside, Little Fish was already asleep, her rosy cheeks nestled in the quilt. Lucien tucked in the corners around her and picked up the new pair of shoes.

The money for those shoes was suspicious. He gave Little Fish a few coins in pocket money each day, but she’d never been one to save. So where had the money come from?

Still, new shoes were new shoes.

After putting them on, Lucien jumped in place; the support and springiness made him itch to take off running. He’d heard there were even better running shoes, custom-made for athletes’ feet. He wondered how those must feel, and how much faster he might be.

His status bar showed agility at 35.96.

Endurance was 69 out of 100.

Lucien planned to raise his agility to 36.

With the new shoes, he could reliably run under 12 seconds, maybe even break 11.5.

Domestically, the standard for a first-class 100-meter runner was 10.93 seconds; second-class, 11.74; third-class, 12.64. By this measure, Lucien was already at third-class level, but it wasn’t so simple.

His coach’s previous two tests had been timed by hand—always a few tenths of a second off compared to electronic timing. Add in wind and other variables, and the margin of error grew.

Running 12 seconds with the coach meant, all things considered, he’d reached the third-class threshold and could be scouted for the provincial team.

Lucien had never run a 100-meter dash under strict electronic timing. He was very eager to know how fast he could really go on the track.

Time for another set of exercises.

Little Fish slept in the bedroom.

Lucien completed a training set in the living room.

An hour and a half later.

His agility increased by 0.04, hitting 36.

His endurance dropped by 22 points, down to 54 out of 100.

Just right.

Training with endurance around 50 was risky—easy to get hurt.

So Lucien went for a shower.

He got ready for bed.

Tomorrow was an important day.

He’d spent the past three months preparing for it, quitting his part-time job to focus on building every attribute. He had failed once already; the provincial team coach wouldn’t give him many more chances. This last opportunity, he had to seize.

It was a chance to change his and Little Fish’s lives.

Lucien returned to the bedroom.

He looked one more time at Little Fish, sleeping on the top bunk, her face flushed like a little apple.

Lucien had an oval face; Little Fish’s was round.

"It’s true, we don’t look alike. The older we get, the less we resemble each other. This isn’t good..." Lucien mused. Not just the landlord—even strangers could see it.

As Little Fish grew, it became more obvious.

The reason was simple.

Little Fish had been taken in by Lucien.

He’d even given her the name.

And Lucien wasn’t really his own name, either. After being abandoned by his mother, he changed it himself. Why Lucien? Probably because of that old copy of "The Social Contract" he’d found in the trash—he’d thought Lucien sounded Chinese.

"Turned out it was a foreigner’s name..." Lucien lay in bed and soon fell into a deep sleep.

Meanwhile, on the top bunk, Little Fish quietly opened her eyes, her large round eyes gazing at the dark ceiling, revealing a maturity far beyond her years.