Three Sisters

PART TWO

“MEN DON’T MARRY in May; women don’t wed in June.” In the countryside that is the taboo.

Actually, it is less a taboo than a consequence of the heavy fieldwork during the summer months. But that did not stop Wang Lianfang’s eldest daughter, Yumi, from marrying herself off on the twenty-eighth of May, a mere six days after Lesser Fullness, the eighth of the twenty-four solar periods, when the winter wheat has become full, and one week before Grain in Beard, the ninth solar period. The most urgent and important task for farmers at this time is what they refer to as “fighting two battles.”

The first, the “battle of the harvest,” includes reaping, threshing, winnowing, and storing. The second, the “battle of the sowing,” includes plowing, irrigating, leveling, and planting. Busy times.

People have only two hands, and by choosing this particular time to give her hand in marriage, Yumi showed a pronounced lack of judgment. She was well thought of by her fellow villagers, who viewed her as a sensible girl. But in a farming village, what sensible person would choose to get married in the month of May? No wonder Second Aunt, who lived at the end of the lane, talked about Yumi behind her back. “That girl,” she said, “was in too big a hurry and couldn’t keep her legs closed.”

Truth is, that was unfair to Yumi. She got married when Guo Jiaxing decided it was time, and his decision rested solely on when his current wife died. She left this world in late March, and the “double seven” period of mourning—forty-nine days—ended on the twenty-eighth of May, when Guo announced that he was remarrying. Not deigning to visit Wang Family Village personally, he sent a clerk from the commune on the official speedboat, who set off a string of firecrackers as he passed beneath the bridge near the stone pier. Firecrackers in May—nothing could have sounded stranger. But, undeniably, they heralded a happy event. People on the riverbank saw the pair of red paper cutouts on the boat’s windshield. The skipper was bugling the boat’s arrival as it nestled up against the pier, leaving in its wake a V formation of waves that raced to both banks like the haughty dogs of a powerful master and pounced on the legs of the women standing on the pier. With shrieks of alarm, they jumped onto the riverbank with their buckets. The waves ceased when the boat was tied up at the pier and the clerk stepped out of the cabin.

It was a hasty wedding, a little shabby even, but as the commune speedboat was tied up at the stone pier, it didn’t actually seem hasty or shabby; it succeeded in giving the impression of extravagance, even an air of implied superior power, since Yumi’s bridal transport was to be the speedboat.

She betrayed none of the bashful confusion so common to and expected of brides-to-be; she was unruffled, brash and overweening, audacious and boastful. In other words, she behaved like someone with a powerful backer. She’d cut her hair short, which made her look almost athletic, ready to take on the world. She was wearing a neatly pressed red polyester top that was sheer, rich-looking, smooth, and stiff.

As she traveled the short distance from her home to the waiting speedboat, she created the unique impression of someone who was fond of both festive feminine attire and military bearing. She looked at no one as she walked alongside the clerk, but she knew that everyone was looking at her. The way the clerk, a dignified man, bowed and scraped made it clear that he was not the groom, and the villagers knew instinctively that her husband was no ordinary man. Instead of entering the cabin when she boarded, Yumi sat on a bench in the open-air stern. The banks of the river were packed as she sat there proudly, looking less and less like a resident of Wang Family Village.

The arrival of Yumi’s father, Wang Lianfang, silenced the jabbering crowds. Several months earlier, after serving as the village Party secretary for twenty years, he had lost his job and been driven out of the Party. Why? He’d wound up in the “wrong bed.” The wrong bed indeed. Over that twenty-year period he had slept with many women, and had been heard to say that he’d maneuvered his way through the three generations—old, middle-aged, and young. But this last episode had constituted a major offense, a real transgression. One day, sometime later, when he was mightily drunk, he was heard to chant: “One must never screw a soldier’s wife.” On this day, when he reached the pier, Wang surveyed the speedboat with the flair and dignity of a village secretary; he still looked every bit the Party member. He raised his arm and, with a flick of the wrist, said, “Off you go.”

The motor started up, sending waves racing to shore like dogs chasing a bone. After the boat had traveled a short distance, it turned in a wide circle and headed back; by the time it passed the pier, it was up to full speed. Yumi’s short hair stood up in the wind; her blouse fluttered. She sat facing the wind, looking like one of those intrepid women in propaganda posters, a woman who could charm any man and still look death in the face without flinching. The boat roared into the distance with the skipper sounding his horn repeatedly until only Yumi’s red jacket was visible, waving like a flag.

Yumi’s grandfather, grandmother, and five of her six sisters—Yusui, Yuying, Yuye, Yumiao, and Yuyang—were among the crowd of wellwishers; even her six-month-old baby brother was there in the arms of Yusui.

Her mother, Shi Guifang, had seen her only to the gate before returning to her room in the west wing, all alone in an empty and eerily quiet house. As she sat on the covered chamber pot she thought back to when Yumi was a little girl suckling at her breast. Then she recalled how Yumi would drool when she sucked her thumb, her two little eyes surveying her surroundings like a thief, the glistening spittle stretching like rubber.

When Shi Guifang clapped her hands behind Yumi, the girl’s large head would spin around and, because it rested on such a thin neck, would wobble a few seconds before steadying. Then she’d laugh, showing her gums, and reach out with both arms, pudgy as lotus roots, to grab hold of her mother. Scene after scene, it seemed like only yesterday, and now here Yumi was, about to be married, soon to be a wife and mother—to belong to someone else. Shi Guifang felt a crushing sadness. The only reason she didn’t cry was that she didn’t want to spoil her daughter’s wedding day. And this was not the sole cause of her sadness; there was another even deeper one. Yumi had only told Guifang of her wedding plans a few days before. That is to say, she had kept everyone, including her mother, in the dark about her impending wedding. Shi Guifang had always assumed that Yumi and the aviator, Peng Guoliang, were still romantically involved. Several months earlier during his visit, they had grown inseparable, shutting themselves up in the kitchen and hardly ever leaving. Looking back now, it had been an unattainable dream for Yumi.

A few nights earlier, Yumi had said, “Ma, I’m getting married.” What a shock that had been. Guifang had a bad feeling about it.

“To whom?” she had asked.

“The deputy director of the Commune Revolutionary Committee. His name is Guo Jiaxing,” she had replied.

So, a second wife. Desperate to know more, Shi Guifang did not have the nerve to ask any more questions when she saw the determined look on her daughter’s face. But like mothers everywhere, she could guess what was in her daughter’s heart, what fruit had been planted, and what flowers had grown. If Wang Lianfang had not suffered the calamity of losing his job and Party membership, the courtship between Yumi and her aviator would still be moving forward. And even if he’d called off the marriage, Yumi, with her good looks, would not have had to go to such extremes. She’d have found a marriage partner who would have helped erase the stain on her family’s reputation. Suddenly beset by heartache, Shi Guifang covered her nose with a sheet of toilet paper. A sensible child can cause all sorts of anguish in a mother.

The third daughter of the family, Yuxiu, also stayed away from the pier. Yumi did not see Yuxiu anywhere as she searched the crowd of well-wishers before stepping into the boat. She knew why: Her sister would never show up anyplace where there were wagging tongues. Truth be told, Yuxiu was the one Yumi worried about the most. They had always been at odds with each other. Their mother often said that the “bad blood was a carryover from a previous life.”

Yumi did not like Yuxiu, and Yuxiu felt the same way toward her. They were forever hatching schemes against each other, and over time their mutual animosity resulted in the creation of two camps among the seven sisters. Yumi commanded the loyalty of Yusui, Yuying, Yuye, Yumiao, and Yuyang; Yuxiu was a commander without an army.

As the eldest daughter, a mother figure herself, Yumi was in a position of authority. Her sisters, all but Yuxiu, did what she said. Yuxiu would not give Yumi the respect she desired. Her natural asset—her beauty—was the source of her defiance. She had beautiful eyes, a lovely nose, pretty lips, and perfect teeth. She was quite simply everything a young woman could want to be, and this was why she had developed undisguised arrogance. She was not just beautiful; she was obsessed with her beauty, her mind focused solely on how she looked. Her hair, for instance. Although she wore braids like all the other girls, she managed to distinguish herself by leaving stray locks at her temples, which she twisted around her fingers so they would curl like melon vines alongside her ears. While that might not seem like much, it was eye-catching, different, coquettish, and reminiscent of the female enemy agents in the movies. She was a bundle of affectations, always acting a part, her attitude one of insouciance.

In general terms, the residents of Wang Family Village shared common views of Secretary Wang’s daughters: Yumi was a sensible girl, as the eldest ought to be; Yusui was flighty; Yuying was well-behaved; Yuye was stubborn; Yumiao was bad-tempered; and Yuyang was sweet. As for Yuxiu, they all agreed that she was a little fox fairy, a seductive girl. How could she fit in with her sisters? She had no qualms about being in conflict with any of the others; her bold independence stemmed not only from her good looks, but also from the fact that she had a backer.

Wang Lianfang showered his attentions on his son and was indifferent toward his daughters—except Yuxiu, whom he liked.

Why?

People were drawn to her, and that was reason enough for a Party secretary to be fond of her. With Yuxiu backed by her father, no one would have dared put her in front of a firing squad even if she had been an enemy agent. People liked to say that both the palm and the back of the hand are flesh and blood, so parents love all their children the same. It is a ridiculous saying. If you don’t believe me, examine your own hand. The palm may be flesh and blood, but not the back, which is mostly bone wrapped in a thin layer of skin.

Given her natural inclinations and studied affectations, Yuxiu was secure with her father’s backing. She picked on not only her younger sisters but her older sisters as well, after which she would cozy up to her father and complain about being mistreated, a girl all alone, charmingly sweet, deserving of his sympathy, and eminently loveable. When there was trouble, she was usually at fault, yet she was always the first to complain, armed with all sorts of reasons or excuses. This trait, more than anything, upset her sisters, who found common cause to line up even more strongly in Yumi’s camp against Yuxiu, the seductive tease.

And yet, as the eldest, Yumi needed to be prudent and adopt a wellthought-out strategy to deal with Yuxiu, especially when the family needed to unite against outsiders. She had to rally all the forces available to her, which included winning over Yuxiu to seek unity. Once Yumi had taken care of those outside forces, she’d close the door and turn her attention to dealing with the internal struggle between the two camps. She could launch a determined attack on precisely that which needed fixing. Either bringing the opposition over or beating it down would solidify her head of household status, which was her goal. While there was the appearance of two camps, in reality, it was a contest between two individuals—Yumi and Yuxiu.

In fact, Yuxiu was contemptuous of Yumi, whose greatest asset was her ability to mobilize the masses. One on one, Yumi might not have been up to the challenge. But given Yumi’s pack of henchmen, Yuxiu was hopelessly outnumbered. Yumi’s advantage was that Yuxiu gave little thought to numerical inferiority, for she was obsessed with her role as a fox fairy; she saw herself as a seductive serpent. With each alluring twist of the neck and flick of her forked tongue, she slithered along captivatingly no matter where she went.

The serpent’s body had slithered along until the spring of 1971. Once that cold night had passed, Yuxiu was aware that the attractive serpent was a chimera.

The village was wild with joy on the day the incident occurred. The commune’s movie boat had glided up to the Wang Family Village pier, and the residents were about to enjoy their first movie since Wang Lianfang had lost his position and been kicked out of the Party. It was a day of irrepressible jubilation.

Yuxiu was always happy when there was a movie. She and her sister had reacted differently to their father’s troubles. Yumi appeared to be unconcerned, but that was all for show, a pretense. Yuxiu was the one who really did not care, for she had her beauty, something no one could take away. So she went to see the movie; Yumi did not. Yuxiu was smart enough to see the advantages of restraint, so she held back from grabbing a seat in the middle. Up till then, the best seats at a movie had always gone to the Wang family; no one would have dared squabble over them. Anyone who “beat the dog without seeing who owned it” was just asking for trouble.

On this evening, Yuxiu, with Yuye in tow, stood in the last row rather than work her way up through the crowd. The wife of Wang Caiguang, seeing that Yuye was too short to see over people’s heads and not caring that the Wang family status had plummeted, graciously signaled them over and gave up her seat to Yuye. Years earlier, she had been one of Wang Lianfang’s lovers. When the affair ended, she’d swallowed pesticide and jumped into the river, presenting a ghastly sight and having a significant impact on the village. Happily, that had been years before. As she stood beside Caiguang’s wife, Yuxiu was quickly caught up in the movie, and when the night turned cold and the wind blew on her neck, she buried her hands in her sleeves to keep them warm and scrunched her neck down into her collar. About halfway through the movie, Yuxiu needed to relieve herself, but by then the winds were so strong that the screen began to billow and bend the hunched figures on it out of shape. She decided to stay put. She could wait till she got home. There is truth in the saying that “Cold winds make for short necks, chilled air makes relief seem long.”

On-screen, American bombers flew overhead and dropped their bombs on the Yalu River, making muffled sounds like those of a mother urging her child to pee. Pillars of water rose from the Yalu River; a major assault was on its way, and the movie was starting to get interesting. Then without warning, a pair of hands covered Yuxiu’s eyes from behind. This was a favorite prank among local residents, and in the past, if someone had done that to Yuxiu in the middle of a movie, the prankster’s lineage would have been the target of one of her withering curses. But not this time. “Hey! Whose cold claws are those?” she said with a laugh. But this time it didn’t seem like a prank; the hands were pressing too hard.

Clearly upset, she was about to complain, when someone stuffed straw into her mouth. She was then hauled away and immediately set upon by many hands, which lifted her off the ground. She heard rapid footsteps. She fought, using all her strength; it was, however, a silent struggle.

The sound of exploding bombs and gunfire from the film retreated into the distance as Yuxiu was flung down onto a haystack and blindfolded; then someone pulled her pants down, exposing the lower half of her body to the night winds. She shuddered and was shocked when her bladder betrayed her. The noise around her stopped abruptly, except for the raspy sounds of heavy breathing. All thoughts left her, everything but the will to save face. She tried to stop the flow of urine, but could not. She heard a hissing sound as it escaped. As soon as she finished, the racket around her started up again, and she heard the muted voice of a woman growl, “Don’t go crazy. One at a time, one at a time.” It sounded like Caiguang’s wife, but Yuxiu couldn’t be sure. Young as she was, she knew that her lower body was in danger, so she closed her legs as tightly as she could. Four hands pulled them apart again and held them. Then something hard pressed down on her thigh, and then it was inside her.

In the end, Yuxiu, who was crumpled up like a pile of rotting straw, was helped home by Yumi, joined by Yuye. The younger girl cried and said it hurt, but after she was cleaned up, she fell asleep. Not Yuxiu. Seventeen years old that year, she knew what had happened. She lay in bed in the arms of her older sister all night without shutting her eyes. The tears never stopped flowing, and before the night was over, her eyes were so swollen from crying she could barely open them. Yumi never left her side, drying her tears and shedding her own. They had never been so close; it was as if their mutual survival depended on it. Yuxiu spent the entire next day in bed, neither eating nor drinking, and tormented by nightmares. Yumi brought food and then took it away, over and over. Yuxiu refused to eat.

Finally, on the fourth day, she opened her mouth; her lips were flaked with dead skin. Holding a bowl of sticky rice porridge in her hand, Yumi fed her sister one slow spoonful at a time, and as Yuxiu looked up at Yumi, she abruptly wrapped her arms around her sister’s waist. Weak though she was, she held on with all her might, her hands like those of a corpse. Instead of trying to pry them apart, Yumi ran her fingers through Yuxiu’s hair, then combed and braided it. Finally, she told Yuyang to fetch a basin of water to wash Yuxiu’s face.

When that was done, she took her sister’s hand and said, “Get up and come with me.” She said it softly but with authority.

Blurry-eyed, Yuxiu looked up at her sister and shook her head.

“Are you just going to hole up here? How long do you expect to do that? Our family has never been afraid of anyone, don’t you know that?” Yumi said.

She opened a drawer, took out a pair of scissors, and handed them to Yuxiu. “Cut off your braids and then come with me,” she said.

Yuxiu shook her head again, but the meaning behind it was different this time. Then she was afraid to go outside; now it was the refusal to part with her braids.

“What do you want to keep them for? It was your seductive manner that got you into this trouble in the first place,” Yumi said, as she snatched the scissors out of her sister’s hand and— snip —one of Yuxiu’s braids fell to the floor— snip —then the other braid joined it. She picked the braids up off the floor and tossed them into the commode, then tucked the scissors into her waistband, took Yuxiu by the hand, and started out the door.

“Come with me,” she said. “I’ll cut the tongue out of anyone who says a word.”

So Yumi strolled through the village with Yuxiu, who shuffled along, her limp body seemingly weightless and quite ugly. Her hair, now minus the braids, looked like a nest of straw and chicken feathers. Yumi, armed with the scissors, was her protector. One look was all it took anyone to figure out her intentions, and they dared not meet that glare; they either turned away or walked off.

She kept telling her sister, who trailed behind her, to hold her head up. Yuxiu did as she was told. Though she was drawing strength from her sister’s fierce demeanor—the fox parading along behind the tiger—at least she was out in public.

Unspoken feelings of gratitude toward Yumi rose up inside her, tempered by an inexpressible sense of loathing. It was an unfounded loathing, utterly unreasonable, and yet there it was, deep in the marrow of her bones. They had fought for years, but in the end, she had no choice but to rely on Yumi’s authority and her sympathy.

Why had Yumi been born a girl? she wondered. How wonderful it would have been if she were a boy, my older brother.

But she wasn’t; Yumi was her older sister, and now she was getting married and moving away. The wedding boat was tied up at the pier, and Yuxiu had not gone to see her off. Yuxiu was afraid to. She might hate her sister, but she wished that Yumi didn’t have to leave Wang Family Village. Yuxiu the fox was lost without Yumi the tiger. No longer would she find the courage to mix with people, to be in a crowd. She slipped over to the concrete bridge to the east, where she leaned against the railing and waited, looking far off in the distance. Her lovely eyes, now filled with melancholy and anxiety, were trained on the jubilant scene at the distant pier; none of that joy reached far down the river to Yuxiu. Sunlight danced crazily on the surface of the river, fragmented and blinding. The boat was coming her way, and as it neared the bridge, Yumi spotted Yuxiu. The sisters, one in a boat, the other on a bridge, exchanged gazes as the distance closed and they could see each other more clearly. The boat sped under the bridge, and both girls spun around to keep looking at each other, although now the distance increased and their figures grew more indistinct. Then Yuxiu saw Yumi stand up in the boat and shout something. The wind carried it up to her. She heard every word: Don’t forget to carry a knife when you go out.

The roar of the motor faded as the boat turned at a bend in the river and disappeared from view. The waves it had created had smoothed out, and now only a bright scar was left on the surface. Yuxiu was still on the bridge, still looking down the river, seemingly focused but actually in a daze. The sun had migrated to the western sky, casting a red patina over the river and elongating Yuxiu’s shadow on its surface, at once docile and quivering. She looked down at that shadow, staring at it so long that it turned into an optical illusion, looking as if it were being carried along by the ripples on the water. But by regaining her focus, she saw that it had stayed put and was not going anywhere. If only my shadow could transform itself into a speedboat, she was thinking, I could leave Wang Family Village and go anywhere I wanted.

Yuxiu was surprised to see a dozen or more little girls standing in a circle in front of her door when she turned into the lane. She walked up to see what they were doing and spotted her second sister, Yusui, in the middle, showing offa spring-and-autumn blouse Yumi had left behind, the one Liu Fenxiang had worn as the propaganda troupe’s program announcer; it had a decidedly urban look—a turned-down collar and a narrow waist. Yumi would never have considered wearing any of that woman’s clothes, but she hadn’t the heart to throw anything that pretty away.

Yuxiu was a different matter altogether. She had kept her eye on the blouse for some time. There is a popular saying that goes “Men never turn down a drink, and women never say no to clothes.” Who cares whom it belonged to? A pretty blouse is a pretty blouse was how Yuxiu looked at it. But she hadn’t worn it yet, out of a fear of Yumi. Imagine her surprise when Yusui claimed it the minute Yumi was out the door. Something that nice on Yusui was like a hungry dog with a turd in its mouth—it cannot be pried out.

Yuxiu stopped at the lane entrance to observe Yusui with a squint. How could something that nice lose its charm as soon as Yusui put it on? The look on Yuxiu’s face was not pretty. Obviously, now that Yumi was gone, Yusui was setting herself up as the new head of household. An ordinary girl like her ought at least to take a good look at herself. The longer Yuxiu stood there, the dumber her sister appeared, especially now that she’d ruined a perfectly good blouse. Yuxiu elbowed her way up next to Yusui and demanded, “Take it off”

“Says who?” Yusui replied, still caught up in the excitement.

“I said take it off,” Yuxiu said in a tone that left no room for bargaining.

Apparently softening a bit, but not ready to give in, Yusui repeated, “Says who?”

Used to having her way, Yuxiu got in her sister’s face and said icily, “Are you going to take it off or aren’t you?”

Yusui knew that she was no match for Yuxiu, but one glance at the other girls told her that she’d lose face if she gave in meekly. In the end, she took off the blouse, held it for a moment by the collar, then dropped it on the ground and stomped all over it.

“Take it,” she screamed. “You act so high and mighty, even after all those men have had you. You piss pot! You shit can!”

Before eight o’clock in the morning, the main street of Broken Bridge is, in essence, an open-air market that sends a jumble of smells from one end to the other. But after eight, the street undergoes a transformation, becoming clean and orderly. This comes about not by fiat but by the demands of daily life, which are strictly followed and unchanging. The middle-school PA system crackles to life, heralding a solemn moment: “Beijing time—8:00 A.M.” Beijing time: distant, intimate, sacred, a symbol of unity, a sign that all China’s citizens live planned, disciplined lives—not only the residents of Beijing, but everyone in the country. The beloved Chairman Mao is already attending to state affairs at Tiananmen,[3] and it is time for womenfolk in towns everywhere to stop haggling over prices. The morning sun’s slanting rays light up the street and are reflected off of the cobblestones, turning them red. Small pockets of quiet, bordering on total stillness, settle over the street, belying the preparations already under way. And then the general store opens its door, and the purchasing co-op opens its door. The post office, the credit union, the commune offices, the hospital, the farm-tools factory, the blacksmith and carpentry shops, the provisions branch, the grain-purchasing station, the transport office, the culture station, and the livestock-purchasing station—every unit subsumed under the nation slowly opens its big iron door for business. No longer an open-air market, the street has become an integral part of the “nation,” involved in the functions and powers of “state.” As these doors open one by one, a ceremonial aura quietly infuses the street, even though, not surprisingly, the townsfolk are unaware of it; it is an aura of willful indolence with a hint of solemnity. It is the moment when the new day officially begins.

