Winter in Harbin truly began only when the Songhua River froze.
On the coldest days, the river's thick ice stretched ahead like a massive white stone slab, reaching as far as the eye could see. Wind swept across the surface, carrying fine snowflakes that stung the skin like needles.
When Li Ming was a child, she loved standing by the river and watching people break the ice. Before dawn, a few men would already be on the river with iron picks and wooden buckets. The pickaxes struck with a dull "thump, thump," the sound echoing across the empty river. Cracks spread, forming a circular hole, and dark river water slowly oozed upward.
They would lower buckets into the water with long ropes. When the water was first drawn up, steam rose from it, and soon a thin layer of ice formed along the rim. Li Ming often stood on the bank, watching for a long time. The river was silent, punctuated only by distant dog barks or the rumble of a passing cart. The wind came in gusts, tightening the chest with cold.
Her mother would call from nearby:
"Mingming, come back."
The voice was soft, yet carried far across the empty riverside. Her mother was still young then, working as a sales clerk at the Harbin Department Store, standing behind the counter each day. Glass cases displayed towels, soap, and enamel basins. In winter, the store always smelled of coal stoves mixed with damp woolen clothes.
Li Ming would sometimes sneak into the store to find her. Behind the long counter, her mother wore a thick wool coat with arm mittens, her head bent over the merchandise. Towels were folded neatly, enamel basins reflected a cold white glow under the lights. Occasionally she looked up, smiling at customers: "Do you need help?"
Then she would bend down again, wrapping goods, counting change, checking accounts, every motion precise and calm. Li Ming carefully slipped through the small door by the counter. When her mother saw her, she would pause briefly, then smile, lifting her up and whispering in her ear:
"The ground outside is slippery. Be careful not to fall."
Li Ming loved standing behind the counter, watching her mother work. Outside, the biting wind, the snowy streets, and the hurried passersby seemed blocked by the warmth of that small space.
At night, her mother would sometimes tell stories about her own childhood and family.
Those stories were like shadows of an old era, flickering in Li Ming's memories.
At the time, she did not fully understand many of them.
She only remembered that when her mother spoke of her maternal grandmother, she used a special term—
Erniang.
Erniang had been a dancer in her youth. Half Russian, with light brown eyes and nearly translucent fair skin. She had performed songs and dances at the Maidel Theatre on Central Street long ago.
Later, Erniang was married off to Li Ming's maternal grandfather as his second wife.
⸻
Decades ago, Harbin was a complex city.
Merchants, soldiers, foreigners, and exiles mingled, and one could hear many languages on the streets.
Li Ming's grandfather and eldest aunt ran a fairly large textile business, with stores, warehouses, and workshops spread across several streets. Business was steady.
Her grandfather was a hands-off manager, rarely involved in day-to-day affairs. Most household matters were handled by her eldest aunt—accounts, supplies, social obligations—all organized meticulously.
Until the Japanese arrived in Northeast China.
At first, only a few Japanese merchants came. Dressed in suits and accompanied by interpreters, they spoke politely and expressed a desire to cooperate with her grandfather, selling goods further afield.
That day, they sat in the living room for a long time.
Her grandfather leaned back in his chair, smoking his pipe, seldom speaking.
It was her eldest aunt who truly refused. Closing her ledger, she said calmly but firmly:
"We will not do this business."
The Japanese did not argue, simply nodded, and left.
But the matter did not end there.
Someone in the household was displeased—her mother's older half-brother. He had studied in Japan and considered himself worldly, thinking the family business too conservative and overly reliant on old social connections.
He contacted the Japanese privately and even suggested pressuring the family.
Soon, Japanese military police arrived.
Their boots clattered on the stone roads, heavy and harsh. Initially it was routine inspections, but everyone at home understood their true intention.
One winter afternoon, things escalated.
The police demanded her grandfather and eldest aunt sign a cooperation agreement immediately.
The eldest aunt refused.
The argument intensified. The courtyard filled with people—household staff and curious neighbors.
Suddenly, two Japanese soldiers grabbed her eldest aunt by the arms.
Handcuffs clicked, and heavy shackles clamped her feet.
She did not resist.
She merely turned her head slowly, scanning the courtyard from her grandfather to the children.
In that moment, the courtyard was so silent that one could almost hear the snow fall.
The soldiers took her away.
She never returned.
Later, her older brother fled.
Her sister-in-law could not bear the pressure and hanged herself at home.
Whenever her mother spoke of this, she would fall silent for a long time.
Years later, Li Ming gradually understood—
This was not only her mother's family tragedy, but also a reflection of an era.
