Secret of a Thousand Beauties (17 page)

“I had to learn to speak Chinese, and also to read and write it. Every day I would wake up to study before the cock crowed. I studied so hard that my Chinese dictionary fell apart and I had to tie it with string so as not to lose any pages.

“Even when I could speak Chinese, no one listened. Chinese don’t trust foreigners, and they think God is just another barbarian, only bigger and meaner. Sometimes when I spoke to someone, he would answer with a slew of dirty words, even spit on the ground. So I told myself it was God teaching me to be patient and kind. During the most difficult times, I reminded myself of Laozi’s saying. And finally I succeeded in opening a church and a school. God’s power is truly amazing, don’t you think?”

I felt confused. Which power is truly amazing, God’s or Laozi’s? But, of course, I nodded enthusiastically. Not only because I truly liked Father Edwin, but also because it was he who made me a learned woman—for free.

Days and nights blurred into one another as I spent every waking moment working. Even though I tried to force myself to think of nothing but the work in front of me, my mind kept going back to Shen Feng and Purple. Thinking of them made me feel vaguely guilty; after all, here I was safely doing embroidery when Purple might be lost, or even abandoned, and Shen Feng might already be in battle. One was my husband and the other my big sister, and yet I was doing nothing for them.

With Leilei my feelings were mixed. Though she had never made even a friendly gesture toward me, I knew she did not deserve her tragic fate. In the end, her beauty did nothing for her, yet like the rest of us she only wanted a chance at a happy life. Such a pretty, ambitious girl, just to end up abandoned, her body dumped in a river. I still wondered how she had died. Yet I could not bring myself to feel sad that she was no longer part of the household. I hoped I would not become as cold and unfeeling as Aunty.

Months went by, each day being like the last except that more and more of the scroll was filled in. Hour after hour, Aunty was watching me, usually silent but quick with rebuke if I made any mistake. Little Doll was occupied running back and forth fetching us whatever we needed—tea, snacks, bowls of warm water for us to soothe our hands—occasionally being scolded by Aunty for making too much noise.

Then finally one day, it was finished. Or almost. According to tradition, the work was not considered complete until the teacher, that is, Aunty, placed the final stitch. She did this with a flourish of her now mostly healed hands, then led the three of us to pray in front of the altar. We then sat down to a sumptuous dinner with roast pig and sweet and sour fish from the Soochow River—all carefully prepared by an old woman from the neighboring village.

When we finished eating, Aunty Peony announced, “Spring Swallow, I’ll be taking this embroidery to Peking. There will be a big fair where many people, including foreign ambassadors, are invited to appreciate Chinese arts. This embroidery will be part of the exhibit. There will be a prize for the best work. If
Along the River
wins, it will be donated as a gift to the American ambassador and he’ll take it to be displayed in the famous New York City. If that happens, our work will be famous, not only here, but in Peking, even in America.”

“Wow! I’m so happy to hear this, Aunty.”

Little Doll clapped enthusiastically. “Yes, yes, Sister Spring Swallow, when it wins we’ll have another huge celebration!”

I could feel the corners of my mouth rising higher and higher, like me climbing the mountain. Now maybe this was my chance to move up from being an unknown apprentice to a master embroiderer. Maybe I would even get invited to America to demonstrate my skill!

“When are we leaving for Peking?” I asked eagerly.

Before Aunty could respond, Little Doll clapped again. “I love Peking! I want Peking duck and sugared
hulu
and to buy kites and lanterns!”

Aunty gave her a sharp look. “Quiet down, Little Doll.” She paused for seconds before she announced in her authoritative voice, “I’m going to Peking by myself. I’m going to be gone for nearly two weeks, so you two better stay here and not fool around or go off to Soochow or anywhere else.”

Her declaration shocked me, and Little Doll looked as if she was going to cry.

“But why, Aunty Peony? It took me five months working nonstop, day and night to finish this for you.”

“Because I said so. You two stay home and take care of each other. And you, Spring Swallow, stay away from that man. If you’ve been with him, I’ll smell him on you when I get back and you’ll be sorry.”

I wasn’t sure how she would make me sorry, but I tried my best to hold in my anger at this intrusion into my private life. Aunty had only me now and so could not kick me out even if she wanted to. But it did not matter because Shen Feng was off fighting his revolution.

