Chapter One
The Good and Filial Daughter
The Huaxia Dynasty
The 26th year of Emperor Taolin’s Reign
1423
The blackened air was thick with smoke, and the heat was stifling. In the center of it all stood a massive Buddha statue, its presence a stark contrast to the destruction surrounding it. The flames licked at its feet, but the serene smile on its face remained unchanged. Its eyes, closed in peaceful meditation, seemed to see beyond the chaos and destruction unfolding around it.
She could feel the intense heat prick and sizzle her skin. The air was thick with the stench of smoke, burning debris, and wood. The burning hair on her head added a putrid, acrid sickening scent to the mix, making her stomach churn. Overcome by fear, a fear unlike any she had ever felt before. Despite the fear, smoke stung her eyes and filled her lungs, the remnants of burnt particles coating her tongue, making it hard to swallow. She summoned all of her strength and screamed out, “Mother!”
In the darkness, I cry out, my body trembling jolting awake in a state of panic. My hand searched, reaching out frantically to find something to cling to for comfort. Sitting up in bed, beads of sweat form on my hairline as my heart races against my chest. “Meihua Wang, it’s okay. It’s nothing. Silly, it’s just a dream,” I whisper to myself, trying to calm down. Mother stirs restlessly in the bed she shares with Father on the other side of our small room, her faint voice hoarse with sleep as she asks if I’ve had another nightmare.
Trying not to worry her, I mustn’t worry Mother, I reply with a forced cheeriness that it was nothing but a bad dream. She sighs airy and shallow from the pressure of the baby pressing against her sternum. She is pregnant again. After giving birth to twins two summers ago, the midwife had warned Mother that another pregnancy so soon would be dangerous for her. But my father’s affections seemed unyielding, and despite the risks, they continued their ventures in the bedroom. I’ve watched helplessly as Mother’s condition worsens each day. She’s barely able to get out of bed, and when she does, it’s only for short periods before retreating under the covers. With my mother’s pregnancy keeping her bedridden, in the mornings, I have developed a routine to manage all of the household responsibilities. Without waking my two youngest siblings who share a narrow bed with me, I slip out and braid my hair. In the darkness, I dress quickly and silently, making sure not to disturb anyone as the rooster begins to crow.
Stepping on tiptoes, I carefully make my way through the front room, which is now used as a bedroom for the rest of my six younger siblings. The tiny room is filled to the brim with bodies, all spread out like a litter of kittens, murmuring and shifting in their sleep. Suddenly, a small voice speaks up. “Jiejie, is it morning already?” Little four sits up, rubbing her drowsy eyes. Her messy black hair falls wildly around her face like a bird’s nest, and her eyes still carry the weight of slumber. Underneath the layers of siblings, blankets, and clothes, her small frame is barely visible. “No, it’s still too early. You need more rest if you want to grow taller. I’ll make your favorite congee for breakfast once I finish my morning chores,” I reply as I pick up a basket of dirty laundry.
Without making hardly any noise, I walk to the front of the house and enter the small kitchen. It’s a tight space, barely large enough for the wood-fired stove and sink. The morning light streams through a small window with a broken wooden frame, casting shadows on the peeling walls and dusty floor, exposing all the signs of this old and worn house. I quickly replenish last night’s fire with brush, hay, and kindling since we can’t afford coal. Then, I place a kettle over the warm stove to make Father’s tea. The unmistakable scent of burning wood fills the air from the early morning fire. Next, I take two measured buckets of fresh well water from the ceramic jug in the corner of the kitchen and pour it into the bowl of uncooked rice to soften it up. I’ll mix in last night’s leftover vegetables to create this morning’s breakfast of congee. Finally, I grab a basket of dirty clothes and tuck it under my arm as I leave the kitchen.
Quietly slipping into one of the many cloth shoes in the front entryway, I notice my worn cotton slippers are too small and there’s a little hole forming at the biggest toe. The look of it doesn’t bother me. It makes me giggle to see my toe peeking out but my toes ache from being crammed and curled up against the toe box. Placing the wicker basket down, I reposition my feet, repeatedly stomping on and breaking the firm heels down to allow my feet more room. While adjusting my shoes, I feel my dress pulling. It’s always been a hand-me-down from Mother, but I’ve grown taller and now it seems impossible to ignore its snugness on me. The sleeves of the worn-from-wear dress pull at my arms, preventing me from lifting them properly and the soft material is starting to fray at the wrists. The shoulders are too narrow, restricting my movements and the chest area is so tight that it almost feels suffocating. I glance down at the hemline and realize that it’s risen above my ankles now. I think other girls would cry for a new dress and shoes but there’s no use dwelling on these idle thoughts when there are more pressing matters at hand like making breakfast for my hungry siblings so I shrug my ill-fitting clothing concerns away and quickly start my day.
