“Mei, mother has just told...the truth.” Sang said with an awkward pause, sitting face to face with Mei, lifting a big-boned forearm. Her broad hand with fat fi ngers seemed to enlarge and the red notes in the hand seemed the center of attention. But her conscience gradually fell on Mang, whose face was stiff ening at her sidelong glance and growing purple without her noticing. And yet, with a strange motion implying something obviously strained to Mei, a struggle against a strong will, Sang went on. “Look, for this one thousand fi ve hundred, I have planned to buy some fabric for the coming Spring Festival. But as much of an emergency as it is, as his old sister, this is the least and the most I can do. So take it for now.”