Gao Lin had made progress on the roof, although he still managed to cross Lao Lao by his presence. Lao Lao grumbled at the impropriety of a worker taking up quarters in the main hall, albeit a lowly corner behind a partitioning screen. Chi Lin generally was too tired to notice whether the man was there or not, although she had admired his beauty from afar as he straddled the beams while replacing the tiles. She had also seen him naked once, splashing himself clean at the courtyard’s edge. It was a quick glimpse, but one etched on her mind. She did her best to forget it, if she could. But at night, she would fall asleep quickly; the only evidence that there were more than crickets in the hall was an occasional cough from behind the partition.
Gao Lin kept to his place, but on one afternoon Chi Lin returned to the courtyard to find a genuine feud between her servants. All four were gathered at the pool, Lao Lao waving his hands and Gao Lin shaking his head, while the two women barked away over the cobblestones.
“What is this commotion?” Chi Lin snapped, having returned unnoticed. Her appearance silenced them, all four bowing. “Is this how you act when I am away at my chores?”
“I am sorry, mistress,” Lao Lao said. “But your worker bee should not be concerned with repairing the pool when he is supposed to be fixing the roof.”
“Perhaps,” Gao Lin said, “if I am to follow the order of things. But roof tiles and pool tiles are on the same scale — one up and one down. I do not see where one should be preferred while the other should be ignored.”
“That is not your place to decide,” Snapdragon said. “The mistress needs a roof. The pool is an eyesore and, if anything, should be filled in with dirt and made to yield beans and peas for the kettle.”
“Useless suggestion,” Mo Li said. “We do not grow things here. The vegetables come from the tenants. Mistress Purple Sage is not a tenant.”
“Then take the pool tiles and put them on the roof,” Snapdragon said.
“That cannot be done,” Gao Lin remarked. “The roof tiles must be shaped to the contours of the pool — made smaller and neatly trimmed. Pool tiles cannot be stretched, unless you know how, old mother.”
“Do not call my wife, old mother, you field clod,” Lao Lao snapped.
“Enough,” Chi Lin said, and they all bowed again. “Gao Lin, it is true that the roof comes first, because the silver is only so much and there are other things to consider.”
“I understand, mistress,” Gao Lin said, and said no more.
Chi Lin sighed — a deep sigh taking in the uselessness of haggling with servants. If each tended to their own business, such arguments would be avoided. But she knew that at the heart of it this had nothing to do with tiles and priorities. It was Lao Lao squaring off his territory and Snapdragon pushing the newcomers aside. Mo Li was intemperate, but her cooking was too delicious to be cast aside. As for Gao Lin, Chi did not question his intentions. He meant not to cause trouble. He had an idea and was exploring it. So, Chi Lin raised a finger at Lao Lao, and then turned to Gao Lin.
“How would you assess restoring this pool if you were commissioned to do so?”
Gao Lin flexed his arms and moved to the pool’s edge. As it stood, the pond was clogged with black mold and mud, not to mention the waste of a thousand mornings. The water, if it be that, was poisoned. No fish could dwell there. No duck could squat. The tiles were broken and many were missing. A large decorative rock arose at the far end, where a trickle cascaded into the muck. Behind it, a sluice poked its way from the courtyard wall and beyond.
“It is filthy work,” Gao Lin said. “I am not averse to muck and sludge. If we fill buckets, they can be toted and the waste can be removed. Cleansing the inside will cost nothing but time. The bottom tiles can be patched, while the outer tiles can be repurposed from the roof tiles you have already purchased. I can do this thing easily. The great rock must be scrubbed and the drawing canal needs to be releveled. The water source is from the stream which adjoins the house. The feeder needs cleaning and to be unblocked. Again, it is a removal task. The only cost you will need, mistress is the price of flowers and fish — affordable if the lotuses are young and the fish are not too fat.” He bowed. “That is my assessment. Also, we must refrain from pissing in the pool.”
Lao Lao scowled, but Chi Lin raised her hand again.
