Peach Blossom Pavilion (3 page)

I touched her hand. "Ma ...

Just as I was struggling to say something, Fang Rong's voice jolted us apart. "All right, let's go, better not be late." With that, the rickshaw puller lifted the poles and we started to move.

I turned back and waved to Mother until she became a small dot and finally vanished like the last morning dew.

Fang Rong rode beside me in silence. Houses floated by as the rickshaw puller grunted along. After twists and turns through endless avenues and back alleys, the rickshaw entered a tree-lined boulevard.

Fang Rong turned to me and smiled. "Xiang Xiang, we'll soon be there."

Though the air was nippy, the coolie was sweating profusely. We bumped along a crowded street past a tailor, an embroidery shop, a hair salon, and a shoe store before the coolie finally grunted to a stop.

Fang Rong paid and we got out in front of the most beautiful mansion I'd ever seen. With walls painted a pale pink, the building rose tall and imposing, with a tightly closed red iron gate fiercely guarded by two stone lions. At the entrance, a solitary red lantern swayed gently in the breeze. An ornate wooden sign above the lintel glinted in the afternoon sun. I shaded my eyes and saw a shiny signboard, black with three large gold characters: PEACH BLOSSOM PAVILION. On either side, vertical boards flanking the gate read:

Guests flocking to the pavilion like birds, Beauties blooming in the garden like flowers.

"Aunty Fang," I pointed to the sign, "what is this Peach-"

"Come on," Fang Rong cast me an annoyed look, "don't let your father wait," and pulled me along.

My father? Didn't she know that he was already dead? Just as I was wondering what this was all about, the gate creaked open, revealing a man of about forty; underneath shiny hair parted in the middle shone a smooth, handsome face. An embroidered silk jacket was draped elegantly over a lean, sinewy body.

He scrutinized me for long moments, then his face broke into a pleasant grin. "Ah, so the rumor is true. What a lovely girl!" His slender fingers with their long, immaculate nails reached to pat my head. I felt an instant liking for this man my father's age. I also wondered, how could the ugly-to-death Fang Rong catch such a nicelooking man?

"Wu Qiang," Fang Rong drew away his hand, "haven't you ever seen a pretty girl in your life?" Then she turned to me. "This is my husband Wu Qiang and your father."

"But Aunty-"

Now Fang Rong put on an ear-reaching grin. "Xiang Xiang, your father is dead, so from now on Wu Qiang is your father. Call him De."

Despite my liking for this man, in my heart no one could take the place of my father. "But he's not my de!"

Fang Rong shot me a smile with the skin, but not the flesh. "I've told you that now he is, and I'm your mother, so call me Mama."

Before I could protest again, she'd already half-pushed me along through a narrow entranceway. Then I forgot to complain because as we passed into the courtyard, my eyes beheld another world. Enclosed within the red fence was a garden where lush flowerbeds gave off a pleasing aroma. On the walls were painted lovely maidens cavorting among exotic flowers. A fountain murmured, spurting in willowy arcs. In a pond, golden carps swished their tails and gurgled trails of bubbles. A stone bridge led across the pond to a pavilion with gracefully upturned eaves. Patches of soothing shade were cast by artfully placed bamboo groves.

While hurrying after Fang Rong and Wu Qiang, I spotted a small face peeking out at me from behind the bamboo grove. What struck me was not her face but the sad, watery eyes which gazed into mine, as if desperate to tell a tale.

When I was on the verge of asking about her, Fang Rong cast me a tentative glance. "Xiang Xiang, aren't you happy that this is now your new home? Isn't it much better than your old one?"

I nodded emphatically, while feeling stung by those sad eyes.

"I'm sure you'll like it even better when you taste the wonderful food cooked by our chef," Wu Qiang chimed in enthusiastically.

Soon we arrived at a small room decorated with polished furniture and embroidered pink curtains. Against the back wall stood an altar with a statue of a white-browed, red-eyed general mounted on a horse and wielding a sword. Arrayed in front of him were offerings of rice, meat, and wine.

In the center of the room was a table set with chopsticks, bowls, and dishes of snacks. Fang Rong told me to sit between her and Wu Qiang. With no other etiquette, she announced that dinner would begin. A middle-aged woman brought out plates of food, then laid them down one by one on the table. After filling the bowls with rice and soup, she left without a word.

During the whole meal, Fang Rong kept piling food into my bowl. "Eat more, soon you'll be a very healthy and charming young lady."

I'd never before tasted food so delicious. I gulped down chunks of fish, shrimp, pork, chicken, and beef, washing them down with cup after cup of fragrant tea.

When dinner was finished, I asked, "Aunty Fang-"

"Didn't you forget that I'm now your mama?"

Her stare was so fierce that I finally muttered a weak, "Mama." I swallowed hard. "After dinner, are we going to see the master and the mistress of the mansion?"

Barely had I finished my question when she burst into laughter. Then she took a sip of her tea and replied meaningfully. "Ha, silly girl! Don't you know that we are your new master and mistress?"

"What do you mean?"

"That's what I mean-I am the mistress and my husband is the master of this Peach Blossom Pavilion."

"What is Peach Blossom Pavilion?"

