When the Songhua River froze, winter in Harbin truly began.
On the coldest days, the thick ice covering the river looked like a vast white slab of stone stretching all the way to the horizon. The wind swept across the river, carrying tiny grains of snow that struck the face like needles.
When Li Ming was a child, she loved standing by the river to watch people cut ice. Before dawn had even broken, several men would already be walking out onto the frozen river carrying iron picks and wooden buckets. The picks struck the ice with dull, heavy blows. The sound echoed across the open river surface. Eventually the ice cracked open, forming a round hole, and the dark river water slowly welled up.
Someone would lower a wooden bucket down with a long rope to draw water. When the water first came up, steam rose from it, but before long a thin layer of ice formed along the rim of the bucket. Li Ming often stood on the bank watching for a long time. The river was silent. Occasionally a dog barked in the distance, or the creaking sound of a horse cart could be heard. The wind came in waves, so cold it tightened her breath.
Her mother would always call to her from not far away:
"Mingming, come back."
Her voice was not loud, yet it carried far across the open riverbank.
At that time her mother was still young. She worked as a sales clerk at the Harbin Department Store, standing behind the counter every day. Inside the glass cases were neatly arranged towels, bars of soap, and enamel washbasins. In winter, the building was always filled with the mixed smell of coal stoves and damp cotton coats.
Li Ming often slipped into the department store to find her. Behind the long counter, her mother wore a thick wool coat, sleeve covers protecting her arms as she bent over to arrange the merchandise. The towels were folded into perfect stacks, and the enamel basins reflected a cold white glow under the lights. Occasionally she would look up and smile at a customer.
"Can I help you?"
Then she would lower her head again, wrapping purchases, counting change, flipping through the ledger—each movement practiced and calm.
Li Ming would quietly slip through the small side door beside the counter. When her mother saw her, she would pause in surprise for a moment, then smile and lift her into her arms, whispering softly into her ear:
"The ground is slippery outside. Be careful not to fall."
Li Ming loved standing behind the counter watching her mother move about busily. The cold wind outside, the snow on the streets, the hurried crowds—all seemed to be kept beyond that small pocket of warmth.
Late at night, her mother would sometimes tell stories about the family's past.
Those stories were like shadows from another era, drifting in and out of Li Ming's childhood memories.
At the time, she did not fully understand many of them.
She only remembered that whenever her mother spoke of her grandmother, she used a somewhat unusual name—
Second Mother.
In her youth, Second Mother had been a dancer.
She had half Russian blood, with light brown eyes and skin so pale it was almost translucent. When she was young, she performed singing and dancing at the Modern Hotel on Central Street.
That had been a very long time ago.
Later, her grandfather brought her home and made her his second wife.
Harbin, many decades earlier, had been a complicated city.
Merchants, soldiers, foreigners, and refugees lived side by side, and on the streets one could often hear many different languages.
Li Ming's grandfather and his first wife ran a fairly large textile business. Shops, warehouses, and workshops were scattered across several streets, and the business ran steadily for years.
Her grandfather was a hands-off man who rarely involved himself in daily affairs. Almost everything in the household was managed by the first wife—accounts, suppliers, relationships with clients. She handled everything with remarkable order.
That was before the Japanese arrived in Northeast China.
At first, only a few Japanese businessmen came to visit. They wore well-tailored suits and brought interpreters, speaking with great politeness. They hoped to cooperate with her grandfather and sell their goods to more distant markets.
They sat in the living room for a long time that day.
Her grandfather leaned back in his chair, smoking his pipe, speaking very little.
The one who truly refused them was the first wife.
She closed the account book and said calmly but firmly:
"We will not do this business."
The Japanese did not argue. They simply nodded and left.
But the matter did not end there.
Someone in the family was deeply dissatisfied—her mother's elder half-brother. He had studied in Japan when he was young and believed himself worldly. He thought the family business was too conservative and too dependent on old personal networks.
He secretly contacted the Japanese and even suggested that they pressure the family.
Not long after, the Japanese military police came.
Their boots struck the stone road with heavy, piercing sounds. At first it seemed like a routine inspection, but everyone in the family understood their real purpose.
One winter afternoon, the situation suddenly spiraled out of control.
The military police demanded that her grandfather and the first wife sign a cooperation agreement immediately.
She refused.
The argument grew more intense. The courtyard filled with people—workers from the household and neighbors watching from a distance.
Suddenly two Japanese soldiers rushed forward and seized the first wife by the arms.
The handcuffs snapped shut with a metallic click.
Heavy shackles locked around her ankles.
She did not struggle.