Guo Jiaxing arrived at his office every day at eight. Eight o’clock on the dot. Sitting at his desk, he steeped a cup of tea, crossed his legs, and started his day with two newspapers and one magazine,[4] carefully reading every word. This could almost be mistaken for a form of study. Guo sat at his desk in town all day long, but for all practical purposes, he spent every day in Beijing, following with interest everything that happened in the nation’s capital. He would never overlook who among the leading comrades moved up in the hierarchy and who moved down. The year before, for instance, seven members of the leadership had greeted Prince Norodom Sihanouk, but this year three of them had been replaced. Over the past few days, newspapers had reported that one of the three had been sent to Tanzania and a second was in Inner Mongolia, involved in “cordial discussions with herdsmen.” There was no news of the third. This name, the status of which was unclear, was one that Guo would keep in mind for weeks afterward, and if too much time passed with no subsequent mention, he would bring it up with commune leaders, keeping his tone as somber as possible: “So and so” has not been heard from for quite some time, he’d say. Eventually, when “so and so” resurfaced in the papers—his name or his photograph—Guo, now relieved, would pass the news on to his comrades. He was given to equating the names in his two newspapers and one magazine with the nation. Concern for them was the equivalent of being concerned for his country. He paid attention to them not because he was ambitious and wanted to move up the ladder. He wasn’t the type. He had gotten to where he was by toeing the Party line and wanted to keep it that way. Spending the rest of his career as a commune official was what he desired, for he was a man perfectly content with what he had. His routine had become an ingrained habit formed over many years until it was part of his nature. One day was just like every other one.

Guo Jiaxing was not concerned about individual people, not even himself. In his rigid approach to life, he kept the motherland in mind and the world in view, as Chairman Mao had once said. The concepts of birth, old age, sickness, and death bored him, as did thoughts about the daily necessities—the oil, salt, vinegar, and soy sauce—of life. To him those were trivial, vulgar, insipid, meaningless things. And yet, it was trivia that in recent days had him in its grip, and he was having trouble freeing himself from it. This situation had its origins in one of the revolutionary committee’s deputy chairmen. “Three flames burn in the bellies of middle-aged men,” this comrade had joked when he saw Yumi. “Promotion, riches, and the death of a wife. Deputy Chairman Guo has now managed one of them.”

It was an antiquated sentiment, an unhealthy remnant of the old society, and Guo was not happy when word of the comment reached him. But it made him think, and he had to admit that there was truth to it. He was not in line for promotion and had not gotten rich, but his wife had died, and by rights he should have been in the throes of depression and self-pity. And he’d expected to be. But he wasn’t. No, he was upbeat, energized, vigorous, inflamed.

Why?

Because his wife had died. Out with the old and in with the new. And there was more: His beautiful new wife, who was young enough to be his daughter, had satiny skin. While he would not have admitted it publicly, in his heart, Guo Jiaxing knew that the source of his happiness could be traced to his bed and Yumi’s body.

As he thought back over the past several years, he realized what a lethargic sex life he’d had. He and his wife were an old married couple, too familiar for their own good; and having sex was like attending a meeting: first, setting up the room, then calling to order, followed by reports and finally adjournment. A seemingly significant act was, in fact, an insipid experience. And, understandably, there had been no more meetings after his wife had contracted her fatal illness. To put a fine point on it, Guo Jiaxing had not had sex for more than a year, maybe two. Fortunately, his interest and desire had not been pronounced. There’s something to be said for celibacy.

Who’d have thought that spring would come to a dying tree; that the sago palm would bloom again? Guo Jiaxing would have been the last person to believe that he could be revitalized at that age, and for that he had to thank Yumi, a sex partner who knew exactly how to please him. More than that, she was very considerate. If he was lusting after her, she’d rest his head on her breasts and say, “Don’t overtax your body. Slow water runs far. Besides, who would want to take a hag like me away from you? And what am I supposed to do if you ruin your health? I’d be left with nothing.” Then she’d shed a tear or two to show how sad she’d be, though the effect was more endearing than sad. Guo was puzzled over how sex had become so important in his life after having given it little thought for so long—until Yumi arrived, that is. She could not hold him off, so she moved with him until they were both sweaty. Their bed was always wet afterward, and Yumi never could figure out why sex made her sweat so much. It was hard work for her, so one day she said, “Why don’t you go find a woman? You’re too much for me.” Obviously, that comment did not square with what she’d said in the past, but pillow talk has a way of defying logic. And Guo Jiaxing loved to hear her talk like that. It was music to the ears of this fifty-year-old man, since it meant that Guo Jiaxing wasn’t old, that he was still in the prime of life. In order to recapture his youth in the marital bed, Guo secretly began doing push-ups. At first he’d barely managed one; but he was now up to four or five, and at this rate, twenty or more should be no problem by the end of the year.

As far as Guo Jiaxing was concerned, Yumi was best off staying at home to sew and wash and clean. When he told her that, she kept her head down and said nothing, as was expected from the obedient young wife of an older man. That pleased him just fine. So she became a proper housewife, serving her husband in and out of bed. Until the night she took it into her head to be slightly roguish. Her husband had gone out drinking with commune colleagues, and when he came home, thanks to the alcohol, he wanted to take her straight to bed. She said no, which was out of character. So, without a word, he undressed her. She did not resist at first, but when she was naked, she covered herself with one hand and grabbed him with the other. “I said no.” She looked tantalizing, a blend of propriety and promiscuity. She was being playful, and he did not get angry. Instead, inflamed with desire, his heart snapping like a banner in a gale, he reached a point where he’d have inserted his whole body if he could. “I need it,” he said. Yumi ignored him and turned her head away. “I said I need it.”

This time she let go, pressed her breasts against him, and said, “Get me a job at the supply and marketing co-op.”

Guo’s passion had nearly frozen his tongue, and he did not know what to say.

“Do it for me tomorrow,” she said.

He agreed.

Yumi ran her fingers through her hair and lay back, arms and legs open for him. He was so excited by this time that the passionate lovemaking he’d been anticipating turned out to be a disappointment—he finished almost before he began.

“I’m sorry,” she said softly as she lay beneath him, her arms wrapped around his neck.

“I’m really sorry.” She said it so many times that it saddened her and she was soon in tears.

Actually there was no need to apologize. It had not gone well, but ultimately it had no effect on his passion. If anything, it had been an intoxicating experience. He was breathing hard, experiencing a growing attachment to his young wife. She was definitely worth keeping.

The supply and marketing co-op had not been Yumi’s first choice. She’d have preferred an assignment to the grain-purchasing station. And for good reason. The purchasing station was on the river, near Broken Bridge’s largest concrete pier, and it was where all boats to and from the commune tied up or passed by. She figured that if she was put in charge of the scales, a position of authority, anyone who came to town from Wang Family Village could not help but notice her. She had it all worked out. But on second thought, managing scales was dirty work that would keep her out on the pier, and that was not a proper job for someone who lived in town. Clerking at the co-op was more respectable. Better surroundings, lighter work. So, after carefully weighing the pros and cons of each, she settled on the co-op. It was not a permanent position, but she’d get nearly three yuan more in wages. But then, what about the purchasing station job? That should go to someone in her family, of course. At first she thought of Yusui, but she was too empty-headed for that kind of work. No, Yuxiu was the right choice. Intelligent and attractive, she was better suited for life in town than Yusui.

But Yumi had no sooner arrived at her decision than a troubling thought surfaced. I’ve been pinned down in bed, selling what’s between my legs, while that little tramp Yuxiu would land a good job. She’d be in better shape than me.

But that thought did not last. Isn’t what I’m doing the best way to win back some dignity for my family? It’s worth it.

Now Yumi’s most important tasks were to keep performing in bed—doing what he liked best—and to get pregnant as soon as possible. It was critical to take advantage of his sense of newness; if she got pregnant now, managing him would be easy. If not, once the novelty wore off, who’s to say what he’d do? Men are like that. What they want is sex. Feelings mean nothing to them. A woman could have a ton of feelings for a man, and that would not count as much to him as the several ounces she carries on her chest.

Yumi had barely begun working at the co-op and had not found the right moment to talk to Guo Jiaxing about Yuxiu when her sister unexpectedly came to town. She showed up at Guo Jiaxing’s office before nine in the morning, her face wet with dew and sweat. Guo was at his desk reading the paper, but not taking in a word because he was dreamily recalling some of Yumi’s tricks in bed. Sex was all he had on his mind. He rubbed his bald head and sighed, sounding like a man disappointed in himself.

The old house has gone up in flames and can’t be saved, he said to himself. He was not really upset; the sigh was more a display of that special happiness only an aging man knows. So there he sat, happily analyzing the good fortune that had befallen him, when a girl appeared in the doorway of his office. He’d never seen her before and guessed her to be about sixteen or seventeen.

Quickly wiping the expression off of his face, he lowered his newspaper and coughed dryly. He stared at the girl, who showed no hint of fear or any sign of leaving. So, after laying the paper down on the glass top of his desk and sliding the teacup to one side, he leaned back in his chair and said gruffly, “Who let you in here?”

The girl blinked several times and smiled sweetly. “Comrade,” she said abruptly, “you’re my brother-in-law, aren’t you?”

That sounded so funny to Guo that he felt like laughing, but he didn’t. He stood up, clasped his hands behind his back, and shut his eyes. “And who might you be?”

“I’m Wang Yumi’s third sister, my name is Wang Yuxiu. I arrived this morning from Wang Family Village, and you’re my brother-in-law. That’s what the man at the entrance said. You’re my brother-in-law.” The word “brother-in-law” in her crisp voice carried a distinct feel of intimacy, the closeness of family. The deputy director of the revolutionary committee in charge of the People’s Militia could tell at a glance that the girl was Yumi’s sister; the resemblance was unmistakable. But she obviously lacked Yumi’s manners and did not appear to share her sister’s temperament. She was like one of those unbalanced Japanese machine guns, indiscriminately strafing the area— tatatata. Guo walked to the doorway and pointed outside. Then he curled his finger and said, “She’s in the shoe and hat department at the co-op.”

Yuxiu had arrived in Broken Bridge at a little after seven and had already taken a turn around the open-air market. This was not a casual visit. She had come with the express and unwavering purpose of putting herself in the hands of her elder sister. She could no longer stay in Wang Family Village, and the main reason was that Yusui had forced her to wear two labels: “Piss Pot” and “Shit Can.”

Once those epithets began making the rounds, she could not hold her head up in the village. Worst of all, it had been her sister, not a stranger, who had coined those terms of abuse in front of a bunch of girls. There was no one else to blame. Piss Pot. And Shit Can. They had quickly become her nicknames. While a nickname isn’t a real name, often it can be more you than your real name. It zeroes in on your flaws and your most vulnerable sore spots.

Hearing one is like being skinned alive. Even ten thousand pairs of pants cannot cover up your shame. Nicknames are poison to the person they’re given to, everyone knows that. But they are not static; they have an uncanny ability to expand, and that is what Yuxiu found intolerable. Piss Pot for instance. Why not piss bottle, or vat, or jug, or jar, or ladle, or basin, or bowl, or saucer, or vase, or roof tile?

None of these had had any intrinsic relationship to Yuxiu, but that had all changed. Now they constituted a sinister threat, the ability to ruthlessly reveal the unspeakable secret of her shamed body.

These common objects could be found anywhere; and so could Yuxiu’s shame. She was not being paranoid, that was not it at all. When she was talking with someone who mentioned one of those objects, the person would stop and flash an apologetic look, pregnant with meaning. It was a true affirmation, binding all those everyday objects to Yuxiu, quietly but with inescapable permanence. Once something like that attaches itself to you, it strips you naked in front of a crowd. Covering the top exposes the bottom, and covering the bottom reveals the top. Sure, the crowd feels sorry for you. Out of sympathy they keep from saying anything, pretending, as if by mutual agreement, that they didn’t hear what was said. To protect your feelings, no one laughs. At least not out loud. But you can see laughter in their eyes, and that silent laughter is far more hurtful, holds greater cruelty than spoken curses. Like sharp teeth that can snap shut on you at any time, it is an embodiment of the explosive power of jaws that can crush you at will. Deadly. Too much for Yuxiu. Even the most tenacious head must bow before it. It is a situation against which no defense is possible. In her case, such indefensible situations did not always involve external forces. Sometimes they cropped up within Yuxiu herself. Shit Can is one example. It was a taboo, and so she avoided all words dealing with toilets and such, whether she was relieving herself or emptying the commode. And as the restrictions grew, her freedom of movement diminished. She hated having to use the commode, for big or for small. Every time she peed, it made a despicable sound, underscoring her loss of dignity, her shamefulness. If only she didn’t have to go. But she did. So she only went on the sly, each visit to the toilet making her feel like a thief. She held it in during the day and she held it in at night, and she even had nightmares about peeing that woke her up. In one of those terrible dreams she hunted for a place to pee, and this eventually led her to a deserted sorghum field. But she no sooner squatted down than a crowd of girls descended upon her. “Yuxiu,” they whispered, “Shit Can.” With a start she woke up. She saw people everywhere, faces with mouths and pairs of laughing eyes above them.

Worst of all for Yuxiu were the men. They never failed to give her the eye when they walked by and greeted her with salacious smiles, as if they were reliving indulgent pleasures. Such knowing looks were unspoken claims of mutual understanding as if the men were tied to her in countless ways. In front of others, the smiles were replaced by sanctimonious looks that said “Nothing wrong here.” How sickening. That’s not to say she was unaware that something had happened between them and her. But terrifying fear kept her from bringing it into the open. They, of course, weren’t about to either. Which made them coconspirators—joint keepers of a secret. She was one of them.

Fortunately Yuxiu had enough self-awareness to avoid crowds unless it was absolutely necessary. That brought her a measure of tranquillity, but not without a cost: She became unbearably lonely. As someone who was used to being popular, this change was especially hard to take. The only people she felt comfortable around were the most inferior, those shunned by everyone else. Either they came from families with bad backgrounds, or they weren’t very smart, or they were seen as flighty. Before all this had happened, Yuxiu would have shunned them too. Now that she had no choice, she derived little joy and rather a lot of unhappiness and bitterness from her association with them. But there it was again—she had no choice.

That’s not to say they didn’t get along, mainly because they idolized her and were proud to be seen as her friends. They looked up to her and saw her as their model, and she found that gratifying. They followed in her wake, emulating everything she did and said, as if she had joined their ranks. Their looks of pride, however, only made them appear even more stupid. If they had a disagreement with someone else, words that Yuxiu had used became their weapon.

“That’s what Yuxiu said,” was their declaration of war. “That’s how Yuxiu does it” would be spoken with passion, the speakers secure in the knowledge that they had nothing to fear. It removed all doubt. This gave Yuxiu a sense of accomplishment, for she placed great stock in the effect she had on people.

“Better to be the head of a chicken than the tail of a phoenix” was her motto. Everything seemed to be going well, but the good times could not last. One day she made such a fool of herself that she could no longer stay in Wang Family Village. The incident centered on Zhang Huaizhen, who lived nearby, one lane over. Although Zhang and Yuxiu had never been close in the past, she was an intelligent girl, not one to be taken lightly. Fate had dictated that she be born into the wrong family—a very bad family, in fact.

Just how bad was complicated and requires more than a brief explanation. The girl had reached marrying age, but none of the prospective matches had panned out. So the matchmaker proposed what she considered the perfect match—in this case, the grandson of a national traitor. The boy agreed and sent over a jin of brown sugar, another of white sugar, coupons for two jin of grain, a coupon for six chi of fabric, and two and a half jin of streaky pork. All in all, a generous amount of betrothal gifts. Huaizhen said no, and nothing could change her mind, not even her mother’s persuasive arguments.

She returned the gifts and immediately turned into a willing mute, going all day long without saying a word. People in the village assumed that the matchmaker had said something so hurtful that the girl had stopped talking. The matchmaker, who’d suffered a great loss of face, pointed at a bitch on the side of the road and said, “You think you can open those legs of yours and win over the masses. Well, dream on.” At that moment, Zhang Huaizhen vowed to never marry. From that day on, she walked around with the face of a widow, ignoring everyone who came to her door with marriage proposals.

Then for some reason she and Yuxiu became friends, able to talk freely about all manner of things. Having a friend like Yuxiu instilled a sense of pride in Huaizhen, who was transformed into a real chatterbox, never failing to sing Yuxiu’s praises to anyone who would listen. On this particular afternoon, she met Yuxiu on the bridge on her way home from the fields, carrying a hoe on her shoulder.

Huaizhen was not quite herself that day, possibly because there were so many people around. Wanting to show everyone that she and Yuxiu were more than ordinary friends, she ostentatiously draped her arm around Yuxiu’s shoulder just as a group of young men were walking up. Wanting to look good, Yuxiu tried to toss her hair, but it was caught under Huaizhen’s arm.

“Take your arm away, Huaizhen,” she said. But instead, Huaizhen hugged Yuxiu even closer, which pulled Yuxiu’s blouse to the side and gave her a slovenly look. Yuxiu was very unhappy, so she wrinkled her nose and said, “Huaizhen, why is your underarm odor so strong?”

Everyone heard her. Huaizhen was stunned that Yuxiu would say something like that. Without a word, she removed her arm, turned, and walked home. By dinnertime that night, Yuxiu’s calamity was on its way, although she did not know it. She was eating a bowl of rice porridge at the head of the lane when a group of a dozen or so boys from five to about eight years in age walked up to her door, each with a handful of broad beans. “ Kuang kuang kuang,” they hollered as they ate the beans, “Piss Pot Wang, kuang kuang kuang, Shit Can Wang.” At first she didn’t pay attention and wasn’t sure what Piss Pot Wang and Shit Can Wang referred to. But she quickly figured out what they meant.

The real hurt came from the word “Wang.” In other words, the boys were calling her “Queen of the Piss Pot” and “Queen of the Shit Can.” She simply stood there, rice bowl in one hand, chopsticks in the other, and acted dumb. She couldn’t make them stop, and they were so loud that several other kids walked up to join them. Crowds are like that: As long as they make enough noise, plenty of people will join in. This particular crowd kept getting bigger and began taking on the look of a parade.

They yelled so loud that their faces turned red and their necks thickened.

“Kuang kuang kuang, Piss Pot Wang, kuang kuang kuang, Shit Can Wang, kuang kuang kuang, Piss Pot Wang, kuang kuang kuang, Shit Can Wang.”

Too young to realize what they were doing, they thought that they were just having fun. But while they may not have known what they were saying, people who heard them did. Things were getting interesting. Before Yuxiu knew it, the lane was filled with people, mostly adults. As if they were watching an outdoor opera, they laughed and talked and had a grand time. Piss Pot and Shit Can.

At first the words had only hinted at something, and were little more than a verbal game. But not now. They had floated to the surface, had gone public, and had taken on fixed meanings. They had become slogans invested with deep emotional impact. Everyone who witnessed the incident knew that.

Meanwhile, Yuxiu stood there not knowing what to say or do, and her face underwent a slow change. She felt a greater shame than if she had been standing there naked. She might as well have been a dog. The sun was about to set behind the mountain, and the sky above Wang Family Village turned blood red. As she stood in the lane, Yuxiu felt like biting someone, but she didn’t have the strength. The soupy rice had long since dribbled down her chin. “Kuang kuang kuang, Piss Pot Wang. Kuang kuang kuang, Shit Can Wang! Kuang kuang kuang, Piss Pot Wang. Kuang kuang kuang, Shit Can Wang!” It had a nice ring to it, like a chant.

Before she left home, Yuxiu swore that once she walked out the front door, she would never again set foot in Wang Family Village. She’d be ashamed to show her face in this place. She had no interest in settling scores with its residents. If everyone is your enemy, it is the same as having no enemies. When there are too many lice, you stop scratching.

Yuxiu accepted what had befallen her. She could let everyone off the hook but the little whore Yusui. Thanks to her, Yuxiu was no longer able to hold her head up in Wang Family Village. If the little whore had never uttered those evil, hurtful words, none of this would have happened. The girl would have to pay, especially since she was her own sister. This was one score Yuxiu was determined to settle. And once she’d made up her mind, she swung into action.

One morning before the sun was up, Yuxiu got out of bed and tiptoed up to Yusui’s bed with a kerosene lantern.

The little whore really was a simpleton; she looked dumber than other people even when she slept, with her arms and legs spread all over the place like a dead pig. Yuxiu set down the lantern and took out a pair of scissors. In a matter of seconds, Yusui was bald on one side, not neatly, but as if a dog had gnawed on her hair. It changed her appearance so much that she looked like a different—and very strange—person.

After laying the locks of hair in Yusui’s hand, Yuxiu slapped her sister twice and ran. She’d barely made it to the door when she heard odd noises coming from Yusui. Seeing her own hair in her hand must have scared the little whore silly, especially since she had no idea what had happened. All she could do was scream.

Yuxiu ran as fast and as far as she could, and when she conjured up the bizarre image of Yusui holding clumps of her own hair in her hand, she had to laugh. Soon she was laughing so hard her body seemed to get lighter and she could barely breathe. Few people were as stupid as Yusui, the little whore. It took her forever to realize that her cheeks were stinging. The little whore’s head must be filled with pig intestines.

Once she had settled into a room in the commune compound, Yuxiu uncharacteristically turned into a hardworking, almost servile resident. Yumi could tell that her sister had come to Broken Bridge not because she was clever enough to anticipate Yumi’s plan. Not at all. The little fox fairy had dragged her broken tail to town because she couldn’t stay another day in Wang Family Village. That was a fact.

Yumi would know what sort of fart was coming whenever Yuxiu fidgeted. Pleased with the change in her newly servile sister, she saw no need to tell her about the purchasing station, not yet. Better to give her time to put her lazy past behind her and get rid of her haughty ways. Things had changed, and Yumi was beginning to place a bit of hope in Yuxiu. Time for her to learn how to get along in this world. The girl’s flirty nature had been a constant worry, but no longer.

Rape is never a good thing, but in this case, it had led to a radical shift in behavior when Yuxiu realized that she needed to change for the better. A terrible incident had produced positive results.

Yuxiu had not yet fully recovered from her frightful ordeal; she still had a ways to go to feel as safe and secure as Yumi did, and as the days passed, the heaviness in her heart actually increased. She had left home with one thought—to get as far away from Wang Family Village as possible—and had never considered the prospect that Yumi might not want to take her in.

If that happened, however remote the possibility, she would have no place to go, and now that she had taken the fateful step, fear over that grim scenario began to set in. To complicate matters, there was Guo Jiaxing to deal with, not to mention his daughter, Guo Qiaoqiao; and that made her situation even more grim.