Silence. There isn’t anyone else around. The sun is just starting to break and rise over the mountains in the distance, casting a warm orange glow overhead. The crisp spring morning air greets me as I step outside. I whistled a greeting at my early morning feathered friends and the familiar sound of chirping birds echoed through the stillness, a symphony of nature that is always comforting to my ears. I prefer to wash before the other women in the neighborhood or everyone else in the family wakes up. It’s my quiet time, a rare moment of peaceful solitude in a busy home that often feels too crowded with ten other family members living under one roof sharing two small rooms. Reaching the river, I set down the basket and removed my uncomfortable shoes. There isn’t anyone around to judge me or tell me that my behavior isn’t proper and the clear cascading water is cold against my bare feet but also refreshing. I take a deep breath, offer the Gods’ gratitude for the things I have which is more than others, and systematically begin to wash the clothes, rubbing them against the round and rough stones by the riverbank humming to myself.
The laundry is piled high in the basket, each garment stained and soiled from wear. You would think, my siblings rolled around in dirt and mud all day like piglets, they are incredibly messy dirty little creatures. My fingers stiffen working tirelessly, rubbing the last remnant of soap into the fabric and trying to scrub away every speck of dirt and grime. Not an easy task. With each piece I washed, my cold hands stiffen growing redder and more raw, but I can’t stop. The sad sight of my mother’s deteriorating health is a constant on my mind, a reminder of why I need to finish this daily task quickly and rush home to warm her tea. Lost in thought, I fail to realize someone approaching until they speak up behind me but I know who it is without raising my gaze. “Boo,” he says. There’s only one person in the world who knows where to find me this time in the morning, “You shouldn’t be here, Ming. Your father will beat you again if he finds out.” I say between the hard scrubs of the shirt in my hands. I may sound annoyed but I’m happy for his company.
“Good morning to you too, Meihua,” Ignoring my tone, he greets me with a warmly. “You are up early, as always and so diligent. Your parents’ must have obtained great merits in their past life to have such a good and filial daughter,” Ming butters me up with compliments and an offering of a small woven basket full of irresistible tangerines. “Aya, don’t shoo me away. I come bearing gifts. Your favorite. Food.” He chuckles and I wag my finger at him disapprovingly but my mouth waters at the sight of the small orange fruit in his hand. “Your mother will kill me if I eat her prized beloved tangerines,” I state glaring at him disapprovingly and grumbling like a grouchy bear but that doesn’t keep me from reaching out for the fruit in his hand and shoving it into my mouth in whole. At the sight of my cheeks puffing out like a chipmunk when the whole fruit disappears in my mouth, he laughs and I do too between bites.
A comfortable silence sets as Ming and I lounge by the river bank, indulging in juicy stolen tangerines and taking in the serene flow of water before us. Our friendship stretches back as far as my memory can reach. We were inseparable, causing mischief from dawn until dusk. This was all before our fathers’ friendship dissipated. Once upon a time, they had toiled on the canals and loved getting drunk together when they got paid, but now Ming’s father has become a shopkeeper while mine remained a common backbreaking laborer still working on the canals. Our differing social statuses mean we have to meet in secret, away from prying eyes.
Ming breaks the silence with a heavy sigh. “The matchmaker visited my household. There’s a girl in a nearby province. The daughter of a noodle shop owner. She’s wealthy but has a mole the size of a walnut on her face. How am I supposed to look at a face like that for the rest of my life when I’ve grown used to looking at yours?” I’m taken aback astonished by his sudden mention of marriage. My best friend Ming, getting married. How was that even possible? He is just sixteen years old, the same age as me. “Do you not have a say in this? It’s your life.” I ask, unable to comprehend or make sense of the situation. “My father says it’s for the benefit of our family, for business reasons,” Ming responded bitterly. “He wants to secure alliances and expand our family’s noodle business.”
Indignation bubbled up inside me at the thought of anyone being forced into a loveless marriage for financial gain, especially Ming. It doesn’t seem fair that someone should have to sacrifice their love for money or family. I don’t even know if I have romantic feelings for him, but that didn’t matter. “What about love?” I demand. Sticky mandarine flavor spittle sprays from my mouth when I blurt out, feeling foolish for asking such an idealistic and naive question nevertheless a question I must ask. Ming avoids my gaze and replies peevishly, “I don’t have a choice in this matter. It’s too late, everything has already been decided. The wedding date is set for next week.” He pauses before continuing with furrowed brows and determination, “This marriage is why I need you to help me. Meihua, let’s run away tonight. We’ll figure the future out together. I swear on my ancestors, you won’t have to spend your days washing clothes in the dark and cleaning after your siblings like a maid as you do now. I promise we’ll send money back to support your family when we get situated. I’ll be good to you and maybe we could be like a real couple in time and get married. I’ll return home for my hidden money and take anything of value for us to sell. Please, Meihua. Meet me by the old bridge at midnight. I’ll be waiting for you.”