“You are telling me that there is no cost to restore it but your labors, which are already mine?”
“Yes, mistress. And the flowers and the fish.” Gao Lin grinned. “These three could give a hand and time would be saved.”
“I cannot even see this pool,” Snapdragon said. “How would I clean it out?”
“It is reasonable,” Chi Lin said. “Lao Lao can give you a hand, and Mo Li could help carry buckets.”
Mo Li grunted. Lao Lao spit. But neither went beyond that in their discontent.
“However,” Chi Lin added. “The roof must be done first.”
“Of course, mistress,” Gao Lin replied, and went about it, moving to his bamboo framework, climbing to the roof as easily as a marmoset.
Chi Lin did not chastise the others further. Lao Lao would need to be less divisive. As for Snapdragon, Chi Lin did not care if she slept all day. She understood that the old woman feared for her position, which was ultimately up to the Old Lady of the House, not Purple Sage. She turned to Mo Li.
“Can you make yueh-ping?”
“I can, mistress, but Moon cakes are for festivals.”
“I have had them at other times. Do we have the ingredients? Can I have three for tomorrow morning?”
Mo Li bowed.
“We have and I can, but it is unusual to . . .”
“I have need of these. Do you doubt me?”
“No, mistress. I shall make them, even if I need to work all night.”
“All night?” Snapdragon cackled. “Yueh-ping is easy. I can make three shi in flat pans for the lantern festival. It is easy. Do not let this one fool you.”
Mo Li scowled, but went about preparing for the task. When she left, Chi Lin took Snapdragon aside.
“I have brought Mo Li here to help you, even if you say you need no help. I must be sure she is as knowledgeable as you are in these things.”
“So, the Moon Cakes are a test?”
“Yes.”
Snapdragon grinned, and then laughed. She nodded and dismissed herself from the mistress’ company leaving only Lao Lao standing alone.
“You must be more welcoming of Gao Lin, Lao Lao,” Chi Lin said, softly.
“If you say so, mistress, it will be so.”
“To say it and do it are two different things. You have been in the Hall of Silver Silence for as long as this hall has stood.”
“Longer,” he said.
Chi Lin had no notion of that meaning, but continued.
“If our roof is repaired and the pool is restored at small cost, my silver will be able to make other improvements which could bring recognition to this quarter of the house. So unless you can climb the bamboo framework and fit tiles in the baking sun, you must support those who can.”
“I understand, mistress. I will make an effort.”
“More than an effort, Lao Lao. You must be sincere. As for Mo Li, look upon her as an easement to your wife’s old age. She will shield her shortcomings, which, under those circumstances, will never come to the attention of the Old Lady of the House.”
Lao Lao bowed. Chi Lin was not sure that he embraced the full weight of her remarks, but she was learning that more than shoes and tables and spoons needed mending — more than roofs and pools. Household peace was more worth the effort and she meant to have it — she meant to keep her courtyard peaceful.
Chapter Ten
Moon Cakes and Guan-yin
1
Chi Lin arose the next morning to the wonderful aroma of Moon Cakes. She knew at once her request had been fulfilled, the almond perfume wafting beneath her nose. She sat up and saw Snapdragon hovering over the table — a basket set beside the morning meal
of plum and rice congee, sweet melon and tea. Lao Lao’s old woman was like a fox waiting for the mistress to awake and, when she did, paced beside the table as best she could, given her poor eyesight and bent back.
“It is done,” Chi Lin said, coming to the table. She whisked aside the basket papers and beheld the three cakes — one red, one yellow and one forest green — each square, with a medallion etched on top — three cat faces baked to a golden brown. “These are perfect.”
“You must taste them, mistress to see if Mo Li has passed the test.”
“I mean not to taste them, Snapdragon.”
“But how will you be able to tell? Your eyes cannot taste them. Your nose can be deceived.”
Chi Lin frowned.
“My taste does not matter.”
“But how will I know?”
“Perhaps I meant to test your patience.”
