Yin Yang Love Song

Chapter 1 Chryssy

Chapter 1

CHRYSSY

I t takes less than two seconds to break a person’s heart.

Saying the words “I want to break up” happens in the span of a couple of heartbeats.

“We should go our separate ways.”

“I don’t see a future for us.”

“I never want to see you again.”

All statements that can be muttered, spat out, or whispered in less time than it takes to breathe in and out.

I know because, after breakup number four, I started timing it.

“We’re better as friends” came from Nate. One heartbeat.

“It’s not you, it’s me,” said Kal, who was a walking cliché from the start. Two heartbeats.

“I’m leaving town, but you should stay.” Three beats. An outlier, but Leif always was.

“It’s over” was from Harry. Half a heartbeat. Overachiever.

And then there was Chris, the one who there was never supposed to be a breakup with. The one who eagerly agreed to a lavender-field wedding venue and preemptively selected the type of champagne we were going to pop. The one who went through the effort of hiding an engagement ring in the lamb heart waiting to be dissected in med school to make our supposed forever a big and memorable show. The one who, I like to think, felt so badly about severing our relationship with a vague “We want different things” that he told me to keep said ring.

I know I should’ve seen the breakup coming, and not because “Chryssy and Chris” was a little too cute. Chris always liked a challenge, until, of course, his vision of being a power couple was the thing being challenged. And nothing threatens the dream of two high-powered doctors running the country’s top hospitals like dropping out of med school.

I should’ve seen it coming because when you have a cursed family lineage, heartbreak is inevitable.

When you’re a Hua woman, there’s no escaping being broken up with or left—not then, not now, not ever. Though I do sometimes hold out for some Everything Everywhere All at Once alternate universe where maybe things could be different and we’re the heartbreakers.

What baffles me is that I truly believed Chris would be different. That I would be different from my family. That I was untouchable and so in love that I actually laughed about the curse despite eight breakups in a row that should’ve taught me otherwise.

Then came the lamb heart and the ring and the wedding venue before minds changed and plans got canceled and everything that was to come suddenly wasn’t.

I’m not laughing anymore.

Now I have guidelines in place to protect myself. I’m not special. I’m no different from any of the Hua women who came before me. The curse will always be there waiting for me, like taxes, death, and the eventual need for reading glasses.

When it comes to matters of the heart, I believe everyone has some sort of heartbreak inside of them, whether they’re aware of it or not. Under typical circumstances, people can become stronger from it. They might realize that their identities aren’t tied to the breakup and that they’re capable of loving again.

But heartbreak can also be sudden, and sudden changes stress our bodies. These changes throw us out of balance. With a few words and a couple of heartbeats, the entire ecosystem of a body can be disrupted. Poisoned. Thrown into chaos and sickness and pain. An entire life changes, and a dreamed-about future dissolves.

For our guests, that’s where I come in.

As a Traditional Chinese Medicine chef and acupuncturist, I live and work on Whidbey Island, Washington, with my three aunties at the Wildflower Inn, a holistic retreat where we incorporate TCM practices—acupuncture, herbal medicine and nutrition, mindful movement, and immersion in nature—to help heal heartbreak. Everything we do is to help people restore balance after heartbreak throws their minds and bodies out of harmony.

And the thing with heartbreak is that it’s about so much more than just the heart itself. In TCM, the heart is the king of all organs. In fact, it’s so important that the other organs in our body will sacrifice energy to help maintain balance in the heart. Our Shen—our spirit—lives in the heart. We need to create a stable environment for our inner essence. To do this, we need to take care of our entire body.

Physical symptoms and ailments—digestive issues or insomnia or anxiety or chronic pain—are often the result of emotions, such as grief and heartbreak, being endured for a period of time. But in the long run, heartbreak can also balance us and give us new perspectives on love, life, and ourselves. We learn the value of love through loss. It’s the yin and yang of love.

Heartbreak gives our guests an opportunity to reset. To rebalance. To heal. To start again.

This was a lesson I had to learn the hard way.

All these thoughts of heartbreak swirl around in my head as I watch snow machines being rolled into a large tent. Instead of working with clients at the inn, today I’m in the backyard of a Beverly Hills mansion owned by none other than A-list actress Rita Sharpe and her big-time movie producer husband, Brent Sharpe. As a former Wildflower Inn guest who stayed three whole months and completely revamped her lifestyle, Rita doesn’t know how to do anything halfway. When she commits, she goes all in.

