Yin Yang Love Song

Chapter 27 Chryssy

Chapter 27

CHRYSSY

M y family arrives to our product launch at the inn with an excitement that rivals placing fourth in the Dragon Boat Race. To the Hua women, today is all about free food, a chance to gossip, and having a front-row seat to world-class musicians.

“Spectacular. So glad I could make it to the show,” Auntie Primrose says, fanning herself as she watches Vin and Leo play together in the main garden. There’s no set list, just an exploration of various classical and rock pieces mashed together.

“Actually, it’s a tea party to celebrate In Full Bloom,” I correct, adjusting our limited offering of teas on the table. “I recommend the rosebuds. It’ll help cool you down.”

Auntie Primrose’s maroon-painted lips spread into a smile. “Right! Of course!” She lifts a box of our limited-edition chamomile, roses, and chrysanthemum trio pack and shakes her wallet. “Do you take credit?”

There weren’t as many customer complaints as I anticipated for the limited-edition strategy we implemented. Dad was right. If anything, the exclusivity—and transparency about our situation—created a longer waiting list. Turns out, sometimes people don’t mind waiting, especially when you offer them a discount for the inconvenience on their next order.

We liked Salty Stems so much that we’re going to partner with them, even though they committed their chrysanthemums to wedding florists this upcoming fall. That’s where the chrysanthemums Vin and I propagated will come in handy when they bloom in the next few months, even if it is another limited-edition run for now. Salty Stems, did, however, have marigolds and plenty of them. We included that in the launch while we figure out a fifth flower.

Along the edges of the gardens, long tables are topped with wildflowers, herbs, and candle votives. Every single one of the inn’s teapots and teacups have been set out on lavender tablecloths while dozens of platters present miniature scones, sandwiches, egg tarts, and fruit for guests to grab.

Dad swings by after Auntie Primrose leaves. “Load me up! I want one of each,” he says as I bag up his order. “Looks like you used your irritant for good.”

“I figured if people are willing to wait for oysters, maybe they wouldn’t mind waiting a few months for flowers,” I say, nudging him. “People can sign up to be alerted when we restock. Everything still feels… incomplete, though.” It’s unsettling, this feeling I have.

“Even though we try our hardest to get the answers we think we need, rarely is anything in life wrapped up in a pretty bow,” Dad says between bites of a flower-pressed almond cookie. “Whether it’s work or life.”

Dad grabs another cookie and tells me he’s going to go find my mom to say hello, surprising me.

Vin takes his place, his hands stuffed into his dark jean pockets, a black T-shirt hugging his lean muscles in all the right places. The grin he wears makes my heart swell like a dried flower in water.

He holds his hand out. “We’re taking a break. The aunties told me to come get you for a quick meeting.”

I turn away at his use of “aunties” to hide the smile playing at the corners of my lips.

Vin’s mouth jerks as he explains himself. “There are so many of them,” he says. “It’s easier this way.”

“You’re both sounding good,” I tell him, placing my hand in his. “It doesn’t seem like Leo’s missed a beat.”

“He insisted on practicing all night for today. We eventually got there,” Vin says.

I laugh. “I think you could play every song purposefully out of tune, and no one here would care.”

We cross the yard to the Plotting Shed, where my aunties are already waiting.

“What’s with the secret meeting?” I ask, closing the door behind me. I spot on the workbench four of the five ingredients we were able to find in the past couple of weeks.

Auntie Rose nods toward the garden. “It hasn’t gotten rowdy yet, has it?”

“They might start rioting if Vin doesn’t get back out there soon,” Auntie Violet says, leaning against the wall of the shed, arms crossed.

“Leo’s out there to hold them over until I’m back,” Vin reassures her.

“Practically the entire family tree showed up for us today, and now they’re left unattended,” I say, looking around to each person. “There’s bound to be a few broken branches.”

“What’s this all about, Rose?” Auntie Daisy asks.

“Maybe we should wait for everyone,” Auntie Rose says. “Where’s Peony?”