It did not take Yuxiu long to realize that her fate was not in the hands of Yumi, but in those of Guo Jiaxing and, quite possibly, his daughter. Yumi may have considered herself important in Wang Family Village, but in this house she enjoyed no discernible authority. None, actually. This came across most clearly at the dinner table, where Guo always sat at the head in his rattan chair, facing south. He was in the habit of smoking a cigarette before the meal, scowling as if he were angry at someone.

Qiaoqiao was different. A sophomore in high school, she was known for her antics and the loud, coarse language that emerged from her mouth. But at home she was a different person. She’d pull a face as long as a carrying pole and, like her father, appear to be angry at someone. That someone, obviously, was Yumi. When the rice bowls were filled, Yumi sat between Guo Jiaxing on her left and Qiaoqiao on her right, an arrangement that put her on tenterhooks, afraid that she’d do something wrong. When she reached out with her chopsticks to pick something out of a dish, she’d sneak a look first at Guo Jiaxing, then at Qiaoqiao, to check out the looks on their faces.

Yuxiu had spotted this right off. Yumi was afraid of Guo Jiaxing in a strange way that managed to attach her fear to his daughter as well. She was forever trying to win over the girl, but invariably failed, and that drove her to distraction. That knowledge was why Yuxiu was so scrupulous in waiting on the father and daughter. If she indulged them to their satisfaction, Yumi would not be able to send her packing.

Yuxiu had a good idea of how to deal with Guo Jiaxing. Any man his age was susceptible to flattery from a pretty and flirtatious girl. For proof of that she needed to look no further than her own father, Wang Lianfang.

If anything, she was even more confident where Qiaoqiao was concerned. All she had to do was demean herself in Qiaoqiao’s presence, thereby convincing the girl of her own superiority to win the day. Granted, it was not something Yuxiu did with pleasure, but she had only to remind herself that she was used goods, and in that case, what was there to be unhappy about?

Yuxiu worked especially hard in front of Guo Jiaxing and his daughter, always bowing and scraping for their benefit. Qiaoqiao was touched by the first thing Yuxiu ever did for her: coming in early in the morning and discreetly emptying the girl’s chamber pot.

Qiaoqiao was not only a foolish girl, she was also a slob. She compounded her slovenly appearance by eating and drinking as much as she could every day, which made for a full chamber pot. Yuxiu could not even guess when the girl had last emptied it on her own, and when she picked it up, the vile contents splashed over her hand. That action produced instantaneous results—Qiaoqiao actually spoke to her.

Yuxiu was off to a terrific start. When it was time to eat, her shrewdness served her well. Keeping her eye on everyone’s rice bowl, she was quick to act as soon as one was empty.

“Here, let me, brother-in-law,” or “Don’t get up, Qiaoqiao, I’ll get it for you.” Her cunning also manifested itself in how she acted during meals when she adopted a strategy that was the opposite of Yumi’s. It was a gamble, but at mealtime she put on a happy act. Pretending she was in high spirits, she talked nonstop, asking all sorts of comical, even silly questions. She’d cock her head in front of Guo Jiaxing and bat her eyes.

“Brother-in-law,” she’d say, “do all members of the leadership have double-fold eyelids?”

Or “Brother-in-law, are all communes ‘common’ or could some be ‘uncommon’?”

Or “Exactly where is the Party? Is it in Beijing, the ‘northern capital,’ or in Nanjing, the ‘southern capital’?”

Those were the kinds of questions she asked meal after meal, and she was never prettier than when she was asking them. Her face was bright, her look one of naivete and innocence with a trace of seduction. Some were honest questions, things she truly didn’t know, and others she made up for effect. It was exhausting work, racking her brains for things to ask. Fortunately, her father had been a Party secretary for twenty years, which supplied both a rich source of topics and the courage to put them into words.

Yuxiu’s foolishness embarrassed Yumi, who tried to stop her. She was surprised to learn that Guo and his daughter actually found Yuxiu’s questions intriguing and pleasing to the ear. She put smiles on their faces. Qiaoqiao even spit out a mouthful of rice several times from laughing so hard. Yumi, who never thought something like that could happen, was secretly pleased. Guo himself pointed to Yuxiu with his chopsticks after a hearty laugh and said to Yumi, “She’s a fascinating little comrade.”

Yuxiu was given a room behind the kitchen, facing the living quarters; from there she secretly observed Guo and his daughter as much as possible, waiting for the opportunity to divulge her desire to stay in Broken Bridge. The timing had to be perfect, and she needed to do it just right. She would have one chance, one beat of the drum. If she blew her chance the first time around, there would not be a second. She could not afford to be haphazard.

Sunday. There were no classes, so Qiaoqiao was home. Yuxiu decided to do Qiaoqiao’s hair before lunch, something she did with instinctive imagination and creativity. After Yuxiu gave Qiaoqiao a shampoo, the basin was filled with greasy water. It was disgusting.

Even before she was finished, Yuxiu developed a loathing for this idiotic cunt, who was beneath contempt; she’d have liked nothing better than to shove the girl’s face into that basin of pig grease and drown her. But her fate was tied to the girl, so she forced every finger on both hands to be obedient and docile. After the girl’s hair was clean and dried, it was time for Yuxiu to comb and braid it.

Until now, Qiaoqiao had always worn a single, thick, unattractive braid, which gave her a hard, somewhat imperious look. Yuxiu thinned her hair with scissors, then parted it down the middle and gave Qiaoqiao a pair of small braids, which she coiled up and fastened at the ends. The tips of the braids rested just above her ears and bounced slightly when she moved—a mischievously chic look like that of the typical spoiled daughter of a traitor in the cinema. Without those two braids, Qiaoqiao, who was a bit of a tomboy to begin with, could easily have been mistaken for a boy. But now, thanks to Yuxiu’s grooming, she at least looked like a girl and was clearly pleased with the results.

As she stood off to the side, Yuxiu said in a voice dripping with envy, “I’d love to have hair like yours, Qiaoqiao.” She sounded sad, and once flattery reached that level of emotion, a recipient would have to be made of wood not to be moved. As expected, Qiaoqiao loved the sound of that comment. She beamed, grinning from ear to ear like a clam. All you could see on her face was her mouth. One look told Yuxiu that this was her chance.

She sighed. “Wouldn’t it be wonderful if I could be your personal servant, Qiaoqiao? But no such luck, I’m afraid.”

Qiaoqiao was admiring herself in the mirror, first from one angle, then another, marveling over how nice she looked.

“That shouldn’t be much of a problem,” Qiaoqiao blurted out.

Yuxiu carried on a cheerful conversation with Qiaoqiao during lunch, which sounded strange to Guo Jiaxing, since that wasn’t like his daughter, who was never chummy with Yumi. But she obviously was with Yuxiu.

After losing her mother at such a young age, no wonder the poor girl saw Yumi as the enemy. Guo couldn’t recall ever seeing her in such a good mood, and he was so happy he ate more rice than usual.

As she handed Guo Jiaxing his rice bowl, Yuxiu knew that her moment had arrived.

“Brother-in-law,” she said, “Qiaoqiao and I have agreed that I’m going to be her personal servant. I’ll stay here—but you have to supply three meals a day.” She said it like a spoiled, winsome little girl. But she knew that this was the critical moment and waited nervously for his reaction. Holding his bowl in his hand, he took a look at Qiaoqiao’s head. He had a pretty good idea of what was going on.

As he shoveled some rice into his mouth he mumbled, “Serve the people.”

The words made Yuxiu’s heart lurch. Her hand shook. But she knew that everything was okay. Thinking her sister was joking, Yumi dismissed what had just happened. But Yuxiu turned to her and said, “Well then, dear sister, I’ll stay.”

So it hadn’t been a joke after all. Like a medicinal plaster, the little scamp had found a way to stick around. Yumi didn’t know what to say. Qiaoqiao put down her bowl and left the table, and as she watched the girl walk away, Yuxiu reached over and grabbed Yumi’s wrist, squeezing it tightly as she whispered, “I know my own sister wouldn’t want me to leave.” The real message in this comment was a plea. Yumi knew that, and she still could not abide the way Yuxiu had used her cunning to her advantage. But what could she say in light of Yuxiu’s sisterly comment? She just pursed her lips and shot a glance at Yuxiu, slowly chewing her food as she said to herself, You can’t stay in Wang Family Village, you little whore, so you come here to upstage me with your slick ways.

Yuxiu lowered her head. Everyone present would have been surprised by how fast her heart was pounding at that moment. She was on edge. As she shoveled food into her mouth, her heart leaped into her throat and she nearly choked. Tears threatened to spill from her eyes. I got what I came for, a place to live, she thought. Seeing her sister’s empty bowl, Yuxiu jumped up to refill it. But Yumi put it down and announced, “I’m full.”

So Yuxiu now had a place to live, and though she hadn’t given a thought to how her sister would feel about that, Yumi actually had high hopes for her and was content to let her be on her own. But Yumi found Yuxiu’s budding friendship with Qiaoqiao hard to accept. Guo’s foolish daughter was not easy to deal with, and Yumi realized that she was afraid of Qiaoqiao.

Normally, Yumi feared no one, but now she found that the girl had her exactly where she wanted her. Qiaoqiao was not the calculating type, not someone adept at playing tricks. Not Qiaoqiao. She was openly ruthless and tyrannical. She said what was on her mind and did what she felt like. That was just the sort of person Yumi found difficult.

Yumi recalled, for instance, how Qiaoqiao had come home from school one day shortly after the marriage, and Yumi had tried to show the girl how kind a stepmother she could be. In front of a crowd in the government compound, Yumi greeted the girl. “Back from school already, Qiaoqiao,” she said with a smile as she reached out for the girl’s schoolbag.

Qiaoqiao rewarded her by calling her a “dumb cunt”—hardly expected, especially in front of all those officials.

For Yumi, it was a disastrous loss of face. That night in bed she told Guo Jiaxing what had happened. “Why would she do that?” Yumi asked. “It was as if she’d seen the devil herself.”

Showing a remarkable lack of interest, Guo said in an offhanded way, “She’s only a child.”

“A child? She’s not much younger than me.” Actually, Yumi didn’t say that; she just thought it. This was not something she dared to say aloud. She was disheartened. Barely older than the dense Qiaoqiao, she did what was expected of a stepmother, but her dignity was in shambles and she had gained nothing for her effort. But that’s how parenting works sometimes. When you lose a mate, the natural reaction is to feel you’ve let your child down, and so to compensate, you spoil the child, who then becomes self-indulgent and undisciplined. As Yumi lay beside Guo Jiaxing, her chilled heart was filled with grievances. In the final analysis, men cannot be trusted. They flatten themselves out on top of you to satisfy their desire and exaggerate their emotional involvement. They are calculating in their choice of whom to be close to and whom to keep at arm’s length. A man is one thing before he pulls out and something altogether different after—bitterly disappointing.

Yumi wanted a heart-to-heart talk with Qiaoqiao so she could make it clear that she didn’t expect the girl to call her “Mother.” She knew she could never be the girl’s mother. But she could call her “Aunty,” couldn’t she? And if that was too much to ask, how about Elder Sister? Or she could settle simply on Yumi. But not a peep out of Qiaoqiao.

Daughter and stepmother spent most of every day together in the same rooms, and Qiaoqiao would not speak to her, as if a single sentence would split her lips. She just glared at Yumi as if she were a mortal enemy, refusing to give her a chance, unless, that is, Yumi liked the idea of being cursed. Qiaoqiao’s mouth was typical for a girl born to a mother who did not have the chance to bring her up right. There was nothing she wouldn’t say. Where had she picked up these things? You had to hand it to her. Yumi sometimes felt that her devotion to her “daughter” fared less well than feeding a broom—at least a broom acknowledges the effort with a bit of noise. Yumi could only sigh. She did fine as a second wife, but was a failure as a stepmother.

For some reason, Qiaoqiao and Yumi were natural enemies, like a mouse and a cat or a weasel and a dog.

Yuxiu could not have been happier. She derived considerable, if inexplicable, satisfaction from seeing anyone go after Yumi. Yuxiu’s heart flowered despite her attempts to suppress it, and that always led to smiles of pleasure. In Yumi’s presence she maintained a humble, modest attitude, but it was all an act. What she felt inside was a sense of liberation like that of an emancipated peasant. If Qiaoqiao called to her, instead of answering right away, she would cast a glance at Yumi before walking somewhat reluctantly, almost furtively, up to Guo’s daughter as if she were afraid of offending Yumi. In reality, she was putting her sister on notice, confusing her by digging a hole so deep that Yumi could not see the bottom and would forever be kept in the dark. In this way, Yuxiu created a mysterious relationship with Qiaoqiao, a cleverly concealed alliance in which they worked together with one mind. If Yumi asked about something, Yuxiu would feign ignorance and pretend to rack her brains. “That can’t be,” she’d say. Or “Don’t ask me” or “You don’t think she’d tell me, do you?” Or simply, “I forget.”

Once again, Yuxiu had a backer. Whenever Yumi tried to size up her sister, there was a sense of vigilance in her gaze—exactly what Yuxiu had hoped for. So long as Yumi hated her, saw her as a competitor, and was on her guard against her, then that was proof they were equals. Yuxiu did not want her sister to feel sorry for her. To keep that from happening, she relied upon Qiaoqiao. I don’t mind demeaning myself in front of others, but I cannot yield to Yumi, thought Yuxiu. Why did we have to be sisters in the first place? How strange.

Yuxiu’s job was to wait on Qiaoqiao. In general that meant taking care of the girl’s appearance, and under Yuxiu’s tutelage, Qiaoqiao had a change of attitude: I’m not a boy; I’m a girl, like any other girl. Her expectations in regard to her femininity rose dramatically. But she was too clumsy to improve her appearance on her own. Yuxiu, on the other hand, was an expert.

In light of Yumi’s objections, Yuxiu didn’t dare to pay too much attention to her own appearance, so she applied all her styling techniques to Qiaoqiao’s hair, accessories, buttons, and braided ornaments. She had that special knack and an assertive attitude that gave her a sense of accomplishment that belied a deep-seated sorrow, which was manifest in her attention to detail.

Qiaoqiao was a girl transformed, and if her father had not been a deputy director, people would have criticized her for looking like a vixen. Yuxiu worked especially hard on the girl’s nails. She managed, somehow, to acquire some garden balsam flowers, which she ground into paste, added some alum, and dabbed meticulously on Qiaoqiao’s fingernails, coat after coat; then she turned her attention to the girl’s toenails. When she was finished, she wrapped the nails in broad bean leaves. Several days later, the effects were spectacular: Qiaoqiao’s fingernails and toenails had changed color. They were bright red, beautiful, translucent, and remarkably eye-catching. Light bounced off them whenever she waved her hand or jiggled her feet.

There was something different about Qiaoqiao every day. The changes were visible and fundamental; they could be summed up in the saying “A girl undergoes dramatic changes at eighteen.” The people in the government compound took notice. The most visible and fundamental change in Qiaoqiao was in her eyes and her actions—the way she carried herself. In earlier days, her most notable attribute had been rashness; she had impressed people as a guerrilla warrior, wild and reckless. That image was a thing of the past.

Now there was room for twists and turns in both her expressions and actions. Somewhat affected, to be sure, but feminine. She and Yuxiu were often seen entering or leaving the compound together, walking side by side like best friends, as sweetly paired as devoted sisters. That had been Yuxiu’s fondest desire. Everyone in the compound knew who Yuxiu was. That’s Yuxiu, they’d say. That’s Director Guo’s young sister-in-law. A pretty young thing.

But Yuxiu had a cold edge and a bit of arrogance. She seldom stopped to chat with anyone. When she was alone, she walked with a light step, her head cocked to one side so that half her face was covered by her hair and only one eye was visible. That left the impression that she was sulking for no apparent reason, which invested her with a haunted beauty. If startled by an unexpected encounter, she would sweep her hair behind her ear while a smile spread slowly across her face. That smile, unique to her, became famous in the compound. Rather than explode on her face, it formed in measured stages, from slight to broad, the corners of her mouth slowly retreating—silent and flirtatious, revealing a restrained coquettishness, an almost wanton and yet refined quality.

None of this escaped Yumi’s eye. Yuxiu did not dare to put on her seductive, fox-fairy act in front of her sister, but she had not changed. She was like the dog that can’t stop eating shit. In fact, she was getting worse. Sooner or later, Yumi would sound the alarm. But not yet, given her relationship with Qiaoqiao. But then again, Yumi knew that she must say something because of that relationship. When she did, the results would be less than ideal. They would be back to being sisters, two girls “born to be enemies.”

Qiaoqiao came home early one day, having chosen not to participate in the school’s afternoon of manual labor. She told Yuxiu to bring the photo albums out into the yard, where they looked at the pictures together. Yuxiu took pride in her assumption that she’d become a part of the family, that she’d made her way into its private places, its closely held secrets. It was a privilege denied Yumi. Yuxiu was treated to photos of Guo Jiaxing as a young man, Qiaoqiao’s mother as a young woman, and Qiaoqiao herself as a little girl. She took after neither her father nor her mother, but had inherited the least-fetching features of both. They all came together to produce her homely face. But Yuxiu heaped compliments on every photo, her flattering words filling the air. On one page she spotted a young man who bore some slight resemblance to Guo Jiaxing but was better looking, with softer eyes, moist like a young mare’s. With the refined, cultured look of someone with high ideals, he was dressed in a neatly pressed tunic. Yuxiu knew it could not be Guo Jiaxing—the aura was different. “Is this a picture of Director Guo as a young man?” she asked disingenuously.

“Are you kidding?” Qiaoqiao asked. “That’s my older brother, Guo Zuo. He works in an automobile factory in the provincial capital.” Now Yuxiu knew: Qiaoqiao had an older brother who worked in an automobile factory.

Before Yuxiu could learn any more, Yumi came home and spotted the two girls with their heads together, holding something secretively. They were never that intimate with her. What were they looking at so intently? Her curiosity piqued, she leaned over to get a look. But Qiaoqiao must have had eyes in the back of her head because— bang! —she slammed the photo album shut, stood up, turned, and walked off alone to her room.

Rebuffed in front of Yuxiu, Yumi spun around and went quickly to her own room, where she leaned unhappily against the window and silently observed Yuxiu, who noticed the look on her sister’s face through the window—it was a mixture of humiliation, anger, and helplessness. Instead of lowering her eyelids, Yuxiu looked off in another direction so she wouldn’t have to see that sight. It’s none of my business, she told herself. But as Yumi saw it, Yuxiu was being provocative.

“Yuxiu,” Qiaoqiao yelled from her room. “Come here!”

Yuxiu headed to the east room, first shaking her head as a sign of reluctance—for Yumi’s benefit, obviously. This has to stop, Yumi said to herself, alone at the window. I can’t let Yuxiu keep living off of one person and helping another.

Yumi held her feelings in until it was time to make dinner. She went into the kitchen and looked out into the yard—it was empty. After a few perfunctory swipes on the counter with a dishcloth, she turned to her sister. “Yuxiu,” she said, “you’re my sister.” Coming out of the blue like that, anyone hearing this would not know what to make of it. But as she picked up a large spoon to stir the rice porridge, Yuxiu knew what was on Yumi’s mind; she could hear it in her voice. The sudden comment may have sounded forceful, a strict warning, but it seemed weak. The atmosphere in the kitchen took a strange turn that would test both sisters’ tolerance.

Without looking up, Yuxiu kept stirring the porridge and said, after pausing a moment to think, “I’ll listen to you. Tell me what to do, and I’ll do it.” But what sounded submissive was actually a honey-coated rebuke. She had gained the advantage by feigning innocence and had turned the tables on Yumi, who was stuck for a response. What could she tell Yuxiu to do with Qiaoqiao in the picture? What could she dare ask her to do? She stood there, dishcloth in hand, stymied. A long moment passed before she said to herself, All right, Yuxiu, go ahead, do what you want.

On the surface it had been a trivial dispute, but one of enormous significance, especially for Yuxiu, for whom it was a turning point. Yumi had sounded the alarm for Yuxiu, only to discover that it was actually sounding for herself. Undeniably, the day would come when Yuxiu would openly defy her.

One of Yuxiu’s tasks was to shop for the day’s groceries. Seldom feeling obliged to rush home, she took advantage of the outings to wander around town, often gravitating to the supply and marketing co-op. It was her favorite spot. In the past, when she lived in Wang Family Village, she had always gone to the co-op simply to linger and take in its ambiance. Well-suited to people seeking a place to rest or be a tourist, it owed its attraction in part to well-stocked shelves, but even the process of buying something was itself interesting. The cashier sat high above the salesclerks, who stood beside a steel cable, each with its own metal clasp. When a clerk wrote out a sales ticket or was given cash, she clasped it onto the cable and flung it upward like a tiny locomotive making its way up a suspended track, all the way up to the cashier. A moment later, the little locomotive whizzed its way back, carrying change or a receipt. Magical, inscrutable, wondrous.

Yuxiu carried a secret in her heart from when she was a little girl filled with envy: She had a fascination with the cashier sitting high above the others. The woman had been sitting in that spot for years, and the way she clicked her abacus fascinated Yuxiu. Her fingers reminded Yuxiu of a butterfly or a bewitched moth that skimmed the surface of water then darted off. When the woman’s fingers stopped, they looked like a dragonfly resting lightly on a lotus leaf, creating indescribable beauty. So soft it seemed to contain no bones, the cashier’s hand formed Yuxiu’s childhood dream. Too bad she isn’t pretty. Wouldn’t it be wonderful, she often mused, if she could sit up there one day?

Yuxiu would make herself up like a lovely snake crossing a river, a sight for everyone in the commune, young and old, when she slithered around. An ambitious child who harbored secret plans, she’d believed with all her heart that she would not spend her whole life in Wang Family Village, that she would not hang herself from that particular tree. She’d always had faith in her plans for the future. Now, of course, that faith had died; her plans would not pan out after all. And so for her, the supply and marketing co-op was a place of shattered dreams and a broken heart. But people are strange creatures, because sometimes they actually develop a fondness for just such a place and cling desperately to it with no thought of ever leaving.

Unhappy that Yuxiu liked to loiter and waste time doing nothing, especially at the co-op, Yumi told her to stay away from the place. Yuxiu asked why. Yumi’s answer was simple and straightforward: “It’s no place for you.”

Yumi’s hard work in bed was not wasted effort. Sex is like that; you reap what you sow. She was pregnant. She didn’t tell anyone, but she could feel the changes in her body, things she’d never felt before. More than being just the addition of something inside, the changes affected her entire body so deeply that it felt as if she had been reborn as a different person.