This $100,000-plus-budget birthday party for her four-year-old son, Charlie, is just more proof. The theme is supposedly inspired by Antonio Vivaldi’s The Four Seasons , four violin concertos that depict spring, summer, fall, and winter.

Rita and Brent are convinced that Charlie is a violin prodigy. He was, after all, born on the exact same day as Vivaldi. There’s roughly 343 years between the two, but who knows? Maybe Charlie really is Vivaldi reincarnate.

Despite this coincidence, there was leniency with the dates. Since March 4 falls on a school day and the Oscar-winning director wasn’t available until now to direct the livestream that’s being broadcast to Rita’s millions of social media followers, we’re celebrating in mid-May.

My theory? It’s a manifestation party, but what do I know about prodigies? I’m here to provide herbal beverages and baked goods for a modest sum that will plump up our marketing budget. And to get some face time with Rita, the new ambassador of our flower tea line, In Full Bloom. When we launch next month, our product should get a huge boost from Rita’s famous name alone, and her endorsement will help us recoup the savings my aunties and I poured into this venture. After an unsuccessful product pitch to the Hua women, we only have my dad’s investment to help cover mailing out product bundles to influencers.

To celebrate, Rita and Brent have re-created the four seasons on their property. In the farthest corner of the yard is spring, which we’ve just come from. Hundreds of buckets of fresh flowers were artfully arranged to look like blooming meadows and new beginnings. For thirty minutes, kids made daisy garlands and learned the art of flower arranging.

Now we’re in summer, where kids are building sandcastles on hauled-in sand from Santa Monica Beach. Colorful balloon garlands stretch over vendors offering face painting, artisanal ice cream, and tutorials on weaving camp lanyards. Once everyone’s eaten enough hot dogs, we’ll walk over to fall, where mounds of crunchy sepia-toned leaves await. The entire event is picture-perfect, as it should be. In addition to the livestream, it’s being photographed for national newspapers and lifestyle magazines.

My phone vibrates against the table, drawing my attention away from the backdrop of rock music played on some kind of string instruments blasting over the speakers.

I tap into a social media post Auntie Violet has sent me. Magnolia, my second cousin, poses in a selfie on the peak of Arthur’s Seat in Edinburgh. The caption below explains that she’s moving on to her next adventure. One without her boyfriend of five years. Last I heard, this was supposed to be the trip where they got engaged.

The curse strikes again, Auntie Violet includes with the post.

I glance once more at the smiley digital memento from Magnolia’s solo trip to Scotland. A signal that she’s doing totally fine and that nothing’s going to stop her from seeing the world.

Heartbreak be damned.

In her eyes, though, I see a tinge of sadness, and my heart aches at the sight. I email myself a note to send her a “bouquet” of In Full Bloom. When she gets back to the States, she’ll have chrysanthemum, rose, and chamomile teas waiting for her.

I reach into the mini-fridge next to my table for a beverage of my own when I realize that what should be a cool fridge is now a slightly warm one. I press the button on my electric teakettle. No power there, either. The light on the power strip is off, refusing to turn on as I flip the switch back and forth.

No one’s waiting for tea, so I abandon my table and follow the power strip cord to its source, stepping around photographers, vendors, and screaming children. Once I’m past the pool, I yank the cord. There’s no resistance.

My suspicions are confirmed: I’ve been unplugged.

Through a group of parents trying to enjoy the music while also keeping one eye on their children, I spot two men playing instruments a few feet from the power station. I tilt my head, catching glimpses of the duo through the crowd. Their eyes are closed as they perform, totally immersed in a song I can’t quite place. Near their feet, a tangled mass of cords surrounds them.

I duck down to stay out of sight in my search for an empty outlet.

Time to get my power back.

The musicians play what look like electric cellos, their equipment taking up a couple of outlets. I slowly crawl behind them, my movements partially hidden by their speakers, which are connected to a different power source. The only nonessential use I find is the outlet charging a laptop. I pull the charger out of its socket.

No more wilting herbs for me! But before I can plug my cord in, a voice booms over me.

“You,” the deep voice says.

I peer up at the man from my position on all fours, my knees digging into the sand. He’s an ominous shadowy figure with the sun flaring behind him.

He steps into full view, revealing the face of none other than Vin Chao, one-half of the rock cellist duo the Chao Brothers. I don’t know much about them other than they’re often making headlines, not for their relationships but for their breakups. You don’t become known as the Heartbreaker Cellists of Rock without a few It’s not you, it’s me s.

