My uncle’s family bound themselves to us with a "Double Effect" system. If my dad earned $10,000, my uncle’s stock account would mysteriously gain $20,000. If my mom got a facial, my aunt’s rough skin would become twice as smooth for no reason. My family scrimped and saved for years to buy a spacious condo. Immediately, my uncle’s family bought a townhouse in the same complex. This continued until the last subject of the college entrance exams. I accidentally drank spiked water. I endured the stomach cramps and finished the test, thinking I was done for. But the next moment, paramedics rushed past, carrying my cousin, who had uncontrollably soiled himself in another exam hall. 1 As soon as I walked out of the exam hall, my parents rushed me to the hospital. They couldn't understand it. My grades were usually trash, so I never had test anxiety. Why would I suddenly have stomach spasms? Compared to me, my cousin, Brandon, had it much worse. His "incident" was so spectacular that experts at the city's top hospital were treating him like a lab rat, running every test imaginable. But they couldn't find a physical cause for why he turned into a human fountain. Finally, the experts concluded that Brandon must have succumbed to immense psychological pressure during the exam. Grandma and Grandpa were wailing in the hospital corridor. "My precious grandson! My poor baby! He's suffered so much!" "Brandon has always been top of his class! He was Ivy League material! Who knew he was under so much pressure?!" I walked past the emergency room, watching my grandparents howl. You’d think Brandon had died. My parents exchanged glances, unsure whether to approach. The moment Grandma saw me, she charged over like a rabid chicken. "You jinx! What are you doing here? Are you here to laugh at your cousin?" So even Grandma thought it was funny. My mom shielded me, her face cold. My dad stepped forward to stop Grandma. "Mom, what are you doing? Roxy is sick too. She just came from another department." Grandma didn't show an ounce of concern. Instead, she glared at me with hatred. "She's sick too? She must have passed her bad luck to Brandon! She did it on purpose so he wouldn't get into Harvard!" My mom exploded. "My daughter getting sick is bad luck, but your precious grandson getting sick isn't? Brandon shitting himself in the exam hall and spraying everyone's papers—now that's bad luck! Grandma, keep spewing nonsense, and see if karma doesn't hit your precious grandson right in the ass!" Grandma's eyes went wide. She looked like she’d been struck by lightning. She opened her mouth to curse but couldn't get a word out. My mom smiled silently. "Children suffering is usually because the elders committed sins! Keep cursing, keep scolding. My daughter is tough, but your delicate grandson might not survive your bad karma!" Grandma was so angry smoke was coming out of her ears. She clenched her fists, grinding her teeth loud enough for us to hear. I could tell she was cursing us out in her head. Grandpa couldn't take it anymore and scolded my dad. "Enough! Can't you say something?" My dad mumbled, "Dad, I'm clumsy with words, just like you. You didn't say anything just now either." Grandpa's face turned red, and he waved his hand, telling us to get lost! 2 So, we got lost. The difference was, my dad and I left with relief, while my mom left triumphantly. My mom used to be gentle. Her sharp tongue was honed over nearly two decades of fighting with Grandma. Being able to shut Grandma up would keep her happy until dinner. For years, my dad stood by my mom. Mostly because Grandma was too much. Misogyny aside, she insisted I was bad luck! Brandon and I were born around the same time, just an hour apart. But Grandma listened to some wandering fortune teller who said our fates clashed. Since Brandon was the "destined genius," I must be the jinx suppressing him. Grandma wanted to send me away. My parents refused. From then on, Grandma never gave me a kind look. My parents were educated and didn't believe in such superstitions. Knowing Grandma disliked me, I grew up at my maternal grandma’s house in the city. We thought distance would fade the nonsense about clashing fates. But my uncle’s family had other ideas! When I started elementary school, they moved to the city too. We bought a condo; they bought a townhouse in the same complex. We went to the same school, just different classes. Even my aunt’s boutique opened right across the street from my mom’s office. We couldn't avoid them! Just now, as we left the hospital, Uncle’s call came in like a debt collector. My dad was driving, so my mom answered on speaker, holding the phone far away. Uncle’s furious voice roared out. "Dave! Did anything happen while you were driving just now?" My dad glanced at the phone with disdain. "No! I'm driving normally. What could happen?" Uncle asked again, "I heard Roxy is sick? Is that true?" My mom rolled her eyes. "Brother, if there's nothing else, I'm hanging up." "Hey, hey, hey..." My mom hung up and muted the phone. "Gold miners couldn't dig up a psycho like him! A few years ago he seemed to care, now he's just like your mom, blaming Roxy for everything that happens to his son." My dad said quietly, "He didn't say that... forget it. Let's not talk about the kids' exams anymore." My mom turned to look at me from the passenger seat. "Roxy, you did your best. Don't stress." I frowned at the frantic WeChat messages from Uncle. [Roxy, is your dad really okay driving?] Why was Uncle so nervous about my dad driving? When we got to the parking lot, my mom noticed a scratch on the rear bumper. "When did this happen?" My dad slapped a Tom & Jerry sticker over it. "Company finances are tight. Let's leave it for now." That night, I scrolled through my friend Lucy's feed. [So unlucky today! Encountered a bio-weapon in the exam hall, and then got rear-ended leaving the city. Please let the rest of the trip be smooth.] The photo showed a three-car pileup on the highway. The car in front had its rear end smashed. And in the corner of the photo, my uncle was angrily holding his phone. Too much of a coincidence? 3 That night, the news reported on the exam incident with a blurry surveillance video. In the video, Brandon suddenly raised his arms and shouted, "I can't take it anymore!" As soon as he took a step, his pants fell down. The students near him were the victims. Their exam papers were sprayed with disgusting brown liquid. The news station even thoughtfully mosaicked Brandon’s eruption. We hadn't watched TV in ages. A friend called my dad to tell him to turn it on. The friend chuckled on the phone. "The station is useless. Why mosaic the butt? They should have mosaicked his face!" My dad was too embarrassed to speak. Even with the blur, anyone who knew Brandon recognized his "robust" figure. 