Now Little Doll started to cry. “But, Aunty . . .”

This time Aunty didn’t even bother to scold her or ask her to shut up. She just walked away.

18

T
wo days later, Aunty Peony left with two large bags and my embroidery wrapped around her waist under a loose long top. I had a bad feeling about this, because when Leilei’s body had been found, she also had
Along the River
with her. Of course, I was not going to mention this to Aunty. It was bad luck, and talking about bad luck only makes it worse. The good thing for us was that Aunty would be away again, leaving the house to ourselves. For a few days we would be free of her prying eyes. Of course, I had something planned: entering Aunty’s secret chamber for a longer look, this time without fear of being caught.

So the next day I gave Little Doll some money and told her she could spend it on whatever she wanted in the neighboring village. As soon as she disappeared down the road, I picked up my oil lamp and went up to Aunty’s room, then entered her secret chamber. I wouldn’t dare steal any of her imperial treasures, but I could now copy the embroidery patterns I liked, since Aunty had destroyed those I’d written on the cave walls. I still had these in my memory, but there were others I had never seen, so I wanted to copy as many as possible.

After a few hours of copying in the dim light of the secret chamber I was worn out, and so I picked up Aunty’s diary and began to read at random:

Of course, I had no idea that Aunty had led such a sad life. Now I could understand her coldness and meanness, even sympathize with her a little. I continued to read.

I set down her diary and looked around. But I hadn’t seen any undergarment in the secret chamber, only the dragon robe. So I went back out to the outer room and began to search—inside the closet, her writing desk, a large ceramic vase—but still nothing. I sat on her bed to think, and noticed her luxurious pillow embroidered with a pair of Mandarin ducks. On a small expanse of water the two ducks were swimming leisurely among lotus flowers. I was touched by the way the bigger, more colorful, male’s wing was placed lovingly and protectively on the female’s shoulder. The work was clearly by her hand and I was surprised that Aunty, always so cold and distant, should be able to depict such tender emotion. But once she’d had lovers, at least two, I was sure. She must have been so enamored of one of them that she’d embroidered this to commemorate their love. The all-powerful emperor, or the ordinary young man?

Examining the pillow, I noticed a specific stitch Aunty used to embroider the waves that she’d never taught me. This was yet another technique she had held back from me. I decided to take off the cover to see if the inside would reveal the secret of this stitch. But what I found was totally unexpected.

The emperor’s undergarment!

Touching such a beautiful, intimate—and dangerous—object made me dizzy. It had some of the same images and designs as the dragon robe, but was much lighter and smaller. Folding over the hem I saw the two names Aunty’s diary had referred to. Rendered in thread that was the same color as the silk, they were nearly invisible. Though it was less overwhelming than the more splendid dragon robe, I was fascinated by the undergarment’s delicate intimacy. I imagined the needle in Aunty’s beautiful hand move tenderly in and out of the yellow silk, putting in each stitch with love, tenderness, and hope. I stroked its smooth surface, imagining Aunty doing the same when in bed with the Son of Heaven.

Of all her creations, it was this that most appealed to me, much more than the ornate dragon robe. I was tempted, but did not have the courage, to take the garment. I could stuff some plain cloth back into the pillow so Aunty would not notice, but I had no place to hide it and would be burdened carrying around something so valuable. Trying to sell it would be extremely dangerous. The buyer could accuse me of trying to pass off a fake, or report me for possessing imperial property. So after running my fingers over the delicate needlework one more time, I reluctantly put it back inside the pillow.

I went back to Aunty’s secret chamber a few more times to copy patterns but was afraid to touch any of her treasures again for fear of leaving stains or other signs of my intrusion. I also checked as carefully as I could to be sure everything was back in its original place.

 

Since Shen Feng’s departure I had not had a letter from him, so I had no idea if he was thinking of me, or was even alive. One morning I went up the mountain, hoping that somehow he had left a message for me, but of course there were only the old writings outside the cave, now starting to fade. So, feeling very lonely, I walked slowly back to the little house.

