Shanghai Love - Layne Wong (ebook reader wifi TXT) 📗
- Author: Layne Wong
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SHANGHAI LOVE
By Layne Wong
EXCERPT
Peilin watched as news of the impending Matchmaker’s visit set her
mother into a flurry of preparation. At eight, Peilin was not quite sure
what all the commotion was about but knew that it was important by
the way her mother swept their small dwelling with the new straw
broom and tended to the ancestors’ altar, burning fragrant ylang-ylang
incense and leaving offerings of barley, sorghum, and fresh
plums. All this so the gods watching overhead would send blessings
from above.
The day before the Matchmaker was to meet the Dus, Kwan
Taitai had instructed her cook to purchase the largest pig possible
and roast it with the finest basting of ginger, lemon, and honey. The
succulent gift was securely wrapped for the journey and delivered to
the Du family by the Matchmaker upon her arrival. At the day’s end,
Kwan Taitai hoped her marriage emissary would return bearing the
pig’s head and rump, a signal that the nuptial process had an auspicious
beginning with promises for an equally fortunate end.
Peilin, hidden behind the door, caught a glimpse of the
Matchmaker when she arrived the next day. A stocky woman missing
several front teeth, she presented the roasted pig to Mother, Father,
and Grandpa Du. Peilin noticed that her mother wore her best acorn brown
jacket and trousers as she led their guest to the large bamboo
mat in their small sitting room.
The elder Du had advised Peilin’s mother not to serve tea. Should
even a drop spill on this important day, Peilin’s future family would
withdraw their intentions, interpreting any mishap as a bad omen.
The Matchmaker kneeled as she pulled out a heavy and wellworn
almanac—the Ten-Thousand Year Calendar. Generations of
matchmakers had referred to this definitive text when predicting
future marriages. Once the visiting woman was ready, Mother Du
officially presented her with Peilin’s ba zi.
Peilin’s father, with his long straggly beard, paced the room. He
turned to Grandpa Du suddenly and announced, “Father, my own
sister did not receive such an opportunity. She was sold as a servant
at a very young age.”
“Aiiii!” lamented Grandpa Du, his heavy eyes cast downward.
“And I have regretted that decision so many times. I should have sold
the animals, the land—anything but my own flesh and blood.”
Peilin gasped. Prior to that point she hadn’t known she had an
aunt. She had heard of other girls in the village being sold off, but
she’d believed it was because they had done something wrong. Even
at her young age, Peilin knew in her heart that her adored grandfather
would never do such a thing unless he was forced.
“It was the drought,” Peilin’s father reminded him. “It was for
survival.”
“Still,” Grandpa Du sighed, “I should have figured out another
way.”
Father Du grunted. As the second son, all he had known was
hard work. Peilin could sense the pain on her father’s face. His older
brother, Quong-Yiu, had been groomed to be the herbalist, while
Father Du tended to the labor-intensive rice fields. But when the boys
were still young, a plague hit the village. Grandpa Du and Quong-Yiu
did all they could to treat the sick. Quong-Yiu was in constant contact
with the disease and soon fell ill. He died as a teenager and Grandpa
Du never fully recovered. He abandoned his herbal garden for many
years, choosing to join his second son in the fields. In the years after
the plague it was critical to their survival. Grandpa Du put his passion
for herbs, remedies, and helping others on permanent hold.
It wasn’t until all these many years later that Grandpa Du was
finally ready to return to the garden. It was partly about having the
stability to do so, but it was mostly because it took that many years to
heal from the loss of his first son. By the time Ping was born, Peilin
was already spending the majority of every day in the garden with
her grandfather. He had already claimed her as his little apprentice.
When Ping came along, he was naturally consigned to join his father
doing the hard labor of tending to the family’s fields.
Peilin continued to think about her aunt. She wondered how old
she had been when she’d been sold. Peilin shuttered to think, What if
it had been me?
Lost in contemplation, she didn’t detect Grandpa Du approaching
her. He must have sensed her distress because he reached over and
gently patted her on the back. The Matchmaker spoke up. “Destiny
cannot be changed.”
With her oversized magnifying glass, the stout matron returned
to the pages of her large book, flipping back and forth between several
charts. Grandpa Du studied the Matchmaker as she toiled with
her calculations. Peilin sensed that her grandfather might have once
agreed with the intense woman’s assessment of destiny’s immutable
quality, but here he was changing hers. A lifetime of toiling under the
hot sun and years of studying the healing power of herbs taught him
a new way of thinking—while destiny may be impossible to change,
it was possible to refine.
Working with Peilin’s eight characters, the Matchmaker drew
lines between the symbols, forming four columns. The venerable
time-honored system took years of training to master. Although it
was not customary, the sharp-witted woman attempted to explain her
calculations the best she could.
“The Four Pillars of Fate are anchored by the prospective bride’s
year, month, date, and time of birth,” she explained. “This first column
is called the Earthly Branch. Peilin was born in the year of the rooster.”
Mother Du nodded. “My daughter rises each day with the morning
sunlight.”