⸻
Li Ming's parents met during a gathering between the military and local offices. He worked in the military's civil service, tall and eloquent. Yet in the countryside, he already had a wife three years older and a son.
Later, he fell in love with her mother and divorced his first wife.
Those times were turbulent. The first wife repeatedly caused scenes at the military office. Only after he transferred to local government did the situation gradually calm.
After marriage, Li Ming and her sister Li Wen were born.
Years later, her mother insisted on having another child—a son. She tried various remedies and herbal medicines.
When Xiao Ming was born, the family thought their wish had been fulfilled.
But hospital tests revealed—
Xiao Ming had Down syndrome, along with a congenital heart defect.
The news fell like a heavy stone into the household.
Xiao Ming did not walk until he was five, and spoke slowly. The outside world was never gentle with the vulnerable.
He was often bullied.
His clothes torn, face smeared with paint and mud, and sometimes live roosters shoved into his garments.
Li Ming remembered that day vividly.
Xiao Ming shrank in a corner, trembling.
She and Li Wen were furious but speechless.
The next day, Li Wen intercepted the child who had bullied Xiao Ming and beat him up severely.
Yet the harassment continued.
If Xiao Ming was the most vulnerable in the family, Li Wen was the most troublesome.
She disliked studying, barely graduated elementary school, dropped out of middle school, and often roamed the streets.
Their parents' discipline grew harsher, punishments more frequent.
Li Ming often stood between them, protecting her sister.
She gradually realized that their family was like a rope ready to snap at any moment—and she had to do her best to hold it together.
Later, Li Wen rarely returned home.
Harbin's nights were cold and long.
Whenever her sister was missing, Li Ming would walk the streets searching. Neon lights reflected coldly on the snow. She walked, calling out her sister's name.
Many times, she brought Li Wen home in the early morning.
Li Wen always stubbornly said:
"Don't worry about me, sister."
Yet she would follow her back in the end.
⸻
Winter, 1998.
Li Ming dragged her suitcase out of a Washington, D.C., metro station.
Streetlights flickered on one by one, casting amber light on the damp cobblestones. The air carried a hint of frost.
She instinctively slid her hand into her pocket, clutching her passport tightly.
It was her first winter in the United States.
From a distant café came the aroma of roasted coffee beans. A few pedestrians hurried past, their footsteps echoing on the quiet streets.
She stopped, looking down at her shadow.
Slender, solitary, stretched long beneath the streetlights.
In that moment, she remembered walking alone on the streets of Harbin many years ago, searching for her always-late sister.
Washington appeared calm, safe—subways, cafés, tidy streets, everything orderly.
But Li Ming knew the memories she could not escape. Harbin's past had never left her.
By day, she buried herself in work, trying to forget past grievances bit by bit, yet inner peace eluded her.
Xiao Ming's medical bills, medications, checkups—all required money. Li Wen worked in Shenzhen, occasionally sending some back. Li Ming sent almost all her remaining income to China.
Late at night, she would open her computer, calculating expenses—hospital, medicine—numbers forming invisible lines, enclosing her life tightly.
Snow fell silently outside. On such nights, Li Ming recalled her mother's family stories—war, exile, loss, and perseverance. She understood that her life was only a continuation of her family's long fate. Those faraway relatives still needed her, and she could only move forward.
Snow fell quietly.
Years later, Li Ming established her architectural design firm in D.C. It was in its early days. One evening, she stepped out of the office. Streetlights flickered on; the sky had not yet darkened fully. The air carried the damp chill of early spring.
The phone rang. It was a friend from Harbin, asking briefly about D.C. real estate. After some small talk, before hanging up, he paused:
"I recently went to Shenzhen on business… I think I saw your sister."
Li Ming froze.
"Where?"
A few seconds of silence.
"In that kind of place."
He offered no explanation and hung up quickly.
Li Ming did not ask further. She stood on the sidewalk for a long while, watching the passing car lights…
Memories surfaced again—Harbin, the city of her birth and upbringing.
After university, she had been assigned to a state-owned architectural company. She married her former colleague. Later, they resigned and opened a small design firm.
At first, there were few projects, and the office had only two or three people.
Gradually, things improved. Her ex-husband's father introduced some projects through his state-owned enterprise connections, and the business slowly grew.
Around the same time, some Russian women arrived in Harbin. After the Soviet Union collapsed, they came to the northern city to earn a living at night—in karaoke bars, nightclubs, with blonde hair and heavy makeup everywhere.