She simply turned slowly and looked at the people in the courtyard. Her gaze moved from her husband to the children.
In that moment, the courtyard became so quiet it felt as if one could hear the snow falling.
The military police took her away.
She never returned.
Later, the elder brother fled.
His wife could not bear the pressure and hanged herself at home.
Whenever her mother told this part of the story, she would fall silent for a long time.
Many years later, Li Ming gradually came to understand—
It was not only a tragedy of her mother's family, but also a reflection of an entire era.
Later, her mother worked as a sales clerk at the Harbin Department Store.
Her father met her during a social gathering between the military and local work units. At the time he worked in a clerical position in the army. He was tall and well educated, with a gift for writing. But 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. The former wife came to the army unit several times to cause trouble. Only after he transferred out of the military and began working for the local government did things gradually settle down.
After their marriage, the couple had Li Ming and her younger sister Li Wen.
Many years later, their mother insisted on trying for a son. She tried all kinds of folk remedies and herbal medicines.
When Xiaoming was born, the whole family believed their wish had finally come true.
But after the hospital examination they discovered—
Xiaoming had Down syndrome and a congenital heart defect.
The news fell into the household like a heavy stone.
Xiaoming did not learn to walk until he was five, and he spoke slowly. The outside world was never gentle to the weak.
He was often bullied.
His clothes were torn. His face was smeared with paint and mud. Once someone even stuffed a live rooster into his shirt.
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 their brother and beat one of them badly.
But such things kept happening.
If Xiaoming was the one in the family who needed the most protection, Li Wen was the one who caused the most worry.
She never liked school. She barely finished elementary school and dropped out of middle school, often wandering the streets.
Their parents' discipline grew harsher, and the scolding and beatings became more frequent.
Li Ming often stood between them, shielding her sister.
Gradually she realized 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 long and cold.
Whenever her sister disappeared, Li Ming would search along the streets. Neon lights reflected on the snow, casting a cold glow.
She walked while calling her sister's name.
Many times she brought Li Wen home at dawn.
Her sister would stubbornly say,
"Don't worry about me, Sis."
But in the end she would still follow her back home.
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 spread across the damp stone pavement. The air carried a faint smell of frost.
Unconsciously she slipped her hand into her pocket and gripped her passport tightly.
It was her first winter in America.
From a distant café drifted the smell of roasted coffee beans. A few pedestrians hurried past, their footsteps echoing through the quiet street.
She stopped.
She lowered her head and looked at her shadow.
Thin. Solitary. Stretched long beneath the streetlight.
In that moment she remembered walking alone through the streets of Harbin years earlier, searching for the sister who always came home late.
Washington looked calm and orderly—subways, cafés, tidy streets.
But Li Ming knew the thing one could never escape was not a city, but memory.
The past from Harbin had never left her.
She buried herself in work during the day, yet never felt true peace. Xiaoming's medical treatments, medicines, follow-ups—all required money. Li Wen, working in Shenzhen, sometimes sent money home. Li Ming sent nearly all her remaining income back to China.
Late at night she would open her computer and calculate the expenses—hospital bills, medication. The numbers formed an invisible net tightening around her life.
Sometimes snow drifted outside the window in silence. On such nights she often thought of the family stories her mother had told—war, exile, loss, endurance.
She understood that her own life was only another continuation of a long family destiny.
Her family far away still needed her.
And she could only keep moving forward.
Snow fell quietly outside the window.
Without a sound.
Years later, Li Ming opened her own architecture firm in Washington, D.C.
It was the early stage of the company. One evening she walked out of her office. The streetlights were turning on, and the sky had not yet gone dark. The air carried the damp chill of spring.
Her phone rang.
It was a friend from Harbin. At first he asked about real estate investment in D.C. They chatted for a while. Just before hanging up, his tone changed.
"I went to Shenzhen on a business trip recently… I think I saw your sister."
Li Ming froze.
"Where?"
There was silence for a few seconds.
"In… that kind of place."
He did not explain further. The call ended quickly.
Li Ming did not ask more. She remembered standing by the roadside for a long time as headlights slid past her one by one.
Memories rose again—
Harbin, the city where she had been born and raised.
After graduating from university, she was assigned to a state-owned architecture company. She met her former husband there. They married, then later left the company together and started a small design firm.
In the beginning there were very few projects.
The office had only two or three people.
Later things slowly improved. Her husband's father had many connections in state-owned enterprises and gradually introduced some construction projects. Business began to grow little by little.
Around those years, Harbin suddenly had many women from Russia. After the collapse of the Soviet Union they came to the northern city to survive at night—karaoke bars, nightclubs, bright blond hair and heavy makeup everywhere.