As if summoned by her name being spoken, Mom pokes her head into the shed. Ever since Ms. Chan’s a couple of days ago, Mom’s been cautiously curious to read the letters and flip through the journals. She even took a stab at translating, identifying a few faded characters, the most notable being that Lily wrote how apologetic—or regretful—she was.

“You all look shady. You know that, right?” Mom asks, joining us. “What’s so urgent?”

“Good. You’re here. Now we can start.” Hesitation flickers across Auntie Rose’s face. “Okay, well, this is a big day for us with the product launch. And it’s been a big two weeks.” She rubs her hands together. “Now that certain truths have come to light, I need to also be truthful. I haven’t exactly shared everything I know.”

Auntie Daisy looks at Auntie Violet and Mom with concern. “What is it that you know, Rose?” she asks.

Auntie Rose grimaces. “I know the point of finding these ingredients was to understand, and we couldn’t even do that. But maybe what I learned will help you find a bit of closure,” she says. “You all know I love you more than anything else in this world, right? And that anything I do is to protect this family.”

“Rose, what’s going on?” Mom asks. “You’re scaring us.”

Auntie Rose crosses the shed and lifts the Curse Box off the shelf. From the “secret” drawer, she reveals an envelope. She expels a tight breath before removing the letter.

“Lily made sure the recipes were long gone, not so that no one else could re-create it,” Auntie Rose starts, “but so that 4G couldn’t re-create it. She goes on to explain that she needed to protect herself and her kids. She wrote that she was sending Calendula this box—probably this Curse Box—with their correspondence. To take it with her to Měiguó.”

“America,” I translate. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying I don’t think Lily was the one doing the betraying. At least not in the way we’ve all thought. In the way we’ve all… been told,” Auntie Rose says, looking down at the letter and avoiding our eyes. “The handwriting from the letters is the same as the notebooks. These aren’t the letters of someone vindictive, but someone who wanted to help.”

“You’re saying it was Lily who actually helped people. That she was the one who made the tonic that was going to help a lot of people and not 4G?” I ask.

“Is that even possible?” Auntie Daisy asks. “Women didn’t have the kind of freedom men had. She wouldn’t have had the resources to run her own herbal shop or meet with customers.”

“Lily could’ve used his equipment, his ingredients. She wanted to help a lot of people and give the blend away for free,” Auntie Rose says. “I think she came up with the recipes while 4G took the credit. He took his wife’s work as his own.”

We all gasp and exchange unsettled glances.

“That would explain why the seal is the same on the art and in the notebooks. It’s 4G’s name in the stamp,” I think out loud. “But it’s Lily’s letters—and her handwriting—that give him away.”

“The letters were the missing link,” Auntie Violet says in amazement.

“The recipes, the illustrations… everything. They’re all hers?” I shake my head in disbelief, but somewhere deep inside me, what I’m hearing feels true. “This is… Are we sure about this?” I ask.

“In those days, women wouldn’t have been able to divorce their husbands,” Auntie Rose explains. “Something about the fact that she went through the effort of tracking down her children, even after all those years, tells me she didn’t want to be away from them. She wanted to meet Calendula in person.”

“To tell her the truth?” Mom asks.

“To clear her name. Who knows what 4G told his children about their mother. When I read between the lines of this letter, there’s no doubt in my mind that it was Lily who had been left,” Auntie Rose says, setting the letter down. “And her kids were taken from her.”

Vin’s eyebrows furrow as he makes a move to riffle through the letters in the box. “There was something in this one—the one with the tea stain—where Lily calls her husband something with money or profit. Like ‘profit-minded,’ maybe?” His finger hovers over a specific line. “Maybe he wanted to sell it for a lot of money to people?”

“It doesn’t sound like the townspeople cursed her. She’s blaming 4G for her loneliness,” Auntie Daisy reasons. “And 4G would’ve been pretty mad if that was going to make him rich. Mad enough to curse her.”

