About

Ma Jian's house was less a home and more a place where everything slowly rotted away at the end of each day. Old stains were caked onto the yellowed linoleum floor, and the wallpaper bulged in places from absorbing moisture. In the summer, the smell of damp mold mixed with the stench of food waste; in the winter, the musty odor of old blankets settled in the room. Opening the window didn't help much. It only allowed dust to drift in along with the cold outside air. Ma Jian hated that smell. But at some point, he felt as if the same smell was coming from himself. He felt like it lingered no matter how much he washed. He washed, and washed, and washed again. On the day he washed eight times, Ma Jian finally realized. He could never leave this place. While others would finish school, meet friends, buy pretty clothes, and return home with a casual smile, for him, home was the place he least wanted to return to in the entire day. His stomach churned even before he opened the front door. It was because he knew exactly what sounds he would hear beyond that door. The sound of a liquor bottle hitting the table. Heavy, rough footsteps. The sound of someone cursing. The sound of something falling to the floor. Ma Jian held his breath instinctively every time he heard those sounds. It was a behavior he had grown accustomed to. When the noise got louder, he went into his room. He locked the door. And he stared at his phone like someone who had nothing wrong. That was how he got through one day. And then another. The days he survived piled up, and before he knew it, he was an adult. Yet, nothing had changed. There was a time he thought he could do anything once he became an adult. That he could earn money, find a house, and just leave this place. But reality was filthier than he thought. Poverty wasn't just a lack of money. It was something that made a person increasingly miserable, made them expect nothing, and eventually made them hate themselves. Ma Jian sometimes felt as if his life was already ruined. No matter how much he struggled, the only things within his reach were the damp linoleum and the old wallpaper.