When the Songhua River froze, winter in Harbin truly began.
On the coldest days, the river's surface was like a massive white stone slab stretching as far as the eye could see. The wind blew across the ice, carrying tiny snowflakes that stung the face like needles.
As a child, Li Ming loved standing by the river, watching people break the ice. Before dawn, several men would already be on the ice with iron picks and wooden buckets. The picks struck down with a heavy "bang, bang," the dull sound echoing across the empty river. The ice split open, forming a round hole, and the black river water slowly rose.
Someone lowered a bucket into the hole using a long rope. The water, steaming as it was first lifted, soon formed a thin layer of ice along the rim. Li Ming often stood by the shore, watching for a long time. The river was silent, occasionally interrupted by a distant dog barking or the sound of a horse-drawn carriage. The wind blew in gusts, making it hard to breathe.
Her mother would always call from nearby:
"Li Ming, come back."
The voice was soft, yet carried far across the empty riverbank. At that time, her mother was still young, working as a sales clerk at Harbin Department Store, standing behind the counter every day. Glass cases displayed towels, soap, and enamel basins. In winter, the store was always filled with the mingled scent of coal stoves and damp cotton clothes.
Li Ming often sneaked off to find her there. Behind the long counter, her mother wore a thick wool coat, her arms wrapped in sleeve covers, her head bent as she organized the merchandise. The towels were neatly stacked, and the enamel basins gleamed cold-white under the lights. Occasionally, she would look up and smile at a customer: "Can I help you?"
Then she would bend down again, packing goods, giving change, flipping through account books—every movement skilled and composed. Li Ming would carefully slip through the small door beside the counter. When her mother saw her, she would first be slightly surprised, then smile and pick her up, whispering in her ear:
"The ground outside is slippery, be careful not to fall."
Late at night, her mother would occasionally tell stories about her family when she was young.
Those stories were like shadows of a bygone era, flickering in Li Ming's childhood memory.
At the time, she didn't fully understand much of what was said.
She only remembered that whenever her mother spoke of her maternal grandmother, she always used a somewhat special title—
Erniang.
Erniang had been a dancer in her youth.
She was half Russian, with light brown eyes and skin so pale it was almost translucent. When she was young, she performed songs and dances at the Maidel on Central Street.
That had been a very long time ago.
Later, Erniang was married off to Li Ming's maternal grandfather and became his second wife.
Decades ago, Harbin was a complex city.
Merchants, soldiers, foreigners, and exiles all mingled together, and the streets often echoed with multiple languages.
Li Ming's maternal grandfather and grandmother ran a fairly large textile business. Their shops, warehouses, and workshops were spread across several streets, and business had always been steady.
Her grandfather was a hands-off manager, rarely involved in day-to-day affairs. Almost everything at home was handled by her grandmother—accounts, supplies, social dealings—all managed with meticulous order.
Until the Japanese arrived in Northeast China.
At first, only a few Japanese merchants came. Dressed in sharp suits and accompanied by translators, they spoke politely. They hoped to cooperate with her grandfather and sell goods to more distant markets.
That day, they sat in the living room for a long while.
Her grandfather leaned back in his chair, smoking his pipe, rarely speaking.
It was her grandmother who firmly refused them.
She closed the account book and said calmly but resolutely:
"We will not do this business."
The Japanese did not argue and simply nodded before leaving.
But that was not the end of it.
Some family members were deeply dissatisfied—her mother's older half-brother. Having studied in Japan in his youth, he considered himself worldly and felt the family business was too conservative, too reliant on old-fashioned social ties.
He secretly contacted the Japanese and even suggested they pressure the family.
Before long, Japanese military police actually arrived.
The sound of boots on the stone streets was heavy and grating. At first, it was only routine inspections, but the family knew the real purpose.
One winter afternoon, the situation suddenly spiraled out of control.
The soldiers demanded that her grandfather and grandmother immediately sign a cooperation agreement.
Her grandmother refused.
The argument grew more and more intense. The courtyard filled with people—family servants and neighbors watching from afar.
Suddenly, two Japanese soldiers rushed forward and grabbed her grandmother by the arms.
Handcuffs clicked shut.
Heavy shackles locked her feet.
Her grandmother did not struggle.
She slowly turned her head, glancing at everyone in the courtyard. Her gaze swept from her grandfather to the children.
At that moment, the courtyard was so quiet it seemed one could hear the snow falling.
The soldiers took her away.
She never returned.
Later, the older brother fled.
The sister-in-law, unable to bear the pressure, hanged herself at home.
Every time her mother spoke of this, she would fall silent for a long time.
Many years later, Li Ming gradually came to understand—
This was not only a tragedy for her mother's family but also a reflection of the times.
Later, her mother worked as a sales clerk at the Harbin Department Store.
Her father met her during a social gathering between the army and local work units. At the time, he was doing clerical work in the military. He was tall and well-educated, with a talent for writing. But back in his rural hometown, he already had a wife three years older than him and a son.
Later, he fell in love with her mother and divorced his first wife.
That period was far from peaceful. His former wife came to the military unit several times to cause a scene. It was not until he transferred out of the army and began working for the local government that things gradually settled down.
