Sorry

“Lu, a wonderful news!” The doctor said on the phone, his voice brimming with excitement. “Your younger brother was regaining his memory. We gladly inform you that his cognitive function greatly improved.”

“Did he say anything?” Lu asked, his tone edged with unease.

“He told our nurses that he had a dog called Doudou,” the doctor said.

For an instant, the memory surged back – that the dog that Lu and his younger brother, Lin, once had rescued from a cruel peddler. When Lu asked for a pet, their mother declined; yet when Lin carried a dog back home, and instead of reproach, their mother praised Lin for his empathy. The doctor kept talking, but it was as if Lu had earbuds in – he heard nothing.

Lu felt his pulse racing and his hands clammy. He pinched his ears – an instinctive response, triggered whenever uneasiness crept in. He hung up and drifted toward the window, overlooking the Huangpu River. To own an office in this building - the crown jewel of Shanghai - was a milestone for anyone rising through the ranks. Standing on the thirty-second floor, Lu took in the stunning panorama of the river – yet within him stirred loneliness and exhaustion. He had been waiting for the most important moment – becoming the senior partner of the law firm. On Monday, the result would come.

He turned off the office lights and stared out the window. On Friday night, as life seemed to awaken, the office grew quiet. With his colleagues gone, Lu enjoyed the solitude, free from the need to flatter those above or criticize those below. Neon lights shimmered across the skyline, tourist ferries glided along Huangpu River, and cars crawled like bugs on the road. Though the clock struck eleven, Shanghai refused to sleep, more bustling than the day. In the darkness, he found a quiet clam that swept away the chaos and noise, like a flatiron smoothing away the wrinkles from cloth.

Minutes later, a text lit up the screen, “Lu, your cousin, Jing, had died. A cerebral hemorrhage. Come back tomorrow to attend his funeral.” Lu’s mother sent him this message. He and Jing had not seen each other for many years, but Jing’s sudden death still struck him with unexpected force. A fear gripped him, as he realized how easily life could end – like a computer shutting down at the press of a button.

Long years of work had taught him to be ready for anything. He pulled out a small suitcase tucked beneath his office desk, slipped in two shirts and a few toiletries, then dashed into the night. He hailed a taxi, racing toward the last flight.

“You’re a thief!” Tong cried out. “You have stolen my scholarship, my girlfriend and my everything.” Tong drove a knife into his chest, then Lu tried to fight back, but pain surged through him and his strength drained rapidly. His vision blurred into a blankness – like staring into a sheet of white paper, vast and looming, until he felt himself dissolved into it, fading without a trace. In the back of the taxi, Lu pondered on his dream. Back to the university days, Lu and Tong competed for grades, recognition, and for the same love. Ultimately, Lu had won the competition and married the girl. The rumors never stopped – that Lu owed his success to his father-in-law, a renowned professor of law in Shanghai. When something was called a rumor, it was a truth diluted, but not denied. He neither admitted it nor denied it. Yet now, his wife had filed for divorce, lamenting that he offered neither comfort nor praise, forever entangled in the wars of ambition.

He rested in the airport lounge, eyes on the screen – until a pair of twin girls caught his attention. Each girl clutched a Labubu – the most popular toy in China –but they bickered over whose was prettier. How naïve, he thought. He and his younger brother had also argued over whose toy sword was sharper. He grinned as he reminisced about a happy moment from the past. Growing bored while waiting for his flight, he wandered into a toy shop, where a new set of Transformers drew his gaze.

Three hours later, his flight landed in the airport of Lingxi. At the exit, taxis clustered, drivers smoking and murmuring. They were like owls –perched in the shadows, watching the city unfold at night. Lu got into one, and along the journey, the driver muttered bitterly about the local government, and about how their lives worsened since the coronavirus. Yet being a lawyer demanded caution in speech. Lu’s classmate, once a professor of a university, was dismissed for a reckless comment. When the driver remarked on the corrupted subway project, Lu just nodded. About one hour later, he arrived at his parents’ home.

Lu’s parents lived on the sixth floor of a building without an elevator, so he hauled his luggage up strenuously. He was given Lin’s bedroom, which lay spare since Lin spent most of his days in the recovery hospital. Rather than sleeping, Lu found himself wide awake, pacing back and forth in Lin’s room. Lu found a box filled with toys – toy planes and toy cars. His mother had preserved Lin’s toys, yet his own certificates of achievement were nowhere to be found. He once asked his mother, and she explained that the certificates might have been lost by accident while relocating.

On Saturday morning, Lu and his parents arrived at the funeral parlor, where a small fountain stood in the front yard and a façade rose nearly two meters high. He hadn’t returned for a long time, and never expected the funeral parlor to be as magnificent as a palace. At the entrance, a row of wreathes lined the left side, and on the right stood a long desk covered in a black cloth, with staff helping guests to check in.

Lu’s father stepped forward to sign their names, while Lu’s mother led Lu to meet his uncle. In a small room, his uncle’s eyes were red and swollen. “Lu, fortune and fame mean nothing,” his uncle murmured, “life mocks me – a fortune teller cannot foresee his own son’s fate.” With trembling steps, his uncle was guided to the podium, where he began to prepare the eulogy for his son, Jing.

In the hall, each mourner held a piece of A4 sheet – a brief record of Jing’s achievements – as they filed past the coffin to bid their final farewell. When the procession ended, they returned to the pews and waited in solemn silence. From the podium, Lu’s uncle began the eulogy, his voice trembling with grief.

Lu’s mother was the youngest of the siblings, while Jing’s father was the eldest. Between them stood two sisters, Hong and Lan.

Aunt Hong had a talent for kindling quarrels among the siblings.