Snapdragon bowed curtly and stumbled toward the threshold. Her disappointment was evident, but from Chi Lin’s nose and eyes, Mo Li had passed the test, if ever there was a test. She covered the basket, and poured her tea.
When Chi Lin left the hall, she noticed that Lao Lao had not come. But that was soon explained because she spied him gathering buckets for Gao Lin. When he saw the mistress, he bowed and smiled humbly, and then shook the buckets evidently meaning to convey his attempt at cooperation. Chi Lin retuned his bow with a nod. Then she saw Gao Lin astride the roof beam — the great ridge pole that spanned the hall. He worked diligently, loosening old tiles, carefully preserving them, perhaps to be repurposed for the pool restoration. He was bare-chested and sang a quiet morning song, which may have been too low for Chi Lin’s ears, both in volume and in use of coarse lyrics. She had heard such language before, because her father’s students were prone to tavern talk. When she listened to them, her sister would become upset and set her course away from the house. Still, Chi Lin knew that young men had thoughts of young women and, when congressed over wine or even the brushes, exchanged stories of conquests and prowess. She thought of these moments as she gazed up at Gao Lin.
Suddenly, his eye caught hers. She held steady for a moment, allowing him to drink in her thoughts, while she caught something unexplained from him. Then she looked away and directed her feet toward the shrine for her morning visit with her husband.
Chi Lin could parse these thoughts and who better to share them with than her husband? So in whispers she confided in him that she would have greatly liked to have caressed him in bed and have gone about the business of making a son. She also hoped he was sorrowful that she would never know his loving touch. She sought not remorse from the dead, because that would not be proper. But she did think of Gao Lin as she gazed on her husband’s effigy. She apologized knowing she could not hide thoughts from the ancestors, especially a husband’s ghost, but she was sorry only for bringing them to the shrine and not for the thoughts themselves. Somehow, as long as they remained thoughts, they spun natural. Only in the act could they become damnable in the sight of the ancestors.
“Auntie does not burn red paper today,” came a small voice.
It was Pearl. Chi Lin turned to see all three sisters — Pearl, Jade and Sapphire. They looked at Purple Sage as if they expected her to entertain them with witty comments or to show them her feet. Instead, Chi Lin placed a finger on her lips.
“Your father has brought you a gift.”
The girls jumped up and down, looking about.
“Is it a doggie?” Jade asked. “It would be three doggies — one for each.”
“Even one for Sapphire?” Pearl asked.
“I want a doggie, too,” Sapphire said, pouting.
Chi Lin raised her fingers to her lips again. Silence fell.
“Do you see doggies?” she asked.
“No,” came the collective reply.
“Then the gift is not that.” She reached for the basket. “The gift is in here.”
She brought the basket before them, raising the papers. Three sets of eyes opened wide. Giggles.
“Moon Cakes. For us?” Jade asked.
“Yes.”
“I am the oldest, so I get to pick first,” Pearl announced. “I want the red one.”
“I want the green,” Sapphire said.
“But you get what remains,” Jade said. “You are the youngest, and I like green.”
Sapphire pouted.
“Now, do not quarrel,” Chi Lin said. “Your father will be upset.”
“You cannot fool us,” Pearl said, taking the red moon cake. “Father did not bake these, because he is dead.”
“Ghosts can work wonders,” Chi Lin replied.
“But they cannot make Moon Cakes,” Pearl insisted, taking a bite. Her eyes lit up. “Oh, this is wonderful. I have tasted this before. Mo Li makes them.”
Chi Lin laughed. Jade went to snatch her cake, but hesitated, and then looked at Sapphire’s sad face. “You can have the green one,” she said. Sapphire reached in, but Jade pushed her hand aside. “But I am older, so I will take the yellow one before you take the green one.”
She snapped up the yellow cake, brought it to her eyes, and then smiled.
“Meow,” she said.
Sapphire laughed, and then took the green one and mimicked the cat also.
“You are suppose to eat them, sillies,” Pearl complained. “They are not toys.”
“Or doggies,” Sapphire said.
