The Concubine's Daughter (15 page)

“You see?” Pebble said. “Men are children of the sun, blinding, burning, and never still—bursting with their ripening seed. They spill it like a river and do not care where it flows. They do not think it will ever run dry, and when it does they cry tears of stone. But women are children of the moon … we are made from soft shadow and pale light—cool, patient, enduring. We are very different, but one is needed to balance the other as the center of the eight trigrams … the yin and the yang.”

When the story was over, Li-Xia lay still, hoping that the glittering image would not fade too quickly. She took the orange-peel finger jade from its hiding place, to hold against her lips and say a prayer. With her fingers closed tightly around it, she thanked her mother for sending Little Pebble, who was teaching her to read.

The celebration of the Autumn Moon Festival was a special day for the
mui-mui
, but particularly important to Li-Xia, now that she knew it was the birthday of Heng-O, the Moon Lady, who spread her silver mantle to comfort all her sisters in heaven and on earth. It fell on the eighth month, when the harvest moon was at its biggest and brightest, and Heng-O dressed in her fullest glory.

There was no work that day, and each of the
mui-mui
was given mooncakes to eat, joss sticks to burn, and a paper lantern on the end of a bamboo stick, so that the Moon Lady could look down and miss no one in her blessing. The mooncake recipe was unchanged after a thousand years, each cake containing the solid yolk of a salted egg representing the full moon. When lit, each round lantern also resembled a yellow August moon. To Li-Xia, it was a time filled with promise. Heng-O was not blind and deaf and dumb like the wooden gods of the spirit room, who had punished her for seeking her mother. The Moon Lady was gracious and splendid in her robes of gold and silver, driving away all shadows and lighting every path.

Darkness had settled on the river. The
mui-mui
took their paper lanterns into the groves to hang them among the mulberry trees, so that
the seasons would be kind, the cocoons plentiful, and the silkworms fat and happy. Li-Xia and Pebble hung theirs in the Ghost Tree, and sat beneath it with a mooncake for the little girl Morning Star. They lit their joss sticks and said their prayers for her, letting them drift into the branches with the curling smoke, looking down on the river valley where the lanterns floated like fireflies.

“This is the time when those who secretly hope to become a wife thread a needle with silk and pray to Heng-O to send them a husband. It is said that on this night each year, a cowherd crosses the sky to find his lost love. Those that thread the needle without difficulty may be looked upon by him with favor.” Pebble chuckled at the thought, splitting a ripe pomegranate and handing half to Li-Xia. They sat beneath the Ghost Tree until the last lantern had disappeared among the stars. Pebble did not laugh at Li-Xia’s dreams of pursuing her mother’s path.

“Who is to say what happens when a spirit resides so close to heaven? That you may speak to your mother and she answers is a great thing. When I was younger I spoke to mine but there was no answer … so I became a dancer in my heart, an empress and an opera star, whatever I wished to be. You, my little Crabapple, are different. You are surely meant to be a scholar.”

The Autumn Moon Festival was also a time for changes at Ten Willows, a time for good news and bad. Those who were no longer useful were told that they must leave, and those who had been noticed were told of their promotion. Ah-Jeh called Li-Xia to her office in the mill. It was the first time she had been inside, to gaze with awe upon the rows of wooden looms, each mounted with brightly colored spindles; the
sau-hai
were busy making rolls of silk as fine as the wing of a dragonfly. No chatter could be heard above the ceaseless clatter and clack of the shuttles.

“You are almost twelve years old, Li-Xia. You have worked well and do not waste time with foolishness, or hide from the overseer or play stupid games among the trees. It is time for you to take your place in the spinning shed. You have grown strong and tall for your age and earned
your place in Ten Willows. You will move your bed tomorrow. If you do this work well, you may be chosen to carry the lantern. If not, the next step could be to the weaving mill—you may be offered the comb and the mirror of
sau-hai
.” The voice of the superintendent was brisk but not unkind, and her eyes held no threat.

“Thank you, Ah-Jeh. It is an honor to be thought worthy of such great opportunity … but …” Li-Xia tried to find the words she wanted to say.

“There are no ‘buts’ in this matter. The new moon has brought you a change in fortune.” Ah-Jeh’s rage was never far away. “Do you dare to question what the moon and stars bequeath to you?”

“If I am expected to share the master’s bed, he will not find me pleasing.” As they always were at times of great importance, her words were out before Li-Xia could stop them. She was not even sure where they came from.