I don’t personally listen to their music, but Auntie Violet is a big fan. She’s always playing their songs a little too loudly from her acupuncture room. The Chao Brothers have made cameos as themselves in a few star-studded movies—a heist film, an adventure, and a comedy—which is the main reason why I recognize them at all.

I try to absorb every second of this interaction, knowing that I’ll need to recall this moment to Auntie Violet in a very detailed play-by-play.

I stand, rubbing my sandy hands together. I look from the man in front of me to the one behind him. The other guy must be Leo. Though they’re brothers and share similarities, they’re pretty distinct looking. Vin’s hair is shorter and a shade darker, one strand going rogue and forming a reverse comma across his forehead. Leo has lighter, longer hair that extends past his earlobes.

Typically, the celebrities or musicians I meet or see from afar are shorter in real life, the screen and stage giving them a boost. This isn’t the case with the Chao Brothers. Up close and personal, they’re true to size, if not taller.

The music has stopped, even though Leo is still moving his bow over the strings. Odd. I watch on, confused at the action-sound disconnect.

When Vin sees what I’m witnessing, he places his cello in its stand and rushes over to Leo. He says something to him and then to the crowd surrounding them. The group begins to disperse, though a few people hold out invitations and cocktail napkins for him to sign.

I’m turning to leave when Vin’s voice stops me again. “Did you want an autograph?”

I spin back slowly. “That’s not why I came over here,” I say, though getting them to sign something would be a great birthday present for Auntie Violet.

I peek over at Leo, who’s no longer playing. He keeps his eyes trained on the ground and his arms crossed over a stained black T-shirt.

Vin holds his hand over his chest, the buttons of his dark gray top visible between his fingers. “I’m Vin. Vin Chao,” he says in a humbling move, as though he’s not a world-famous musician I recognize. “Is there something else I might be able to help you with then…?”

Vin’s deep voice is steeped with what sounds a lot like charm. His mouth hooks up into a grin as he rests his hand on the back of his cello. Is Vin Chao flirting with me?

“Chrysanthemum,” I say. “Chryssy.”

“Very nice to meet you, Chrysanthemum Chryssy,” Vin says.

When my eyes lock with his, my breath catches in my chest, and I fumble with the cord, nearly dropping it. I’m momentarily distracted from my mission: Get Power Back.

I raise an eyebrow at him. “Delighted to make your acquaintance, Vin Vin Chao.”

Vin’s smile grows before he narrows his eyes at me, one of his lower eyelids slightly twitching as he does so. The stare-off gives me time to understand what’s happening here but also to get a good look at him. Vin’s face looks freshly shaven, whereas his brother’s has a slight stubble, and his intense, light brown eyes pierce straight through me.

My gaze slides down his left-leaning nose that disrupts his otherwise symmetrical features. The incline is endearing, in a way. It gives his objectively handsome face an edge of personality. It’s a less-than-perfect feature in a man whose innate talent has been deemed by many as “flawless.”

Vin reaches for his laptop cord to reconnect it to the source, clearly unbothered by my electrical needs. Looks like the power imbalance won’t be restored.

“Was there something else?” Vin asks, lingering. Given what I know about his reputation, he’s probably waiting for me to give him my number or something.

“You give love a bad name,” I say with a snap of my fingers.

A temporary storm cloud passes over Vin’s face, and his grin morphs into a deep frown.

I point to his cello. “The song you were playing. Bon Jovi, right?”

For a second, his face neutralizes. “Oh.” Then he nods. That’s it. Just nods. Not even a “yeah” or any other verbal confirmation.

My eyes dart between his instrument and the laptop. “Are you…”

“No.”

“You don’t know what I was going to ask,” I say.

After a beat, he exhales. “Are you what?”

I twist one of my flower earrings, the silver petals digging into the pads of my fingers. I look from the laptop to the speaker to the outlet. Why did their laptop stop the music? It’s then I notice that Leo’s cello isn’t actually plugged in. The pieces click into place: laptop, music, Leo’s soundless playing.

“Oh. I see,” I mumble.

“What do you see?” Vin asks, his charm-coated voice now thick with skepticism.

I stand on my toes to get closer to Vin’s ear. “Your secret’s safe with me,” I whisper, swinging my cord around in small circles like a lasso. “You can keep my outlet.”

A literal grunt escapes Vin, though it sounds more like a growl.