Her husband often said many deals were made at dinner tables or in karaoke rooms. Sometimes he talked business so late he simply did not come home.
At first Li Ming did not ask much.
The company was growing, and she did not want outside issues to disturb its development.
Until the day her sister burst into her office.
"Sis, do you know what your husband is doing out there?"
That night they went straight to the rented apartment.
The door swung open. The smell of smoke and strong perfume rushed out.
A blond woman with blue eyes sat by the bed smoking. Her husband leaned against the headboard.
Li Wen rushed forward almost instantly.
She pulled off her high-heeled shoe and hurled it at his head.
The room erupted into chaos.
A table overturned. Bottles rolled across the floor.
Before Li Ming could react, the two were already fighting.
But Li Wen's anger was not only about what she saw that night.
Many things had been buried in her heart long before.
It had happened earlier.
After the company made some money, Li Ming and her husband bought a new apartment. By then Li Wen's relationship with their parents had become unbearable. Li Ming let her sister move into the old apartment she had left behind.
One night, long after midnight, Li Wen was asleep.
Someone quietly entered the room.
It was one of her brother-in-law's clients, a man responsible for approving new public housing projects. At that time their company relied heavily on him for construction contracts.
Later Li Wen told her sister the first thing she noticed was the smell—smoke mixed with sweat, so strong it made it hard to breathe.
When she opened her eyes she saw a small, shriveled, leering man lying beside her.
In the dim light his face was covered with dense freckles. When he spoke, a row of yellowed, uneven teeth appeared.
Li Wen felt only disgust.
She struggled desperately.
The room quickly fell into chaos—chairs overturned, a cup shattered. The two fought and grappled in the cramped room.
Afterward she could barely remember what had happened. She only recalled the man's face covered with blood, his clothes torn. Cursing, he staggered toward the door and stumbled out. His hurried footsteps echoed down the hallway and disappeared.
The room was left silent.
The light was still on.
Humiliation, shock, anger—all tangled together. Li Wen was stunned.
The next day she called her sister.
Li Ming trembled with rage and insisted on reporting it to the police.
But her husband stopped her.
"Too much time has already passed," he said. "Things will be hard to explain."
After a moment he added,
"And what about the projects we're negotiating?"
At that moment Li Ming felt the room suddenly turn cold.
The incident lodged in her heart like a thorn.
The arguments between them grew more frequent.
Until one night the quarrel exploded.
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 immediately.
After that came the police station, mediation, and divorce.
Li Wen stayed in Harbin for a while.
Soon she left for Shenzhen.
She said Harbin was too cold and held too many memories she did not want to revisit.
Later her phone stopped working.
Her number was disconnected.
She almost completely lost contact with the family.
From time to time Li Ming heard scattered news from their mother—that Li Wen had changed cities, changed jobs.
Eventually even those fragments of news disappeared.
Years passed.
One day Li Ming received a text message from her elder brother.
"This is Li Wen's current number. Do you want to contact her?"
She stared at the unfamiliar number for a long time before pressing dial.
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.
Then a voice answered.
"Sis?"
She had not heard that word for many years.
Li Ming did not know what to say.
After a long pause she said slowly,
"I heard you're in Shenzhen."
No answer came.
"I don't know if those things people say are true," she continued quietly.
"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 find another job. Start again."
"Even if it's slow, that's okay."
"Don't keep going down this road."
"You deserve a better life."
The silence on the other end stretched so long that Li Ming thought the call had dropped.
Then she heard Li Wen give a soft laugh.
"Sis," she said.
"You don't need to worry about me."
She paused.
Her voice suddenly sounded calm.
"I actually make quite a lot of money now."
"I can even send some back home."
"Doesn't Xiaoming need heart surgery?"
"I can help with that."
She stopped again.
"Sis."
"Just think of this sister…"
She paused.
"…as if she's already gone."
…
Li Ming gripped the phone tightly, her fingers pale. An indescribable sorrow rose in her chest.
Wind blew from the street corner, carrying snowflakes that settled on her shoulders. Her shadow stretched long beneath the streetlight—lonely and heavy.
She knew that this phone call had ended an era.
And ended the bond that had once existed between her and her sister.
Pedestrians hurried past wrapped in thick down coats. She pulled her scarf tighter and looked up, the familiar feeling of loneliness washing over her.
Staring at her phone screen, 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 still.
The wind moved gently through the air.
The past had shaped her, but it would not decide her future.
She had to learn a new way to breathe, to live again, and to see the world anew.