Chapter 29
They made their way deeper and deeper into the museum, past the artifacts, past the eerie suits of empty armor, past the statues and bronze pots, past the jadeite cabbage, each room growing darker and darker.
Night was falling.
They’d found a schematic of the museum on the reception desk and followed it. The room dedicated to the recluse scholars was, ironically or intentionally, itself reclusive. Almost hidden away. Clearly not the most visited.
Finally, they found it.
Vivien stood on the threshold and stared. Expecting, Alice knew, to see a young man standing still, immovable, holding bags of groceries.
But there was no one. And yet the room felt occupied. Not in a haunted way, but calm. Content. Peaceful.
Alice could feel herself drawn in. Could understand the lure of a life away from the hustle, the bustle. The manic energy. The fears that accompanied modern life. There was simplicity here, amid the drawings of nature. There was gentle, whispering beauty here.
But this was not the time to contemplate peace when they were trying to prevent a war. Quickly scanning the room, Alice found the mural that contained the detail from the li bien ball.
She stood in front of it. In sending the li bien ball home, Liam had guided them here. Alice was now sure of it.
But why? What did Liam want them to see?
Kai-wen almost certainly saw a deep peace when looking at what the recluse scholar created. Had Liam seen war?
On the wall next to it was a text written fifteen hundred years earlier.
“Vivien.” She spoke so softly she barely heard herself. Then, louder. “Mom.” Now she shouted. “Come here! Look.”
Vivien appeared at her shoulder and immediately felt herself drawn into it, stepping toward the mountain and the small cabin by the brook.
“Look at this.” Alice pointed to the words beside the picture.
Reluctant to leave the cabin, Vivien finally turned her head and read in the traditional Chinese.
Proceeding along the edge of the stream, I forget the distance of the road I have walked. I suddenly come across a forest of blossoming peach trees that extend uninterrupted for several hundred paces on either bank. Fragrant grasses are delicate and petals fall in riotous profusion.
“It’s Liam’s last post for his food blog,” Alice whispered. “In it, he wrote about his favorite noodle joint, some hole-in-the-wall he’d found. But he didn’t name it. I thought it was in Hong Kong. But it was here. It must be.” She looked at the wall. “And he quoted this.”
Her mother was paying no attention. She’d reentered the drawing and was walking beside the stream toward the log cabin, breathing in the sweet, soft scent of peach blossoms.
Alice brought out her phone.
When she’d first read his blog, his final one, she didn’t realize it was a quote.
She’d thought he’d written it himself as a sort of game, a clue to how to find the restaurant.
Now she felt incredibly stupid. Of course he hadn’t written it.
The description was so perfect, the words so luminous, only a poet could have captured the simplicity. The joy. The joy of simplicity.
But what did it mean?
It seemed obvious now that the restaurant he wrote about was here, in Taipei. He wanted them to find it, to go there.
Alice looked at the drawing again.
How she longed to sit on the bench and spend the rest of her life in this room, staring at this picture. Was that how her uncle had felt? After the turmoil, the tragedy, of Tiananmen, did he want to sit here for the rest of his life? A recluse dissident?
And who could blame him? He’d done his best. Done his bit …
The sound of shattering glass broke the spell.
And then came the shouts. And then came the shots.
The two women looked at each other.
The world had found the recluses. The world was coming …
“We need to leave.” Alice took a few quick photographs of the image and words and was halfway to the door when she realized she was alone.
There were footsteps on the marble floor now. Running toward them. More glass breaking. Another gunshot. A shout.
Closer. Closer.
“Come on!” she called, but Vivien just stood there.
Alice ran up to her mother, and was about to yank her away, when she saw the expression in her face. And her rheumy eyes.
To leave was to leave her brother behind, again. The fact he wasn’t actually there didn’t matter. He had been. This had been his safe place. And Vivien obviously thought, believed, hoped that given the attacks, he might return here.
And if she waited long enough …
“Please,” Alice said softly, though her head was shrieking and her heart pounding, and the footsteps were getting closer. “Come away.”
Vivien turned to look at her. A child, not sure what to do.
“We need to go. Now.”
There was more gunfire. That jolted Vivien out of her trance. “Yes, yes.” She wiped her face and nose with the sleeve of her Shanghai Tang and nodded.
The two women moved out of that room and into the wide corridor. The footsteps on marble were getting closer. Running. Fast. Fleeing. And others. Chasing.
