Page 202 - I Live in the Slums: Stories (The Margellos World Republic of Letters)

“Zhen, Zhen . . . ,” her lover called to her from the darkness. His voice
seemed quite funny.
“Bah! Why are you here?” Zhen roared.
“I’m in your home.”

Frowning, Zhen began to think. Her family couldn’t have moved to the
palace, could they? Could the palace have changed into her home? Just now, the
queen had definitely been sitting across from her, hadn’t she? Wasn’t she going
to help her “solve her problem” right away? What kind of problem was it? At
this point, her “problem” unfolded before her. She saw an abyss. Of course she
didn’t want to fall into the abyss but neither did she want to leave immediately.
Her injured hand seemed to remind her: she had no choice. Her hand was
swollen like a dumpling.
Zhen giggled for no reason and said to the darkness, “Liuhei (this was her
lover’s name), turn on the lamp.”
This time, she waited a long time without getting a response. Zhen sensed a
numbness starting to spread out from her heart. But why wasn’t she losing
physical strength or consciousness? This kind of death was frightening.
Zhen began moving. Every two steps, she kicked out blindly. Then she heard
bursts of sound coming one after another; perhaps she had shattered some
porcelain dishes. Unable to resist her feeling of schadenfreude, she wanted to

damage some more things before she died. At a minimum, she wanted to scare
the despicable Liuhei. After kicking some more, she felt something was wrong
—why were porcelain dishes being constantly kicked over? Was Liuhei up to
some mischief? She had no sooner thought of this than she lost her enthusiasm
for breaking things. Just then, she happened to feel a high-backed chair with her
foot—probably the one she had sat in before. After sitting down, she heard the
queen talking across from her.
“Hasn’t your problem been solved?” she asked impatiently.
“Thank you, Queen. I think so. There’s nothing for me to do in the palace, so
I’d better go home.” Her throat felt dry as she spoke.
“Go home?” the queen sneered. “How?”
“I don’t know. Am I dying?”
“You have to ask yourself that.”

The queen’s last words were fluttering in the air. Zhen wanted to kick the
door again. Time after time, she wildly kicked an imaginary gate. All at once,
she fell to the floor.
“Liuhei, go to hell!” she cursed.
She heard the queen snickering, and at the same time she touched the door
handle—her own home’s door. Creaking, the door opened. It was light inside
because it was already daytime. Everything was where she had left it. Her