The superintendent’s face darkened like a cloud crossing the sun. “This is not for you to question. The master will do with you as he pleases. If he does not find you worthy of his attentions, then I will do with you as I please.” Ah-Jeh’s manner calmed quickly; her scarlet mouth curved into a slow smile. “Perhaps I will offer you the comb and the mirror … we shall see.”

“I am not sure I deserve the honor of such great blessings.”

The smile was slow to fade, but the light in Ah-Jeh’s treacly eyes seemed to freeze with its passing as she spoke through clenched teeth. “Do not make the same mistakes that Little Pebble made. It is the greatest good fortune to be of special service to your master or to be considered by the sisterhood of
sau-hai
. You will do best to forget Pebble and her collection of idiots; they cannot help you. Save your trust for those who can.”

The superintendent controlled her anger, reaching out to take Li-Xia’s hand. “Let me see these hummingbird hands and butterfly fingers.” She lifted both hands, circling the palms with her strong thumbs, taking each finger in turn with the lightest touch. “Have you not learned that life in the groves is short?” she asked more reasonably. “That when
you can no longer deliver your baskets fast enough and full enough, there is nowhere else to go and nothing else to do but to beg in the streets, or to peddle yourself for a bowl of rice? Even the monasteries are filled with those who would wash the feet of monks before they will choose to die alone. There is no room in the world of Ten Willows for those who can no longer pluck the cocoon and tend the silkworm, and Pebble is soon to be among them.”

Ah-Jeh fondled Li-Xia’s hands with her short, fat fingers. “You have cared for them well. They are not yet torn and you have no calluses … even your fingernails are clean.” The superintendent allowed Li to withdraw her hands. “Let there be no further talk. You will move in the morning.”

That night, when the evening rice was over, Li-Xia found Little Pebble at the river’s edge, watching the moon’s bright dazzle dance upon the water. She was fishing for eels. Pebble listened to every word Ah-Jeh had spoken, then said in a voice too tired for anger, “There is nothing you can do. Go with her and do as you are told. It is not so bad to be a weaver. Better than to follow me …” She was quiet, stringing the eels on a loop of split bamboo. “I do not have a moon mother to guide me. In truth, I have no voice but that of a moorhen calling her chicks”—she found her dancer’s grin—“while you are to be a scholar of great fame and fortune … Giant Yun has decreed this.”

Suddenly, she embraced Li-Xia and held her close, her cheek hot with tears. “You must forget the Pebble who will never be a diamond. I shall miss you at the Ghost Tree, but I am glad for you. There are better things in life than gathering cocoons. Sometimes pride asks too high a price of us. Look at me and know you make the right choice.”

Li-Xia was troubled by Pebble’s words, seeking to make her smile again.

“I will never forget you. If I become a scholar, I shall return to Ten Willows and and set you free.”

“You are brave and strong enough to make your own way, my little
Crabapple, but please, I beg of you, if you are told to carry the lantern to the Heavenly House, you must do it. Forget pride and dignity; these can wait. Ming is old and lazy, his chi is weak and his energy short.” She gave a small laugh. “He is a drinker of hot rice wine; see that his cup is always full. Dance for him, sing to him… . Use your hands … even your mouth if you must. He will be easily spent and soon put to sleep.”

She grinned her encouragement. “If that is not enough for him, cry and scream as loud as you can, make such noise that his nerves will not allow him to proceed. Tell him he is too strong for you … his ivory staff so big it will split your jade gate in two. If you make him feel that he is young again, and that you fear but admire his manhood, he will be content… . If you are lucky he will tire of you in a week.” Pebble paused, slowly shaking her head. “But do not run… . Do. Not. Run.

“If you are asked to choose the comb and the mirror, think hard about your choices, for they are very few. Whatever awaits you, do not anger Superintendent Ah-Jeh, or you will come to know true evil.”

Li-Xia left the bamboo huts behind her and entered the honeysuckle gate of the mill compound. She was shown her bed space in a house made of bricks, with doors and shuttered windows that opened and closed. The house was set back from the riverfront, its thick walls distancing the call of frogs, the ripple of eels at night, and the gentle whispering of willows. It was lit with gas lamps that hissed like snakes and glared so white they hurt her eyes.

In moments she found that she missed the breeze off the river and the voices of the
mui-mui
. She missed the wavering yellow flames of the slush lamps and the smell of slow-burning oil; the fireflies flickering among the mosquito nets.