Emboldened by this development, she enjoyed increased confidence in her dealings with Qiaoqiao. Naturally, she did not openly display her newly felt sense of authority, especially in her face. Instead, she held it inside her, where it took on qualities of magnanimity, steadiness, and self-assurance. After the child was born, Yumi would stop feeling inferior and put upon in front of Qiaoqiao even if the girl’s father continued to back her in all matters. Both children would be his, and it would be unthinkable for him to be close to one child and distant from the other—or to state a preference. That simply would not happen. Once you held your own child in your arms, that sort of distinction was not possible. A mother’s value rests with her son, as they say. The problem was Yuxiu, and Yumi needed to watch her carefully. Who did Yuxiu side with? Where did she stand? Her position in all this would figure prominently in Yumi’s future and in her fate.

Yumi decided to be magnanimous, only to discover that, to her surprise, Yuxiu had begun moving in a new direction. She was spending less time at home, always running off to somewhere, usually in the afternoon. Yumi knew that her sister was not one to sit around and wait for things to happen, and it only took a few days of keeping a close eye on her to see what she was up to. As soon as Yuxiu had free time, she was off to the bookkeeper’s office, where she had grown cozy with bookkeeper Tang, a comrade well into her forties whom everyone nonetheless called Little Tang. She had chubby cheeks and fair skin, the sort of face that proclaimed springtime the year round. She was like a sunflower, quick to smile and as likable as she could be. Yuxiu called her Little Tang like everyone else, but made it unique by adding the word “aunty”—Aunty Little Tang—thereby displaying her familiarity with proper etiquette. This created a special bond between them.

Needing to know what had turned her sister and Little Tang into bosom buddies, Yumi strolled over to a spot outside the bookkeeper’s window one day, and there they were: Yuxiu and Little Tang, each sitting in front of half a watermelon and scooping out tiny pieces with paper clips. They saved the seeds by tossing them onto the glass-covered desk. They nibbled and talked and laughed, taking pains to keep the noise down, whispering even though they assumed there was no one else around. Obviously, theirs was an uncommon friendship. Yuxiu, her back to the window, was oblivious to the watchful look in Yumi’s eyes. It was bookkeeper Tang who spotted her outside the window. She stood up and said to Yumi: “Come in, Mrs. Guo, have some watermelon.” There was so little melon left that the invitation was meant as a courtesy. But it did not seem false to Yumi, who actually felt rather good about it. To her surprise, people who lived and worked in the compound were given to calling her Mrs. Guo behind her back. It was a refined form of address. Rising water lifts the boat, and Yumi was struck by a sense that her identity had changed. She smiled.

“Yuxiu,” she said to her sister, “why don’t you invite Little Tang over to the house sometime?” That was, she felt, just the right thing to say, for it affirmed her status, as it was something only “Mrs. Guo” could legitimately say. Feeling extremely flattered, Little Tang smiled as she manipulated the melon seed in her mouth with her tongue, twisting her face out of shape.

On the way back home, Yumi realized why she’d been smelling melon seeds in the kitchen lately. That’s where they came from. And when they’re ready, she runs to bookkeeper Tang’s office to share them and talk some more. That is what’s been going on. Apparently, Yuxiu was like a black snow-boot cat, welcomed everywhere she showed up. Active and social, she’d put roots down all over the compound in a matter of days. If this kept up, what would she need a big sister for? How was Yumi going to control her? Extreme care was called for. Yumi began to worry, and was right to do so.

Yuxiu was spending time with Little Tang neither for the melon seeds nor for the conversation. No, she had other plans. She needed a skill, and that is precisely what she could learn from Aunty Little Tang. What she’d do once she’d mastered the abacus wasn’t clear, and only time would tell. But a skill, any skill, opened doors, and Yuxiu knew she had to plan for her future. Relying on Yumi was definitely not the answer, nor did it appeal to her.

She chose not to reveal her plan to Little Tang for fear that Yumi would find out about it and would not be supportive. Better to observe and learn on the sly. She knew she could do it. Her knitting skills had been formed the same way. She hadn’t taken any special lessons in the basic stitch, the knit and purl, the cross stitch, the V stitch, the spiral stitch, or the Albanian stitch. After quietly and covertly observing others, she had picked it all up with ease and then had produced finer knitting than anyone. She had a sharp mind and nimble fingers. But the abacus presented a special challenge. After Yuxiu spent several days observing, the clicking sounds came through clearly enough, but she could not quite figure out what was happening. Imagine her surprise when Little Tang brought up the subject on her own.

“Yuxiu,” she said one day, “why don’t I teach you how to have some fun with an abacus?”

That was totally unexpected, and Yuxiu blurted out, “I’m too dumb to learn something like that, don’t you think? Besides, what good would it do me?”

Little Tang smiled. “It’ll be a nice diversion for me,” she said. And so it began.

Not wanting to be too ambitious, Yuxiu said she’d worry about addition and subtraction first. She asked Little Tang to leave multiplication and division for another time since she didn’t know how to do them even on paper.

Little Tang told her not to worry, that adding and subtracting were all that she needed. She didn’t know how to divide either and had never found any need to learn. She said that adding a little here and taking away a little there was, in a nutshell, what bookkeeping was all about. That comment told Yuxiu that Little Tang likely knew what Yuxiu had in mind. Since the bookkeeper didn’t bring it up, Yuxiu knew she’d better not either.

Yuxiu was a quick study, but this was actually not her first contact with an abacus. Her third grade math teacher had introduced the class to a large model abacus that hung from the blackboard with the beads tied with string to keep them in place. But Yuxiu had lost interest after the first lesson and had spent the rest of the time in whispered conversations with the other students. Having a clear goal is the only way to learn something, Yuxiu was thinking. That’s what makes it interesting.

Little Tang discovered that Yuxiu was not only smart, but she had a first-rate memory as well; she soaked up knowledge and it stuck. The complicated rhyming words for the abacus were a case in point: Yuxiu had them memorized within days, much faster than Little Tang had been able to do.

“I have a good teacher,” Yuxiu said in response to Little Tang’s praise. Any teacher lucky enough to have a bright apprentice often displays more enthusiasm than the apprentice. Little Tang expected Yuxiu to come by every day, and when she didn’t, she let her disappointment show.

From the beginning, the master-apprentice relationship was secondary to the friendship. Little Tang began inviting Yuxiu to her home near the government-run rice mill. On her first visit, as they entered the mill compound, Yuxiu saw a sheet-metal smokestack attached to a generator room; it was, she discovered, the source of a sound she had been hearing every night. Each cloud of steam that belched from the smokestack made a distinctive popping sound. Little Tang showed Yuxiu around her house with obvious delight, especially the bedroom, where she proudly pointed out her Red Lantern transistor radio, her Butterfly sewing machine, and her Three Fives alarm clock,[5] all highly prized, Shanghai-produced status symbols that designated their owners as well-off. They meant nothing to Yuxiu, who could not tell good products from bad. Trying to enlighten her was like talking to a brick wall, but none of that lessened Little Tang’s enthusiasm.

For their conversations, Little Tang and Yuxiu preferred the bedroom over the living room. They’d sit on the bed and talk quietly about nothing in particular, and Yuxiu was struck by how quickly their friendship had blossomed. Despite the difference in ages, they were soon more than casual friends. Little Tang even revealed some shortcomings of her husband and her child to Yuxiu, who, sensible girl that she was, defended them against Little Tang’s criticisms with quick words of praise. That, of course, delighted Little Tang. “Ai,” she’d sigh fretfully, “you don’t know what they’re like.” It was a meaningless comment since Yuxiu had not met either of them.

But then one day Yuxiu met Little Tang’s son and she could hardly believe her eyes. He was a head taller than she and muscular, yet possessed a shy nature that belied his appearance. Since Little Tang had always referred to him as Little Wei, Yuxiu had expected to see a middle school student. In fact, he worked in the rice mill and was a core member of the local militia. Little Tang called him over using his full name—Gao Wei—and introduced him to her guest: “This is Yuxiu.”

At that moment she no longer sounded like Little Tang the government clerk but spoke with the propriety and authority of a mother. Then she reverted to her normal tone as she said to Yuxiu, “This is my slow-witted son.” The immediate change in tone put Yuxiu out of sorts since it seemed to imply that she and Little Tang were of the same generation, the one ahead of Gao Wei. Quickly recovering from her discomfort, Yuxiu said, “You shouldn’t say that, Aunty. He doesn’t look slow-witted to me.”

Taking that as a cue, Little Tang turned to her son. “Yuxiu has been saying all sorts of nice things about you, Little Wei.”

By calling attention to what was best left unsaid, Little Tang had Yuxiu looking for a hole to crawl into. Obviously uncomfortable around girls, Gao Wei was ill at ease; he blushed but didn’t dare walk away. Yuxiu’s face also reddened, and the thought struck her that Little Tang was a different person at work than she was at home, where she ran the house in all affairs, big and small. No wonder the boy was the way he was. Yuxiu now saw her friend in a different light.

While it could be said that Little Tang was a capable, resourceful worker—although her motives were not always transparent—it was clear to Yuxiu that Gao Wei’s mother had plans for the two youngsters. Yuxiu had thought that she was being clever by secretly learning how to use an abacus from Little Tang, all the while Little Tang was throwing her net far wider and luring Yuxiu into it. It was Yuxiu who had fallen into a trap, not Little Tang. That’s what living in town can do for you, Yuxiu thought admiringly.

Gao Wei’s looks seemed all right to Yuxiu, but the crucial factor was that he worked in a factory. Pairing up with a worker was something she’d always thought was beyond her reach. Not that she wasn’t a good catch. But there was always the unpleasant fact that she had been raped. That was something Aunty Little Tang did not know, and if she ever found out, any match with her son would be brought to a screeching halt. That would be an enormous loss of face for Yuxiu, and that thought brought bitter disappointment. At my age, I can’t avoid the troubling fact that people will try to get me married. Panic set in, and her thoughts grew confused.

She slept badly that night. As the night wore on, Broken Bridge was as quiet as a deep, bottomless well. The puffing of the mill generator seemed louder now. Unlike kerosene generators, the steam noises were not continuous, but were more like the beat of a hammer, with pauses between each pop. Up till now, Yuxiu had enjoyed that noise, since it sounded distant and not at all annoying; the muted pops were friendly and usually induced a deep, untroubled sleep.

But not on this night; instead, they pounded against her eardrums. Better, she thought, to tell Little Tang the truth. She couldn’t keep it hidden all her life, could she? But a second later she cursed herself for such idiotic thoughts. Once the word was out, there would be no hope for her. Not only would this match become impossible, but she would have given people something to use against her forever. She mustn’t let that happen. She had suffered enough over that in Wang Family Village and had learned her lesson. Besides, while a match may be what Aunty Little Tang had in mind, nothing definite had been said, so why jump the gun?

Yuxiu climbed out of bed in the morning feeling sluggish. She’d decided to stop going to the bookkeeping office. But on second thought, that was a bad idea. No, she’d keep going. Little Tang hadn’t actually broached the subject, though she’d hinted at it, so if Yuxiu put on a bashful act, that would show that she knew what was going on. Wouldn’t that be the same as a voluntary confession? No point in doing that. If she revealed what she knew, she’d be stuck with no exit strategy, and that would only make things more difficult. Feigning ignorance was still her best option. Given her current situation, how could she even think that this might work out? It was a mismatch from the very beginning. Where could you find anyone willing to eat sugarcane that someone else had already chewed on?

Yuxiu suddenly had a clear picture of exactly who she was. As a female, her value had dropped to virtually nothing. This brutal fact made her sadder than any self-inflicted humiliation ever could. For her, the future held only despair and misery with no tears to shed. At that point she cocked her head and said to herself, Don’t give it any more thought.

So Yuxiu went back to the bookkeeping office, willing to gamble, to take a chance. No matter how she looked at it, an opportunity had presented itself, and she’d be crazy not to grab it. Before setting out for the office, she took pains to make herself up nicely, going so far as to secretly borrow a pair of Qiaoqiao’s red hair ornaments and pin one above each ear. Feeling fetchingly pretty, she quietly went up to Aunty Little Tang, trying to act as if everything were perfectly normal, though Yuxiu was not without a sense that she might be overdoing it. It was an awkward moment.

Her smile came quickly and left just as quickly. She said very little before lowering her head and concentrating on the abacus—on which she made one mistake after another. When Little Tang noticed the ornaments in Yuxiu’s hair, she understood that the girl had caught on, that she knew everything.

She’s no fool, she said to herself. No need to beat a drum. Little Tang laughed derisively to herself. You foolish girl, what good does it do to make yourself up for me? Her plans for Little Wei appeared to be a foregone conclusion. That was not to say there was nothing to worry about—the girl’s rural residence registration, for instance. No matter how you looked at it, marrying someone from the countryside was a step down. On the other hand, if Little Wei married the sister-in-law of Director Guo, that would form a welcome bond between Little Tang and the director. Nothing wrong with that. But then her thoughts took another turn: I’d actually belong to an older generation than Director Guo.[6] That thought raised her spirits and brought on a case of nerves at the same time. So what now? How is this going to work out?

Not much happened over the next few days. Other than Yuxiu’s progress in her study of the abacus, there were no substantial developments in the personal realm. But, eager to get things started with Little Wei and Yuxiu, Little Tang began looking for the right time and the right place. Once that was settled, she could remove herself from the picture.

Children have to make their own happiness. It is important for them to go public on their own. Boys and girls can’t always play games of hide-and-seek. Strike while the iron is hot. That’s the line in “The Internationale”: “We will succeed if we strike while the iron is hot,” which can only mean that all people advocate exactly that. So Little Tang invited Yuxiu back to the house, to which she reacted with a look of reluctance. Yuxiu knew what was coming and was not sure how to deal with it. But Little Tang took her by the hand and, without waiting for a response, set out for home. Given her experience in such things, Little Tang knew what she was doing. Since shyness is expected of a girl in such circumstances, a little arm-twisting is called for. The more you twist, the better your chance of getting her to go along. This time, instead of taking the long way around, Little Tang headed straight to the rice mill compound, half of which was taken up by red and green brick buildings that served as rice storehouses. As she gazed at the buildings with their red or green roof tiles, Yuxiu was impressed by the imposing size of the government mill.

“This is where Old Gao works,” Little Tang said. Yuxiu knew that Old Gao was Gao Wei’s father, Little Tang’s husband.

“He isn’t the head of his section,” Little Tang commented as if she were talking to herself, “but his word carries as much weight as the best worker.” Yuxiu tensed when she heard this. She knew Little Tang well enough to guess that she was hinting at something directly related to Yuxiu and her future. What she heard in the comment that Old Gao’s word carried weight was that Little Tang’s word carried more weight than his and that her fate was in Little Tang’s hands.

There is something extraordinary about a government office, Yuxiu mused. Whoever works in one can make decisions that determine other people’s futures.

Yuxiu’s breathing quickened and her mind worked at warp speed, all because of her prospects there at the mill. With growing confusion, she walked into Little Tang’s house. Gao Wei was waiting for them, just as Yuxiu had expected. That saved her from a case of nerves. He’d apparently been waiting for some time and seemed anxious, but he was trying to hold it in—the embarrassed look on his face bordered on anguish. Yuxiu, poised by comparison, was in control of her emotions. They sat in the living room, Gao Wei facing south, Yuxiu facing north. Little Tang, facing east, kept them company by engaging in meaningless small talk. The atmosphere was both casual and strangely tense. They sat like that for a short while before Little Tang stood up as if something had just occurred to her and said, “I was going to buy a watermelon, but it slipped my mind.” Yuxiu quickly got to her feet, but Little Tang gently pushed her back down.

“You sit there. Just sit and talk,” Little Tang said, picking up a nylon mesh bag on her way to the door. She’d barely stepped outside before she came back to shut the door behind her. Yuxiu turned her head, and their eyes met just as Little Tang smiled at Gao Wei, a special, proud smile unique to mothers who are happy for their sons. “You two have a nice chat, I’ll be right back.”

Yuxiu and Gao Wei were alone in the room; the steam generator supplied the only sound. The silence, which had arrived abruptly, had a special, almost threatening quality. It was immediately apparent that neither Yuxiu nor Gao Wei had been prepared for that silence as they looked in vain for a way to dispel it. They were both being sternly tested by the somber atmosphere—this showed especially in Gao Wei’s face, although Yuxiu was not doing much better. Wanting to say something, she all but forgot where her mouth was. Fear began to register on the face of Gao Wei, who abruptly stood up. “I… I,” he stammered. That’s all that emerged as his breath came in labored spurts. Poor Yuxiu didn’t know what to do, and she was suddenly reminded of the heavy breathing around the haystack the night she was raped.

Gao Wei took a step, but it wasn’t clear if he was going over to open the door or walk toward Yuxiu. Terror engulfed Yuxiu. She jumped to her feet, her palms jutting out in front, and she cried, “Don’t come any closer! Stay where you are!” The suddenness shocked Gao Wei, who did not know what to do. His only thought was to flee. But Yuxiu beat him to it. She bounded to the door, jerked it open, and ran for all she was worth. In her state of alarm, she missed the gate and was stopped by the wall. She pounded her fists on it. “Let me out of here!” she screamed.

Little Tang, who had not gone far, heard the scream and rushed back to see Yuxiu pounding on the wall.

Wondering what was going on, she took Yuxiu by the arm and led her to the gate, where the girl broke free and fled, leaving Gao Wei and his mother standing in the yard. Gao Wei stared blankly at his mother for a long moment before he could speak. “I didn’t do anything,” he pleaded in his defense, looking deeply ashamed. “I didn’t touch her.”

Little Tang dragged him into the house and surveyed the living room carefully. There was no sign of anything amiss. She was sure that her almost pathologically shy son would never have laid a finger on the girl. She’d have been happy if he were bold enough to do something like that. So what went wrong?

She sat down, crossed her legs, and tossed her nylon bag onto the table. “Forget about her,” she said. “I knew all along that she was the hysterical type. What nerve! A girl from the countryside trying to pass herself off as something special in my house!”

Yuxiu hated herself.

How could I have done something like that? Everything was going fine until I ruined it. Now I won’t even be able to master the abacus.

She was crestfallen.

Aunty Little Tang had been so good to her, but after botching things so badly, Yuxiu wouldn’t be able to face her again, let alone talk to her. She shuddered at the thought of seeing Aunty Little Tang. Imagine her surprise when Yuxiu ran into her the next day in the market. If she hadn’t known better she’d have thought that Aunty Little Tang had planned the encounter. It was too pat to be a coincidence. All Yuxiu wanted was to get away, but it was too late. Little Tang stopped her. Thinking she wanted to talk about what had happened the day before, Yuxiu decided to say something to avoid the subject, but Little Tang was the first to speak. “Yuxiu,” she said with a ready smile, “what are you fixing for lunch?” Before Yuxiu had a chance to reply, Little Tang pulled her basket over to look inside. It was empty. “On a hot day like today, the leeks will be tough. You don’t want any of those for Director Guo. His teeth are bad.”

Yuxiu conjured up an image of her brother-in-law brushing his teeth in the morning, and how he first took something out of his mouth. Probably false teeth. “Ah,” Yuxiu murmured as she nodded and smiled.

Little Tang acted as if there’d been no incident the day before—as if it had never happened. Apparently, she was not going to talk about yesterday—not now, not ever. This was good news to Yuxiu, although she could tell that Little Tang’s speech was a bit crisper than usual and her smile broader. Even the crow’s-feet by her eyes stood out more than usual. Yuxiu knew that the smile was intended to inform her that their friendship had run its course. It was over.

All Yuxiu could do was smile, no matter how much effort it took and how much it pained her. Then she said good-bye to Little Tang and stood in front of the leek-seller’s stand in a daze. And as she stood there with all of the confusion of the marketplace around her, she heard the steam generator. It sounded far, far away and sort of unreal. A hard-to-describe sadness and feeling of regret washed over her. As she forced back the tears, she wondered what had come over her the day before. What got into me? What was I thinking? I must have been out of my mind! I ruined the best chance I’ll ever have. And I didn’t even learn how to use an abacus.

Forgetting about leeks, she absentmindedly followed a small street to the town’s vast, mist-covered lake at the far southern end. Just as well, Yuxiu thought. A clean break. He wasn’t mine to begin with, so no harm done. Even if I’d become Gao Wei’s wife, there’d be trouble if they ever found out what had happened to me. She told herself it was a lost cause and vowed to forget about it. But she couldn’t figure out why her acceptance of that fact made her feel even worse. Was there anything in this world that could restore Yuxiu’s maidenhood? She’d gladly trade her right arm for it—even one of her eyes.

Now was not the time for Yumi to tell Guo Jiaxing that she was pregnant because an atmosphere of hostility existed in the house. Guo Qiaoqiao and her father had heated arguments every day, and neither one would give in. Guo wanted to send his daughter to work in the countryside after her sophomore year in high school. That would not only make him look good, but it would also solidify his status in the commune hierarchy. A year or two of fieldwork would lay a good foundation and establish Qiaoqiao’s credentials for whatever she did in the future.

It is important for the young to have wide-ranging goals. Guo tried to pound this concept into his daughter’s head with fatherly concern, citing his son’s experience as a case in point. Guo Zuo had gone down to the countryside to work alongside the peasants as one of Mao’s “educated youths”[7] and had gained entrance into the Party. When the call went out for factory workers, he was hired at a government-run factory in a big city.

But Qiaoqiao would have none of it. A few days earlier she’d fallen under the spell of an attractive, well-dressed woman in a movie about textile workers and was dead set on getting a job as a spinning machine operator at the Anfeng Commune textile mill. But how could Guo let his daughter take a job in a small textile mill run by the collective? She could wind up with a case of arthritis if she wasn’t careful. But he had another objection, one better left unspoken, and that was the fact that Anfeng Commune was located outside the town of Broken Bridge and thus beyond his influence, which could make things difficult in the future. Yumi guessed that this was his real concern, but she kept that to herself. Where Qiaoqiao was concerned, the less she was involved the better.

Guo Jiaxing sat in his rattan chair in the living room; Qiaoqiao stood in the doorway of her bedroom. Neither spoke. The silence lay heavily in the room for a long time before Guo Jiaxing lit a Flying Horse cigarette and said, “You need to join a rural production brigade. Can’t you get that through your thick skull?”

“No!” she said as she leaned against the door frame, pouting. “Let’s say I do what you want. What if you lose your grip on power? Who’ll take care of me then? I don’t want to spend the rest of my life on a farm.”

Yumi’s heart skipped a beat. The girl might seem dull-witted, but she was smart enough to worry about her long-term prospects. That was the last thing Guo expected to hear from his daughter.

What kind of talk was that! Guo pounded the table in anger, startling Yumi. Qiaoqiao is a foolish girl after all, Yumi thought. One doesn’t use words like “what if” and “lose power” when talking to an official. How could she not have known that? Yumi heard her husband push his chair away and tap his finger on the tabletop.