After their marriage, her parents had Li Ming and her younger sister, Li Wen.
Many years later, her mother insisted on having a son. She tried all kinds of folk remedies and herbal medicines.
When Xiaoming was born, the whole family thought their wish had finally come true.
But after a medical examination at the hospital, they discovered—
Xiaoming had Down syndrome and a congenital heart defect.
The news fell upon the family like a heavy stone.
Xiaoming did not learn to walk until he was five years old, and he spoke very slowly. The outside world was never gentle to the weak.
He was often bullied.
His clothes were torn, his face smeared with paint and mud. Some children even stuffed a live rooster inside his clothes.
Li Ming still remembered that day.
Xiaoming had shrunk into a corner, trembling with fear.
She and Li Wen stood nearby, so angry they could not say a word.
The next day, Li Wen stopped the children who had bullied her brother and beat one of them badly.
But incidents like this continued to happen.
If Xiaoming was the one in the family who needed the most protection, then Li Wen was the one who caused the most trouble.
She had never liked school. She barely finished elementary school and dropped out of middle school, often wandering around the streets.
Her parents' discipline grew harsher, and the scolding and beatings became more frequent.
Li Ming often stood between them, shielding her sister.
Gradually, she realized that their family was like a rope that could snap at any moment, and she had to do everything she could to hold it together.
Later, Li Wen rarely came home.
The nights in Harbin were cold and long.
Whenever her sister disappeared, Li Ming would walk along the streets looking for her. Neon lights reflected on the snow, casting a cold glow.
She would walk and call out her sister's name.
Many times, she found Li Wen and brought her home in the early hours of the morning.
Her sister would stubbornly say,
"Don't worry about me, Sis."
But in the end, she would still follow her back home.
Li Ming loved standing behind the counter, watching her mother at work. The cold wind, the snowy streets, the hurried passersby—all seemed to be kept out of that small, warm space.
Many years later.
In the winter of 1999.
Li Ming dragged her suitcase out of a subway station in Washington.
Streetlights flickered on one by one, their orange glow spreading across the damp stone pavement. The air carried a faint trace of frost.
Instinctively, she slipped her hand into her pocket and gripped her passport tightly.
It was her first winter in the United States.
From a café in the distance came the aroma of freshly roasted coffee beans. A few pedestrians hurried past, their footsteps echoing along the quiet street.
She stopped.
Lowered her head and looked at her shadow on the ground.
Long and thin, solitary, stretched far beneath the streetlight.
At that moment, she remembered walking alone through the streets of Harbin many years earlier, searching for her younger sister who always came home late.
Washington appeared calm and safe—subways, cafés, clean streets, everything orderly.
But Li Ming knew that what one could never truly escape was not a city, but memory. Those memories from Harbin had never left her.
During the day she buried herself in work, but there was never real peace in her heart. Xiaoming's medical treatment, medication, checkups… all required money. Li Wen, working in Shenzhen, occasionally sent some money home. Li Ming sent almost all of her remaining income back to China.
Late at night, she would open her computer and calculate the expenses—hospital bills, medicine. The numbers lined up like an invisible net, tightly binding her life.
Outside the window, snow sometimes drifted down silently. On nights like that, Li Ming often recalled the family stories her mother had told—war, displacement, loss, and endurance.
She understood that her own life was merely one continuation in the long fate of her family. Far away across thousands of miles, her family still needed her. And she could only keep moving forward.
Outside the window, snow fell quietly.
Without a sound.
Several years later, Li Ming opened her own architectural design firm in DC. It was during the company's early days.
One evening, she walked out of her office. Streetlights lit up one after another. The sky was not yet fully dark, and the air carried the damp chill of early spring.
Her phone rang.
It was a friend from Harbin. At first, the man asked about real estate investment in DC. They chatted for a while. Just before hanging up, his tone shifted. He paused for a moment.
"I went to Shenzhen on a business trip not long ago… I think I saw your sister."
Li Ming froze.
"Where?"
There was silence on the other end for a few seconds.
"In… that kind of place."
He offered no further explanation. The call ended quickly.
Li Ming did not ask more questions. She remembered standing by the roadside for a long time. Car headlights slid past her one by one.
Memories surfaced again—Harbin, the city where she had been born and raised.
After graduating from university, she had been assigned to a state-owned architectural company. She and her former husband had first been colleagues there, later married, and eventually quit their jobs together to start a small architectural design firm.
In the first few years, there were very few projects. The office had only two or three people.
Later things gradually improved. Her former husband's father had many connections in state-owned enterprises and introduced several engineering projects. Business slowly began to grow.
Around that time, Harbin suddenly saw an influx of women from Russia. After the collapse of the Soviet Union, they came to this northern city to make a living at night. Karaoke bars, nightclubs, and lounges were filled with blond hair and heavy makeup.
Her husband often said that many projects were negotiated over drinking tables and in karaoke rooms. Sometimes discussions went on late into the night, and he simply did not come home.
At first, Li Ming did not ask many questions. The company was on the rise, and she did not want other matters to disrupt its progress.
Until the day her sister Li Wen burst into her office.
