beads against his wishes made him sick with fury. He would have flayed her to death and buried her beside her breeder, but he dared not. Instead, he sent her to wives One and Two, with instructions to at least see that she earned her rice.
Li-Xia’s days started before the dawn mist had risen, with feeding hens and milking the goats. She spent her mornings gathering wood and sweeping the courtyard, her afternoons planting rice, until it was time to bring in the ducks and geese. She had grown strong, and no work was too much for her to do, but her brothers treated her as cautiously as they did the farm dogs. The wives made sure she obeyed Yik-Munn’s commandment to keep her hummingbird fingers covered with gloves, but otherwise kept their distance, as though to look into her strange round eyes might strike them as dead as the great Goo-Mah.
Since Goo-Mah had joined her ancestors in a paper mansion of many colors, Yik-Munn had regained his lost face in the village by generosity in the tea house and expensive new clothes for his mistress. It was wellknown that he was now the ruler of his house. He beat his wives more often and for less reason, which among those who shared a pipe with him was proof of his recovery.
Despite her solitude, Li-Xia found that she was never lonely; contentment came with every sunrise, opening her mind to whatever the day brought. She rubbed her feet and wiggled her toes each morning until they tingled, and she ran everywhere, as though to walk was not enough. She discovered that the smallest things could bring the greatest comfort—the softness of a newly hatched duckling, a bumblebee balancing on the petal of a flower, a wren’s nest made from tiny feathers and bound with moss, the constant song of larks high above the ginger field.
Because there was no one to talk to, Li-Xia spoke in her heart to her mother, imagining her wise words: You are already finding your thousand pieces of gold. We enjoy all these priceless things together. There are no adventures too great, no journeys too long for us to share. Call and I will always hear you; look and you shall always see me.
From the quiet words of Ah-Su, Li-Xia had formed a picture of her mother’s lovely face intent on the making of images, the curled tip of her tongue lightly touching her lip and her eyes filled with purpose as each character spilled ever more smoothly from the tip of her brush.
At night, before sleeping, she spoke in whispers to the rising moon, seeking Pai-Ling in the softness of its pure light.
“Is it true that I am qian-jin, as Ah-Su has said—compared like you to a thousand pieces of gold?”
She could almost see Pai-Ling’s smile and hear her answer clear and steady as the murmur of a gently flowing stream: Gold can be found everywhere if you look for it … sprinkled by sunlight on clear water … in the evening sky and the coming of each new dawn. It falls like scattered coins on the forest floor and gilds the leaf of every tree; glitters on every blade of grass after the rain and turns each dewdrop into a precious jewel. You will find gold in kindness; it can be found in the seeking of happiness and in helping others. Try to find your fortune among these things, collect what you can of this real gold, and one day you will be qian-jin.
“But I am told that I am worthless and do not even deserve my rice.”
The shining face of Pai-Ling seemed to brighten the dark room.
Do not reward such foolish words with your precious tears; they are not worthy of your sadness. Carry your dignity with care: The world and its people are not always kind to those who are gentle, and even the gods may pass you by. Gather your thousand pieces of gold wherever you may find them and protect them with all your strength. You will find these words on the very last page of my journal. I wrote them for you before you were born.
Each evening, by the light of the lamp and the fluttering of moths, Li-Xia turned the pages of her
Li-Xia’s days started before the dawn mist had risen, with feeding hens and milking the goats. She spent her mornings gathering wood and sweeping the courtyard, her afternoons planting rice, until it was time to bring in the ducks and geese. She had grown strong, and no work was too much for her to do, but her brothers treated her as cautiously as they did the farm dogs. The wives made sure she obeyed Yik-Munn’s commandment to keep her hummingbird fingers covered with gloves, but otherwise kept their distance, as though to look into her strange round eyes might strike them as dead as the great Goo-Mah.
Since Goo-Mah had joined her ancestors in a paper mansion of many colors, Yik-Munn had regained his lost face in the village by generosity in the tea house and expensive new clothes for his mistress. It was wellknown that he was now the ruler of his house. He beat his wives more often and for less reason, which among those who shared a pipe with him was proof of his recovery.
Despite her solitude, Li-Xia found that she was never lonely; contentment came with every sunrise, opening her mind to whatever the day brought. She rubbed her feet and wiggled her toes each morning until they tingled, and she ran everywhere, as though to walk was not enough. She discovered that the smallest things could bring the greatest comfort—the softness of a newly hatched duckling, a bumblebee balancing on the petal of a flower, a wren’s nest made from tiny feathers and bound with moss, the constant song of larks high above the ginger field.
Because there was no one to talk to, Li-Xia spoke in her heart to her mother, imagining her wise words: You are already finding your thousand pieces of gold. We enjoy all these priceless things together. There are no adventures too great, no journeys too long for us to share. Call and I will always hear you; look and you shall always see me.
From the quiet words of Ah-Su, Li-Xia had formed a picture of her mother’s lovely face intent on the making of images, the curled tip of her tongue lightly touching her lip and her eyes filled with purpose as each character spilled ever more smoothly from the tip of her brush.
At night, before sleeping, she spoke in whispers to the rising moon, seeking Pai-Ling in the softness of its pure light.
“Is it true that I am qian-jin, as Ah-Su has said—compared like you to a thousand pieces of gold?”
She could almost see Pai-Ling’s smile and hear her answer clear and steady as the murmur of a gently flowing stream: Gold can be found everywhere if you look for it … sprinkled by sunlight on clear water … in the evening sky and the coming of each new dawn. It falls like scattered coins on the forest floor and gilds the leaf of every tree; glitters on every blade of grass after the rain and turns each dewdrop into a precious jewel. You will find gold in kindness; it can be found in the seeking of happiness and in helping others. Try to find your fortune among these things, collect what you can of this real gold, and one day you will be qian-jin.
“But I am told that I am worthless and do not even deserve my rice.”
The shining face of Pai-Ling seemed to brighten the dark room.
Do not reward such foolish words with your precious tears; they are not worthy of your sadness. Carry your dignity with care: The world and its people are not always kind to those who are gentle, and even the gods may pass you by. Gather your thousand pieces of gold wherever you may find them and protect them with all your strength. You will find these words on the very last page of my journal. I wrote them for you before you were born.
Each evening, by the light of the lamp and the fluttering of moths, Li-Xia turned the pages of her
Similar Books