Once he got his anger under control, he said in a loud voice, “The red flag will never be taken down.” With the mention of the red flag, the situation turned so grim that Yumi grew fearful. She’d never heard her husband use that tone of voice before; he wasn’t merely angry, he was furious.

Silence returned to the living room for a long moment. Then Qiaoqiao slammed the double door of her bedroom— bang, bang. That was followed by her shouting from inside: “Now I see. After Mama died you got yourself a concubine and joined the ranks of the feudalists, capitalists, and revisionists. Now you want to send me to the countryside so you can please your concubine!”

Yumi heard every word and all she could think was This girl is outrageous. Now she’s dragged me into the middle of this.

Guo’s face was dark with anger. With his hands on his hips, he stormed outside, where he spotted Yuxiu, who was quietly observing him from the kitchen. He pointed at her through the window.

“I forbid you from backing her up anymore!” he ordered. “Who does she think she is, the mistress of a feudal household involved in class exploitation?”

Yuxiu tucked her head into her shoulders at the warning just as the skipper of the commune speedboat opened the front gate. When he saw the anger on Director Guo’s face, he stood there and waited.

Suddenly Qiaoqiao burst out of her room and ran toward the skipper. “Come. Take me to my grandmother’s house.”

He stayed put.

Guo Jiaxing turned to his daughter. “You haven’t taken your final exams,” he shouted, as if this had just dawned on him. His tone softened a bit. Qiaoqiao ignored him. She walked out the gate, dragging the skipper by the arm; he kept looking back nervously until Guo Jiaxing dismissed him with a weak wave of his hand.

With Qiaoqiao and the skipper gone, an air of calm settled over the yard, abrupt and unexpected. Guo stood there, smoking furiously. Yumi slipped quietly out the door and stood beside him. Obviously heavy-hearted, he sighed deeply. “I’ve always stressed the importance of ideology,” he said to her. “And now, you see, we’ve got a problem.”

Yumi answered his sigh with one of her own. “She’s just a child,” she said to comfort him.

“A child?” He was nearly shouting, still in the grip of anger. “At her age I’d already joined the new democratic revolution.”

As Yuxiu watched the scene through her window, she could tell that Yumi was ecstatic regardless of how she tried to pretend otherwise. She did a good job of covering it up. My sister is like water, always finding a way to flow downward. She manages to fit in perfectly without leaving the slightest gap, Yuxiu said to herself, admiring her sister for a talent that she herself did not possess.

Yumi looked at Guo and kept her eyes on him as they filled with glistening tears. Then she took his hand and laid it on her belly. “I hope we never make you angry like that,” she said.

Orientation is important at all times and allows for no mistakes—ever.

Take flattery, for instance. Ever since coming to Broken Bridge, Yuxiu had taken pains to wholeheartedly “serve the people” in the person of Guo Qiaoqiao. Now it looked as if she’d bet on the wrong number and had lost more than she’d gained—this was something that she felt with great intensity. Since Yumi was pregnant, her status in the family was assured, probably even enhanced. From now on, she’d be the one for Yuxiu to look to, it seemed. Even if Qiaoqiao grew increasingly imperious, she would not stay home forever, and Yuxiu berated herself for not thinking far enough ahead. Fawning on someone is hard work; just being shameless isn’t enough. Strategy and tactics are the essence of fawning. And tactics are tied up with orientation. Yuxiu had lost her way, but that wouldn’t last. Qiaoqiao’s departure left only one path open. Yuxiu had set herself adrift, and now she had to find her way back to the shore. It was time to get on Yumi’s good side.

But, as they say, last night’s food loses its taste, and the grass behind is no longer fresh. Yuxiu’s attempts fell flat with Yumi. Nothing illustrated that better than the act of serving rice. After Qiaoqiao left, Yumi refused to let Yuxiu wait on her, preferring to do everything herself. Most of the time she acted as if Yuxiu weren’t even there, which had the desired effect.

Yuxiu felt as if she’d been kicked out of a production brigade. The difference this time was that she did not blame her sister. There was no way around it—the fault lay with her. She’d stood with the wrong unit, had chosen the wrong orientation, and in the process had caused her sister considerable pain. She could not blame Yumi for being disappointed in her; it was totally deserved. It was now up to Yuxiu to behave differently, to talk less and do more. If she worked hard at reforming herself, she could show her sister that she was a new person. And once her sister saw that new person take shape, her anger would dissolve and she’d be in a forgiving mood. Then she’d let Yuxiu wait on her. Despite all that had happened, they were still sisters, and that gave Yuxiu all the confidence she needed.

Yuxiu was right to think that way, but she chose the wrong tactic. Yumi was giving Yuxiu the cold shoulder in hopes that she would reflect on her behavior and admit that she’d done wrong. What Yumi needed was an open admission of mistakes. It was all about attitude. And by attitude she meant that Yuxiu should stop thinking about saving face. As long as she adopted the proper attitude, Yumi, who was, after all, her older sister, had no interest in embarrassing her and would be happy to have her continue to live with them. But this was lost on Yuxiu, whose desire to turn over a new leaf was undermined by the frown that seemed permanently fixed on her face. Yumi saw that as a sign of resistance, even of outrage over the treatment of Guo Qiaoqiao. That sort of obstinacy was not what Yumi had hoped for. Well, she said to herself, all right, if that’s how you want it. Since you’re hell-bent on doing it your way, don’t blame me for making things hard for you.

Yumi wore an unusually stern expression. With Qiaoqiao now out of the house, she would bang her rice bowl and chopsticks down on the table, adding to the heavy atmosphere. Yuxiu was stymied. One day passed, then another and another, driving Yuxiu to the point of distraction. She spoke as little as possible, and her darkening mood increased the impression of defiance. Admitting mistakes is never easy, because you need first to determine what the person you’re dealing with is looking for. Only after you know that can your attitude be considered proper.

The day for Yumi to lay her cards on the table finally arrived, but Yuxiu was still in the dark. Guo Jiaxing had gone to a meeting out of town, leaving the sisters home alone. The house was oppressively still, an outbreak of close combat threatening to erupt at any minute. Right after breakfast Yumi summoned her sister from the kitchen. Yuxiu rushed into the living room, water dripping from her hands. One glance told her that something was wrong. Yumi was sitting with her legs crossed in the rattan chair, a seat normally reserved for her husband. She didn’t say anything right away, and Yuxiu’s heart sank. She stood in front of Yumi, who ignored her and contemplated her own feet. Then she reached into her purse, took out two yuan, and laid the money on the table. “This is for you, Yuxiu,” she said. With her eyes on the money, Yuxiu breathed a sigh of relief.

This was a welcome development, not what Yuxiu had expected. “I don’t want any money,” she said. “I don’t need to be paid for waiting on my own sister.” That was just the right thing to say.

But it had no effect on Yumi, who then took out a ten-yuan bill and fingered it for a moment before laying it next to the two yuan. “Give this ten yuan to Mama.”

With that, Yumi got up and went into her bedroom, and as she stood alone in the living room, Yuxiu realized what was happening. “Give this ten yuan to Mama.” Yumi was telling Yuxiu to go back to Wang Family Village, wasn’t she?

In the grip of panic, Yuxiu followed her sister into the bedroom. “Sister,” she said.

Yumi ignored her.

“Sister!” Yuxiu called out again.

With her back to Yuxiu, Yumi crossed her arms and gazed out the window. “Sister,” Yuxiu repeated, controlling her emotions. “I can’t go back to Wang Family Village. If you force me to go, I’ll have to kill myself.”

Clever as always, Yuxiu knew that this was exactly the right thing to say. To begin with, she was telling the truth, but it also represented strength in weakness. That is, while it sounded feeble, almost like begging, hidden in it was the power of coercion when directed at her own sister.

With a faint smile Yumi turned and said with due politeness, “Go ahead, Yuxiu, kill yourself. I’ll find you some nice woolen funeral clothes.”

This shocking comment took Yuxiu’s breath away. Her indignation was no match for the crippling shame she felt. She stared with a dazed look at Yumi, who returned her gaze. The length of time that the two sisters stared at each other, unblinking, was protracted and grim; it carried the dual significance of ending the past and creating a new beginning.

Yuxiu blinked and her gaze began to soften. Softer and softer, weakening even her legs until she fell to her knees in front of Yumi. She knew perfectly well that the effect of kneeling lasted forever. Once you go down on your knees, that’s where you will stay, always inferior.

Still Yumi said nothing. As Yuxiu knelt, tears spilled from her eyes; she kowtowed, touching her head to her sister’s feet. Time passed slowly. Then, dropping her arms, Yumi crouched down and began gently stroking Yuxiu’s hair, over and over as her eyes also filled with tears, big translucent drops that ran down her cheeks. Cupping Yuxiu’s chin in her hand, she said, “How could you lose sight of who we are, Yuxiu? Have you forgotten that we’re sisters? I’m your big sister.” There wasn’t a false note in what she was saying. She wrapped her arms around Yuxiu and held her close.

Enough had been said by then that Yumi felt it was time to get everything out in the open. And so, she talked in fits and starts, starting with the day of her engagement, all the way up to her plans to bring Yuxiu to town to see if she could make something of her life. Tears of sadness accompanied every word. “Yuxiu,” she said, “our brother is just a baby, and of all the girls in our family, you’re the only one who has a chance. How can you not know what’s in my heart? Why must you act like a seductress? Why do you always fight me?” There was a bleak quality to Yumi’s voice. “You have to amount to something, Yuxiu, you just have to. Show the people of Wang Family Village what you’re made of. Please don’t disappoint me anymore.”

Yuxiu looked up at Yumi, and at that moment she knew she was not her sister’s equal; she had let her down terribly and was unworthy of her.

She burst out crying. “I’ve been a terrible sister and I’m so sorry.”

“Have you no feelings for family?” Yumi said. “Not this family, our family?”

Yuxiu sobbed as she let go of her sister’s legs and listened carefully. Guilt and remorse told her that this time she’d really and truly grown up and had become an adult. She vowed she’d never again do anything to disappoint her sister, no matter what. She buried her head in Yumi’s bosom and said what was in her heart. “Everything, it’s all been my fault, and I swear I’ll never disappoint you again. If I do I know I’ll die a horrible death.”

The sun at noon that Sunday was blazing hot, so Yumi decided to air the winter clothes—which had been stored in a chest during the rainy season—since fastidious homemakers always aired their clothing under the summer sun to prevent mold.

Yuxiu rummaged through closets and opened chests, adorning the yard with lines of colorful clothing and filling the air with the smell of mothballs, an odor that Yumi had actually liked in years past. But this year was a little different—the smell did not please her, probably as a result of her morning sickness. Almost everything smelled different these days. Sitting in the living room, hands resting on her belly, she felt good about herself, perfectly contented now that she had claimed final victory. By the look of things, she would have the last laugh.

What she had to concern herself with now was how to get Guo Jiaxing moving in the right direction to find a job for Yuxiu. She sat in his rattan chair all afternoon, half asleep, lazily fanning herself with a dried palm frond and gazing through half-closed eyes at the clothing in the yard. Eventually her eyes closed and the fan dropped to the floor. Yuxiu rushed over, picked it up, and waved it over her sister for a while until she woke up. Life is not perfect, Yumi thought. But everything is going smoothly—like a lovely maiden’s features—so why not enjoy my pregnancy? This is my chance to take it easy.

Yuxiu kept going back out into the blazing heat; the shimmering sunlight was harsh and blinding. She squinted as she turned the pieces of clothing in the yard with light, nimble movements. Standing amid the piles of clothes with the weight of the heat on her, she smelled the powerful odor of mothballs that permeated and spread under the sun. She breathed in deeply as her spirit soared. That feeling came not only from the mothballs, but from something else as well. After years of contending with Yumi, she had fallen to her knees before her sister in the end. Her unconditional surrender had brought happiness, a different kind of bliss.

When it gains the quality of habit, submission can be addictive and can make a person content with her lot and turn her into someone who is willingly compliant. And it feels better with the passage of time. Qiaoqiao’s absence from home, of course, played an important role, and the longer she stayed away, the simpler life became. Yuxiu assumed that Qiaoqiao would not be returning anytime soon, certainly not until the blowup over being sent down to a production unit in the countryside had died down. But even if she did come home, it wouldn’t be long before she was off to work in the textile mill. So Yuxiu allowed herself to envision a hopeful future. She began to hum a song she’d heard in a movie and a few tunes from a local opera.

Shortly after three in the afternoon, a knock at the gate interrupted her reveries. Most of the time the gate was left open, but Yumi had decided it wasn’t a good idea for the people who worked in the government offices to see all that nice clothing—expensive woolens, fine silks, khakis, and an array of knitting yarns—displayed out in the open. So she’d closed the gate and bolted it. It’s always best to get rich quietly.

Since the clothes had belonged to Guo Jiaxing’s first wife, Yumi had every right to own and wear them. Even if she chose not to wear all of them, she could send some back to Wang Family Village to be altered and handed out as new clothes for her sisters. They would be the beneficiaries of nice things to wear, and Yumi would gain considerable face. The sisters would enjoy the fruits of her magnanimity.

Yuxiu went up to the gate and opened it. A young man she’d never seen before stood there; a faux leather briefcase with the word SHANGHAI stamped on it was sitting on the step beside him. He was good-looking and obviously cultured; his shirt, with a pen in the pocket, was tucked into his pants. To still be so neat and trim on such a hot day spoke of a rare vitality. Yuxiu and the young man stood on opposite sides of the gate sizing each other up for a long moment.

“Big sister,” Yuxiu called out, “Guo Zuo’s home.” By the time she’d reached down and picked up the briefcase, the young man was standing beneath the eaves next to Yumi, who stared at him, momentarily at a loss for words.

“Aiya,” she blurted out finally and stepped down into the yard, where she managed another “aiya.”

“You must be Yumi,” he said with a smile. He looked to be roughly the same age as she was, which caused her embarrassment. But he treated the situation better than she had imagined he would. She waved her fan in front of him a couple of times. By then Yuxiu had walked up with a washbasin. Yumi dipped a towel in the water, wrung it out, and handed it to him. “You’re sweaty. Here, wipe your face.”

Guo Zuo had called Yumi by her name, which she found pleasing. That eliminated the possibility of all sorts of awkwardness and introduced an instant rapport that would make it easier for them to get along. He appeared to be a couple of years older than she, and while their roles in the family were mother and son, they were actually of the same generation. Yumi liked what she saw; he had made a good first impression. There is certainly something to be said for sons, she told herself. Qiaoqiao was a strange, unpleasant girl who did not know what was good for her. This one was much better behaved.

Once he’d wiped his sweaty face, Guo Zuo looked cool and fresh as he sat in his father’s rattan chair, picked up his father’s cigarettes, and lit one. He took a deep drag as Yumi told her sister to gather up all the clothes in the yard while she went into the kitchen to make a bowl of light soup with noodles. However one looked at it, Yumi was a mother, so she needed to act like one. By the time Yuxiu had steeped some tea for Guo Zuo, he was quietly reading a thick brick of a book. Yuxiu, who had been in a decent mood to begin with, was now feeling even better. So good, in fact, that the seductress abruptly resurfaced. It had been a long time, and she welcomed the return of her old self. She might not have been able to put these feelings into words, but there was no mistaking the sense of delight they brought.

She wasn’t singing now, but there were songs in her heart, and the arias from the local operas were accompanied by gongs and drums. Her spirits were on the rise, thanks to this happy turn of events. On each of her repeated trips in and out of the room, she cast a glance in Guo Zuo’s direction, intentionally or not. It was an impulsive act that she couldn’t resist.

Guo Zuo noticed. He looked up at Yuxiu, who was standing just beyond the door under the blazing sun, wearing a straw hat with a wide brim on which a saying from Chairman Mao was printed: MUCH CAN BE ACCOMPLISHED IN THIS VAST WORLD. When their eyes met, Yuxiu smiled at him for no apparent reason. She was happy and exuberant, and this seemingly vacuous display was a genuine expression of the feelings that flowed from her heart. The sun, which had migrated to the western sky, lit up her teeth and made them sparkle.

There have been so many changes, Guo Zuo thought. It no longer seems like my house. The place feels so full of life. When his mother died, Guo Zuo ought to have come home for the funeral and stayed for a while, using up his accumulated vacation days. But his father was busy delivering the body to the crematorium the day after she died, and when he returned home, he wrote a long letter to Guo Zuo, filled with serious philosophical issues. Guo placed great importance on expounding upon materialism and the dialectics of life and death. So Guo Zuo did not return home.

But now he was back, not for a vacation, but to recuperate from a work-related injury. During a training exercise for an outpost team he had suffered a concussion and was sent home to recover.

When Guo Jiaxing returned from the office, father and son greeted each other with simple nods of the head. Guo asked his son a question or two; Guo Zuo replied in the same perfunctory manner, and that was it—nothing more was said.

What an intriguing family, Yuxiu said to herself. Blood relations who treat each other as comrades. Even their greetings are in the same hurried manner as if they were making revolution or promoting production. There can’t be many fathers and sons like this.

Guo Zuo stayed close to home, spending his waking hours walking or lying around or sitting in the living room with a book. An enigma like his father, Yuxiu thought. But it took only a few days for her to see that she was wrong. Unlike his father, Guo Zuo had a penchant for conversation and enjoyed a good laugh. On a day when both Guo Jiaxing and Yumi were at work, Guo Zuo sat in his father’s chair with a book resting on his knees as he smoked a cigarette, the blue smoke curling into the surrounding silence then fanning out until only a tail was left, which flickered briefly and then disappeared. After a nap, Yuxiu walked into the living room to straighten things up and pour Guo Zuo a cup of tea. He appeared to have just gotten up from a nap himself; marks from the straw mat still creased his cheek like patchwork corduroy. That struck Yuxiu as funny, but she smothered her laugh in the crook of her arm when he looked up.

“What’s so funny?” he asked, puzzled.

Yuxiu dropped her arm; the smile was gone, replaced by a look of innocence, as if it had been nothing at all. She coughed.

“I haven’t even asked you your name,” Guo Zuo said, closing his book.

Yuxiu blinked a couple of times and, with her dark eyes fixed on his face, raised her chin and said, “Guess.”

For the first time Guo Zuo noticed that her eyelids were as wide as leek leaves and deep—utterly bewitching with their double-folds.

“That’s a tough assignment,” he said, looking stymied.

“Well,” Yuxiu said to help him, “my sister’s name is Yumi, which means I have to be ‘Yu’ something. The ‘mi’ in her name means ‘rice,’ so you wouldn’t expect me to be called ‘da mi’—big rice—would you?

Guo Zuo laughed and struck a thoughtful pose. “So, it’s ‘yu’ what?”

“Xiu,” Yuxiu said, “as in ‘youxiu,’ you know, ‘outstanding.’”

Guo Zuo nodded and went back to his book. She had assumed he was in the mood to talk. But he wasn’t.

How can a book be that engrossing? Yuxiu wondered. She took a corner of the book between her thumb and forefinger, bent over, cocked her head, and read “Spar—ta—cus.” She kept staring at it, knowing the Chinese characters, but having no idea what she was reading.

“Is that a translation from English?” she asked.

Guo Zuo smiled, but didn’t respond.

“It must be,” she said. “Otherwise I’d understand it.”

Again he smiled, but this time he nodded and said, “Yes, it is.” The girl’s not only pretty, he thought. But she possesses a sort of unlettered intelligence and a bit of unsophisticated cunning. Very interesting and quite amusing.

With the scorching sun shining in the yard, it had been an enjoyable afternoon, but the weather changed abruptly. Gusts of wind rose up, followed by a rainfall that quickly turned into a downpour. Large drops bounced off the ground and the kitchen roof, and the house was promptly shrouded in a dense mist that formed a watery curtain just beyond the living-room door.

Yuxiu reached out through the curtain; Guo Zuo walked up and stuck his hand out next to hers. The insane torrent stopped as quickly as it had begun; it had only rained for four or five minutes. The watery curtain was replaced by beads of water that fell one at a time, creating a tranquil, lingering, dreamlike aura. The brief rainsquall had cooled the air, a welcome respite from the heat. Yuxiu’s mind wandered, her arm still suspended in midair. Her thoughts were miles away; she seemed to be staring at her hand, but saw nothing, although her dark curly lashes blinked rhythmically in concert with the beads of water dripping from the roof and also created a tranquil, lingering, dreamlike aura. Then she came back down to earth.

She smiled at Guo Zuo through a veil of embarrassment that seemed to come out of nowhere, reddening her face, deeper and deeper, and forcing her to avert her eyes. She had, she felt, just taken a mysterious journey somewhere.

“I guess I should call you aunty,” Guo Zuo said. That simple statement reminded her that there was an established relationship between her and Guo Zuo—aunt and nephew. An aunt at her age? The question was: Did becoming his aunt bring them closer together or increase the distance between them? She mulled over the concept of “aunt”; to her it implied intimacy, and as it wound its way around her mind, she began to blush again. Afraid he would notice, but secretly hoping he might, she experienced feelings of elation mixed with threads of sadness that made her heart race.

Once the ice is broken, conversation comes more easily. And so it did for Yuxiu and Guo Zuo, who were able to talk comfortably about many things. Her favorite topics were urban life and movies, and he always had ready answers to her questions. She was bursting with curiosity. Guo Zuo could see that even though she was a country girl, she was ambitious and had an expansive mind—she was a bit on the wild side, having the sort of impudence typical of someone who has no desire to spend the rest of her life in farming villages. There was a deep yearning in her dark, exceedingly soft eyes, which were like the feathered wings of a night bird that, having no feet, does not know where to land. Yuxiu, who spoke only the local dialect, wanted him to teach her how to speak Putonghua, the national language.

“I can’t speak it either,” he said.

“I don’t believe you.” She cast him a sideways glance.

“Honest.”

“I said I don’t believe you.” She tried to look angry, but could not mask the look of reverence in her eyes as they swept over him. He, on the other hand, seemed flustered and appeared eager to leave. With her hands behind her back, Yuxiu blocked his way, shifting her body seductively.

“I really can’t,” Guo Zuo said, his voice taking on a serious tone. Yuxiu made no response. With a smile, he repeated insistently, “Honest, I really can’t.”

But Yuxiu would not give up. By now Putonghua was no longer the is - sue; what mattered was the conversation, which is what she’d wanted all along. But not Guo Zuo, who stood with a silly grin on his face, which she found irritating. She turned her back to him. “I don’t like you,” she said.

Though Guo Zuo could not be bothered by the fact that Yuxiu had stopped paying attention to him, it was not something he could simply put out of his mind. Those four words—“I don’t like you”—irritated him. It was the sort of irritation that confused him; it forced him to reflect on things and left him unsure of how he felt.