Her ex-husband often said many projects were secured over dinner or in karaoke halls. Sometimes, when it went late, he simply did not return home.
Li Ming did not initially ask much. The company was in a growth phase, and she did not want distractions that might derail development.
Until one night, Li Wen burst into her office.
"Sister, do you know what your husband has been doing?"
That night, they went straight to the rental apartment.
The moment they pushed the door open, a strong smell of smoke and perfume hit them. By the bedside sat a blonde-haired, blue-eyed woman, and her ex-husband leaned against the headboard.
Li Wen lunged forward, kicking off her heels and smashing them onto the man's head.
The room erupted into chaos. Tables overturned, bottles rolled across the floor.
Li Ming had not yet reacted when the two of them were already struggling.
Li Wen's anger was not only about the scene before her. Many things had long been buried.
The company had just made some money, and they bought a new apartment. By then, Li Wen's relationship with her parents was already hostile. Li Ming had moved her sister into the old apartment she had vacated.
One night, Li Wen was asleep. Someone sneaked in—the ex-husband's client, responsible for a new public housing project. At the time, the company relied on him for several contracts.
Li Wen later told her sister she first noticed the smell of smoke mixed with sweat, almost suffocating.
Opening her eyes, she saw a small, shriveled, lecherous man nearby. In the dim light, his face was covered with freckles, teeth yellowed and uneven.
She felt nauseated.
She struggled violently.
The room quickly became chaotic: chairs overturned, cups shattered.
Afterwards, she could not clearly recall the rest. Only that the man staggered out, covered in blood, clothes torn, cursing as he went. Footsteps echoed briefly in the hallway before disappearing.
She was left alone, lights still on, filled with humiliation, shock, and anger. The next day, she called her sister.
Li Ming trembled with fury, insisting on reporting to the police, but her ex-husband blocked her.
"It has already been some time," he said. "Many things can't be explained now."
After a moment of silence, he added:
"Besides, what about the projects in negotiation?"
In that instant, Li Ming felt the room grow cold.
The incident became a thorn in her heart.
Arguments grew more frequent. One night, during a heated quarrel, her husband struck her, and she rushed to the kitchen, grabbing a knife.
The blade grazed his arm, and she froze.
Blood gushed instantly.
Afterward came the police station, mediation, divorce.
Li Wen stayed in Harbin for a while before moving to Shenzhen. She said Harbin was too cold, too many memories she did not want to recall.
Soon, her phone was unreachable, showing disconnected, almost cutting off all family contact.
Li Ming occasionally heard fragments from her mother—her sister changed cities, changed jobs. Later, even those messages stopped.
Days passed. One clear morning, Li Ming received a message from her older brother:
"This is Li Wen's current phone number. Do you want to contact her?"
Li Ming stared at the unfamiliar number for a long time before dialing.
The phone rang for a while. Just when she thought no one would answer, a woman's voice came through.
"Hello?"
Li Ming paused, speechless.
The voice sounded somewhat unfamiliar, yet faintly familiar.
After a while, she whispered:
"…Li Wen?"
The line was silent.
Then a woman's voice replied after a few seconds:
"Sister?"
The word had not been heard for a long time.
Li Ming did not know what to say. She was silent for a moment, then began slowly:
"I heard you're in Shenzhen."
There was no response.
She continued softly:
"I don't know if what I heard is true. But I still wanted to call you."
The line remained silent.
"Life has many choices. You're still young. You can change jobs, start over. Even slowly, it's okay. Don't keep going down this path. You deserve a better life."
Silence for a long moment. Li Ming thought the call might have ended.
Then she heard Li Wen laugh softly.
"Sister."
"You don't have to worry about me."
A pause.
"The money I earn now is actually quite a lot. I can even send some back. Xiao Ming needs heart surgery, right? I can help cover part of it."
Another pause.
"Sister. Just consider this… as if this younger sister… no longer exists."
Li Ming gripped the phone, fingers white, an indescribable ache swelling in her chest. Wind from the street corner stirred snowflakes onto her shoulders, her shadow stretched long and solitary under the streetlights.
She knew this call had ended an era, and severed the connection she once had with her sister.
People on the street hurried by in heavy down jackets. She tightened her scarf and looked up, feeling a familiar solitude.
Staring at the phone, memories of Harbin—the streets, snow, lights, and her sister's cold words—flooded her mind. She typed a few words gently:
"I must remember, and I must learn to let go."
The night remained quiet, the wind blowing softly. The past had shaped her, but it would not define her future. She had to breathe anew, live anew, and see the world anew.