6'2", 250 pounds. Sitting on the floor, struggling to get up but failing. My mom said "Ew" and changed the channel. My dad hung up. "How could this happen to Brandon? Will it affect his score?" My mom scoffed. "If his score is affected, Grandma will blame Roxy. Even if he does well, she'll laugh at us first, then blame Roxy. I'd rather worry about Roxy." My dad sighed. "Everyone knows Brandon is my nephew. Don't be so harsh..." My mom cut him off. "He's a giant baby! Your parents spoiled him rotten. Treating the exam hall like a kindergarten potty. People are calling our house; think about how you'll face your boss tomorrow!" While they argued, I was glued to my phone. From the moment the exam ended, Brandon's "incident" went viral. It was trending top three on Weibo, TikTok, and Xiaohongshu. Many students in the same hall were affected. One girl vomited on the spot and cried hysterically afterward. Some students were threatening online not to let Brandon off easy. 4 The next day after work, my dad went to visit Brandon in the hospital out of kindness. In the ward, Brandon was playing video games like nothing happened. Grandma was hovering with chicken soup. "Good grandson, come, drink some soup." Brandon looked at the greasy soup with disgust. "It smells gross! Take it away!" Grandma looked even more loving the more he rejected her. It was like she couldn't express her love unless she spoon-fed him. "Just one sip, good boy!" Grandma held the spoon with one hand and the bowl with the other. Her long, yellow fingernails were dipping into the soup. Seeing her get closer, Brandon flailed his arm in annoyance. The hot soup splashed all over Grandma's chest. "Ah!" "Mom!" Brandon was fed up. "I told you to stay away! Look, there's a feather in the soup! How can I drink that?" My dad walked in and supported Grandma. "Brandon, is that any way to behave?" Brandon wasn't afraid of my dad at all. He sneered. "Uncle Dave, why aren't you being a corporate slave at your company? What are you doing here?" My dad was furious. "Is this how you talk to elders? Where are your parents? I need to ask them how they raised you!" Brandon pouted. "Go find them! My parents do big business. They aren't idle like you, watching over someone else's son." Grandma stopped my dad from scolding him. "Brandon just recovered, don't bully him!" A weird smell wafted from Grandma's wet, greasy clothes, making my dad step back. Brandon sat on the bed and said, "Uncle Dave, sucking up to me now is useless!" My dad looked like he heard a joke. "Me? Suck up to you?" Brandon was arrogant. "Yeah! There's no free lunch. My mock exam scores are Ivy League level. Even if I messed up the last subject, I can still pick any top university I want! Uncle, I understand you. You don't have a son, and Roxy is a loser destined for community college. You're here being nice because you want to rely on me later! The family's future depends on me!" My dad was stunned for a second, then exploded. "You little idiot! Mom, this is the kid you spoiled! Spraying shit in the exam hall wasn't enough, now he's spewing shit from his mouth!" Hearing "spraying shit," Brandon's face turned green. Grandma was even more anxious. "Shut up! Who said you could mention that! Brandon has... Irritable Bowel Syndrome! You're just jealous because he's not your son!" 5 My dad got kicked out of the ward. He came home and told my mom. My mom had long lost hope for that family. "So what? Your mom has treated Roxy like this for eighteen years. Your brother and sister-in-law made money in stocks and got cocky. Now that Brandon is going to a top college, your mom doesn't need you anymore." My dad let out a bitter laugh. "No son, sucking up to a nephew, family glory... young people don't talk like that. He must have heard it from my parents and brother. I thought my brother still cared about me. We lived in the same complex, kids went to the same school... I thought he was checking on me out of concern. Now I see it was just comparison and showing off!" My mom was unhappy too. "Years ago, your sister-in-law's shop was across from my office. My colleagues went in, and she'd ask about my salary and benefits. When they didn't want to say, she'd give them attitude and call them poor behind their backs. Who cares about relatives like that? It's obvious: they're afraid you'll suffer, but they're terrified you'll drive a Range Rover." I didn't listen to the rest. Now that I think about it, my uncle's family did pay a weird amount of attention to us. Normally, they'd ask about our income. If it was high, they looked jealous or competitive. If it was low, they looked smug. That was normal toxic relative behavior. Until Brandon and I started elementary school. I have zero talent for studying. No matter how hard I tried, I was average at best. Brandon played all day but always scored at the top. At first, my parents sent me to cram schools. But after years of effort, we accepted the truth. I am a mediocrity. Brandon is a natural genius. I was mocked for this constantly. Feeling suffocated, I started organizing my old test papers. Most students tear them up to celebrate freedom, but I wanted to sell them for scrap. My grades were worthless anyway. My phone pinged. A notification from the school's confession wall. A hot post titled: [Don't idealize geniuses, especially the ones who shit themselves!] Apparently, a junior girl had bid high for Brandon's notes, hoping for wisdom. Instead, she got blank pages, doodles, and crude ratings of girls' appearances in each class. Things like "bangable," "needs to be trained," "huge tits." It was disgusting. The girl demanded a refund. Brandon refused and insulted her. "Even if I bombed the last subject, I'm scoring over 700! Worship me and shut up! Just wait for my score to slap your face, bitch!" The girl was furious and posted everything. 700? Brandon had hit that in mocks. But my grades were so bad my parents never compared us. I quickly looked up his past scores. Me: 360. Brandon: 720. Me: 356. Brandon: 712. Me: 345. Brandon: 690. My scores hovered around 350. His were always double mine. Double. Exactly double. That was too coincidental!
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