Whether he wanted to or not, he began noticing things about Yuxiu; during dinner that night he made a point of looking her way a time or two. That did not please Yuxiu. Actually, it distressed her. Knowing she had the temperament of a child, Guo Zuo reminded himself that he was a member of a unique family, and that it was important to avoid doing anything that made people unhappy.

The next day, after Yumi left for work, Guo Zuo placed his book in his lap and struck up a conversation with Yuxiu. “All right, I’ll teach you.”

Not only did Yuxiu not squeal with pleasure, but she let his offer pass without comment as she prepared some vegetables. Instead, she chatted about mundane personal things, such as whether or not he enjoyed living away from home, how he liked the food where he was, who did his laundry for him, and if he ever felt homesick. All grown-up matters that made her sound like a caring aunt, not at all like the day before. Guo Zuo wondered how she could be one person one day and someone else the next.

Since he had nothing special to do, he got up and stood beside her to help with the vegetables. She smacked the back of his hand, hard enough to make it sting. “Go wash your hands,” she said sternly. “This is my job, not yours.”

That stopped Guo Zuo, but only for as long as it took him to catch her meaning; he washed his hands. When she was finished, she washed up, walked over to him, and put out her hand.

“What’s this for?” he asked.

“Slap it.”

Guo Zuo bit his lip. “Why?”

“I slapped yours a minute ago, so now you slap me back.”

That made him smile broadly. “Forget it,” he said.

“No.”

“I said forget it.” He drew the words out.

Yuxiu stepped closer and said, “No.”

Her tone was sly and capricious, and he wasn’t sure how to deal with her. That excited him. Now he had only one option—do as she said. This was beginning to look like playing house, except that it was a flirtatious game. After he slapped her hand, Yuxiu took the cigarette out of his other hand, put it up to her lips, and breathed in a mouthful of smoke. Then she shut her eyes and mouth to send two identical streams of smoke slowly out of her nose. The smoke lingered in the air as she returned the cigarette, opened her eyes, and said, “Did I look like a secret agent?”

He found that strange. “Why would you want to be a secret agent?”

“Because they can be so alluring,” she said in a hushed voice that carried a touch of mystery. “Who wouldn’t want to be someone that gorgeous?” She was not joking, and danger now seemed to lurk somewhere between them.

Guo Zuo reacted nervously, but was more aroused than ever. He tried to sound serious, but did not do a very good job. Somewhat paternally, he said, “Keep talk like that in the house.”

Yuxiu laughed. “I don’t need you to tell me that,” she said. Then she said charmingly, “For your ears only.” Her conspiratorial tone implied a special bond, a closeness and mutual understanding between them.

Her eyes widened. “You won’t tell your father what I just said, will you?” she asked nervously.

His smile failed to allay her fears. She wanted a promise.

“Let’s take a vow,” she said, holding out her thumb to seal the deal. “A hundred years of silence.” She linked his pinkie with hers. One hundred years sounded too long, so she changed the vow: “Let’s say ‘fifty years of silence.’” This had the appearance of a pledge of faithfulness, which obviously pleased them both. Their thumbs separated, but the feeling persisted and led to melancholy, followed by a barrage of disconnected thoughts.

Guo Zuo was obviously a happy man. Spending time with a girl like Yuxiu was a first for him. She was even happier than he was, since talking openly and freely with a young man was new to her as well. Given Guo Zuo’s age, a girl like Yuxiu was expected to avoid such situations. But no such expectations accrued to an aunt. What was she expected to avoid? Nothing.

Yuxiu, wittingly or not, began treating Guo Zuo not as a nephew, but as an elder brother, which then made her a little sister, an intoxicating thought. Aunt served as an effective cover. It not only protected elder brother, but even more importantly, it protected little sister as well. It was something special—indescribable and strange, but firmly implanted in their hearts.

A once solemn and respectably sedate home came alive—but, of course, only secretly, almost underground, in dark corners and in the hearts of certain family members. Yuxiu discovered early on that Guo Zuo had plenty to say whenever it was just the two of them, and sometimes his face lit up when he was talking. But when Guo Jiaxing and Yumi returned home, he clammed up. Like his father, his demeanor connoted procedure, policy, organization, discipline, and the spirit of formal meetings.

The only sound at the dinner table was Yumi’s voice urging Guo Zuo to eat or the clacking of her chopsticks when she placed food in his bowl. For Yuxiu, this seemingly subtle difference was both obvious and heartening. It was as if she and Guo Zuo had reached a tacit understanding. The silence around the dinner table held special meaning for her, bringing with it an anxiety that created a strange sense of happiness amid extraordinary bewilderment; although she did not realize it, the silence had developed into a shared secret known only to heaven and earth. People find secrets moving, for they have the power to inspire and achieve a tear-inducing tenderness. Secrets slowly seep into the deepest recesses of themselves and then spread outward. When they reach their outer limits, they quietly split apart and move in directions that cannot be put in order, like spilled water that cannot be recovered.

Yuxiu had a feeling that there was something odd about her, something baffling. Guo Jiaxing and Yumi would no sooner be out the door than she and Guo Zuo would come to life. The oddest thing about it was her preposterous actions. When Guo Jiaxing and Yumi were on their way to the office, she retreated to the kitchen to change clothes and attend to her hair, combing out her short braids and plaiting them with great care until not a strand was out of place. After neatly securing them with butterfly clips, she moistened them with water till they were a deep black and slippery smooth. Finally, she made sure that her bangs were neatly trimmed so that they fell loosely over her forehead like thin tassels. Her grooming completed, she sat at the mirror and inspected herself closely, not returning to the living room until she was satisfied that everything was perfect and that she was as pretty as she could be. Then, taking a seat, she wordlessly removed the dead leaves from the vegetables for the noon meal—all of this under the scrutiny of Guo Zuo, who sat opposite and slightly to one side of her.

The tension in the room was palpable. Silence reigned. The air felt viscous, as if it were trying hard to circulate but not succeeding. But, as they say, there’s tension and there’s tension. Sometimes it has the quality of deathly silence, at other times it is full of life and replete with the power to stir things up. It is easy to shatter, and extra care is needed to stabilize it. He did not speak. Neither did she.

Actually, she did speak. A girl’s hair speaks for her quite eloquently, strand by strand. Can there be a single strand that does not tell of what is in her heart? When Yuxiu combed her hair, confusion filled her head with hesitation, warnings, and embarrassing self-reproach. She knew she was flirting with mischief, that seduction was afoot, and she steadfastly commanded herself to stop, just as Yumi would have done. But something deep down inside would not let her. Though she could not know it, she was experiencing the first awakenings of love. With the coming of spring, light rains fall, and the heart begins to bud. Leaves appear recklessly. Though weak and easily battered by the wind, every plant is born with a stubborn streak, and even if it is pinned beneath a stone, it will squirm until its head emerges and finds a way out, little by little.

Hot though the days were, every once in a while Guo Jiaxing still sat down to drink with members of the leadership. He was not much of a drinker and preferred not to do this. But Director Wang, his superior, liked to drink and chose to hold meetings in the evening, which invariably turned into banquets. Truth be told, Director Wang’s capacity for alcohol was limited, so he never drank too much. But that did not lessen the delight for someone who loved a party as much as he did, which is why the various leaders spent so much after-hours time together.

Director Wang maintained a high standard of behavior where drinking was concerned. He could never be accused of trying to get anyone drunk, but he often remarked that one must drink, and his favorite sayings were “The key is to never lose your fighting spirit” and “Drinking is a good test of that fighting spirit.” For him, it was something a man cannot do without, which was why Guo Jiaxing had to join in.

Something had come over Guo in recent days. When he reached a certain level of inebriation, he wanted to make love as soon as he was home in bed. If he was still relatively sober, the desire would not be strong enough, and if he’d had too much to drink, sex never entered his mind. But when he had reached that precise point and not gone beyond, he was ready to go home and perform. Just where that point was he could not say, but he knew when he reached it.

On this particular night, he’d had just enough to drink—he’d reached that point—and he was feeling potent. Everyone was asleep when he got home. He turned on the light and silently studied Yumi as she slept. After a moment she woke up to the sight of her husband with a peculiar grin on his face. She did not have to guess what he had in mind. At times like this that grin would go through several unique phases—his cheeks would move a bit, then stop, then move a bit more, and stop again, before finally settling into a real smile. And that smile told her he was ready to do it.

With her head resting on the pillow, Yumi experienced a bit of awkward difficulty. She had no interest in dousing his passion, but thought about what the doctor had said a few days before. “Everything is fine, Mrs. Guo,” she’d said, “but you must avoid pressure on your abdomen.” If her husband was not to be denied, the doctor went on, make sure he went about it “lightly” and “not too deeply.” Yumi understood perfectly, but blushed nonetheless. No wonder everyone says that doctors are coarse people, Yumi said to herself. That seems right to me—the woman didn’t even try to be tactful.

Yumi chose not to tell Guo Jiaxing what the doctor had said. Nothing in the world could have made her say those words. He’d fathered two children so this was something he ought to know.

He did. That night he did not press down on her, he didn’t actually “do it” in the full sense of the word. But his hands and his teeth were so savage, so sharp and painful, that he broke the skin on her breasts in several places. Yumi kept opening and shutting her mouth from the pain, but she didn’t try to make him stop. Experience told her it was a bad idea to make a man lose his temper in bed. So she let him have his way. He was soon breathing so hard it sounded painful. He touched and kissed her over and over, but nothing worked, so he groped and kneaded in agony in the dark.

“This is no good,” he muttered, breathing his liquor breath on her face. “This isn’t working.”

Yumi sat up and thought long and hard before deciding to put him out of his misery. She got out of bed and took off his pants. Then she knelt on the edge of the bed, leaned over, and took him into her mouth. This came as a shock. He had known lots of women and had plenty of experience in bed. But this was a first for him. He thought about making her stop, but his rebellious body would not let him. Meanwhile, Yumi’s determination did not slacken as she moved along with him. Guo Jiaxing was powerless to stop this scene from being played out; that night Guo had sex in what for him was a very strange way.

Yumi, her lips pressed tightly together, turned, lifted the lid of the chamber pot, and vomited loudly. Her husband’s problem had been solved, and the effects of the alcohol had evaporated. Nearly paralyzed with euphoria, he loved her with all his heart at that moment. He took her in his arms like a father holds his child. Gazing up at him and wiping the corners of her mouth with toilet paper, she smiled and said, “A bit of nausea, I guess.”

When Guo awoke early the next morning he saw that Yumi was awake and that she’d been crying; her cheeks were wet with tears. Thoughts of the stirring events of the night before ran through his mind as he gazed at her and wondered if it had all been a dream. “Let’s not do that again,” he said as he patted her on the shoulder. “No more of that.”

She buried her head in his chest and said, “What do you mean, no more of this or that? I’m your woman.” That simple comment moved him in ways he’d never felt before.

“Then why are you crying?” he asked as he looked into her tear-streaked face.

“For myself,” she said. “And for my foolish little sister.”

“What does that mean?”

“Yuxiu keeps pestering me about getting her a job at the grain-purchasing station. She says it wouldn’t be any trouble for someone as powerful as her brother-in-law to arrange. That made sense to me, so I said okay without checking with you first. Over the past few days I’ve been thinking that no one has the power to blot out the sky. You already found me a job at the co-op, and now I’m asking you to find one for your sister-in-law. That would be too high-handed. She can swear at me for all I care, but the thought of my family looking down on me is something I could not stand. They’d say that when she married the director of the revolutionary committee, she forgot where she came from and wouldn’t even help out her own sister.”

With thoughts of the previous night in his head, Guo knew he could not deny his wife’s request. He tilted his head and blinked a time or two. “Wait a few days,” he said thoughtfully. “A few days. It would look bad for her to get a job so soon after you. I’ll put in a word for her one of these days.”

The private conversation between Yuxiu and Guo Zuo came to a sudden halt, plunging the room into total silence, for neither wanted to begin talking again, as if there was a fuse in the air that would send up smoke if they weren’t careful. They did not know how or when it started. Yuxiu stole several glances at Guo Zuo, as their gazes turned into wary mice that were sticking their heads out at dusk, each one scaring the other and sending them both scurrying around. The night before, after intuiting what was on his mind, she sneaked a look at Spartacus and saw that he’d stopped at page 286. That morning he had resumed his reading, engrossed in the book for over an hour before getting up for cigarettes. The moment he left, she tiptoed over and picked up the book only to see that he was still on page 286. This discovery made her heart flutter with unease. Obviously he was pretending to read, though his mind was elsewhere, and she assumed that he was thinking of her. She’d thought she would be happy to learn how he felt, but no, the realization actually produced a sharp pain; with tears brimming in her eyes, she tiptoed back to the room behind the kitchen, where she sat lost in thought on the edge of her bed.

Except for mealtimes, Yuxiu avoided the living room; she was, after all, the aunty. That went on for several days and everything seemed fine, but Yuxiu was, in fact, waging an intractable war with tranquillity—a silent, lethal, and exhausting war. She wished there could be someone else in the house to liven it up and bring real peace to her. But her sister and brother-in-law had to work. After they left, the house was empty except for Guo Zuo and, of course, her. The house turned as still as the glass in the windowpanes, bright yet hopelessly fragile. Besides the steam generator at the mill, she heard nothing but her own heartbeat.

Shortly before noon what was making her so anxious finally occurred. Guo Zuo came into the kitchen unannounced. She felt her heart tighten and pound shamelessly. He stood there quietly and awkwardly, not looking at her. Then he took out an emerald green toothbrush and laid it on a stool, saying, “Don’t use your sister’s toothbrush. Sharing a toothbrush is unsanitary.” His voice carried palpable concern. He then left the kitchen and resumed reading in the living room.

Yuxiu held the toothbrush in her hand and stroked the bristles with her thumb, which created a downy feeling that was replicated in her heart. She quickly lost herself in the feeling and, without being conscious of it, picked up a tube of toothpaste, squeezed some of its contents onto the brush, and began to brush her teeth. In a daze, she kept brushing the same spot with the same motion. When Yumi came home more than an hour earlier than usual, she was surprised to see her sister standing by the bed brushing her teeth, because Yuxiu normally used Yumi’s brush in the morning after she was done with it.

“What’s wrong with you, Yuxiu?” she asked softly.

“No,” Yuxiu replied, making little sense, as she was caught between swallowing and spitting out the foamy paste.

That aroused Yumi’s suspicions, so she lowered her voice even more. “Why are you brushing your teeth again?”

“No,” Yuxiu said. This really got the attention of her sister, who spotted the new brush.

“Buy a new brush?”

With foamy liquid now spilling out of the corners of her mouth, Yuxiu said, “No.”

“Then who gave it to you?” Yumi persisted.

Yuxiu stole a quick glance through the window into the living room. “No.”

Following Yuxiu’s gaze, Yumi spotted Guo Zuo, who was reading in the room, and she knew at once what was going on. But she just nodded and said, “Hurry up and make lunch.”

That night Yumi lay quietly in bed, breathing evenly. Her eyes were closed, but when Guo Jiaxing started to snore, and she heard his breathing level out, she opened her eyes and clasped her hands behind her head. Yuxiu had hurt her feelings quite badly. Apparently she was an incorrigible flirt who had inherited Wang Lianfang’s lecherous genes. Yumi knew that the girl was hopeless and that she couldn’t depend on her. No matter where she went, trouble followed. Owing to her promiscuous nature, Yuxiu stopped dead in her tracks whenever she saw a man. This could not continue, and it was up to Yumi to stop it. A nephew and his aunt! Could anything be worse? If they got into trouble and people heard about it, the Wang family would be disgraced. And what about the Guo family? Things like that cannot be hidden. Good news never gets out the door, but scandals travel far. No, she had to send Yuxiu home as soon as the sun rose. She couldn’t stay another day.

But Yumi had no sooner made up her mind than she hesitated. Yuxiu could not go back to Wang Family Village after all; Guo Zuo could follow the fox fairy home, where there would be no one to watch them, a recipe for disaster. So sending her home would not solve the problem. Yumi sighed, rolled over, and saw that this was becoming a big headache. The only answer was to send Guo Zuo away. But how could she convince him that it was the thing to do? She couldn’t possibly talk to Guo Jiaxing about it; things would get ugly if she could produce no evidence of a problem. Unable to find a workable solution, Yumi slipped out of bed.

Guo Zuo was still up. He habitually went to bed late and slept in late. The earliest he’d consider going to bed was ten o’clock, even if he had to fuss about until then. Casting a glance into the kitchen, Yumi opened the door to the west room, and the light quickly went out in the kitchen. Now she knew what Yuxiu had been up to every day right under her nose. Shameless! Yumi cursed silently before putting a smile on her face. She stood in front of Guo Zuo. “Still reading?” she asked.

Guo Zuo lit a cigarette and mumbled a response. She sat down across from him and said, “You read all day long. Can there really be that many books to read?”

“Yes,” he replied, absentmindedly.

Guo Zuo, I never expected you to be the playboy type, Yumi said to herself. You’re nothing like your father.

She chatted casually as the night deepened and the sound of the generator grew more distinct. He obligingly answered all her questions. Then, as if it had just occurred to her, she asked about the boys he’d gone to school with. “Keep an eye out for someone suitable, will you?” He just stared at her, not knowing what she was getting at. With a sigh, she said, “For my younger sister.”

So that was it: Yumi was asking him to help find a husband for Yuxiu.

“So long as he has a solid background and isn’t incurably stupid, I wouldn’t care if he was missing an arm or a leg.”

Guo Zuo laughed awkwardly. “You must be joking. It’s not as if your sister would have trouble finding a husband.”

Yumi held her tongue and, with a grief-stricken look, turned away. Her eyes glistened with tears. Finally she managed to say, “Guo Zuo, you’re a member of the family so it’s all right to tell you. Yuxiu—we really don’t expect much for her.” He tensed and waited for her to continue. “Yuxiu, she was spoiled by seven or eight men. It happened this past spring.”

His mouth opened slowly. “That’s impossible,” he blurted out.

“It’s all right if you think that makes things hard. I don’t expect much anyway,” she said.

“Impossible,” he repeated.

As she dried her tears, Yumi stood up, looking sorrowful. “Guo Zuo, no woman would make up something like that about her own sister. I realize I shouldn’t ask for your help, and I understand perfectly, but please keep it a secret.” Guo Zuo’s eyes lost their focus as the cigarette in his hand burned down dangerously low. Yumi turned, walked slowly back to her room, closed the door behind her, and climbed into bed. She drifted off to sleep.

Guo Zuo cut his visit short, leaving one morning without saying good-bye to anyone. But the afternoon before he left, he did something totally unexpected—he took Yuxiu by force in the kitchen. He had often asked himself if he’d really fallen for her, but had not been able to produce an answer. He avoided the issue and found his justification in Yumi’s comment: “Yuxiu, she was spoiled by seven or eight men. It happened this past spring.”

The more he thought about it, the greater the pain he felt, until his pain turned to anger mixed with affection and other unrelated emotions, including rabid jealousy and a certain inability to accept what he’d been told. It was on that same night that he decided to have sex with Yuxiu; after seven or eight men, one more shouldn’t matter. Startled by his own thoughts, he tossed and turned that night, reproachfully calling himself a no-account bastard. He rose early the next day and, in a half-awakened state, spotted Yuxiu brushing her teeth in the courtyard.

Oblivious to the turmoil Guo Zuo had experienced the night before, she brushed with an exaggerated motion while looking around with her pretty marelike eyes. When their eyes met, he looked away as sadness swept through his heart. He managed to hold off all that morning before packing up his stuff and making up his mind to leave. When he was done, he saw Yuxiu still in the courtyard, now washing clothes. She was leaning over the washboard, her hands busy with the wet clothes, the board pressed up against her belly, her breasts swaying with every movement. He felt an indescribable force rise up inside him. Unable to control himself, he bolted the door to the courtyard, walked up and wrapped his arms around her from behind, shocking them both. With her in his arms, he felt awful, but this feeling then manifested itself in rash actions. Planting his lips on the nape of her neck, he began kissing her frantically. She was too stunned to react. When she finally realized what was happening, instead of struggling, she placed her wet hands over the backs of his and caressed them tenderly. Then she spun around and draped her arms around him. The courtyard seemed to turn and move as they held each other tightly before ending up in the kitchen. He wanted to kiss her lips but she avoided his mouth; then he grabbed her head, trying to push her face up to his, but she held on and he failed. His arms, too, failed to bend her legs or her neck. After a while, however, her neck went limp and he pulled her face around little by little until they were looking at each other. “Is it true?” he asked with red-eyed indignation, wanting to know if what Yumi had said was true. But, unable to ask her outright, he had resorted to a vague and seemingly nonsensical question.

Not knowing what he meant, Yuxiu became confused. Her mind went blank while her body felt an urge to do the one thing she feared most. So she nodded like a little sister then shook her head like an aunt. She kept nodding and shaking her head weakly, as if her body was asking and answering its own questions. Then she stopped nodding; she just shook her head, slowly and weakly at first, but soon she did it with heartbreaking determination. Tears began to well up, stopping her from moving because she knew they would stream down her face if she continued to shake her head. A bright yet confused gaze shone through her tear-veiled eyes before she suddenly cried out. He covered her mouth with his lips and pushed his tongue inside, blocking her cry and forcing it back down into her, where it died.

Their bodies clung together, but their minds were on different things. Thoughts flashed past quickly and violently as Guo and Yuxiu focused on the other person and forgot themselves. Moving fast and almost savagely, he began to undress her; a piercing fear flickered in her mind, a fear of men, a fear for her lower body. She was shaking as she fought, so violently that even the weight of his body could not suppress her. On the brink of total collapse, she opened her eyes and realized that it was Guo Zuo. Her body went slack like a sigh. What had been a tremor turned into an undulation, waves rolling in with a simplicity that was impossible to recollect. Afraid she might be carried away alone, she wanted Guo Zuo to take her with him, to float away together. She wrapped her arms tightly around him and pressed her body against his.

Yumi began to show when September arrived, but it was the warm weather and thin clothes that highlighted her curves. When she walked, she leaned backward, her feet splayed outward, which made her appear to be affecting a look of superiority by holding her head high and thrusting out her chest. Her office mates joked that she “now looked like an official’s wife.” Yuxiu was led by her sister—head held high, chest thrust out—to the grain-purchasing station. Although still languid, Yuxiu was happy that at least she had a job with a monthly wage. She had wanted to be a bookkeeper, but Yumi spoke “on behalf of Director Guo,” hoping that the organization would place Yuxiu on “the front line of production,” in charge of the scale and that she “would make the organization happy with her work.” So that was what Yuxiu ended up doing. September was the purchasing season, which meant that people from Wang Family Village came frequently and Yuxiu saw them each time.

