Peach Blossom Pavilion. Mingmei Yip

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      ‘All right, you little witch. But Xiang Xiang, promise me you’ll keep this a secret between us. Can you do that?’

      I nodded my head like a hungry woodpecker.

      ‘All right, now go back to your room and wash yourself thoroughly.’

      ‘Sister Pearl, but you’ve just promised to teach me to play the qin!’

      ‘Bathing yourself is part of the ritual of playing. After that, you have to burn incense to cleanse the air and meditate to purify your mind, before you can even touch the instrument. Never forget that when you play the qin, you’re not just making music, but communicating with the deepest mysteries of heaven.’

      I was too surprised to respond; she went on, ‘I told you it’s hard. Do you still want to learn?’

      ‘Yes, Sister Pearl!’

      ‘Good, I like your determination.’ She cast me a sharp glance. ‘In the past, a student had to live with her teacher and wait upon her for two years – preparing tea, cooking, cleaning the house, massaging her sore muscles – before there’d even be any mention of lessons. You’re lucky that I exempt you from all these. Now go to wash!’

      ‘Thank you, Sister Pearl,’ I yelled, then dashed toward the door.

      She called out at my back, ‘Remember, this instrument is sacred. And don’t forget your pipa either.’

      I turned around. ‘Sister Pearl, I won’t.’

      ‘Come back and I’ll teach you how to tune the qin – as well as your mind.’

      So from that day on I was secretly learning to play this venerated instrument. At the start of each lesson, I’d meticulously tune the seven silk strings, while stealing glances at Pearl and wishing I could look as beautiful and play as elegantly. I would practise until my fingers bled and grew calloused, and my shoulders felt stiff and sore. But strangely, my heart was filled with joy at the sad tunes of the qin.

      Needless to say, I dared not forget singing, painting, nor playing my pipa. Pearl warned me again and again if I didn’t learn the other arts well, she’d stop teaching me the qin. But her worry was unnecessary, for I was good at all my lessons! Mr. Wu, the painting teacher, was so pleased with my talent that he showered me with gifts – brushes of all sizes, ink stones engraved with scenes of the four seasons, rice paper sprinkled with simulated gold flakes. He also praised my poems, telling me that some were so good that they could be used as opera lyrics. He predicted that I’d be famous soon, very soon. Mr. Ma, the opera teacher, said I had a voice like a lark’s, which possessed the charm to entice the sun to rise and cajole it to set. But he also flattered me by continuing to accidentally brush his hand all over my body.

      Word about my talents began to spread. Some customers asked to look at my paintings. Some halted by my door to listen to my singing. Others sighed with pleasure when they had a chance to glimpse my fingers performing acrobatics on the pipa. My poems were passed around and discussed as if they were works by Li Bai or Du Fu.

      One afternoon while I was practising ‘Spring Moonlight over the River’ on the pipa, Fang Rong burst into my room. She dropped onto the chair, breathing heavily while eyeing me happily. She studied me so hard and so long that I felt colour rise in my cheeks.

      ‘What is it, Mama?’ I asked, putting down my instrument.

      She shot up from the chair and went to the mirror, motioning me to follow her.

      Our reflections stared back at us from the polished surface. Mama smiled mischievously, cocking an eye at me. ‘Xiang Xiang, less than a year living in Peach Blossom, see what a lovely girl I’ve made of you.’

      I looked at my own image for long moments, and for the first time I agreed with her. But I felt embarrassed to say yes, so I remained silent.

      She lifted and tousled my hair. ‘But you know what? Today you’ll look even prettier, for I’m taking you out to have your hair styled!’

      I turned to stare at her. ‘Styled?’

      ‘Yes, most girls have never even heard of it, let alone have the money to have it done. So lucky you!’

      But I had heard of it. ‘You mean like … those stars in a movie?’ Of course I’d never seen ‘those stars’ in a real movie, only in newspapers and magazines Baba had brought home from the warlord’s house.

      ‘Exactly! Do you want to look like a movie star?’

      I turned back to look at the mirror and saw my head nodding like that of a childless woman kowtowing to Guan Yin for a baby boy.

      It was a hot, sunny Friday afternoon. Besides me, Fang Rong also took two other girls to have their hair styled. One, voluptuous and very silly acting, was called Jade Vase, and the other, to my surprise, was Spring Moon. I was glad that Mama had arranged for Spring Moon to share the rickshaw with me while she shared hers with Jade Vase. Spring Moon seemed to have recovered from that horrible night and the scar on her arm turned out to be quite small. Now, I’d finally have the chance to discuss with her in detail the strong stench and scurrying rats of the dark room – and maybe even fuck. But we ended up gawking at the rarely glimpsed city life outside the turquoise pavilion. Our eyes couldn’t detach themselves from busy Nanking Boulevard with its famous red-and-gold signboards. Our fingers kept thrusting here and there to point out remembered sights.

      Spring Moon pointed at a grand building and said proudly in her high-pitched voice, ‘Look, that’s Xing Xing Department Store where I used to shop with my parents.’

      I craned my neck and saw three Western-dressed tai tai studying merchandise with great intensity. Behind them shuffled amahs burdened with overflowing shopping bags.

      While my eyes were appreciating the society ladies’ elaborate make-up and brocade dresses, Spring Moon’s finger had already shifted to an even grander building next to Xing Xing, her voice climbing higher and higher in the air. ‘Look, this is Sincere Department Store. My father once bought me a gold necklace in the jewellery department on the third floor!’

      She plunged on excitedly, ‘My father also used to take me to the Heavenly Tune Pavilion open-air café on the top floor of the Wing On Department Store. There, I could see the whole city, including the China Peace Company, the International Hotel, and the race track!’

      When the speeding rickshaw had left the two stores and the three tai tai behind, a silence fell between us.

      To leave her to her thoughts, I turned to take in the scenes on the street.

      A vendor, with two baskets in front, yelled at the top of his voice, ‘Fresh and aromatic roasted chicken! Your money back if it’s not aromatic!’

      Next to him an elderly woman, kneeling, begged by knocking her head loudly on the ground.

      A noodle seller, bare-chested and leathery-faced, was banging a brass gong to attract attention.

      Under the scorching sun, a red-turbanned, black-bearded Indian policeman frantically wielded a baton to direct traffic. Sweat poured СКАЧАТЬ