“Bai, you have two sons. Now our brother will surely envy you,” Aunt Hong teased, her tone tinged with mischief.

Lu’s mother’s face tightened with fury. “Hong, you never stop mocking me,” she snapped. “Have you forgotten? My son has been confined to a wheelchair for over thirty years.”

“But Lu is so successful. He is the equal of three sons,” Aunt Hong mocked, her words sharp yet wrapped in a smile. “Sister, I’m not teasing you. Those are words from the bottom of my heart.”

Aunt Lan joined the conversation. “Lu is a good brother. When Lin fell down the stairs, it was Lu who called the ambulance right away. He was so quick to respond – so smart and dependable.”

Lu could never forget the day Aunt Hong scolded his mother after his younger brother, by accident, knocked a beautiful vase to the floor in her house. From that moment on, Lu’s family was never welcomed through Aunt Hong’s door. She had always been adept at currying favor with those in power, a skill sharpened by her husband’s position in government.

Yet success had the power to reshape everything, especially the attitudes of people. When you rose above others, they would speak words they did not truly believe, simply to make you believe them. It was a fundamental rule of survival, and one he had practiced relentlessly on his climb to the top.

Aunt Hong leaned toward him. “Lu, you need to take care of yourself. Don’t be like Jing – he drank too much liquor,” she said. Then she lowered her voice as if sharing wisdom. “But I know how it is. People in higher positions cannot turned down a drink. The greater the responsibility, the more you are expected to drink.” Lu understood the implication behind her words: she was referring to the success of her husband, whose rise in government had been paved with such rituals.

His phone rang – it was the doctor calling about his younger brother. Through the taxi window, he watched the city which had been transformed by time. Shopping malls had multiplied and luxury brands had sprung up like weeds. The driver complained about the endless traffic congestion. When Lu reached the hospital ward, he paused at the doorway and peered through the small window on the door. Inside, his younger brother Lin sat in a wheelchair, his back turned toward the entrance. Lu knocked gently before entering, careful not to startle Lin.

“Brother, did you bring it?” Lin asked.

Lu looked at him, puzzled.

“You forgot? I mean Yu Hua’s novel,” Lin pressed.

At once, Lu remembered the signed copy of To Live he had promised to deliver. But in the rush to catch his flight, he had left it behind.

“I’m so sorry, Lin,” Lu said. “I was in such a hurry last night.” Lu felt very sorry. “I promise, next time I’ll bring it.”

“Lin, the doctor said that you’ve been remembering more things. Is that true?” Lu asked.

“Yes,” Lin replied. “I remember more. I remember how I fell off my bike the first time you taught me to ride.” Lin paused, and kept saying. “Brother, do you still remember when Mother bought me that Transformer?”

Lu felt as if he had been jolted by a live wire. “Oh, yes, you did have a Transformer, but I’ve forgotten where you put it.”

“I’ve forgotten too. But it doesn’t matter. Uncle bought me a new set.” Lin pointed to a drawer with a faint smile.

At that moment, the doctor summoned Lu to his office to discuss Lin’s recovery. Lu broke the silence first. “Doctor, how much of my younger brother’s memory will return? The doctor looked up, his expression brightening. “Your brother is a miracle. His memory may recover completely, but it takes more time.” Lu forced a smile, though he knew it was not natural.

He walked back to Lin’s ward.

“Let’s go see the small garden,” Lin proposed. Lu nodded and wheeled him down the corridor, until the doors opened onto a small, yet elegant garden.

“The nurses said the fresh air has been good for my recovery,” Lin said. “This place has become my sanctuary.” In the small garden, a cuckoo’s nest rested on a tree branch. From within, the birds called out, “cuk-koo, cuk-koo.” The sound was crisp, echoing through the garden.

“I often came to this garden,” Lin said. “Sometimes, I found cracked eggs lying on the dirt. Later I realized those lifeless shells were cuckoo eggs.” Lin’s voice grew sharper, “so I asked the nurses, and they told me the truth: the older cuckoos kill the younger ones by pushing them out of the nest.”

Lin turned, his gaze locking onto Lu’s eyes.

“Did I fell off accidentally,” Lin asked, his voice trembling, “or was I just a cuckoo being pushed out from the nest?”

Lu’ s breath grew shallow, shifting his eyes away. “We were careless. We never anticipated the accident,” he murmured.

He wheeled Lin back to his ward. As they entered, Lin’s words made him tremble.

“Brother, I remember – you were behind me when I fell down the stairs.”

“Of course, I was with you,” Lu replied, forcing a light tone. “You always tiptoed after me when you were young.” Lu tried to joke, but his voice betrayed him. Just as Lu was about to leave, Lin reached for a box, and handed it to him. Inside lay a neat stack of prize certificates Lu had won during his school years. “I keep these for you, brother,” Lin said. “Now they can return to their owner.”

Lu flew back to Shanghai as soon as he left the hospital. He had never told his younger brother that it was he who bought the new set of Transformers. When the plane touched down, Lu switched off the flight mode. At once, messages poured in. The first one froze him: the CEO of the construction company he represented had leapt from the thirty-second floor. Then another arrived, chilling him further. It was from his wife – Tong would be her lawyer in the divorce.

Then another message came. “Brother, I’m thirty-eight now – neither a small boy nor a baby cuckoo. I don’t need toys anymore.”

Lu had carried guilty for thirty years ever since the lie he told his mother. He had claimed that Lin had fallen down by himself. But the truth was different. That day, they had been fighting for the new toy – the Transformer their mother had bought for Lin. And in the chaos of that quarrel, Lin had fallen.

Lu entered Lin’s number into his phone but hesitated, unable to dial. At last, he tapped on this screen, his fingers trembling. “Sorry.”