At first she was anxious, for they all knew of her shameful past, but it did not take long for her mind to be at ease. Envy was written on the face of everyone from Wang Family Village when they saw her, which satisfied her vanity. She could literally look down on them in their boats from her vantage point on the shore. Things were not the same anymore, and that realization gave her confidence, particularly since the villagers were turning over their grain to the nation, and she sat there, more or less a representative of the nation.

As she sat behind the scale, Yuxiu’s thoughts naturally turned to Guo Zuo. She wondered what he was doing. She thought mostly about that afternoon. But “that thing” meant little to her. After so many men, what did one more matter? What saddened her was his departure; he should not have left so suddenly and in such haste, without a word to her, as if she would have clung to him and not let him go. He had broken her heart. Yuxiu was not stupid and would have refused even if he had wanted to marry her. She was ruined and had enough self-awareness not to try to tie him down.

What made it hard was missing him. At first she just missed having him around, but after some time, her body longed for him and that mystified her. She had been afraid of “that thing” but after Guo Zuo, and after such a long time, how had she come to want it as if it were an addiction? It was an unusual longing that would come with a vengeance, as if claws were gouging her heart. But Guo was nowhere to be found. She tossed and turned in bed and finally pressed down on herself with a pillow; she felt better, but only slightly. Gasping for breath, she was convinced she was a slut. Why else had she become so shameless?

One night her longing took on a new guise; it was her mouth that longed for something, a strange longing, a craving that made her wish she could stuff a handful of salt into her mouth. In the end, she got out of bed and tried some salt. It took her breath away, but it didn’t help. Opening the cupboard, she made a careful inspection, but turned up nothing to eat but garlic, leeks, soy sauce, vinegar, MSG, and sesame oil. She decided on the vinegar, the sight of which made her drool. A small sip energized her immediately, the tart taste reaching down into her heart and taking the edge off of her hunger. Problem solved. Relieved and comforted, she tipped her head back and took one big gulp after another, realizing that she was more than just a slut—she was also a glutton. No wonder the old folks in Wang Family Village said, “A male glutton is poor for a lifetime, a female glutton has loose pants.”

Unaware of what was happening in her body, Yuxiu was not convinced that she was pregnant until the third month, in mid-October. Still young, she was little bothered by morning sickness, which lasted but a short time, and since she was busy with work at the purchasing station, she ignored the symptoms. Her first missed period ought to have alerted her that something was out of the ordinary, but at the time she was preoccupied with Guo Zuo. She carried on imaginary conversations with him, quarreling, then making up, then quarreling again. Immersed in thoughts of him all day along, she forgot about herself. When her period didn’t come the second month, she was momentarily concerned, but then she reflected on what had happened in the spring. She didn’t get pregnant after being raped and didn’t think she would this time because Guo Zuo had been the only one.

More men meant more virility. How could a single man be more virile than all those others combined? Comforted by the false certainty that nothing would happen, she teased herself that being pregnant with Guo’s child would give her the perfect excuse to go see him in the provincial city. That thought put her in a happy mood; although she couldn’t be certain, she was convinced that everything would turn out fine, that her period would come in a few days. When it still hadn’t arrived nearly a week into the third month, she began to feel uneasy, yet continued to hope that luck was with her. When the pregnancy was confirmed, she was, of course, afraid, but still she hoped for the best, anticipating a miscarriage. Deep down, however, her heart grew increasingly heavy, and her mind filled with apprehension, up one minute and down the next, as if she were stumbling along on a gimpy leg.

By the middle of October Yuxiu’s concerns multiplied. She knew she had to come up with a plan. The most important thing was that Yumi could never know; for if she did, Yuxiu would be as good as dead. There was only one path out of her predicament—to get rid of the thing inside her. And the best way to do that was to go to the hospital; but she’d be exposed if she did, which would make things worse than if she didn’t go at all. She decided she had to find her own solution, the first of which was to jump up and down. She recalled how, back in Wang Family Village, Wang Jinlong’s wife had miscarried as a result of jumping up and down after a fight with her mother-in-law. She’d slapped herself on the buttocks, then leaped around, cursing until she cried out and lost the baby.

That’s what I’ll do, I’ll jump up and down. And Yuxiu began carrying out her plan right away. Whenever she had a free moment, she’d find a secret place with a cement floor and jump forty or fifty times; she then increased it to seventy or eighty times and eventually to just under two hundred. She jumped higher and higher, but after two weeks, all that happened was that her appetite improved. So she told herself that she ought to slap her buttocks the way Jinlong’s wife had done; so she did that four or five times, only to be disappointed by the false efficacy of a shrew’s behavior. She had to find another solution. She was reminded of Zhang Fagen’s wife, whose miscarriage had been caused by medicine prescribed by the co-op clinic when she had the shakes from malaria. Zhang’s wife had lost a three-and-a-half-month-old fetus, which, according to the barefoot doctor, was caused by the quinine pills; the medicine bottle had indicated that pregnant women should avoid taking them. Now she knew how to take care of her problem—get hold of some quinine pills.

Despite being a common medicine, it took a great deal of effort to acquire them. She made some new friends, whom she called older sister or aunt, and after four or five days, she got what she needed. Her mind was finally at ease that morning when she went to work and took the pill bottle with her. She sneaked into the public toilet, where she dumped a handful of the pills out of the bottle and tossed them into her mouth. Denied water to help her swallow them, she had to chew the pills, crunching away as if she were eating fried broad beans; tears welled up in her eyes from the bitterness. She forced the pieces down, which filled her with assurance and happiness before returning to sit behind the scale and carry on conversations with the other workers. The medicine began to work after about as long as it takes to smoke a cigarette. Her lips turned purple and her eyes lost their focus; her neck hung limp and lolled around like a sick chicken’s. Her mind, though, was still lucid; afraid that the others might try to send her to the hospital, she got up with a smile and walked toward the warehouse. She had to hold on to the wall when her body began to fail her and groped her way inside to climb onto sacks of grain before she passed out. Yuxiu slept till dark, during which time she had countless strange dreams. At first she dreamed that she had cut open her belly, taken out her intestines, and wound them around her neck before she began to squeeze out one of Guo Zuo’s fingers from them. She kept squeezing, producing nine fingers, which she held in her hands and said, “Guo Zuo, these are all yours. Put them on.” Guo took a look and picked one out to affix to his hand, which was missing a finger. Staring at the extra fingers in her hands, she wondered why there were eight more. Why? She didn’t know the answer. Guo Zuo just stared at her. She panicked and woke up to find him standing in front of her. Greatly relieved, she leaped with joy. “You’re back,” she said. “I dreamed about you. I just dreamed about you.” But, in fact, she was still dreaming.

Yuxiu was seriously ill for several days; as she waited for what she hoped for, she felt only half-alive. But her underwear remained clean—no sign of her problem being solved. Obviously, the quinine hadn’t worked either.

Yumi, who was also pregnant, had grown lethargic and increasingly ill-tempered, forever ordering Yuxiu around for one thing or another. Yuxiu waited on her sister attentively, but her weakened state meant that she didn’t always satisfy Yumi, who became even more demanding. Knowing she could not reveal her secret—if Yumi became suspicious, trouble was sure to follow—Yuxiu put on a happy face and did as she was told. Several times she was on the verge of collapse, but her strong will pulled her through. Her underwear, however, remained disappointingly pristine.

Even after all she’d been through, Yuxiu’s belly finally began to show. It wasn’t noticeable to others, but she could feel the bulge. What worried her most, of course, was that others might spot the difference, so to be on the safe side, she began dressing in autumn clothes as soon as October arrived. She put on a spring-and-autumn blouse she’d brazenly borrowed from Yumi, and she walked into Yumi’s bedroom and stood before the dressing mirror to examine the lower hem. Worried that it seemed to flare outward, she thrust out her chest and grabbed the hem with both hands, tugging and pulling until she was satisfied with what she saw, both from the front and from the side. But when she let go, the blouse stuck up like pouting lips. To deal with the damned thing, she stood before the mirror, twisting this way and that way for quite some time until her hands froze at the sight of Yumi, who was coolly watching her in the mirror.

Yumi had been watching Yuxiu fuss over herself with great concentration, evidently trying out flirtatious and seductive poses. She opened her mouth to say something, but then changed her mind and looked away. Yuxiu will never change. She’s barely started working, and she is already playing tricks. The little bitch simply refuses to cover her rear with her tail, preferring to stick it into the air and wag it whenever a male dog comes sniffing around. Doesn’t she know how that looks? Of all a woman’s afflictions, a flirtatious nature is the hardest to change.

Yuxiu guarded her secret well until Little Tang, a woman with keen, perceptive, all-seeing eyes, stumbled on it. At noontime one day, Yuxiu went to the public toilet as usual. She was squatting there, holding her belt—actually nothing but a cord—in her teeth when Little Tang rushed in. Yuxiu wanted to greet Little Tang but, caught off guard, she overreacted and before she could say a word, the cord fell into the pit. Tang squatted down and chatted with Yuxiu for a moment, and when she stood up, she handed her own pant cord to Yuxiu. It had little value, but the gesture meant a great deal. Yuxiu refused it out of politeness, and in the process accidentally showed her belly. She was extra careful as always and sucked her belly in the moment it was exposed. But she was too young and inexperienced to realize that she had a light brown stretch mark that ran up to her navel. The significance of that mark escaped her, but not the worldly Little Tang, who reacted with surprise. She knew at once what was hidden behind that mark and glanced quickly at Yuxiu.

That brief look of research and exploration confirmed her suspicions. Four months, give or take, and by the look of it, a boy. Little Tang laughed to herself derisively, Congratulations, Yuxiu. Then, with a sideways glance, she scolded the girl, “Why have you stopped coming to visit? You’re always so sweet, calling me ‘aunty this’ and ‘aunty that,’ but you’ve obviously forgotten all about me.”

With a solicitous smile, Yuxiu tied her pants and left with Little Tang, responding to her with pleasantries. Obviously, she thought, I’m too petty. I’ve been avoiding Little Tang all this time, and she has forgotten what happened and still considers me a friend.

It was midday the next time Yuxiu visited the accounting office. Little Tang had run into her in the dining hall and asked her to come by since Little Tang had to work on the books. Suffering from drowsiness, Yuxiu had wanted to take a nap, but she could not turn down Little Tang’s warm and insistent invitation. So she went and sat down to eat fruit candy across from Little Tang for ten or fifteen minutes until the bookkeeper finished her work. Then they began to chat, just like before, with no sign of past unhappiness. Yuxiu was sleepy but happy, and Little Tang seemed as concerned as ever about the girl. But then she abruptly stopped talking and kept quiet for a long moment before resuming earnestly, “Yuxiu, apparently we’re still not close enough. You don’t treat me like a real friend.”

The sudden change of tone confused Yuxiu, who could only blink and stare at Little Tang. “Yuxiu,” she said, going straight to the point, “if you’re in some sort of trouble, you shouldn’t hide it from me. I ask you, who besides me can help you? And who besides you would I help?”

By then her eyes had fallen on the area beneath Yuxiu’s breasts, quickening Yuxiu’s heartbeat as she felt a slashing sound rise from her belly, as if Little Tang’s gaze had opened it up, sending her secrets oozing out like intestines. Yuxiu paled as Little Tang quietly went over to shut the door so they could have a private heart-to-heart talk. When she returned, Yuxiu sat frozen, avoiding the woman’s eyes. Little Tang walked up behind her, laid her hands on the girl’s shoulders, and gently patted her. Feeling a warm current rise up inside her, Yuxiu turned and wrapped her arms around the waist of Little Tang, who knew exactly what was going on.

“Whose is it?” she asked softly. Yuxiu looked up and shook her head over and over; she wanted to cry, but knew she couldn’t, so she just let her mouth hang slack. She had never looked so ugly before, which aroused Little Tang’s sympathy. She bent down and whispered into Yuxiu’s ear, “Whose is it?”

Yuxiu began crying so hard she could hardly breathe; strings of snot hung from her nose. As her own eyes reddened, Little Tang took Yuxiu’s hands in hers.

“Aunty, please help me,” Yuxiu pleaded in a choking voice.

Little Tang wiped tears from both her and Yuxiu’s faces before repeating softly, “Whose is it?”

“Aunty, I beg you. Please help me.”

Little Tang did not ask about the baby’s father again, to Yuxiu’s enormous relief. And she set out to help the girl in many areas. Nutrition, for instance.

She warned Yuxiu that pregnancy was too important an event in the life of a woman, married or not, to be careless. They’d talk about what to do about the child later, but Yuxiu must take care of herself, for if she didn’t, and her health suffered, no amount of fish or meat could bring it back. Yuxiu just nodded, listening to Little Tang without a word, since she had no ideas of her own.

Tang prepared chicken broth, pork-rib soup, carp soup, and pig’s foot soup that she sneaked into the accounting office. She made Yuxiu drink it all down, then forced her to eat the meat. She spent a good deal of her own money on Yuxiu’s health and cared for her with the stern, strict manner of a loving mother, with no room for bargaining.

Yuxiu might have been young and impetuous, but by being forced to eat and drink, she realized how lovingly Little Tang treated her, just like a mother, and she often cried as she ate. Whenever that happened, Little Tang cried with her, sometimes even harder than Yuxiu. Yuxiu was no longer worried about the future, for now she had someone to lean on. She cried mainly because of Little Tang, the sort of friend only rarely encountered; with a friend like that, Yuxiu could ask for nothing more. She did not feel the same depth of gratitude and emotional attachment toward her own mother that she felt toward Little Tang, who told her not to worry. “Leave it to me,” Little Tang said, all but thumping her chest for emphasis.

Being young, Yuxiu had a healthy appetite, and before a month had passed, she realized to her horror that her belly was growing at a frenzied pace and was now bulging noticeably. The baby inside, as if responding to her encouragement, had begun misbehaving, kicking here with little feet and thumping there with tiny hands. She reacted to the movements with an indescribable sense of affection, but this was overshadowed by panic. That little lump inside her was a person, one who slashed and gladdened her heart at the same time. Yuxiu went to tell Little Tang, even pulling up her top to show her belly there in the bookkeeping office. Surprised by what she saw, Little Tang sighed and said, “It’s all my fault. I was too anxious and gave you too much nutrition too soon.” But how could anyone blame Aunty Little Tang?

Yuxiu’s special nutritional regimen came to a halt that day, but her belly was like cadre assignments, which always grow, never shrink. Since her blouse could barely cover her belly, she cleverly wrapped it with a sash she fashioned out of lengths of fabric.

“Aunty Little Tang, you won’t tell anyone, will you?” she asked, clearly anxious. Little Tang was so upset she turned her back on Yuxiu and wept once again. Knowing she’d said the wrong thing, Yuxiu apologized abjectly for doubting her and, with great effort, managed to stop Little Tang’s tears.

The ideal solution, in Little Tang’s view, was to go to the hospital, but timing was the key. Obviously, going too late was out of the question, but too early was nearly as bad. That sounded right, but Little Tang could not decide when the timing was right, and, since Yuxiu could not possibly know, she placed her faith in Aunty Little Tang. All she could do was nudge Little Tang every once in a while, but not too often, for fear that this might be misread as a lack of trust. Little Tang, for her part, had her own difficulties. She told Yuxiu that she’d gone to the hospital several times without entering and beat a hasty retreat the moment she saw the doctors. If she’d said what she was there for, Yuxiu’s secret would be out. “You have no idea how bad doctors are at keeping secrets. They’ll talk for sure,” she said. That sounded convincing and reasonable to Yuxiu, who was appreciative of Aunty Little Tang’s attention to every little detail.

But a few days later, Yuxiu decided that she no longer had the luxury of worrying about that. “Go ahead, tell the doctors,” she said. “They’ll need to know sooner or later anyway.”

The days turned progressively cooler until the air was downright cold; for Yuxiu, that was a blessing. If not for the early arrival of winter, the changes in her body would have been obvious. So heaven had kindly dropped the temperature precipitously after a wintry rain, making it natural for her to put on her yellow overcoat. The weather warmed up for a few days after that, but the overcoat was not so out of place that it invited questions. That, unfortunately, was the only good news. Emotionally, the pressure did not lessen; if anything, it got worse because she learned that she could no longer rely on help from Little Tang.

Little Tang made a special trip to see Yuxiu, and the moment Yuxiu saw her puffy eyes, she knew that something was terribly wrong. Little Tang told Yuxiu everything, how she’d gone to the hospital and sought out the director, but before Yuxiu’s name even came up, the director turned suspicious. She said, “He asked me if my son had been ‘fooling around’ and ‘made someone’s belly big.’” She continued, “I’m a mother myself, what could I say?” Little Tang looked miserable and felt guilty about her selfishness as a mother; she was so unhappy she could not look Yuxiu in the eye.

Despite her feelings of despair, Yuxiu was mature enough to understand Little Tang’s predicament and knew she could not ask her to sacrifice her son for her sake. No mother would do that, for this was a matter of “personal conduct,” something that could have a permanent impact on a person’s future. Yuxiu had acted improperly at Little Tang’s house once, leaving a bad impression. She felt terrible about the incident, and now, if Gao Wei were to be held responsible for what she’d done, heaven would strike her dead. Finding it impossible to lend any more help, Little Tang sobbed silently in front of Yuxiu, who felt guilty in the presence of Little Tang’s tear-streaked face; self-loathing rose up inside her; her conscience was under attack. Little Tang’s assistance had turned into a dead end, which meant that Yuxiu had reached a dead end, too. She wiped the tears from Little Tang’s face and said to herself, Aunty, I’ll have to wait till my next life to repay your kindness.

This, in fact, was not the first time Yuxiu had thought about taking her own life. It was not a good end, but it was a way out. Seen from any angle, dying was a solution. She’d frightened herself when the thought first had occurred to her, but then a door opened in her mind and the fear disappeared. Once you close your eyes, she thought, you won’t know anything anymore, so what’s there to be afraid of?

The idea brought relief and cheered her up a bit to her surprise. With her mind settled, she began to consider the possibilities, the first of which was the well in the yard in front of her office building, a deep, dark well. But she gave up on that after much thought because the blackness of the well seemed scarier than death. So what about hanging? No, she couldn’t bring herself to do that either. Back in Wang Family Village, she’d seen a hanging corpse with blood oozing from the nostrils, upturned eyes, and a protruding tongue; it was a horrible sight. Yuxiu was too pretty to do that to herself, for even if she were to turn into a ghost, she wanted to be an attractive one. In the end, it came down to the water right there in front of the purchasing station. It was a good location, wide open with clear water; it was where she worked, and the retaining wall was neat and well constructed.

Now that her mind was made up, she was no longer in a hurry to die. Relieved, she wanted to enjoy a few good days. If she lived another day, she’d enjoy life one more day; in fact, it would be a stolen day since she considered herself already dead. Finally she was able to get a good night’s sleep and relish what she ate. The rice tasted better, the noodles tasted better, the steamed buns tasted better, even the peanuts and radishes tasted better; every bite brought her pleasure and enjoyment. Water tasted sweeter than ever. Yuxiu had a revelation: Life is good. There were so many things to enjoy, why hadn’t she noticed them before? Once she began to take notice, every second and every minute felt different; she savored them all and, feeling the enticement of life, was suddenly unwilling to part with it. She began to cherish life again, which in turn brought her heartache. The biggest enemy of death is not the fear of death but the desire to live. It’s great to be alive. It’s wonderful to be alive! If not for her embarrassing belly, she’d rather, as the saying goes, “Plod along in this world than be buried in the earth beneath it.”

But her belly kept growing, bigger and bigger. Even with the overcoat, she still had to wrap it with a sash every morning, and she could not be too careful; the slightest misstep would be disastrous. Having her belly cinched like that did not actually hurt, but sometimes it made breathing difficult, which was worse. She could exhale but not inhale, since the air she sucked in was blocked, and that caused great discomfort. After all, breathing is different from everything else; you cannot stop, you rely on it every second of your life. For Yuxiu, some aspects of life had become the worst kind of torture. After nightfall, she’d relax a bit by secretly untying the sash and taking deep breaths; she felt wonderful and free, and it seemed that every pore in her body was thanking her. No amount of gold or silver could have bought such comfort. But feeling comfortable was one thing; her appearance was another.

She could not bear to look at herself. You call that a figure? Is that really Yuxiu? She was a startling, scary sight to herself. She could not see her feet. They were blocked by a bulge, a protrusion that stretched her belly into a round, thin, inky, ugly balloon that would pop if pricked with a needle. With the belly unbound, the naughty little imp inside was so happy it couldn’t keep its little paws quiet. It even knew how to tease her. When she put her hand on the left side, it would rush over to kick that spot, as if to remind her that it was still there. When she moved her hand to the right, it took no time for the imp to rush over and give her another kick, as if inviting her to come in for a visit. So she moved her hand around, left and right, here and there, sending the imp into a flurry of movement until, exhausted and upset, it began to ignore her.

She whispered to herself, “Come, come over to Mama.” Never imagining that she would say something like that, Yuxiu was shocked and stunned by how she had blurted out the word “Mama.” She froze at the thought. But Yuxiu was going to be a mother. Tender feelings rose up inside, causing her shoulders to sag, as if she were gradually swirling into herself, one eddy after another. She seemed to be on the verge of total collapse as she thought to herself, Yuxiu, you’re soon to be a mother; you’re going to have your own child. Her heart constricted, nearly crushed by the thought. She could not face herself; she simply couldn’t. She sat vacantly on the edge of the bed for a long time before snatching up the sash, wrapping it around her belly, and pulling at it, tighter and tighter, as if to crush herself. “Don’t move again. Do you hear me?” she said to her belly. “It’s your fault, and I’m going to crush you.”

While she wanted to hate the baby, nothing could subdue the love she felt for it; they were bound by flesh and blood. Sometimes she’d think about only herself and at other times about the baby; she was happy sometimes and anguished at others. In the end, she could no longer tell how she felt. She was lost. She had originally planned to enjoy a pleasant New Year’s holiday, since it wasn’t far off and wouldn’t last long. When it was over, she’d steel herself and end it all. But she abruptly changed her mind because she could not and would not live on. She was too tired and near the point of exhaustion and fatigue; a single day began to feel like a year. If she couldn’t go on, then why force the issue? Why not end it early and save herself all that trouble? So one evening, when dinner was over, she finished her chores, hummed a few lines of Henan opera, and chatted briefly with Yumi. Then she locked herself in the room behind the kitchen, where she began combing and braiding her hair, making sure the braids were tight so they would not come loose in a strong wind or become unraveled from the motion of rolling waves. It would be terrible if her hair spread out in the water and gave her a crazed look. When her hair was done, she wrapped her wages in a piece of cloth and tucked the bundle under her pillow so Yumi could buy some nice clothes for her. She laid down the house key, turned out the light, and walked over to the cement pier at the grain-purchasing station.

