Chapter Four: I Do Not Consent

Each woman wrote a precious memory on paper and sealed it inside a biscuit tin at Qiao Ran’s noodle shop. “If it steals mine,” Xiaoman said, “you tell it back to me.” Qiao Ran submitted a blank page. On the eve of the match, Jianxia found her upstairs writing: the scar through Qiao Qing’s left eyebrow; the salty rain because Qiao Ran had been crying; the words her sister spoke before her first touch— Her pen stopped. “What did she say?” “I can’t tell you. Then Zero might take it from you.” Downstairs, a bowl shattered. A screen had awakened by itself, replaying the rainy alley. For the first time, Qiao Qing’s voice broke through the static. “Don’t fear the wrong kick. The ball comes back. People do too.” New text appeared: