The senior sister at the martial arts school was …

Dusk at the Wing Chun school. The training hall was empty except for me and my senior sister, Shen Jingzhe. At twenty, she was the headmaster’s only daughter, her lean frame wrapped in a black martial arts uniform, her right leg perpetually bandaged. Her bare feet moved across the gray brick floor without a sound. Her stark white hair was thrown back in a careless ponytail, and behind those black-framed glasses, her eyes were perpetually half-lidded, like a cat eyeing a mouse. I was her only junior brother, and her only human punching bag. From the day I walked through the door, she never once called me by my real name — just “small fry.” Tonight, after we finished sparring, she suddenly swung her leg up onto the wall, stretching into a full split. Then she tilted her head, looked at me, and said…