“There is more,” continued the Matchmaker. “The calendar is a
sixty-year cycle. Therefore the rooster appears five times—each with
a different Heavenly Stem—wood, fire, earth, metal, or water.” The
toothless matron returned to Peilin’s chart. “Your daughter’s stem is
metal—power energy. Her confident bird sign is supported by two
elements of wood.” The visiting matron smiled. “Kwan Taitai will be
pleased to hear this.”
Grandpa Du grinned as Peilin’s fate continued to grow more
positive. Peilin sensed that his heart was forever burdened with his
own children’s destiny. Anything he could do to change his granddaughter’s
might ease the difficult memory of what he’d allowed to
happen to his daughter.
“And Master Yao?” queried Peilin’s anxious mother. “What does
his chart reveal?”
The Matchmaker held up her hand, pulled out young Yao’s calculations,
and closely compared his to Peilin’s. “Kwan Taitai’s son is
a fire snake, supported by elements of earth,” she revealed. “Much
ambition, much power—fire must be kept under control,” she advised,
“For excess heat energy can be lethal.”
Mother Du twisted her hands together, plagued by this possible
cloud in her daughter’s future, but the Matchmaker assured the
family. “This is a small caution, not a big concern.”
Turning back to her almanac, the concentrating woman continued,
“The rooster and snake fall into the triangle of success.” She
looked up. “This is an excellent match.”
Now Peilin’s father turned to the Matchmaker. “But how can we
ever provide enough dowry for such a prosperous match?”
“Not to worry,” replied the confident fortune-teller. “The Kwans
will supply all that is needed, including the bridal dress. And due to
the distance, Peilin’s wedding preparations will take place at Dragon
Lake. The fact that Peilin’s eight characters match Master Yao’s will be
more than satisfactory for Kwan Taitai.”
With the session completed, the Matchmaker packed up her
belongings. As Peilin watched her mother wrap the pig’s head and
hindquarters for Kwan Taitai, she noticed her grandfather alone
outside.
Digging his walking stick into the ground, the elderly man
seemed to be murmuring. Peilin observed Grandpa Du turn his head
up toward the sky, but she was too far away to understand his words.
And with that, Peilin’s fate had been sealed.
.|
Peilin sat in front of the small dressing table in her new family’s
home. The Good Luck Lady took her time performing the combing
ritual on Peilin’s long hair. “The first combing symbolizes beginning
to end,” the old lady recited. “Second, for harmony all your life,” she
continued. “Third—”
The bathing room door flew open; the Matchmaker entered with
a flourish.
“What is taking so long in here?” she wailed. “Kwan Taitai is
nearly in hysterics—the entire family waits for Peilin’s entrance.”
But the attentive woman continued to stroke Peilin’s locks with
care. “Almost done. Third combing blesses this bride with many sons
and grandsons. Fourth—”
“Give me that comb,” snapped the Matchmaker, but the Good
Luck Lady held on tight.
“Fourth and final combing brings wealth and long-lasting marriage,”
she persisted. The Good Luck Lady finally put the comb down
and smiled at Peilin.
Coiling Peilin’s hair into a tight bun, the caretaker declared, “The
proper hairstyle for a married woman.” She held up the bronze mirror.
Peilin stared at her reflection, surprised by the change she witnessed
in her own features. Prior to this day, like all unmarried women, she
had only worn her hair in a long ponytail against her back.
“We must hurry,” said the Matchmaker, holding out the new
bride’s outfit.
Peilin slipped on the two-piece red silk hong qua—a dress
adorned with golden phoenixes, chrysanthemums, and peonies. Red
shoes decorated her tiny feet. This was the day she had been waiting
for for many years.
Finally, the ornate phoenix bridal crown was carefully fitted atop
Peilin’s head. It was embellished with numerous kingfisher feathers
and pearls. A red veil covering the bride’s face represented her loyalty
to her husband. As she rose for the first time, the elegant headdress
caused Peilin to balance herself against her kind caretaker.
The Good Luck Lady smiled. “Beautiful bride,” she cooed.
“Yes,” agreed the Matchmaker. “Like none I have ever seen.”
Continuing the customs, the Good Luck Lady turned so that
Peilin could climb upon her back and be properly presented to her
new family.
But Peilin stood, unable to move. A tear trickled down her cheek.
The old matron turned around and saw the sadness in Peilin’s
eyes. “Wah! Why is my pretty bride crying?”
Peilin bowed her head, unable to contain her heartache any
longer.
“Good Luck Lady, you have shown me much kindness, but
maybe you do not know,” whispered Peilin. “My future husband is
already dead. I am marrying a ghost.”
Layne Wong is a novelist and advocate who writes her characters through her own multi-cultural lens. Her perspective, based on her personal love story, takes into consideration influences that encompass culture, history and societal effects that are current and relevant and that impact all of humanity. Layne’s a native Californian. She graduated from UCLA with a degree in English Literature. She has written for TV and entertainment. She is of Chinese heritage, converted to Judaism in 2001, and married a Jewish man. More information can be found at www.laynewong.com
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Publication Date: 04-01-2013
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