"A book chamber."

I looked around but didn't see any books, not even bookshelves.

Fang Rong cast me a mysterious look. "A cloud and rain pavilion.

Now Wu Qiang added soothingly, "This is ... ah ... a turquoise pavilion."

"What-"

Fang Rong spat, "A whorehouse!"

Wu Qiang looked on with a mysterious smile while his wife burst out in a loud laugh. Then she chided me affectionately. "Why do people always have to have the entrails drawn?"

She was referring to the Chinese saying that when one paints a portrait, he even includes the intestines-an act redundant and stupid.

Shocked, it took several beats before I could utter, "But didn't you tell us that the master is a merchant of foreign trade?"

Fang Rong laughed, her huge breasts and bulging belly shivering. "Ha! Ha! It's true. From time to time we do entertain British, French, and American soldiers here. Don't you know you've just arrived at the night district of Si Malu? This is the most high-class shangren lane, where all the book chambers are found!"

I felt a queasiness simmering in my stomach. "You mean ... I was sold into-" Fang Rong's harsh voice pierced my ears. "No, you were not sold, silly girl! You were given to us as a gift-"

Using his long-nailed pinky to pick some meat from between his teeth while stealing a glance at me, Wu Qiang added, "We didn't even have to pay your mother."

"That's why we never forget to make offerings to the Buddha, Guan Yin the Goddess of Mercy, and," her sausage finger pointing to the sword-wielding, horse-riding general, "the righteous, money-bringing White-Browed God." Fang Rong winked, then pinched my cheek. "So, little pretty, see how they look after us!"

Now, as if he were my real father, Wu Qiang looked down at me tenderly, his voice unctuous. "Xiang Xiang, don't worry. From now on, you'll have plenty of good food to eat and pretty clothes to wear. You'll see we'll take care of you like you're our own daughter."

But they were not my mother and father. That night, alone, helpless, and abandoned, I cried a long time before I fell asleep in the small, bare room to which I'd been led.

My only hope was that my mother would write to me and soon come to visit.

2

The North Station

-n the following days, it surprised me that my anger at being ,tricked into the prostitution house had gradually waned. I had to admit, with embarrassment, that life here didn't seem to be so bad after all. Fang Rong kept her promise to my mother-I was well clothed and fed. Moreover, I felt relieved to be spared, not only from accompanying clients but also from the menial chores like washing clothes, scrubbing floors, cleaning spittoons, emptying chamber pots. Those jobs were given to maids-girls too plain to ever serve as "sisters."

In comparison to their work, mine was easy: serving the sisters and their customers while they played mahjong; refilling the guests' water pipes and serving them tea and tobacco; helping the cook in the kitchen; carrying messages for the sisters; running errands for Fang Rong. Needless to say, I didn't like serving Fang Rong, but I actually enjoyed the other tasks. Especially the mahjong playingwhen the game was finished, the customers always tipped me generously by secretly pushing money into my hand.

Moreover, when the game finished and dinner was served in the banquet room, a puppy would always materialize to gobble bits of food thrown down by the guests and sisters. He was so cute that whenever I saw him, I'd pick him up, squeeze him in my arms, and bury my face into his fluffy yellow fur. Strangely, he was never given a name, but was just called "Puppy." One time when I'd asked a sister why didn't the puppy have a name, she laughed, "Because we don't want to bother. Why don't you give him one?" And I did. So he became Guigui-good baby. Guigui began to recognize me and follow me almost everywhere. His favorite place was beside me in the kitchen while I helped the chef, Ah Ping.

Ah Ping, a fortyish, mute, and half-witted woman, always secretly fed me and Guigui with goodies. For a chef, she was unusually thin. I always stared at her hollow cheeks and wondered why she never seemed to have any appetite. Or why she only spoke with jumbled sounds which no one could understand.

I carried out my chores mostly during my spare time. My main duty in the pavilion was to learn the arts-singing parts from Peking and Kun operas; playing the pipa-a four-stringed lute resembling a pear; painting; and practicing calligraphy.

The painting and calligraphy teacher was Mr. Wu, an old man in his forties. I felt very fond of him not only because he painted well, but, also because he was a very kind teacher-never scolding but gently redirecting my brush to show me how to form the strokes more elegantly. The opera teacher, Mr. Ma, was younger than Mr. Wu, but also pretty old-thirty-eight. I didn't like him, for he looked at me strangely and would accidentally brush his hand against my face, my belly, sometimes even my breast (when he demonstrated how to lead my breath from my chest down to my dantian- cinnabar field).

A young woman named Pearl was assigned to teach me to play the pipa. Beautiful with shiny black hair and sparkling white teeth, Pearl was the most popular sister in the pavilion. Although I was extremely fond of her, somehow she also made me feel uneasy. I found it hard to tell what kind of a person she really was-sometimes sweet and lively like a rabbit, at other times arrogant and difficult like a cat. Though usually bright and bubbly, at moments she would become sad, as if burdened with forbidden secrets.

Besides Pearl's unpredictable temper, I had another source of unease in the turquoise pavilion-the pair of sad eyes peeking out from the bamboo grove and staring at me whenever I passed the courtyard.