China by Edward Rutherfurd (latest novels to read TXT) 📗

shorter than his older brother and always seemed contented, to the point that he’d soon received the nickname Happy—a name that suggested he might be a bit simple-minded. But Mei-Ling knew better. Certainly he wasn’t ambitious or worldly-wise, or he’d never have married her. But he was just as intelligent as the rest of them. And he was kind. They’d only been married six months, and she was in love with him already.

There hadn’t been a chance to tell him about Nio since he came in. She was sure he’d beg her not to go, just to keep peace in the family. So what could she do? Sneak out at dawn without telling him?

At the back of the big room, old Mr. Lung was playing mah-jong with three of his neighbors.

Mr. Lung was always very calm. With his small grey beard, his skullcap, and his long, thin pigtail hanging down his back, he looked like a kindly sage. Now that he had two grown sons, he was content to step back from life and leave most of the hard work to them—though he still supervised his fields and collected all his rents. When he went around the village, he would give sweets to the children, but if their parents owed him money, he’d be sure he got it from them. Mr. Lung didn’t talk much, but when he did, it was usually to let people know that he was richer and wiser than his neighbors.

“A merchant once told me,” he remarked, “that he had seen a mah-jong set made of little blocks of ivory.” His set was made of bamboo. Poor people used mah-jong playing cards.

“Oh, Mr. Lung,” one of the neighbors politely asked, “will you buy an ivory set? That would be very elegant.”

“Perhaps. But so far I have never seen such a thing myself.”

They continued to play. His wife watched silently from her chair nearby. Her hair was pulled back tightly over her head, accentuating her high cheekbones. Her hard eyes were turned towards the tiles. Her expression seemed to indicate that if she had been playing, she would have done better.

After a time she turned towards Mei-Ling. “I saw your mother in the street today.” She stared balefully. “She had a boy with her. A Hakka boy.” She paused. “Your mother is a Hakka,” she added unpleasantly.

“Her mother was Hakka,” Mei-Ling said. “She is only half Hakka.”

“You are the first Hakka in our family,” her mother-in-law continued coldly.

Mei-Ling looked down. The message was clear. Her mother-in-law was telling her she knew about Nio’s visit—and waiting for her to confess. Should she do so? Mei-Ling knew she’d better. But a tiny flame of rebellion stirred deep within her. She said nothing. Her mother-in-law continued to stare.

“There are many tribes in southern China,” Mr. Lung announced, looking up from his game. “The Han moved in and dominated them. But the Hakka people are different. The Hakka people are a branch of the Han. They also came here from the north. They have their own customs, but they are like cousins to the Han.”

Mother said nothing. She might rule everyone else, but she could not argue with the head of the house. At least not in public.

“I have always heard so, Mr. Lung,” one of the neighbors chimed in.

“The Hakka people are brave,” said Mr. Lung. “They live in big round houses. People say they mixed with tribes from the steppe beyond the Great Wall, people like the Manchu. This is why even the rich Hakka do not bind their women’s feet.”

“People say they are very independent,” said the neighbor.

“They are trouble!” Mother suddenly shouted at Mei-Ling. “This Nio you call your Little Brother is a troublemaker. A criminal.” She paused only to draw breath. “From the family of your mother’s mother. He’s not even your relation.” For indeed, in the eyes of the Han Chinese, such a relationship on the female side hardly counted as family at all.

“I don’t think Nio has broken the law, Mother,” Mei-Ling said softly. She had to defend him.

The older woman didn’t even bother to reply. She turned to her younger son.

“You see what this leads to? Marriage is not a game. That’s why parents choose the bride. Different village, different clan; rich girl for rich boy, poor girl for poor boy. Otherwise, only trouble. You know the saying: The doors of the house should match. But no. You are obstinate. The matchmaker finds you a good bride. The families agree. Then you refuse to obey your own father. You disgrace us. And next, suddenly you tell us you want to marry this girl.” She glared at Mei-Ling. “This pretty girl.”

Pretty. It was almost an accusation. Every peasant family, even an important family like the Lungs, approved the good old adage: The ugly wife is a treasure at home. A rich man might choose a pretty girl as his concubine. But an honest peasant wanted a wife who would work hard, look after him and his parents, too. Pretty girls were suspect. They might be too vain to work. Worse, they might be coveted by other men.

All in all, the village had concluded, Second Son’s behavior had proved that he was a fool.

“She’s from a different clan,” he pointed out amiably.

“Clan? There are five clans in this village. You choose the smallest clan and the poorest family. Not only that, her Hakka grandmother was a merchant’s concubine. He threw her out when he was passing through the nearest town. She takes up with a plasterer, and they were glad to find a poor peasant to put a roof over their daughter’s head. A leaking roof. These are the parents of your bride.”

Mei-Ling bowed her head during this tirade. Though it was hurtful, she wasn’t embarrassed. There are no secrets in a village. Everybody knew.

“And now,” her mother-in-law concluded, “she wants to bring criminals into our house. And you just sit there and smile. No wonder people call you the family fool.”

Mei-Ling glanced at her