"Do you know what your husband has been doing outside?"
That night, they went straight to the rented apartment.
The moment the door opened, a mixture of cigarette smoke and heavy perfume rushed toward them. A blonde, blue-eyed woman sat by the bed smoking, while Li Ming's husband leaned back against the headboard.
Li Wen rushed forward almost instantly. She pulled off her high-heeled shoe and hurled it at the man's head.
The room exploded into chaos. A table overturned. Bottles rolled across the floor.
Before Li Ming could react, the two of them were already fighting.
Li Wen's anger was not only about what she saw that night. Many things had already been buried deep inside her.
It had started even earlier.
When the company first began making money, Li Ming and her husband bought a new apartment. At the time, Li Wen's relationship with their parents had become unbearable, so Li Ming let her sister move into the old apartment she had vacated.
One night, long after midnight, Li Wen was asleep.
Someone quietly entered the room—a client of her brother-in-law's, a man responsible for a public housing construction project. At that time, their company depended heavily on the projects he brought.
Later, Li Wen told her sister that the first thing she noticed was the smell of smoke mixed with sweat, suffocating and heavy.
When she opened her eyes, she saw a small, shriveled, vulgar man lying beside her. In the dim light, his face was covered with dense freckles. When he spoke, a row of yellowed, uneven teeth—stained by cigarettes—appeared.
Li Wen felt a wave of disgust.
She struggled desperately.
The room quickly descended into chaos. A chair was overturned, a cup shattered. The two of them grappled and fought in the narrow room.
Afterward, even she could not clearly recall everything that happened. She only remembered the man's face covered in blood, his clothes torn. Cursing, he staggered toward the door and fled clumsily. Rapid footsteps echoed in the corridor before fading away.
She was left alone in the room. The light was still on.
Humiliation, shock, rage—everything tangled together. Li Wen sat there, stunned.
The next day, she called her sister.
Li Ming trembled with anger and insisted on calling the police, but her husband stopped her.
"Some time has already passed," he said. "A lot of things would be hard to explain."
After a moment of silence, he added,
"And besides, what about the projects we're negotiating?"
At that moment, Li Ming suddenly felt the room grow cold.
That incident became a thorn lodged deep in her heart.
The arguments between them grew more frequent. One night, their fight escalated beyond control. When the man slapped her, she rushed into the kitchen and grabbed a kitchen knife.
The moment the blade cut across her husband's arm, she froze.
Blood poured out instantly.
After that came the police station, mediation, and divorce.
Li Wen stayed in Harbin for a while. Not long afterward, she went to Shenzhen. She said Harbin was too cold, and there were too many things she did not want to remember.
Later, her phone could no longer be reached. The number had been disconnected, and she almost completely lost contact with the family.
Occasionally, Li Ming heard scattered bits of news from their mother—that Li Wen had changed cities, then changed jobs. Eventually even those bits of news disappeared.
Days passed.
Many years later, one day 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 remembered staring at the unfamiliar number for a long time before finally pressing the call button.
The phone rang for a long time.
Just when she thought no one would answer, a woman's voice finally came through.
"Hello?"
Li Ming did not speak at first.
The voice sounded unfamiliar, yet faintly recognizable.
After a moment, she said softly,
"…Li Wen?"
There was silence on the other end.
The woman seemed startled.
After a few seconds, a voice came through.
"Sis?"
She had not heard that word in many years.
For a moment, Li Ming did not know what to say.
After a pause, she spoke slowly.
"I heard that you're in Shenzhen now."
There was no answer.
Li Ming said quietly,
"I don't know if what I heard is true."
"But I still wanted to call you."
The line remained silent.
She paused.
"There are many choices in life."
"You're still young. You could change jobs and start over."
"Even if it's slower, that's okay."
"Don't keep going down that road."
"You deserve a better life."
There was a long silence on the other end—so long that Li Ming thought the call had been disconnected.
Then she suddenly heard Li Wen laugh softly.
"Sis," she said.
"You don't need to worry about me."
She paused.
Her voice suddenly became very calm.
"I actually make quite a lot of money now."
"I can even send some back home."
"Isn't Xiaoming supposed to have heart surgery?"
"I can help contribute."
She paused again.
"Sis."
"Just think of this sister…"
She stopped for a moment.
"As if she had disappeared long ago."
Li Ming gripped the phone tightly, her fingers turning pale as an indescribable ache rose in her chest. A gust of wind blew from the corner of the street, carrying snowflakes that settled on her shoulders. Her shadow stretched long under the streetlight—lonely and heavy.
She knew that this phone call had ended an era, and with it the bond that had once existed between her and her sister.
Pedestrians on the street were wrapped in thick down coats, their steps quick and hurried. She pulled her scarf tighter and looked up, a familiar sense of loneliness washing over her.
Staring at the screen of her phone, images of Harbin surfaced in her mind—the streets, the snow, the lights, and her sister's distant words. Slowly, she typed a few words:
"I must remember, and I must learn to let go."
The night was quiet, the wind moving gently through the air. The past had shaped her, but it would not determine her future. She had to learn to breathe in a new way, to live again, and to look at the world anew.