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 Xueyao’s face, lifting a few strands of her jet-black hair.

It was already deep into fall. The days weren’t hot anymore, and standing under the sun even felt pleasantly warm—though if you stayed long enough, you’d 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.

 “Dad, it’s just an old bike. Is it really worth the effort?”

Xueyao crouched in front of the bicycle, resting her chin in her palm, lazily questioning the point of it all.

“Even old things deserve to be cherished and cared for,”

her father replied with a smile, wiping the frame with a damp cloth like it was a prized antique.

“If you take good care of it, it’ll last longer.”

 “But just wiping the frame? Can that really be called ‘maintenance’?” Xueyao remained skeptical.

 “Even if it’s something small, you can’t ignore it just because it seems insignificant,” he answered, grabbing a can of oil.

“Xiaoyao, help me turn the pedals.”

“Oh, like this?”

Xueyao gripped the pedal with her fingers and started rotating it.

 “That’s it—don’t go too fast.”

He nodded, then drizzled oil onto the chain with one hand while using a small brush in the other to scrub it clean.

 “Done yet?”

 “Almost. Let me check the brake pads.”

He leaned in for a close inspection. “They're pretty worn down. Time to replace them.”

 “Wait, you know how to fix bikes?” Xueyao looked genuinely surprised, like she was seeing her father for the first time.

 “Of course. I assembled my very first bike all by myself,” he said, clearly proud of the memory.

“Still rideable, you know.”

In her mind, Xueyao pictured the old black bike buried in the back of the garage, completely covered in dust.

 “Still rideable… are you sure about that?”

 “Just needs some repairs. Not much use for it these days anyway. Besides, I’ve got that blue bike now. Though to be honest, ever since I started riding the tricycle every day, I hardly even use that one.”

That “new” 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 rods—so it could carry heavier loads.

Finally, he polished the bike with wax. Unless you looked really closely, it could’ve passed for brand-new.

 “Next time, let’s give it a new paint job.”

He squinted at the bike thoughtfully.

 “What’s wrong with the pale yellow?”

Xueyao asked.

 “Gets dirty too easily. And the paint’s chipped in a few spots. If we’re repainting it, what color do you want?”

He scratched at the stubble on his chin, and before Xueyao could reply, he added:

“How about pure white?”

 “Hey, wouldn’t that get dirty even faster?! You’re contradicting yourself!”

She narrowed her eyes at him.

“If it were up to me, I’d go with black.”

 “Black, huh…? Hmm, feels a bit too somber.”

 “I just want something that won’t look filthy after a single ride.” Xueyao shrugged. She didn’t really care.

 “What about black and red?”

She imagined it and gave a small nod. “That… could work.” 

 “Alright, let’s call it a day.” Her father let out a long yawn.

“Haven’t slept properly in days. I’m going to shower and crash.”

“You go on ahead. I’ll park the bike in the garage.” Xueyao waved him off and wheeled the bicycle away.

The wax was still fresh. It was best not to touch it too much—or else she’d 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 father’s hair was still wet, but he was already snoring in rhythmic harmony—deep 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 didn’t 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 people’s lives are like this.

Bittersweet, but mostly bitter. Sweet moments are rare—precious exactly because they’re fleeting.

And perhaps that’s 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 hadn’t brought up buying any new clothes. So her wardrobe remained a little time capsule—filled 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.

“I mean… I have to wear it tomorrow anyway. No point putting it off. Might as well give it a try now, right?” 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 her—wearing 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 wasn’t on some other girl. It was hers.

Xueyao took off her boy’s 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.

 “Huh…? What’s that?” She narrowed her eyes. On her chest—barely noticeable—there 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 brain—so foreign that it startled her into pulling her hand back in panic.

The skirt was easier to wear than pants—just slip it on.

But the moment she did, her ears turned beet red.

This was real.

She was wearing girls’ 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 reflection—but it didn’t feel like looking at herself. It was like seeing someone else. A girl. A stranger.

Who’s 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 boy’s 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 tomorrow’s class.

Her plan was to bring all the textbooks on the first day and stuff them into her desk at school—so that she’d only have to carry her homework and the day’s materials from then on. It’d lighten the load.

Time passed without her noticing. By the time she looked up, the sun was already dipping below the horizon.

Click. Creak—

The sound of the front door unlocking and opening.

Xueyao ran over, puzzled, and saw her mother stepping inside, taking off her shoes.

 “Huh? Mom, why are you back so early today?”

 “The family I work for doesn’t need a nanny tonight,”

her mother replied.

“Your dad home yet?”

 “He came back at noon.”

 “Oh…” She nodded, then seemed to remember something and handed Xueyao a paper bag.

“I bought you some clothes. You’ll need them sooner or later.”

 “But I already have a uniform…” Xueyao grumbled, opening the bag—and instantly turning bright red.

Inside were girls’ undergarments and a set of tiny triangle panties, no bigger than a palm.

 “You probably aren’t used to wearing bras yet,” her mother said matter-of-factly, causing Xueyao to stare at her toes in embarrassment.

“So I got these undershirt-style ones. There’s a strap in the back—you tie it around your neck. I’ll teach you later.”

 “Mmm… okay…”

 “I also got hair ties and clips. I’ll show you how to do a ponytail later. Pretty sure your school doesn’t allow girls to just let their hair down, right?” She looked her daughter over.

“But for now, come help me with dinner.”

“Huh? You never make me help before…”

“Girls need to learn this stuff. You can’t go through life not knowing how to cook,” her mother said, gently pinching her cheek.

“Now come on.”

 “Why do girls have to learn all this stuff anyway…? Being a boy was way better…” 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.

“Hurry up and help out!”

she called out again.

 “Yeah, yeah… coming.”

Xueyao walked in, resigned.

It was still her home’s kitchen—but now, it felt oddly unfamiliar. The only things she’d 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.