“If they had different ideas about what to do with the blend, his grounds for divorce could’ve been anything. Unfaithfulness, jealousy… at one point in time, men could divorce their wives for talkativeness,” Auntie Rose adds.

“So she’s left and banished,” I say. “Lily destroyed the recipes, the blend. That’s all true.”

“But she destroyed it to prevent her husband from getting his hands on it and profiting,” Auntie Daisy tells us. “From taking advantage of people.”

“She spent the rest of her life trying to get the record straight,” I say. “To still try to help.”

“I think I was able to piece some of the blurry characters together,” Auntie Rose says, reading a section of the letter out loud. “‘ I have been shamed. Discarded. Threatened. Because of what I’ve done, I will be alone for the rest of time. ’”

“‘For the rest of time’?” Auntie Daisy asks, peering over Auntie Rose’s shoulder. “Are you sure that doesn’t translate to ‘ for the rest of my days ’?”

“What’s the difference? That sounds the same to me,” Auntie Violet says.

“That’s an important distinction,” Auntie Daisy says, reading the letter to give her own analysis. She slides her reading glasses up the bridge of her nose. “‘Yǒngyuǎn gūdú.’ Forever alone.”

“But who? Her only?” I ask, looking at the letter myself. I surprisingly recognize a few characters. “Is that ‘wǒ’ or ‘wǒmen’? That’s important if she’s saying ‘I’ or ‘we.’”

“She seems to mostly talk about herself, so I’m sure it’s ‘I’,” Auntie Rose states.

“But she does use ‘we’ at some points, doesn’t she?” I ask.

Auntie Rose sighs. “Yes. She does,” she says. “Maybe Calendula interpreted this as ‘we.’”

I gasp. “That must’ve been when the curse started.”

They’re words lost to time and to future generations who don’t share the same language. Words open to interpretation and how we each label things. We should’ve gotten Ms. Chan’s personal number so she could clarify this now.

“If Calendula received this box with their letters and took it to America,” Vin recounts, bringing us back to the bigger picture, “she must not have believed Lily enough to meet with her. But how did she interpret this translation?”

“We’ll never know,” Auntie Rose says. “The correspondence ends there.”

Auntie Daisy takes a seat on the stool, resting her forehead in her palm.

Auntie Rose glances around to each of us. “I’m sorry for not telling you sooner. It’s my duty to protect you all. We’ve lived with this curse our entire lives. We can’t go back in time and change—or break—anything. I thought this information would just hurt more, but now I realize that would’ve been taking a choice away.” Her voice is filled with a combination of sadness and guilt. “A woman was blamed, and we were so quick to believe it. We’ve been honoring a man who ruined a woman’s life. And her work.”

“You shouldn’t have kept this from us, Rose,” Auntie Violet says.

Auntie Rose nods quickly. “I’m so ashamed. I was trying—”

“I mean you shouldn’t have had to live with this on your own.” Auntie Violet wraps an arm around her. “You’ve always worked so hard to protect the family. But what if, instead, we all protect each other?”

Auntie Rose returns her hug. Auntie Daisy abandons her stool to hug them both as Mom curves around all of them. I can’t resist joining in.

“This information isn’t easy to hear,” Auntie Daisy says, lifting her head. “But when has any of it been easy?”

“I guess the question now is, how do we interpret any of it?” I ask, as the group hug dissembles.

“I don’t know, but then how do you explain it all coming true? Every Hua woman,” Mom says, trailing off.

We’re all silent for a moment in our own thoughts, each of us processing what this means. If it means anything at all.

Lily’s legacy, her history—they’ve been misunderstood for generations. Maybe we’ve been thinking about the curse, ourselves, her all wrong. Maybe we labeled her incorrectly, and she was never èyùn, and the only misfortune was that we believed the rumors.

“We’ve heard so many versions,” I say. “I don’t know what’s true, but there is something we can do: Honor Lily. We pick up where she left off. Finish the work she never got to.”

Vin nods. “Honor her legacy and the blend she burned so that profit wouldn’t prevail.”

“We owe it to her,” Auntie Daisy says. “Our entire lives don’t have to be a lie.”

