The pest lives in my heart

When my father died, the will divided the property fairly: the house and everything in it was given to me, and the deposit equivalent to the house was left to my sister. After the funeral, we started to pack the house. My sister found an old suitcase in the study, and she looked up at me with complicated eyes and an indescribable sense of disconnection: "Dad has a whole box of calligraphy and paintings."

We knew that my father was fond of painting and calligraphy, but we didn't know when he had collected them. The rice paper of those paintings and calligraphy was a bit yellowish, the color of age.

"How come I never heard Dad talk about these calligraphy and paintings?" I could hear her resentment, as if she had decided that my father had deliberately left them to me to keep them from her.

I explained nervously, "Dad didn't tell me about them either."

My sister looked at the painting in disgust and didn't say anything. Because my father made it clear in his will: the house and its contents belong to me. My sister left without saying goodbye, leaving me sitting in the room crying. The next morning, I received a phone call from my sister, and she hesitated, as if she didn't know what to say. I knew she wanted to ask about the paintings and calligraphy, so I said, "Is it about the paintings and calligraphy?"

She paused: "Yes, I think Dad's will is unfair."

"What do you want to do with it?"

"We'll split it equally." My sister said dryly.

I fought back the tears that were about to fall and said, "Okay. It was not the paintings that were going to be split in half that made me sad, but my sister's urgency.

At the end of the call, she eagerly said her arrangement: "Sister, let's ask an expert to appraise the value of the paintings and calligraphy. Otherwise, it's not fair to divide even if we don't know. Also, it's better to seal that box before dividing those calligraphy and paintings."

At noon, my sister called again and asked me to go and put the seal on it. The seal was printed by her computer, signed with her name and fingerprints, leaving the same blank space for me. Seeing how meticulously she worked, for the first time in more than 30 years I felt that she was a stranger, not even as familiar and friendly as an ordinary neighbor.

The next few days were quiet. My sister called me occasionally, all to discuss the calligraphy and paintings, as if our relationship depended on this box of calligraphy and paintings to maintain. Early Friday morning, my sister knocked on the door: "I found an appraisal expert named Wu, who can help us for free. It's best to go today."

We carried the suitcase to the car, and no one spoke during the entire 40-minute drive.

The yellowed paintings and calligraphy were all over Mr. Wu's workbench. After a whole morning had passed, Mr. Wu put down the magnifying glass and the reference material in his hand and asked us to put the paintings and calligraphy away. My sister carefully asked, "Could you please tell us the market value of each painting and calligraphy in general?"

Mr. Wu took a sip of tea and said with a smile, "These paintings and calligraphies are copies and have no market value. But it's not bad to hang in the living room for decoration."

My sister flipped through the paintings and calligraphy one by one, disappointed and undeterred: "How is that possible? How is it possible?"

My heart was inexplicably relieved, as if I had finally clarified that my father was not biased and that I had not discussed with him in advance to hide it from my sister. I still divided the painting into two parts. When I gave it to my sister, she vigorously refused and I stuffed it into her arms, then said to her, "This is a gift left to us by father, let's all keep it as a souvenir."

"I'm sorry." I heard her apologize in a very small voice, and the words opened the tear-gate of our sisters, and big, big tears fell. We cried, knowing that it had nothing to do with the value of the paintings and calligraphy. We all saw the moth growing in each other's hearts, which hurt the feelings of love and affection, and we didn't know how to destroy it.