The doorbell was broken, but the door was unlocked. Inside, I followed the noise to the far end of the first floor. Two men at a round table were playing a finger-guessing game, while others swayed and sang in a dialect I didn’t understand. A man and woman sat entwined around each other. Empty beer bottles lay scattered across the floor. On an electric hotplate in the center of the table, a pot of greasy red liquid roiled.

It took some effort to explain who I was. Once she understood, a woman dashed out and rapped energetically at a door across the passageway. The girl who emerged was Mei, Grandpa’s home aide. She was dressed, but the man behind her was still fumbling with his belt buckle. The visitors hastily scattered, leaving Mei biting her lip and swiping viciously at the table. Of course she was put out, having never set eyes on me, or even knowing the old man had a granddaughter. It seemed faintly ridiculous that this grand old house, a symbol of lifelong glory, had become a playground for the help. Grandpa would never know. Since his lung cancer diagnosis six months ago, he’d been bedridden and confined to his room. No one visited. He hated being disturbed, and had cut ties with the outside world a few years back.

Two days later, I told Mei her services were no longer required. I didn’t like that she seemed more the owner of this place than I did. Before leaving, she came to say goodbye to Grandpa, and actually shed some tears. Perhaps she really was fond of him—more than I was, that’s for sure. Grandpa had gotten used to her care, but now that he was frail and nearing the end, he still chose me.

It had been so many years he no longer recognized me, but as soon as I said my name, he instantly trusted me, and didn’t object when I fired Mei. Blood ties are a form of violence, the way they yoke together people who feel nothing for each other.

Jiaqi! Jiaqi! he called out of the blue, as if to keep from forgetting the name. I spent a lot of time in this room, those first few days. Sitting there staring at him, imagining the conversations we could have had. About the tragedy of our family, how he became the person he is now, how I grew into my current self. I went over what I would say to him, rehearsing the cruelty of my tone, honing every word like a pencil till its point was sharp enough to strike a fatal blow.