Another week had passed and Aunty returned. To Little Doll’s delight, she’d brought us many things. There were snacks—fried butter cakes, almond bean curd, crispy sugar-coated water chestnuts, and minced meat with sesame cake. There were also toys for Little Doll—a stuffed tortoise embroidered with a big flower on its shell, a clay figurine of the woman warrior Mulan, and a small kite in the shape of the Moon Goddess. For me there was a round, colorful needle cushion surrounded with small children, and a jade
pixiu
amulet. Little Doll was very happy with the gifts. Although I joined her in thanking our teacher profusely, I felt melancholy, missing my lover and feeling aimless, now that
Along the River
was finished. Also, Aunty’s sudden generosity made me uneasy—the little jade creature looked expensive and this was not like her.

That evening, my little sister and I cooked a welcome-home dinner for Aunty to “wash off the dust from her journey.” After our lips were well greased with meat and our bellies as bulging as a rich man’s wallet, Aunty asked Little Doll to brew the before-the-rain-Dragon Well tea she’d brought back from Peking. Soon the three of us were enjoying tea as exquisite as Aunty’s embroidery.

While we sat quietly sipping, our teacher took out two thick red envelopes and placed them in front of Little Doll and myself. “This is to reward you both for your hard work.”

“Thank you, Aunty Peony,” we said in unison.

I asked, “Aunty Peony, did the embroidery win—”

She cut me off, her slender fingers massaging her temples. “It’s quite late now and I’m tired, so let’s go to sleep.”

I wondered why she was avoiding talking about the embroidery. My work must not have won, not even an honorable mention. So maybe she was trying to spare me embarrassment. But I needed to know the outcome, not be left in suspense.

Since Aunty’s return I could only feel unhappy energy emanating from her. She acted even more distant and cold than usual. I knew something was weighing on her mind but had no idea what.

 

One morning Aunty told us she was going to Soochow to shop for silk and thread and that she might return late so we didn’t have to wait for her. She looked so glum and serious that this time I dared not ask her to bring us along. I doubted that her real purpose was to shop for threads and silk since she’d just brought a full supply back from Peking. Maybe she was not going to Soochow at all. But if I questioned her, as always she would tell me to mind my own business. And my business in this house was to embroider, not to ask questions.

A few hours after Aunty’s departure, I was practicing calligraphy when Little Doll came to me carrying a pile of papers.

“Sister Spring Swallow, I’ve been cleaning and found some newspapers in Aunty’s room. You want to read them, or should I throw them away?”

I was surprised to hear this. “Little Doll, how come you could go inside her room?”

“Sometimes she asks me to clean her room and it wasn’t locked this morning.”

So Aunty must have left in a hurry for something very important. Something strange seemed to be going on.

“Did you see anything else in her room?” I asked.

“Nothing. Just these newspapers on her bed. You want to take a look?”

Little Doll was the only one whom Aunty would allow inside her room once in a while, because she thought Little Doll was slow so it didn’t matter. Also because there was “nothing” in her room.

“All right, Little Doll, let me have a look at them.”

Little Doll handed me the newspapers and went off humming to herself.

We never had newspapers in the house—nothing important ever happened here—so Aunty must have brought these back from Peking. My curiosity piqued, I started to read with great relish about happenings in the North Capital. When I turned to the arts section, I saw this headline:

The lower right corner of the article was a picture of a woman receiving the award from a foreigner. She looked like Aunty, but I couldn’t be sure from the fuzzy photo. However, the winner’s name was given as Lilac Chen, not Peony, and she was said to reside in Peking. I thought hard. Was this Aunty’s real name? Or was it a fake name and Peony her real one? Or, maybe neither was real? It suddenly hit me that I really had no idea who my teacher was. My head started to pound, so I rested it on my arms for a few minutes, then took several sips of tea to calm myself.

If Lilac Chen was Aunty Peony, then she had taken the credit for my embroidery and even kept the gold statue and the one thousand dollars for herself! Actually, more than one thousand. She must have also been paid well for the work by the Heavenly Phoenix embroidery shop.

My mind was in turmoil. I was pretty sure it was my work that had won the contest and that Aunty had simply kept the money. But I could not be absolutely certain that Lilac Chen was Aunt Peony. And if I falsely accused her, that would be the end between us. But how likely was it that someone else, who even looked like Aunty, had embroidered the same painting? I was confused, but one thing was certain, if I had won, Aunty now had the money and the credit.

I needed to do something, but right now my brain didn’t seem to be working. So I listlessly flipped through the newspaper until I saw this gossip column: