The Pawn They Raised Poor

On New Years Eve, the year I got into university, my parents gift to me was to reveal our family held billions in assets.

For the first time in fifteen years, I stepped out of that cramped, thirty-five square meter rental apartment.

Gazing at the opulent mansion before me, I asked, Why did you lie to me?

My mother, her arm around a girl who looked seventy percent like me, her face beaming with pride, said, This is your sister, Cindy. When we found her, she was deeply infatuated, ready to die for some penniless boy.

To show her how pathetic a life without money can be, our entire family acted out this charade for you.

See? You got into university on your own merit, and your sister finally saw the poor boy for who he truly was, and is now willing to come home and inherit the family business. These fifteen years were worth it!

My sister looked at me with disdain. Thanks to having you as a comparison, otherwise, I might have truly believed love conquered all.

So, my fifteen years of suffering were just a grand, elaborate play designed to highlight her and educate her?

Snap.

The crystal chandelier in the villas living room stung my eyes, making me instinctively raise a hand to shield them.

My hands were rough, chapped, and my knuckles slightly deformed from years of manual labor.

Dont cover your eyes, Lyra.

My mothers voice carried an unfamiliar air of elegance and nonchalance.

This is our real home. To celebrate you getting into a prestigious university, and to celebrate your sister, Cindy, finding her way back, today, we have double good news.

I lowered my hand, my vision blurring for a moment, finally focusing on the girl sitting squarely in the center of the sofa.

She looked seventy percent like me, her skin glowing white. She was now scrutinizing me with an expression one might reserve for a stray dog.

Mom, is this my control group?

The girl spoke, her voice soft and tender. She does look quite miserable,tsk. Her hair is as dry as straw. If that poor boy saw her dressed so shabbily, hed probably run for the hills overnight.

I stood frozen, the canvas sneakers on my feet felt scorching hot like branding irons.

What do you mean?

I heard my own voice trembling.

My father sat in a single armchair, no longer holding a cheap cigarette but a fine cigar.

It means, your fifteen years of poverty are over.

Lyra, fifteen years ago we found your sister, Cindy Gant. She was foolish back then, insistent on eloping with a petty thug.

To teach her a lesson, to make her understand the misery of a penniless marriage, we decided to use you as a negative example.

We lived with you in that rental, ate leftovers, wore secondhand clothes, all to show your sister how pathetic a person lives without money, like a dog.

Boom!

I stared at the people I had called Mom and Dad for fifteen years, watching the taken-for-granted expressions on their faces.

Acting?

I took a step forward, my voice hoarse.

Then the year I had that high fever in junior high, and you said we had no money for a doctor, making me drink ginger tea and try to sweat it out, nearly getting pneumoniathat was acting too?

Me, fainting in gym class from hunger, trying to save lunch money for study guidesthat was acting too?

My hands, covered in chilblains in winter, still having to fold cardboard boxes to earn living expensesthat was acting too?

My mother frowned, as if my questions were too noisy.

Alright, dont bring up those old, dusty grieGants. If it werent for that, would you have gotten into a top university? You should thank us for giving you this opportunity to temper your will.

Cindy set down her cup and walked towards me.

A wave of expensive perfume washed over me, masking the persistent damp, musty smell that clung to my own clothes.

Sister, one must learn to be content.

These fifteen years, Mom and Dad may have neglected you materially, but they gave you immense spiritual wealth.

Look at me. Though I lived a life of luxury, I nearly let love cloud my judgment. It was watching you struggle like an ant, turning red-faced over a few coins, that finally made me realize.

She leaned in close to my ear, chuckling softly.

Watching you walk for miles to save two gold coins on bus fare, watching you be humiliated for a part-time job slot, I truly thought money is wonderful.

You are the best wake-up call of my life.

I trembled all over, my blood seemingly flowing backward.

The best wake-up call?

My fifteen years of blood and tears, my countless nights of weeping, my self-respect humbled to dust.

In their eyes, all of it was just teaching material to educate another daughter?

You youre disgusting.

I forced the words through gritted teeth.

Slap!

A sharp slap landed heavily on my face.

You insolent girl! Is that how you speak to your sister?

Are you getting too big for your britches?

Now that you know the truth, know your place! In this house, Cindy is the moon in the sky, and youre at most a firefly on the ground. Dont even dream of comparing yourself to her!

I clutched my burning face, tasting a hint of blood in my mouth.

In that moment, I finally understood.

That thirty-five square meter rental apartment wasnt my hell.

This opulent mansion was.

Alright, stop making that morbid face.

My mother shot me a disgusted glance, then turned to Cindy, her face full of doting affection.

Cindy, take your sister to the mall tomorrow, buy her some decent clothes. Your grandfathers birthday banquet is in a few days. Dont let her shabby appearance embarrass the Thorne family.

Cindy casually filed her nails. Got it. I could use a bag-holder anyway.

The next day, I was taken to the citys most exclusive department store.

For fifteen years, I had passed by it countless times, never daring to glance inside.

The air conditioning inside was strong, raising goosebumps on my skin.

Cindy walked ahead, her heels clicking crisply on the marble floor.

I followed behind, feeling like a beggar who had stumbled into a heavenly palace.

This one, this one, and that one too.

Cindy pointed casually at a few dresses, and the sales associate immediately took them down with a beaming smile.

Go try them on.

She tossed the clothes to me. I walked into the fitting room, cradling garments with five-figure price tags.

The girl in the mirror was sallow and gaunt, her collarbones prominent, ribs clearly visible.

I put on a pink lace dress.

It was beautiful.

But on me, it hung loosely, making me look like a clown in stolen adult clothes.

I walked out of the fitting room.

Cindy was sitting on a sofa, drinking coffee. She burst out laughing when she saw me.

Oh my God, Mom, look.

She pulled out her phone and snapped a picture of me.

How does that dress look like a rag on her? She cant carry it at all.

My mother chimed in. No help for it, her foundation is too poor. Not eating well for fifteen years, her development is stunted. Not like our Cindy, a natural clothes horse.

The sales associate offered an awkward smile. The second young lady is indeed a bit too thin.

Thin? Thats poverty-stricken.

Cindy walked over, reaching out to pinch the meager flesh on my arm.

Tsk, tsk, all bone, hard to touch.

But then again, if wed fed you well and made you plump back then, how else would I have learned about the hardships of the common folk?

Im not buying anything.

I said softly, turning to go back into the fitting room.

Stop right there.

My mothers cold voice cut through the air.

Who gave you permission to throw a tantrum? Buying you clothes is a privilege. Dont be ungrateful.

This one, and those other ones she tried on, wrap them all up.

She pulled out a black card and handed it to the sales associate. Wear these clothes, and get rid of that impoverished aura. Remember, you are a Thorne daughter. Even if youre just a foil, dont be too embarrassing.

Returning home, it was dinner time.

The long dining table was laden with dishes I didnt recognize.

Australian lobster, black truffle foie gras, and sashimi still nestled on ice.

I sat at the far end, picking up a knife and fork, my hands somewhat stiff.

For fifteen years, I had only used bamboo chopsticks, two gold coins a pair.

Hmph.

A soft laugh reached my ears. Cindy cut a piece of steak, her eyes full of amusement as she watched me.

Mom, look at how she holds her knife. Doesnt it look like shes sawing wood?

The entire familys attention focused on my hands.

I was struggling to cut through the medium-rare steak, the blade scraping against the plate with a harsh, grating sound.

My father frowned, cursing, You ill-mannered girl!

You cant even eat properly. What have you learned in these fifteen years?

I put down my knife and fork, lowering my head, looking at the bloody steak on my plate, my stomach churning.

Im sorry.

What good is Im sorry?

Cindy elegantly wiped the corner of her mouth, her tone dismissive.

Some things, you know, are ingrained in the bone. Even if you wear a royal robe, you wont look like a prince.

Sister, your destiny is to eat street food your whole life.

My mother sighed, pushing a barely touched salad in front of me.

Alright, dont waste good food. You eat this. Its healthy and suits your stomach.

I picked up the fork, one cold leaf after another, mechanically chewing and swallowing.

Like training a newly adopted stray dog.

The month before university started was the longest agony of my life.

In this house, I lived like a transparent ghost, or a servant on call.

At Cindys parties, I was the tea-serving attendant; when Cindy went shopping, I was the bag-carrying labor; when Cindy was in a bad mood, I was her emotional trash bin.

I endured.

Because I held my university acceptance letter.

I was the top science student in the province.

With that score, I had secured a national scholarship for overseas study, fully funded, to pursue computer science at a world-renowned university.

As long as I survived this summer, I could escape, completely free myself from this twisted family.

This was my only hope.

That night, I was organizing my visa documents in my room.

The door was suddenly pushed open, without a knock.

My mother walked in, followed by Cindy, who had a playful look on her face.

What are you doing?

My mother casually flipped through the documents on my desk, her gaze falling on the red public scholarship certificate.

Packing, preparing for university.

I took the certificate back, carefully tucking it into a folder.

Oh, that.

My mother sat down nonchalantly. Lyra, we need to discuss something with you.

What is it?

Your sister also wants to study abroad, but her grades you know, she neglected her studies because of dating.

My mother paused, glancing at Cindy.

Cindy was leisurely fiddling with my passport.

So? I stared intensely at my mother.

So, we want you to give that scholarship slot to your sister.

What did you say?

I looked at her in disbelief. How can I give it to her? Its registered under my name! I earned this through my hard work!

Oh, dont get so agitated.

My mother frowned. Your father has already made arrangements. As long as you sign a voluntary relinquishment statement and write a letter of recommendation, plus the building our family donated to the university, transferring the slot wont be an issue.

Why should I?

This is my only way out! I earned this by studying day and night, ruining my eyes, wearing down my body!

If Cindy Gant wants to study abroad, your family has billions. You can send her anywhere! Why steal my scholarship slot?

Because I want the prestige.

Cindy tossed the passport back onto the desk, speaking airily.

Going abroad with money is just gilding. It doesnt sound good. A scholarship student, thats a genius, an academic star. I need that title to command respect when I take over the company later.

She walked up to me, her finger poking my shoulder.

Besides, sister. Someone like you, who only knows how to bury herself in books, will just be a bookworm abroad. Im different. I need this platform to expand my network, to see the world.

This opportunity would be wasted on you. Better to give it to me, so I can create value for the family.

I wont sign.

I gritted my teeth, fiercely guarding the folder.

This is my life. You have no right to take it.

Lyra Thorne!

A furious roar came from the doorway.

My father walked in. Are you getting too big for your britches? Us discussing it with you is a privilege!

Your very life was given by me, and your education was funded by me! Without this family, what are you?

Funded me?

I laughed, tears streaming down my face.

For fifteen years, my tuition was fully waived, and my living expenses came from folding cardboard boxes and collecting bottles! Did you ever give me a single coin?

Thats because we gave you life!

My father strode over, snatching the folder from my arms.

Today, you will sign this, whether you want to or not!

Give it back! Thats mine!

I lunged, desperate to grab it.

Slap!

My father backhanded me, sending me sprawling to the ground.

The folder fell, its papers scattering.

Cindy walked over, her heel grinding hard on the red certificate.

You chose the hard way.

She looked down at me. Sister, you dont actually think you can escape our grasp, do you?