It was almost completely dark now. Alice, scanning the way ahead, saw a shadow approaching. The women ducked behind a case displaying a huge jug. Kneeling down behind it, they peered through the glass as a figure ran by.
Bang! Bang, bang, bang!
The shadow was propelled forward and fell from view.
“We need to go,” hissed Alice.
Grabbing her mother’s sleeve, she pulled Vivien forward. This time there was no protest. Running as fast as they could, the women rounded a corner. Then hid as more and more people poured into the magnificent museum.
There was the slight whiff of something off.
“Smoke,” whispered Alice, and her mother nodded.
Ahead of them was an emergency exit. There was a break in the descending mob. If they ran now, they could probably make it. Vivien started toward it, but Alice stopped her.
“No. We need to go to the gift shop.”
For a brief moment, Vivien thought her daughter was joking. Then she understood.
“You go,” said Alice. “I’ll join you outside.”
But Vivien stuck with her daughter. No time to argue.
The shop was a shambles. The till on the floor, broken. Money gone. Anything that could be of value had been taken. The rest broken, including …
Alice was on her knees. “Look. Liam did buy it here.”
She held up a large shard, the remains of a smashed li bien ball. The image was still recognizable. It was the mountain of the recluse scholar. They had their proof.
“Let’s go.”
They bolted out the front door, passing armed young men on their way up the long steps. The authorities chasing them paid no attention to two disheveled women.
Women of no importance. Being invisible had its advantages.
Once out, they got a block away before daring to sit down on the curb. Vivien closed her eyes and lowered her head to her knees, trying to catch her breath.
“Vivien?” Vivien opened her eyes when Alice touched her arm. “I know where the restaurant is.”
“Did it come to you in a dream?” As far as Vivien knew, Alice had been with her the whole time, so how could she suddenly know? “Or are you channeling your crazy Auntie Lu, who claimed to be able to find lost items. Once—”
“No. Listen to me. That painting is called Peach Blossom Spring.”
“Yes.”
“Liam went to a noodle bar called that.”
“How do you know?” Vivien leaned closer and looked her daughter in the eyes. “Auntie Lu, is that you?”
“Stop it,” snapped Alice, though she had to smile. The weird thing was, Auntie Lu really could find lost items.
Alice showed her mother the photograph from Liam’s final post. “This’s the shot from his last blog.”
For once, Vivien didn’t roll her eyes at the word “blog.”
“He mentions three noodle bars,” said Alice, taking the phone back. “But he only posted a photo of his favorite, and he doesn’t name it. Some bloggers do that, as a sort of tease, but also to keep their secrets secret. Often it’s bullshit, but—”
“Focus! If he didn’t name it, what makes you think it’s called Peach Blossom Spring?”
“Look.” She showed her mother the photograph again, of a bowl of beef noodle soup. Both women were so hungry, it was torture. Vivien could feel her dry mouth fill with saliva.
“There’s nothing with the name,” she said, looking for a napkin or some sign visible on the wall.
“No, but through the window, we can see the restaurant across the way.”
She enlarged the image, and there in Chinese characters was 两子面馆. “Two Sons’ Noodle Bar. I looked it up on the map. A restaurant called Peach Blossom Spring is right across the street. The noodle bar is two streets over from here.”
They ran/walked/hobbled through the hellscape of Taipei, toward Peach Blossom Spring.
The long, forlorn face of President Chen appeared on the screen.
“Mr. President,” he said. His English, while excellent, was heavily accented.
“Zhǔxí xiānsheng,” said Pardington. Mr. President. His Mandarin, while pretty good, was also heavily accented.
One of Chen’s advisors whispered, “I think we should speak to Paddington through an interpreter, to avoid misunderstandings.”
Pardington raised his brows. “Paddington?”
Chen shot a stern glance at the advisor. Had he had a gun, it might not have been a glance.
The truth was, they had taken to calling the American President “Paddington,” since his name was close and really, he looked so much like the slightly plump little bear.
Though if the intention was to diminish the powerful man, it backfired. Chen had always liked Paddington Bear and felt a sort of kinship with him. On top of that, in reading the Paddington books to his six-year-old granddaughter, they’d discovered a mutual fondness for marmalade sandwiches.
And if Pardington’s intention in calling Chen “Eeyore” was to mock his powerful counterpart, it too had backfired. In reading the Winnie-the-Pooh books to his grandchildren, he’d discovered a certain affinity for the bedraggled donkey.
Like Eeyore, Pardington had all his life felt like an outsider.