I sneak a longer glance at Leo. Shallow breathing, zoned-out expression, pretending to play… my mind whirs with possibilities, but all signs point to heartbreak. Vin’s playing for real, but his partner is a prerecorded Leo, not the real one.

In my mind, I run through my list of ingredients. I think I brought everything I’d need for my Heartbreak Tea Blend. “I’ll be back with some tea to help balance you both out,” I offer.

“We’re going to have to pass, as delicious as that sounds,” Vin says. His tone very clearly tells me he doesn’t really think so.

I blink a few times. “Okay, no problem,” I say, holding my hands up. “I’ll let you get back to… playing.”

My tone gives me away, and Vin catches it.

“We’re playing,” he insists.

“And you do it well,” I reassure him, fully knowing their playing is as real as the snow we’re about to experience over in winter. To make matters worse, I throw a thumbs-up at him.

A few people have started to circle around us, maybe thinking I’m part of the next song. Vin watches them, clearly becoming aware of the small crowd forming.

“That’s why the music stopped!” Rita says behind me, as though the three of us gathered together explains everything. It’s a high seventy degrees, and she’s been running around from season to season, yet there’s not a bead of sweat on her. How do celebrities do it? “Chrysanthemum! I was just on my way to your table. But here you are! And I see you’ve met Vin and Leo Chao, our two superstars of today’s event.”

I glance over at the brothers. While Vin looks displeased, Leo looks like he might… cry?

“Our wires got crossed,” I supply.

“What an honor to have you both here!” Rita says to Vin and Leo as her eyes nearly shape-shift into stars. “I’m—It’s… wow. Seriously. Thank you. My little Charlie’s going to be just like you two when he grows up.”

Vin releases an irritated sigh through his nose, his chest deflating on the exhale, but throws on a smile and says, “He’ll be even better.”

Rita holds her hands in prayer formation, and I’m mesmerized by the sparkle of the diamond on her ring finger that’s the size of a hydrated rosebud. She definitely didn’t have that when she came to the inn heartbroken. Rita may have money and be incredibly famous, but without all of the styled hair and makeup, she was unrecognizable to me as the Rita Sharpe, the Asian American actress making waves in Hollywood.

At the time, she was going through a bad breakup and wasn’t eating or sleeping. She took us up on the full program that we offer. Over time, she regained her appetite, her blood pressure stabilized, and her Qi rebalanced. Now she treats me like she’s indebted to me, but she was the one who made the lifestyle changes.

Within the year, Rita met the love of her life and, shortly after, had Charlie. Now, four years later, here we are. There’s nothing more fulfilling than helping someone through pain and heartbreak and seeing them come out happier and healthier on the other side.

Rita wraps her arm around my shoulders. “I’m so glad you’ve met Chrysanthemum. This one cleans up your messes,” she tells the brothers.

The muscles running up Vin’s jawline stretch. He reaches into his pocket and reveals his phone. “I need to take this,” he says.

I shake my head at his classic get-out-of-a-conversation trick.

Vin places his bow on a hook before stomping toward the guesthouse with his phone pressed to his ear.

Leo does the same and trails behind as Vin pushes past the small group waiting for music, ignoring their requests for autographs. I attempt a half-hearted wave but hastily pull my hand back when they don’t look my way again. Not even a goodbye or nice to meet you , which would’ve been an overstatement for us both.

“Come!” Rita says with a clap, turning me away from the brothers.

She swishes her head toward me, and her dark brown hair lands perfectly in place under her floppy sun hat. The aroma of her spa-like scent gives me secondhand relaxation. “What’d you think of those two? Brent just worked on a movie with them and said they’re wonderful.”

“Brent thinks that because he wasn’t broken up with by them,” I retort.

Rita laughs and links her arm through mine. “They may be serial daters, but their commitment to music is admirable. I really do hope my Charlie can have a career like theirs one day,” she says. “Vin played for the president when he was just five years old.”

“A lot can happen in a year,” I tell her encouragingly.

“You have to start them young,” she says. “Vin and Leo are around your age now, I think. What are you, thirty?”

“Thirty-two.”

“Leo’s the oldest. Thirty-four maybe? Vin must be your age,” Rita calculates. “Surely you’ve seen them plastered on billboards all over town. They’re the new faces of that prestigious coffee company, Brew Haus. ‘Barista-quality, brewed at home.’” Her voice takes on a sales-y tone.

“I don’t drink coffee,” I admit, still stuck on the brothers’ brand. “Being heartbreakers is an interesting identity to proudly claim, don’t you think?”

Rita waves to a group of parents across the saltwater pool. “It’s not what I’d choose to be,” she says, shuffling next to me. “Come to think of it, I should introduce him to the other Leo.”

“DiCaprio?”

“I think they’d really hit it off,” she says before stopping herself. “No, wait. They played at his birthday party a few years back. They’re friends.” We pause for her to accept a small scoop of cantaloupe with a thin shaving of prosciutto and mint. “The Chao Brothers are some of the best at what they do. Honestly iconic. Between them both they have a case full of Grammys, Emmys, and a potential Oscar nomination, thanks to Brent’s movie. Fingers crossed!”

“Impressive,” I mutter to myself.

Rita pulls the melon ball off the toothpick with her teeth. “Just don’t date them,” she says around a bite. “They’ll only break your heart.”

“No chance of that,” I say assuredly.

Rita and I have known each other for a while, but what she doesn’t know is that I can’t get my heart broken. To be heartbroken means you have to care. Caring requires a certain degree of vulnerability, which means opening yourself up to love. And that is exactly what I’m not doing anymore.

After Chris, I’m tired. Tired of all the emotions that come with being in a relationship. Tired of being broken up with nine times in a row with no end to the tally in sight.

I’ve seen too many heartbreaks in clients, in my family’s life, and in my own. If I’m ever in a relationship again, it needs to be casual. A middle ground with no highs or lows. I just need to be with someone I can tolerate, maybe even enjoy being around, but not someone who I’ll be in shambles over when the relationship ends. Because it always, inevitably, without a doubt, ends. It has for generations.

“Though maybe you should get their number. It could be good for business if they can send all their exes your way,” Rita muses.

The last thing I need is the number of yet another heartbreaker.

When we reach my table, Rita immediately grabs a flower-pressed rosemary and ginger scone and takes a big bite. “I missed these!” she mumbles around a mouthful of the baked good. “You’re my best-kept secret. More people need to know about you.”

I smile. “Thanks, but they don’t need to know about me . They need to know about In Full Bloom, and with your help, they will!” I say on a relieved exhale as a cameraman circles us and snaps photos.

Rita starts chewing a little too fast. She barely swallows before taking another bite. It’s obvious she’s trying to avoid telling me something. Her face is serene, but the tiniest wrinkle of hesitation next to her eyebrow gives her away.

“What is it?” I ask, my voice cracking.

Rita wipes crumbs from her lips and pastes on a cheery expression, hyperaware of the cameras. “About that. I don’t know how to tell you this, but I can’t be your brand ambassador anymore,” she says through a forced million-dollar smile, her lips hardly moving. She looks happy, but her bummed-out tone tells me otherwise.

Disappointment floods through me all at once, but I try my hardest not to let it show.

Rita leans in close, turning toward me. “This is top secret, but I’m starting a gin company. I’m not actually running it, of course, but I’ll be the face. You know how Hollywood is. My looks will fade, but alcohol is forever.”

“Literally,” I mumble, thinking about the homemade, vodka-soaked vanilla bean extract that’s been handed down through our family line like heirloom jewelry and superstitions. And, yes, even curses.

“I’m very sorry, Chrysanthemum. I feel terrible,” she says earnestly. “I didn’t realize I was already legally bound to the gin company before you and I shook on it.”

Handshake agreements may work in Hollywood, but they’re clearly pretty weak. I’ve gone cold, my skin sensitive to the warm afternoon, but Rita’s been nothing but supportive. The least I can do is be excited about her big news.

I compose myself and clasp her sconeless hand in mine. “Congrats, Rita. That’s exciting. Ryan Reynolds never saw you coming.”

Rita lets out a breathy but equally disappointed sigh as she squeezes my hand. “I owe you.”

“You really don’t,” I tell her. And it’s true. What she’s paying me to be here today helped cover half of our marketing budget. We’ll just have to get scrappy and creative with our promo.

A woman with a headset approaches us and gives Rita a signal.

Our former brand ambassador sets the half-eaten scone down on the table. “This isn’t over, but I do need to scoot. We’re getting ready for the summer finale,” Rita says. “The fire dancers couldn’t make it, so we’ve upped the pyrotechnics.”

“See you in the fall,” I say, breaking off the end of her unfinished scone and tossing it into my mouth.

Four heartbeats this time. Another outlier.