Chi Lin was happy. Mo Li had passed the test, indeed. Their auntie had raised smiles on their faces. But she suddenly cocked her head. Something was different.
“You do not wear the white,” Chi Lin said.
“No, Auntie Ghost,” Pearl said. “Our amah says the time for the white is over.”
Chi Lin straightened up. She grasped a fistful of red prayer paper, burned it and bowed to Wu Hung-lin. She was expected in the silk ji-tzao today and had tarried too long. But now, with this new knowledge that the time for the white was over, she would seek out the First Wife instead since it signaled a change in her prospective work duties.
2
It was clear to Chi Lin that this phase of mourning was over. The white banners on the outer walls were furled and the bunting was in the process of removal. Servants reverted to their gray shirts with black trim, their white vestments stored for the next death. The air seemed fresher — less incense, and the general mood within the walls was lighter. Workers walked at a faster pace, and the swallows chirped in the trees. As the ghost bride, Chi Lin would always be in a state of mourning, but today she had worn spring yellow and wondered if she should change to her purple for contrast. But it was too late for it. She was already entering the courtyard of the Hall of Blue Heaven and heard boyish laughter. It made her glad to hear it.
She stood near the threshold watching Wu Lin-kua and Wu Chou-fa play-fighting. They had shucked the white and wore short robes of green and yellow with matching pants. They shadow boxed.
“I have you, Sun Wu-kung,” Lin-kua said, raising his leg to kick his brother. “I am the Monkey-King, the pride of the Jade Emperor.”
“But I can leap one-hundred thousand and eight li with one jump,” Chou-fa said stepping aside. “You cannot defeat me, Monkey-King.”
They darted between the furniture and behind the potted plants, and came dangerously close to a table, which held a sculpture of Goddess Guan-yin.
“I am up to the challenge,” Lin-kua said. “I have succeeded with every task.”
“The Pig Demon won against you.”
“No he did not, stupid one.”
“Yes, he did. And I shall defeat you also,”
Chou-fa leaped at his brother, who shifted sharply, knocking into a chair. Chi Lin thought to intervene, but it was not her place. They were children at play. But where was Master P’ing Chin? He would frown on such physical larks.
Chi Lin crossed the threshold and, as she did, Lin-kua halted abruptly, while Chou-fa thrust again. He managed to hit his brother’s hip. Lin-kua’s eyes opened wide. He rais
ed both hands and pushed Chou-fa — pushed him into the table holding the status of Guan-yin. The table tottered, and then came to rest. However, Guan-yin fell to the floor, breaking in two.
“Oh, no,” Lin-kua said. “Look what you have done. You have broken mother’s Guan-yin.”
“You did it,” Chou-fa protested. “You pushed me.”
The boys stared at the statue as if it would come back together again and chastise them. Chi Lin rushed to their side.
“Auntie,” they said in unison, bowing, and then kneeling around the statue.
“What is to be done?” Chou-fa asked.
“It is mother’s favorite, Auntie,” Lin-kua added. “She will punish us with the bamboo rod.”
Chi Lin took a deep breath. She thought that perhaps it could be raised, the pieces fitted together and placed on the table. Would Jasmine ever notice it? It then could be repaired secretly. The boys were terrified when their mother crossed the threshold.
“What is this commotion?” she asked, but then saw the statue. “Oh, my precious Guan-yin. How did this happen?”
The boys trembled, and were about the speak, but Chi Lin beat them to it.
“It is my fault, sister-in-law.” She curtsied low. “I am sorry for your distress. I came and was startled while I waited. I stepped backward and toppled this precious statue.”
Jasmine shook, indignantly. She gave her sons a sharp look, and then sniffed, stifling her tears.
“This Guan-yin was a gift from our husband. It cannot be replaced. It cannot be made whole again.”
Chi Lin looked up.
“Perhaps it can, Jasmine. Perhaps it can. I can send my worker here to repair it. He is gifted with materials. I am sure he could put it to rights.”
Jasmine gave her a wan look, and then shrugged. Her hands lifted the upper part of the statue.
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