“Imagine all the women who took this belief to their graves,”

Auntie Rose reflects. “Poor Mother never got to know the truth.”

“This isn’t something we can just break,” Auntie Violet says. “Our lives have been impacted. What’s done is done. What are we supposed to do with all this?” She gestures toward the workbench, waving off the ingredients as though they’ve personally insulted her.

Auntie Daisy lifts the lion’s mane. “We could just use what we have,” she suggests. “I’m sure we can figure out the recipe if we go through enough items.” She rattles off various ingredients that might work.

“If it’s not accurate, what’s the point?” Auntie Violet says, visibly frustrated. “We got this far just to not be able to finish it.”

As some of my most favorite people in the world gather around in the Plotting Shed, my mind whirs. In my childhood and through med school, I always felt like I was on my own. But not only in an independent way. I felt alone. I tried to understand where I fit in and how to navigate life, but also my own family’s politics around the curse.

When the aunties took me in, it felt like I finally had my place in the world. For the first time, I belonged. But it wasn’t just because I had a new sense of purpose or a place to live. The realization hits me like a ton of tea. The bond my aunties and I share hasn’t ever been about the curse but about heartbreak and helping people instead. The Hua women can have a relationship like that, free of rumors and false ideas about ourselves. My aunties and I have proved it. We protect each other.

There’s more to our story.

“I think it’s time we tell everyone what we know,” Auntie Rose says first, the words coming out shaky. “So that they can make a choice of their own.”

I nod in agreement. So does Vin.

“I do hate the idea of everyone living life under the illusion of a lie, especially my daughter,” Auntie Daisy says.

Eventually, Mom nods. “Even in the short time since I’ve learned about this, there’s a small part of me that’s relieved,” she says softly.

“We can’t tell them!” Auntie Violet exclaims. “What would we even say? Oh hey, thanks for coming. By the way, everything you believe to be true about yourself and your family lineage? Wrong!”

“Do we not have an obligation?” Auntie Daisy presses. “We have cold, hard facts and letters. If we get to be free from this curse, the rest of our family should be, too.”

I scan the page of the notebook with the chrysanthemum and mushroom illustrations and ingredients. “It doesn’t matter what this says,” I say, tapping the pages gently. “What if this is just another belief?”

Vin and my aunties look at me expectantly.

“Do we think this blend holds the answers to why we’ve all been hurt and guarded our entire lives? Why we’re all supposedly not going to find lasting love?” I ask, glancing at Vin. “It’s not going to have magical powers and turn back time.” I close the notebook for added effect. “And I wonder if maybe some blends—and beliefs—are better when they’re lost to time.”

“It’s easier said than done to just stop believing something,” Auntie Rose says. “This history, this curse, this belief… they’ve been so deeply ingrained in everyone’s identities.”

“You’re right. But you know how, in TCM, one disease can have many treatments, and that there can be one treatment for many diseases?” I ask. “This curse has been a disease. One treatment is the truth, which half of them won’t believe, even with letters and journals as proof.” I hold up a second finger. “Another is by someone having a relationship that doesn’t end badly, but that will take a long time to prove anything to anyone. But there’s a third treatment.”

“Well, it can’t be the blend,” Auntie Violet says. “We don’t even know which flower Lily meant.”

“We don’t need to. Instead of mixing and matching and waiting for a sign, what if, instead, the flower ingredient was us—the Hua women—putting all our broken hearts into it?” I propose. “The final ingredient is a little bit of each of us.”

A long silence follows.

“What I’m proposing means we won’t ever know what Lily created,” I say, my tone tinged with sadness. “I wish we could. I want to honor her, and right the wrong. But I still think we can. I never knew her, and I only thought of her one way for my entire life, but I think she’d like this instead.”

Auntie Rose takes a seat on a stool. “And how do you propose we do this?”

“Is this where we all have to sacrifice our most beloved item or offer up a drop of blood? Because I’ve got a rare blood type and need every last drop,” Auntie Daisy says.

“It’s nothing like that… yet,” I say. “The entire family tree is here. Let’s all do something together. We have angelica and poppies in the main garden, right?”

It’s Vin who catches on to the spark of my idea first. He adds fuel. “And primrose, rosemary, and jasmine,” he says, recalling what Auntie Rose has taught him.

“It’ll be hard for the Huas to let go of this belief,” I say, “but maybe it’ll be easier to give them something new to believe in.”

Auntie Daisy nods. “It would be something new for them to attach to.”

“The curse is what has bonded us. But what if it’s this blend instead? This new belief?” I pose. “I want this to bind us together for who we really are, apart from the curse.”

My aunties look between one another, contemplating what I’ve said.

“Is this lying?” Auntie Rose asks. “This isn’t the actual blend.”

“We’ll tell them everything we know,” I say. “As for the blend, we did find it, didn’t we? We’re simply following our interpretation of ‘flower,’ a word that really does exist in Lily’s blend. We’re covering all our bases.”

Auntie Daisy hums as she considers this. “Is it possible to change the past? No. But can we change our story? Yes. Is it possible to change how we think about that story?” She sighs. “I hope so.”

While Lily might’ve believed 4G had condemned her to a life alone, she also attempted to do good and find her way back to her family. Why is it that the bad reputation gets passed down instead of the courage part? Maybe our strength lies in the ability to rewrite the stories we tell about ourselves. I want to regain that strength, find it somewhere deep down in myself from my ancestors.

“I’ve rewritten the story of my life before. I can do it again,” I say.

“Let’s stop chasing ghosts,” Auntie Violet says, agreeing. “Let’s do something for Chryssy and Vin. For future generations.”

“For all of us,” I add.

Mom taps the workbench. “Ladies, let’s go wrangle the Huas.”

“Get Aunt Angelica in here, and word will spread in a matter of minutes,” Auntie Rose mumbles as she stands.

While the aunties do that and collect the remaining ingredients from the garden and kitchen, Vin and I gather pots and heat water for the tea. The Plotting Shed won’t hold everyone, so we set up everything in the Heartbreak Circle.

“Where’s this coming from?” Vin asks when we’re left alone for a few minutes.

If Vin’s willing to try to shed his label as a heartbreaker, why can’t I try to shed my belief in the family curse?

“I just want them to be okay. We don’t need to hang on so tight to our beliefs. For you and your work, for me and the curse,” I say, twisting the stud in my ear and fixing my gaze on his.

The Hua women were cursed to never find lasting love. That doesn’t mean we won’t find love ever. I was so focused on the end that I failed to see the good in the beginning, or in anything after. It’s a blessing—not a curse—to get to experience love at all.

Someone in the family broke up, got divorced, or lost their partner. A story was formed around that occurrence. A story that fed the curse, the ultimate belief that we’ve shaped our lives around. The one that defines us and gives us a reason for the shitty things that happen. I’m tired of being defined by something like that.

“The curse… I want to leave it in the past,” I admit. “I want to start over without it.”

Vin grins and holds my hand against his heart. “We’ll write our new song together.”

I pull Vin in for a kiss, and something that feels a lot like hope surges through me.

The noise level increases as the Hua women shout out questions about what’s going on. The group files past potted plants, filling in the circle.

When all the ingredients are gathered, we get started.

“Thanks for coming today, everyone,” I say to my family. In the crowd, I see my own face reflected in the faces of Mom and Dad, who are standing together—a sight I haven’t witnessed in years. Magnolia is back from her travels abroad, and her mom, Chamomile, is by her side. I notice my younger cousins, the next generation—my second cousins Clove, Poppy, Jasmine, and Rue. It’s a full, beautiful garden of women across the generations who have weathered every kind of storm. And here they are, still standing. Still returning every season to face what life gives them. Still blooming.

“We wanted to bring you here to celebrate the launch of In Full Bloom, but we also thought it might be nice to do a tea blending ceremony together,” I say, fancying up my language. There are some ooh s from the group. “I wouldn’t be who I am without any of you. And we wouldn’t be who we are without each other.”

My aunties join me, bringing with them the ingredients listed in my great-great-great-great-grandmother’s notebook and letters, as well as the remaining ingredients. Auntie Violet passes out each flower, herb, and root to the woman named after it.

“What’s all this about?” Great-Aunt Angelica asks, holding her flower up to the sun.

“We’ve dug up some information recently,” I say. “Metaphorically and literally.”

I tell everyone about what we found in the Curse Box, the letters, and the journals. The misunderstanding and how Lily isn’t to blame. How we were never cursed to begin with, but that a translation mix-up led us to believe we were.

“Hold on,” Great-Aunt Rosemary, who’s sitting closest to me, says. “You’re telling us this curse isn’t real?”

“How do you explain all the heartbreak? Everything that’s happened?” Auntie Cami calls out.

“What, we just picked bad partners and now need to accept it?” Magnolia asks, pouting.

“Where’d you say you got these letters?” Auntie Primrose asks.

“I’d rather blame the curse!” someone else shouts, silencing everyone.

The air is as still as the Hua women as they process what we’ve shared.

“What does this mean for us?” Great-Aunt Angelica asks, quieter this time.

“I don’t know,” I confess. “But this blend is meant to represent the bond we have with each other, the bond we have with our ancestors, and the possibility of new beginnings. Just because things have been one way doesn’t mean they can’t ever be another. We have the blend’s ingredients, and now we have all the flowers.”

“You may have proof, but we’re all living proof,” Great-Aunt Angelica says skeptically.

As expected, there are a range of emotions and mixed feelings, but the collective weight starts to lift like a dense fog as more people warm up to the idea.

I’m filled with more hope. There are constants in our life—the sun rising, the moon glowing, flowers blossoming, dying, regrowing—but our outlook on life can change.

I move to the side so Auntie Rose can share a story.

“One year, due to a combination of colds and a full guest list, we didn’t do any weeding,” she says, sweeping her hand out toward the main garden. “Didn’t deadhead a single flower. We worried everything would die, but still, we just let it be. And yet, everything still bloomed.” She pauses for a heartbeat. “What sorts itself out when we get out of the way? What happens to us when we get out of our own way?”

“Sometimes it’s okay to just let things be,” I say, looking at the loving gazes of Auntie Rose, Auntie Daisy, and Auntie Violet. “But this is something we can finish. We’re all in this together. We always have been.”

Auntie Daisy explains the plan to everyone as Auntie Violet adds the prepped ingredients to the hot water. It’s executed perfectly, even for a bunch of wildflowers who are used to doing their own thing.

Then, one by one, my family walks up to the pot and drops in their ingredients.

Great-Aunt Angelica walks up, her brows creased. As she drops her Chinese angelica root into the pot, she says shakily, “To fresh starts.”

Poppy’s next, bringing with her a handful of wild poppies. “I’ve been streaming this, and everyone’s loving it!” she squeals.

“We also honor our ancestors who couldn’t be here with us today. Juniper for Mother,” Auntie Violet says, dropping a few juniper berries into the pot. We do this for all my great-, great-great-, and great-great-great-grandmothers, and the women branched off from them.

And finally, we honor the one who was there from the very beginning: Lily, my great-great-great-great-grandmother.

Auntie Rose does the honors, bringing forth a handful of dried lily bulbs. Her hands are trembling as she carries the weight of history—and the truth—in them. Though Auntie Rose’s expression is stoic and as hard to read as ever, an unexpected tear rolls down her cheek as she sets the bulbs in the pot on top of all the other ingredients.

Nature swirls together in the hot water, the colors draining from the petals and bulbs.

There we are. All in one pot, together. The act is met with smiles, even if a few of them are directed at Vin and Leo.

I catch Vin watching me with a smile on his face from behind the group. I give him a smile right back.

I pour cups of tea for everyone after the blend steeps. This isn’t for the curse. This is for us, right now, right here.

We toast to new beginnings.