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Fourth Sister returned home at the back of a column of soldiers. They rode mules into the village, their olive uniforms caked with the dirt and grime of travel, with only a few rifles and rusty knives between them. To Fourth Sister, the village appeared exactly the same as before, as if it stayed frozen in the twelve years she was gone. She even recognized a few of the faces, but they would never recognize her.
"Comrade Yan, you're back home. Did you want to see anyone?" Comrade Chen rode his mule adjacent to Fourth Sister, Yan Yan. Only a few weeks and he was already attached to her.
"I don't have time for that bourgeois shit," she said. "We're only here to spread the revolution."
Comrade Chen chuckled and rode closer. "Not even your mama and baba?"
Yan Yan glared at him for a moment, and looked away. She hadn't told anyone about her history with her family. It was just as well; they didn't need to know. Soon enough the Communist soldiers arrived at the village center, and their commander went for a conversation with the chief. She knew what she would do.
When she went to find her father, she went alone, carrying nothing. Even though she was only six when she ran away, the house remained etched in her memory. It was a red brick courtyard house, one of the larger ones in the village, surrounded by brick walls on four sides. She remembered the miniature lion statues in front of the gate, still there just as before, but she wasn't afraid of them anymore.
Yan Yan pounded on the metal gate three times. When the gate opened a familiar face emerged.
"Mama, it's me."
***
She remembered the silence. When her father and her father's real wives beat her, mother watched in silence. When they were about to take her feet and crush it beneath bandages, she watched in silence. Yan Yan had reached out to her, in tears. She didn't remember what she said, or if she said anything at all. Then Yan Yan struggled free. The pain was too much, right then. She was used to pain, but just at that very moment, it became too much to bear.
***
Mother looked at her, impassive as always, until she wasn't. From the corners of her eyes some hint of emotion started to form. Yan Yan put her arms on her mother's shoulders. Her mother shook her off, but still beckoned her inside.
The house was different from when Yan Yan left it. Gone were the tapestries and decorations and vases and even the good furniture. The walls were bare and cracked, caked with layers of dust.
"Sorry," her mother said, the first words she spoke to Yan Yan. "We had to sell many things. I'll make some tea."
Over tea, they exchanged stories. Mother told of how the war took a toll on the family. With the floods one year, and the soldiers coming the next, they couldn't afford servants anymore. The family could hardly afford to feed themselves. To make matters worse, her father was still a gambler and a spendthrift, his habits hardly changing even as the world around them went up in flames.
Where was father, Yan Yan asked. Just then the gates opened, and then footsteps reached the door. Her father's face was still recognizable, even as the creases deepened and the beard became unkempt.
"Who are you?", he asked. "You're a real pretty thing."
Yan Yan stared into her father's eyes. "I'm Chunmei's daughter. Fourth Sister Yan."
Father showed no recognition. "Oh." He nods, and looks at his concubine. "She looks like you. Beautiful, too."
Part of her seethed with rage. After treating her worse than a dog, he would say words like these? But then he sat down next to her, and put his arm around her.
"Don't touch me," she said, moving his arm away. Out of the corner of her eye she noticed her mother shake her head.
"Huh? Don't touch me? Can't a father touch his own daughter?"
"Sorry," she said, trying to remain calm. "I have to go."
He only grew more agitated. "Where have you learned to disrespect your elders? Is that what the Communist Party taught you? Can't a father show his love?"
Yan Yan stood up, resisting her father's attempt to pull her back down. She took a deep breath. "Do you feel sorry about what you've done in the past?"
"What? What the hell do I have to be sorry for? Why, it's you who should be sorry!" His memory churned, finally recalling her. "It was you who ran away! Only you! Why did you leave when everybody else could bear it and stay? What makes you so special? And you still think you're special, don't you? It's you who cursed us, you who made us suffer all these years! Do you know how much respect we lost because of you and your selfishness?"
She opened the door and left, dodging something thrown at her. She tried to close her ears to the curses her father spat at her, until she left the compound and closed the gate behind her.
***
Yan Yan wasn't the one to persecute her father, nor was she present for his trial. That was for the better. She didn't want to be there. After all, it was not about revenge, but revolution, the process of removing the stranglehold the landlord class had on the peasantry. Her father was an oppressor, in every way imaginable. She's seen far more worthy men than him die.
And he dies. Yan Yan didn't watch. She was already packing. The Nationalists were coming, and there would be a battle. She had to prepare. She had to fight, to defend the revolution from those like her father. She would not see her mother or her siblings again. Part of her couldn't bare to see them.
Comrade Chen smiled at her, and tried to grasp her hand. His intentions were painfully obvious. She still ignored him, but eventually she would no longer be able to afford to.
"Did you see anyone you know?", he asked.
"No," she said, still averting his gaze.