"Hua Hua, go wait for the coffin men. I'm talking to Xiao Xing." Only then, startled by his change of tone, did I realise Hua Hua was standing in the doorway, her head stuck halfway into the room. She pouted, but withdrew. I knew she hadn't gone far. She wouldn't miss an opportunity to hear a story about Chun Chi.
And what a story it was. There were several moments in the telling when Master Zhong stopped abruptly, his brows slackening, and I thought he had died. Each time, as I was wondering what to do, he started speaking again. He spoke into the small hours of the morning, his breath faltering, each word costing him a great deal of energy. I let him rest his head on my shoulder.
How full of fond memories the world is. How difficult it would be for anyone to extinguish each of them.
When I felt his body grow cold and stiff, his hump straightening, I knew he was finally at peace. At dawn, I arranged him on the bed. Before leaving, I turned to look at him one last time, the dry old body like a lump of wood left in the ashes of a great fire.
I absorbed his story into myself. I would continue to live and grow, bearing this knowledge, unchanged from the outside.
Hua Hua was waiting for me. She was an orphan now. Master Zhong had only mentioned her right at the end, when he said simply, "Take Hua Hua with you. Take her as your mistress, or as your servant. She has no one else in the world." He might have been describing an old umbrella. I nodded, and that was all we said about Hua Hua. So easy for an umbrella to change hands.
Hua Hua must have heard his words. When she saw me, her gaze had become humble, worshipful.
13
Following Master Zhong's instructions, I found the wooden implements inlaid with gold filigree, carved with birds and flowers. I took nothing else; the wooden box they were in would be buried with Master Zhong. After the coffin men had buried him, I packed the last batch of seashells and said to Hua Hua, "Let's go."
She nodded, and walked obediently behind me. Master Zhong's death was the end of her childhood, I realised. I would never hear her girlish laughter again.
I asked the maid to prepare a guest room, but Hua Hua insisted that she would sleep in the servants' quarters. Her humility was stiff, unnatural to her, almost as if she were sulking. I gave in to her. When she saw me the next morning, she bowed and greeted me, "Young Master. "I asked her to be seated, but without even looking at me she said she had too much housework to do.
And so Hua Hua became my servant, exactly as she wished. Without being asked, she took charge of every aspect of my life: laundry, cooking, cleaning. She wasn't very good at any of these things, but she put in a lot of effort. She avoided me, and when I sought her out refused to look at me, finding excuses to scurry away as quickly as possible. Annoyed, I tried to find fault with everything she did. She hadn't changed the sheets quickly enough. The tea was too strong, the soup too bland. Initially, I thought she would answer back, and we could have a fight — but instead, she bore it all with equanimity, no matter how unreasonable I was.
Only when I saw her hiding in the kitchen, tears running down her face, did I feel a twinge in my heart. I decided to let events go as she wished. Perhaps she only felt safe playing this role.
I didn't have a lot of time to think about Hua Hua's happiness. I was rushing to finish polishing the shells Master Zhong had left behind, before Chun Chi's return. He had told me how to do this on his deathbed, and now I had to put his instructions into practice, step by step.
If I could replace Master Zhong completely, then Chun Chi would need me more than anyone else in the world.
On a crisp morning, I sat at a stone table in the courtyard with the cleaned shells before me. From the bag of tools I brought out a long-bladed carving knife and began running it through the deep grooves of a shell. All extraneous matter had to be removed without damaging the pattern in any way. Certain shells such as the quail conch or red cowrie were exceptionally thin and easy to damage. Chun Chi discarded all imperfect shells, no matter how rare. Master Zhong had told me this and I hung on every word, determined to reach his level of skill.
Sometimes, when Hua Hua walked past, she looked at me strangely. Perhaps she found these careful movements familiar, could see the shadow of another person in my bloodshot eyes. She continued to be silent even as she saw me working by lamplight, becoming a person she recognised. As I worked, she stood silently nearby, only coming forward to trim the lamp if she thought the light had grown faint.
Everyone who lived in this house, sooner or later, developed an impenetrable shell.
14
When Chun Chi returned, she quickly realised that there was a girl in the house where no girl had been. Hua Hua brought her tea and couldn't help staring: such bright eyes, could they really be blind? She reached out a hand and waved it in front of Chun Chi's face. Unfortunately, Chun Chi's skin was sensitive enough to pick up even this slight movement.
Chun Chi hated strangers in the house, and here was one not even showing her proper respect. She pushed aside the tea cup so scalding water splashed onto Hua Hua, causing her to scream. No one in this house had ever emitted such a shrill sound. Shouting and sobbing were as forbidden as laughter here. At that moment, Hua Hua must have realised what a mausoleum she was in. Chun Chi summoned the maids and had them remove Hua Hua from the building.
I found Hua Hua shivering in the garden. She begged me not to send her away. Only now, in her fear, did she deign to show herself dependent on me. But I couldn't afford to anger Chun Chi for her sake. The most I could do was allow Hua Hua to remain outdoors. She spent the night there. When I came out at midnight, she was slumped over the stone trough where we'd first met, sorrowful even in sleep.
