Inheritance by Lan Samantha Chang Page A

hand was often stained with ink. She spent hours reading newspapers and had developed a fascination for the slender film star Ruan Lingyu. She persuaded Junan to see New Woman . Junan suffered through two hours in the smelly, noisy theater, holding her handkerchief to her nose, while Yinan sat enchanted by the melodramatic story of a beautiful and talented woman writer driven to prostitution in order to save a sick child. During the final scenes, as the dying woman heaved upon her hospital bed, Junan heard a choking sound from the seat next to her. Yinan had burst into tears. Junan found her another handkerchief—her sister never remembered them—and sat through the movie’s end aghast.
    One afternoon, Junan walked into Yinan’s room and noticed an unusual scent of sugar and fruit.
    “Meimei, what is that smell?”
    Yinan’s eyes widened. She darted a glance at the cushions on her bed. Junan went to the bed and tossed the cushions aside.
    She discovered a smooth, flat box, decorated with red flowers and gold trim. She lifted the lid and found a mosaic of bright candies nestled in fluted paper, some shaped like striped ribbons, some flat disks with a bloom of color in the center. She turned from the gaudy box to Yinan’s frightened face—eyes round, lips pursed, still sucking guiltily at the sweet stone in her mouth.
    “Where did you get this box of candy, Meimei?”
    Yinan shook her head.
    “Meimei?” Threatening now.
    “I promised I wouldn’t tell.”
    “You know I’ll find out anyway.”
    Still, Yinan resisted. After half an hour of badgering and threatening her with no results, Junan was forced to give up. She left the bedroom frustrated, carrying the candy box, knowing no more about her sister’s suitor than she could guess.
    The fact that Yinan had an admirer troubled Junan. The extravagant gift was disturbing, but more disturbing was Yinan’s refusal to give away the boy’s identity. To whom did she owe such loyalty except to her family? How had she met him when she rarely left the house?
    Junan was forced to consult Hu Mudan. She found her in the courtyard working on a bundle of blue cotton. Hu Mudan made her own cloth shoes and was very particular about the soles. Next to her, Hu Ran lay in an enameled wash pan, watching everything that happened. His very presence posed a question she couldn’t answer. Ignoring him, she went right to the point and asked Hu Mudan if she knew anything of an admirer.
    Hu Mudan answered mildly that she had no idea who the man might be. She hadn’t known of any admirer, but a few days ago, when Deng Xiansheng came through the gate, she had seen something colorful—red and gold—tucked between his books and papers.
    Junan couldn’t conceal her surprise. Deng Xiansheng was Yinan’s calligraphy and writing tutor. He was in his forties, with pouches under his eyes and thinning hair over a high, round forehead. He came to the house three times a week wearing respectable but shabby clothes; his tutoring was strict and very serious. If he’d been born three decades earlier, he would have been the kind of man who studied for more than half his life to pass the jinshi exam. Now, at a time when the studious life had lost its power and significance, he had no fulfillment but from what could be found within the purity of a line, or an intelligent, forceful turn of the brush.
    “Surely you’re joking,” Junan said. Yinan wasn’t even a good calligrapher. Her writing was artistic, but it lacked ambition. It was typical woman’s work.
    “Most people become attached to someone. Why not Deng Xiansheng?”
    “It’s too absurd—has he no shame? He’s almost three times older than she is.”
    Hu Mudan said, “Older isn’t always bad. Someday she will need a man to take care of her.”
    “I know. But she’s so backward that I wonder. And who would put up with her, and who would know what she was up to, and how to manage her?”
    “There’s more to her than meets the eye.