The night sky was black; the air freezing cold. The wide river flowed past the station; a lake stood off in the distance. Nothing stirred on the surface of the water except the flickering lights on a couple of fishing boats, creating a static, gloomy chill. Yuxiu shivered as she walked down the cement steps all the way to the water’s edge, where she dipped her right foot in to see how cold it was. An icy chill bored into her bones and quickly spread through her body. She pulled her foot out and stepped backward. But only for a moment. Don’t tell me you’re afraid of the cold, she mocked herself. You’re here to die, so go ahead.

She took four steps into the water, stopping when it reached her knees and looking out at the eerie dark surface; there was nothing to see, but she sensed an empty vastness, a submerging depth. Tiny wavelets beat at the legs of her pants like small hands grabbing at her. Tiny hands that filled the watery depth reached out for her, each with many furry fingers cramming their way into her heart. A bone-piercing panic sent her back to dry land, where, because of her big belly, she fell the moment she reached the steps. Sprawled on the ground, she gulped down mouthfuls of air before she could get up and walk back toward the water. This time she did not get far before her thoughts grew tangled and she was gripped by fear. She managed only two steps.

Throw yourself in, she demanded. Go ahead, do it and everything will be fine. She couldn’t do it. The terror of dying is the most intense right at the moment before death. Yuxiu shook all over, desperately wishing there was someone to push her. Standing up to her knees in water, she exhausted her courage and returned to dry land in despair. Death, naturally, begets greater despondence than life. But sometimes the reverse is true.

The purchasing station held a secret, which was that everyone at the station knew Yuxiu’s secret. And that meant that all of Broken Bridge held a secret, which was that everyone in town knew Yuxiu’s secret. She assumed that no one knew, but they all did. This is generally how private matters are treated. It is as if they were screened by a sheet of paper so flimsy it cannot withstand a simple poke but so sturdy that everyone will avoid it. Only country folk are so uncouth and impatient that they need to get to the bottom of things at once. Townsfolk aren’t like that at all. Some things are not meant to be poked open; exposing them spoils the fun. What’s the hurry? You cannot wrap fire in paper; sooner or later it will burn through and everything will be exposed. That is more spectacular, more appealing.

So everyone in Broken Bridge waited patiently; they were in no hurry. One fine day our comrades will reveal themselves, so let’s wait and see. It won’t take long. Why be in such a hurry if they’re not? Really, there’s no need.

The winter of 1971 was bitterly cold, particularly at the purchasing station, where the open space let the wind blow in from all directions. During lunch breaks the older employees preferred to stand in front of the wall, facing the sun for warmth. But not the younger ones—they had their own ways to keep warm. They gathered in groups in an open space to play shuttlecock or jump rope or play hawk catching a chicken.[8] Yuxiu told everyone that she did not know how to play shuttlecock, but she actively participated in jumping rope and worked hard at hawk catching a chicken because that was a way to show that she was like everyone else. She tried her best, but her bulging clumsiness was revealed for all to see. It was a sight they enjoyed. She did relatively well jumping rope since that was something she could do alone. Hawk catching a chicken was different because it required the cooperation and coordination of all the “chickens.” As part of the group, Yuxiu’s obvious difference made her the weakest link, and this always led to the group’s defeat. But the people preferred watching her play hawk catching a chicken over jumping rope, especially when she was last in line. The sluggish “tail” became the hawk’s favorite target. But it was in no hurry to catch her; instead, just when it was about to get her in its clutches, it turned and attacked from the other side. As a result, Yuxiu was forced to keep dashing around without ever being able to catch up with the rest of the “chickens.”

Her neck stretched out ahead of her as she was constantly being flung out of the team and onto the ground. It was an amusing sight to see her sprawled on the ground, where she took in little air no matter how hard she breathed. All she could do was open her mouth wide while more air went out than came in. It was even more entertaining when she tried to get up; lying flat on her back, she smiled like a flower in bloom but could not pick herself up. She looked like an overturned turtle that can only paw the air as it tries but fails to right itself. At such times, she had to roll over and then bend forward to push herself up onto her knees. Everyone laughed at the childish movements; so did she. “I’ve put on some weight,” she’d say. No one would respond, unwilling to agree that she’d gained weight or refute that she’d gotten heavier. Consequently, her comment turned into a pointless monologue, devoid of any real significance.

The very pregnant Yumi took Yuxiu back to Wang Family Village for a short visit before the New Year’s holiday. With the aid of a small, fast boat, they left in the morning and returned that afternoon. Yumi’s return failed to cause a stir this time, for it was neither extravagant nor an attempt to grandstand. She didn’t even leave her parents’ house. When the boat was about to leave the pier, the villagers saw, to their surprise, Yumi and her entire family emerge dressed in new clothes. The Wang family now was enjoying a sudden rise in prosperity and influence. Though Yumi no longer lived in the village, the residents felt her presence everywhere; her understated moves and gestures were self-confident without seeming arrogant and exerted a powerful sway that carried a dominating authority. That was how Yumi conducted business these days—letting her actions speak for her. Her silence was more compelling than words.

The visit home reminded Yumi of Guo Qiaoqiao and Guo Zuo, who should have returned to Broken Bridge by then. She was worried and had reason to be. Qiaoqiao, after all, was Qiaoqiao. As for Guo Zuo, he was a nice enough young man, but he might have trouble dealing with Yuxiu, a fox fairy incarnate. Yumi could not watch over them all the time, and what if something funny were to happen? In fact, Yumi was more worried about Guo Zuo than Qiaoqiao. Unquestionably, she’d have preferred not to see either one of them, but this was their home, and they had every right to return to it. And when they did, she had to put on a happy face in the role of stepmother. Many days had passed, but there was no news from either Qiaoqiao or Guo Zuo, and this had transformed Yumi’s concern into what might have seemed like anticipation. But whether she wished it or not, neither of them had returned home. What puzzled her was that Guo Jiaxing never mentioned them and acted as if they didn’t exist.

Since he didn’t talk about them, Yumi found no need to, but still she felt uneasy. Once, when she could hold back no longer, she mentioned them to Yuxiu, who replied glumly, “They’re not coming back. Qiaoqiao has already started work at the textile factory.” That was all she said, and she had mentioned only Qiaoqiao, so how would she know that “they” wouldn’t be back? Yuxiu had left before her sister could follow up with more questions. In any case, Yuxiu’s prediction proved to be accurate. Qiaoqiao was nowhere to be seen even on New Year’s Eve, and there was no sign of Guo Zuo.

Good news arrived shortly after the holiday, brought by none other than Yumi’s baby. She had a girl, and everyone was happy, including Yumi, even though deep down she was disappointed. She’d hoped for a boy, having resolved even before she was married that her firstborn would be a boy. That determination was rooted in what had happened to her mother, who had spent half her life pregnant, giving birth to seven girls in a row. Why? So she could deliver an heir. Yumi had often thought that if she’d been a boy her mother would not have had to go through so much and that things in her family might have been drastically different. But most everything is difficult when you start out, and now it looked as if her mother’s misfortune might repeat itself with her.

Convalescing in bed, Yumi felt bitter; angry at her daughter and at herself, though she could tell no one. Fortunately Guo Jiaxing was happy, exuding a genuine delight with having a child late in life. He’s actually smiling, Yumi thought to herself. When has he ever shown such a cheerful side? That thought brought her some consolation. A mother gains status through her children, and now that Guo Jiaxing was fond of his new daughter, a good life was in store for Yumi. That alone made it worthwhile; and besides, she could have another child. What really surprised Yumi was the affection that her sister showed for the girl. Falling madly in love with the new baby, Yuxiu cradled her whenever she could, wearing a contented look that could belong only to a mother. After close observation, Yumi was convinced that Yuxiu was not putting on an act just to please her. She was truly fond of the baby—she could not have faked the look in her eyes, for eyes never lie. Who would ever have expected the little whore to love a child so much ? How strange. No wonder people say you should not judge a person by appearance alone.

For her monthlong confinement Yumi asked that Yuxiu be given a leave of absence from the purchasing station—where a work slowdown had already begun—so she could stay home and take care of Yumi. To be fair, Yuxiu was devoted to the child’s needs, especially at night. Once mother and child were home, Yuxiu began sleeping in her clothes so she could respond as soon as she was called.

Obviously, the fox fairy had learned her lesson and grown up. Secretly overjoyed, Yumi moved Yuxiu’s bed out of the kitchen and turned everything over to her at night except for breast-feeding. The major task, of course, involved diapers, and Yuxiu’s reaction to them pleased Yumi. Yuxiu didn’t mind the dirty diapers. Diapers are a good measure of whether one genuinely likes a baby or not. Most women can ignore the filth only when it is their own baby; if it’s someone else’s, they find it intolerable. But Yuxiu acted like a loving aunt and, in fact, seemed more like the baby’s mother than Yumi in some ways. She had virtually grown up overnight. Her overcoat was sometimes soiled while she was changing the baby, but she simply wiped it off with a damp cloth and said nothing. It got so dirty that it was nearly unrecognizable. To get Yuxiu to wash it, Yumi tried to give her a wool coat belonging to Guo Jiaxing’s first wife. But each time Yuxiu merely turned and clapped her hands at the baby.

“Baby’s shit is aunties’ sauce, and aunty wants it at every meal,” she said.

She and Yumi had grown closer, chatting during lulls in the day’s busy schedule like true sisters. This had never happened before. Yumi marveled at the change in their relationship. They were sisters who, by definition, ought to be close and yet had been mortal enemies, and now they were growing close like sisters ought to be.

As they cared for the baby, there was no end to what they talked about. Yumi even brought up Yuxiu’s prospects for marriage.

“Don’t worry. As your older sister, I’ve been keeping an eye out for you,” Yumi said. Yuxiu rarely responded when that subject came up. “Nothing to worry about. It’s something every woman has to go through,” Yumi said as she tried to console Yuxiu, because she had experienced it all herself.

Touched by her sister’s concern, Yuxiu nearly wept; she felt like burying herself in her sister’s embrace, telling her everything, and having a good cry. But she held back each time. She was worried that one day she might break down and tell Yumi, whose temper she knew too well. Yumi could be as nice as a bodhisattva when things were going well, but if she learned the truth, she could turn against her. Yumi had the capacity to do cruel things.

On the surface, the baby Yuxiu carried in her arms was Yumi’s, but she treated her as if she were her own, hers and Guo Zuo’s. It was a puzzling illusion. Yumi’s daughter slept soundly in her arms while her own unborn baby was as good as dead, even though it was alive and kicking inside her at the moment. Yumi and Yuxiu were sisters, and both of their babies had been fathered by men of the Guo family. Yuxiu could only sigh. What disconcerted her most was when her baby moved while she was holding her little niece. With a baby in her arms and another one in her belly, she was disturbed and taunted by the churlish, clinging, willful movements inside her. At moments like that, she felt as if she were falling apart; but she didn’t dare cry. All she could do was open her eyes wide and look around, even if she had no idea what she was searching for. She just kept at it, but in vain, since there was nothing for her.

Yuxiu decided upon death after all. What’s the point in clinging to life like this? How could you be so gutless? How could you have so little self-respect? Only death will save face for you and your child. Yuxiu, have some self-respect, will you? So she went to the pier once more. The weather was not good that night, with winds howling all around her, turning the night even bleaker and more savage than before. Some of her determination evaporated the moment she stepped out the door, but this time she was calmer, imbued with an approach befitting someone who was not afraid to die. Having been there before, she calmly stood at the water’s edge. The first time is hard, the second time easier. She truly believed she’d be successful this time. It occurred to her that she ought to untie the sash and set the little one free to run a bit; not to do so would be too cruel. But her foot had barely touched the water when violent spasms erupted in her belly. The little imp, startled, incensed, and outraged, was wreaking havoc. She pulled her foot back and blurted out, “My poor baby.” The baby was hurling its anger at Yuxiu, who froze and felt her steely determination soften bit by bit. The fetus kept moving, but its movements then turned gentle as if it were helplessly pleading with her. She sensed a knot tighten inside as something surged up into her throat; she opened her mouth and threw up. Yuxiu backed up onto the bank, vomiting until there was nothing left. The look in her eyes hardened. Suddenly angry, she looked up and said with a contemptuous ferocity, “I haven’t an ounce of self-respect. I’m not going to die. If you think you can put a knife in me, go ahead and try.”

Life gets easier when your heart is dead or paralyzed. No knife falls from the sky, and life goes on. Life is not a millstone that requires daily turning; it keeps going on its own, and you must simply follow along. Yuxiu treated herself as if she were the baby’s bed and blanket, telling herself that even deities cannot do anything to you so long as you don’t call yourself human.

The third month soon arrived. Trying to keep her mind blank, Yuxiu often dozed off sitting behind the scale. One afternoon, her father arrived at the purchasing station, having hitched a ride on a boat from Wang Family Village. With a faux leather briefcase in hand, he stood before Yuxiu smiling broadly. She looked up and snapped out of her somnolence the moment she saw him. Craning his neck forward, he beamed proudly at his daughter. Not expecting to see him there, Yuxiu was puzzled but nonetheless happy. Even so, she did not want the others to see her father’s affectionate look, so she pulled a long face and asked, “What are you doing here?”

Without answering her question, Wang stepped on the scale. “See how much I weigh.”

She looked around and said, “Get down.”

He ignored her. “Come on, tell me how much I weigh.”

“I said get off that.” Yuxiu was clearly unhappy, but her father would not relent. He just kept smiling.

“How much do I weigh?”

“Two-fifty,” she said, using a term that meant dimwit, which only made him smile even more broadly.

“Little tramp,” he said. Without getting off the scale, he turned and explained quite redundantly to the people around them, “She’s my daughter, number three.” He sounded proud, with a hint of tenderness. Then he stepped off the scale and began to chat with her coworkers as he passed out cigarettes. He asked about their family backgrounds, their ages, the year they joined the revolution, the number of their brothers and sisters. He was smiling the whole time and seemed pleased by the answers he got. Making a circle in the air with his arms, he rallied everyone: “You must stand together.” He sounded like a man giving a report on current affairs and political missions. Everyone puffed on the cigarettes and wordlessly turned to look at Yuxiu. This had no effect on Wang, who, still smiling, took out his cigarettes and passed them around again.

Wang Lianfang stayed at Yumi’s place in the government compound, which upset Guo Jiaxing, though he could not say so because Wang was, after all, his father-in-law. So Guo moped around with a long face; but as that was his customary look, it was hard to tell what he was thinking.

Wang did not care that Guo Jiaxing ignored him or that Yumi did as well. His granddaughter was the only one whom he wanted to talk to, reading People’s Daily to her as she lay in her cradle. She gradually got used to Wang’s voice and would cry and fuss if he stopped reading the paper. She would quiet down only when he resumed this important activity. Whenever he could, he’d sit down beside the cradle and wave the paper in his hand. “Listen up, comrades. Ah—be good. Let the meeting begin. The meeting is called to order.”

On one warm Sunday afternoon Yumi, Yuxiu, and Wang Lianfang sat in a circle around the baby in the courtyard to catch some sun. Guo Jiaxing was a man without Sundays—he preferred his desk at the office, where he stayed whether he was busy or not. Even with the warm spring sunlight bathing the courtyard, Yuxiu was still in her overcoat—as overdressed as a corpse. Being small boned and young, she had kept her figure, especially with the sash wrapped tightly around her belly; her appearance had hardly changed. To be sure, there were signs that aroused Yumi’s suspicion—quite a few, in fact.

For one, Yuxiu quickly gained back all the weight she had recently lost. She had a remarkable appetite for a while, and then for some time she was suddenly absentminded and sleepy-eyed. If she dropped her chopsticks, she’d grab another pair from the table and use them to drag those on the floor closer instead of bending over to pick them up. All these were clues, any one of which could have led to the discovery of her problem, but Yumi didn’t pay much attention, mainly because it hadn’t occurred to her that she ought to. That is how it is with so many things; we find evidence to match the reality only after the fact, though the more we pay attention, the more problems we discover.

Yuxiu had managed to hide her situation for so long primarily because she and Yumi were together every day. Yuxiu’s added weight is a case in point. She was much heavier than she’d been before, but since she hadn’t gained the weight overnight, it was almost impossible to detect; the weight gain slowly and gradually became a sort of quiet transformation.

Yumi felt her scalp itch from sitting under the lazy sun for so long, while Wang Lianfang was in a “meeting” with his granddaughter. The more she scratched her head, the worse it seemed to itch. Deciding to wash her hair on the spur of the moment, she called out to Yuxiu, who had gone inside. The girl was more lethargic than ever; she’d been listless all morning and took to her bed whenever she got the chance. But Yuxiu was not lazy; she had a bellyache that made her walk with a pained look when Yumi told her to get some water. After setting the basin up, Yuxiu began to wash Yumi’s hair, but her mind was elsewhere and her fingers lacked consistency, hard at work one moment then slackening off the next. She even had to stop for a minute, and when she did, she made a muffled noise as if her throat were blocked. Nothing emerged but her labored breathing. Growing impatient, Yumi said, “What’s wrong with you, Yuxiu?”

Yuxiu mumbled a response, and it wasn’t until she was rinsing her sister’s hair that Yumi realized something was definitely wrong. Yuxiu should have dumped the water before the second rinse, but she didn’t; instead she crouched down and remained motionless, her eyes staring straight ahead. Her lips were quivering wildly as if they were being seared by boiling water. Yumi noticed beads of sweat on her sister’s forehead.

“Why are you still wearing that coat?” she asked.

But instead of answering, Yuxiu backed up slowly, a willful look in her eyes. When she reached the wall, she leaned against it for support and slid down to a sitting position as she closed her eyes; she opened her mouth wide, but no sound emerged. Then she reached under her coat, her hands a flurry of motion as she unknotted, tugged, and pulled at the sash. Her eyes were still shut and her mouth hung slack as she dragged the sash out little by little; the more she pulled, the more she held in her hand, like a magician. Finally she exhaled and made a guttural noise that, to Yumi’s ears, sounded like agony but could have been ecstasy. But that was all—Yuxiu did not make another sound.

Sensing that something might be terribly wrong, Yumi walked up to her sister, water dripping from her hair, and tugged tentatively at the overcoat; Yuxiu did not resist.

“Stand up, Yuxiu,” Yumi said sternly.

Her eyes still shut, Yuxiu merely twisted her neck from side to side, so Yumi pulled her up.

“Stand up, I said.”

Yuxiu struggled to her feet, but with the cord untied, her pants slipped to the ground the moment she got to her feet. Yumi lifted Yuxiu’s coat and undergarment, exposing a giant belly that presented a terrifying sight under the harsh glare of the sun. “Yuxiu!” Yumi cried out.

Cocking her head to look at Yumi out of the corner of her eye, Yuxiu continued her labored breathing and, holding on to her sister, slowly sank to her knees.

“It’s all over for me, sister,” she said softly.

Yumi grabbed a handful of Yuxiu’s hair.

“Whose is it?” she asked.

“It’s all over for me, sister,” Yuxiu said again.

This time Yumi pulled Yuxiu’s hair back to make her sister look up at her. “Whose is it?” she demanded furiously.

Wang Lianfang was standing behind Yumi.

“Stop asking, Yumi. He’ll be part of the next generation of revolutionaries.”

The following morning, Yuxiu gave birth to a baby boy at the county People’s Hospital. Yumi had begged the doctor to abort the child, but she’d refused, saying it was too late and too risky. True to her reputation, Yumi did not panic. With a letter from Guo Jiaxing to the head of the hospital, she took charge, and everything went smoothly. But she had her own issue to deal with: She needed to know the identity of the baby’s father.

On the way to the hospital, she had grilled Yuxiu while they were on the speedboat, even slapping her a dozen times. When her hands were sore from slapping her sister, Yumi had tugged at Yuxiu’s hair, ultimately pulling out a handful; Yuxiu had remained stoically quiet the whole time. The corners of her mouth had begun to bleed, and even Yumi had not been able to bring herself to slap her anymore, yet Yuxiu had refused to tell her what she wanted to know.

“I’ve never seen a slut like you!” Yumi had screamed at her sister. After seeing her into the delivery room, Yumi sat quietly on the bench in the hallway with the speedboat skipper, utterly exhausted. Reclaiming her daughter from the skipper, she sighed and shut her eyes weakly. But then they snapped open. She glanced over at the skipper, slowly stood up, turned, and kneeled before him. Stunned, he tried to pull her up, but she said, “Skipper Guo, please, for our sake, don’t tell anyone. Please, I beg you.”

The skipper got down on his knees. “Don’t worry, Mrs. Guo,” he said, flustered. “I give you my word as a Party member.”

Yumi sat down again, her mind now busily figuring out what to do with the doctor and the baby. How should she deal with the baby? And was it a boy or a girl?

Everything went smoothly, and Yuxiu had her baby half an hour later. When the doctor walked out and pulled down her mask, Yumi went up, grasped her hands, and asked, “Is it a boy or a girl?”

“A boy,” the doctor said. Yumi fell silent as an unspeakable bitterness and sadness surged inside her. You did well for yourself, you little slut, she thought.

The doctor stood there looking at her and waited. Yumi’s lips quivered before she sighed and said, “I think we’d better give him away.”

After taking care of the details, Yumi walked into the ward and stood before Yuxiu with a grim look. Yuxiu’s bloodless face looked paler than paper, but although she appeared to be drained of energy, she took her hands out from under the blanket and said softly, “Sister, let me see my baby.”

Yumi had not expected such a blatant request, and her face turned dark purple.

“Yuxiu,” she blurted out, “how can you be so shameless!”

Yuxiu, still breathing hard, swallowed and said stubbornly, “Sister, please.” Her weak fingers clutched Yumi’s arm, but Yumi flung her sister’s hand away.

“It’s dead, I tossed it down the toilet. What made you think you could give birth to anything worth keeping?”

The light went out in Yuxiu’s eyes when she heard her sister’s words. Reluctant to give in, she propped herself up on her elbows but lacked the strength to sit up. Her head drooped down from her weak neck, a tangle of hair hanging in front of her face.

“Sister, help me up,” she said, cocking her head. “I want to take a look, just one look, and I’ll die happy.”

Yumi pushed her away and sneered. “Die? I don’t mean to mock you, Yuxiu, but you could have done that long ago if you’d wanted to.”

Yuxiu managed to hold herself up on her elbows for another minute before finally flopping back down in complete surrender, her energy spent. She lay there motionless, fixing her lovely, unblinking eyes on the ceiling; the light in those eyes was strangely clear and unusually bright.

As she looked down at her sister, despair and an almost unbearable sadness rose up inside Yumi; she tried but failed to hold back her tears. Covering her face with her hands and clenching her teeth, she said, “You’ve brought me nothing but shame.”