Chapter Eighteen
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
I ’ve never once hated living alone. I love the solitude my apartment gives me, the way it’s the one quiet place I can return to after a long, hectic workday. But this evening, when I walk through the door, the silence hits me hard. My apartment feels so empty, devoid of a soul. I stand in the hallway and see the ghost of Shang on the couch, reading a book. When I look straight at the couch, he disappears. I can still smell him, though.
“Stupid,” I say out loud, just to have some kind of noise in the dead silence. I shake off my shoes and walk off, then come back to put them away neatly. Even now, I can’t deny that the peace that comes with having a tidy, uncluttered place is gratifying.
I put away my coat, then go to the bathroom to wash my hands. Even the bathroom is spotless. Shang and I did a visit to Target, where I found a pretty glass tray for the bathroom, along with a matching soap dispenser and toothbrush holder, and just that one minor change spruced up the entire sink area. Everywhere I look, my apartment is painted with memories of Shang. How? We’ve only gone out for a few days.
The sadness inside grows into a boulder, crushing me. I look into the mirror as I wash my hands. I look so tired and haggard, not at all like a twenty something. Sorrow and worry line my face. I splash my face with some cold water, then walk out of the bathroom and into the kitchen.
It’s worse in here. The kitchen is where Shang and I spent most of our time together. Aside from the bedroom, that is. And in here, we worked as a team, me washing the ingredients while Shang chopped them up. Shang cooking the meat and vegetables while I got the rice cooker going. A quick kiss on the back of his neck as I reached past him, a squeeze of my arm as he slid past, an affectionate hand brushing through my hair. A hundred different ways of touching each other. We couldn’t keep our hands to ourselves, not even while cooking, and it wasn’t even sexual most of the time; it was just us wanting to reach out and touch each other, as though we were extensions of the same spirit.
Tears burn my eyes. I take my phone out of my pocket. I texted Shang earlier in the day, but all he said was:
I need some time.
It’s not unreasonable, nor cruel. He hasn’t even said a single angry or hurtful thing to me, and I know I deserve them. I deserve to be called a liar, a dishonorable thing, a coward, and he hasn’t said anything of the sort. Even now, after the way I have betrayed him, Shang remains kind. He needs time. I can give him that, at least.
Brushing away my tears, I stuff the phone back into my pocket and shake my head, as though trying to shake off the memories of Shang. I blow out my breath.
“Come on, Mulan,” I say out loud. “Get it together.” Just because I’ve made a giant mess of everything else doesn’t mean I should let my new good habits fall by the wayside, too. I’m going to cook myself dinner. I open the fridge, and there’s the last straw.
The refrigerator is filled with neatly lined-up containers, all of them stocked full of fresh ingredients. It is this final reminder of Shang that breaks me. Uttering a short cry of pain and rage, I slam the fridge shut. God, he was so good for me. So, so good. And I’ve done nothing but ruin it all.
“Stop,” I say out loud to the whirling rage of self-hatred inside my head. “Stop it.”
Instead of stopping, it grows in intensity, overwhelming me. I crouch down on the floor, hugging my knees to my chest. Even just standing feels like too much right now. Everything is too much, all of it. All my life, I’ve felt pressured to hide my true self, because everything centers on the men in my life. Trying to impress them, or prove them wrong, or make sure they’re not disappointed. My father, my schoolmates, and later, my colleagues, my clients, and now the Lis. With all of them, I’ve scrambled to put on the right mask, and I’m so good at it, have done it for so long, that I didn’t even know the real me anymore.
Until Shang.
All my life, I’ve been masking—and it feels like having to suck my stomach in all the time, and it’s only with Shang that I’ve been able to let everything go and completely relax. A sob wrenches out of me as I think of how I was when I was around Shang. I was still the hardworking finance bro, responsible and intellectual and confident, and I was still the loving, filial child. But I was also something more. I was a goofball around him. I was fun, and silly, and brash. When was the last time I was brash before Shang came into my life? I’d been so uptight that my idea of risk was jaywalking across an empty road. But Shang brought out that part of me. He also brought out the selfish part of me, the one who, for once, isn’t thinking: What would Baba do? The part of me that knows exactly what it wants and isn’t afraid to go for it, no matter how irresponsible. Shang brought me back into myself, a self that I’d thought was missing. And I don’t want to lose that self again.
That realization brings me a tiny bit of peace. Sniffling, I uncurl and push myself off the floor. I go into the bathroom and splash cold water over my face again before looking in the mirror. My reflection stares back at me, and I see myself then: A very flawed person, someone who’s made so many mistakes, so many bad decisions. But also maybe someone who’s made bad decisions because of the right reasons. Someone driven by love and duty. Someone driven, period.
I force myself to go back out into the kitchen, open the fridge again, and this time, I grab a cloth bag from the cupboard and start taking things out from the fridge.
Ten minutes later, I’m back in my car. I make a phone call. “Ma, don’t bother cooking.”
When I arrive, my parents greet me with happy but confused smiles. “What are you doing here?” Ma says.
I hold up the bag of ingredients. “I’m going to make dinner for you guys.”
“Oh my,” Ba says. “I think we have some antidiarrheal tablets left from our last trip.”
“Ba!” I snap, and he laughs. “Hey, Baba, can we talk for a second?”
“Always.”
“I’ll let you two chat,” Ma says, taking the bag of groceries from me and bustling into the kitchen.
In the living room, I plop down on the sofa with a big sigh. Now that I’m actually here, seeing my dad in person, I find it hard to know where to begin. “Um, so…” I flail mentally. Baba is looking at me with so much expectation in his eyes that it’s paralyzing. Expectation. That’s it. That’s where I can start. “When I was a kid, I overheard Auntie and Ma talking, and how Ma couldn’t have any more children because of me.”
Baba’s face falls, and it looks as though he’s about to say something, but he stops himself and gestures at me to keep going.
“And Auntie said, ‘What a shame because of Mulan you had to have that awful operation. And she isn’t even a boy!’ And ever since then, I knew that I had to make it up to both of you, and I’ve been doing it my whole life. I have this intense fear of letting you and Ma down because—”
“Oh, Mulan,” Baba says. “You work so hard. You are—” His voice cracks then, and he takes a shuddering breath. “Oh, Nu er, I am sorry you heard your auntie say that. I never, not for a moment, regretted having you as my child. You are worth ten sons. Twenty!”
A weight that I didn’t even noticed was there before is suddenly lifted off my chest. “Really? You never secretly wished for a boy?”
“Hah!” Ma shouts from the doorway.
Baba and I both jump.
“Mulan, what is this rubbish?” Ma cries. “Do you really think that your baba and I would rather have had a son?”
“Ma, but Auntie—”
Ma snorts, and flaps a hand dismissively. “Oh, my sister. She’s stuck in the old ways. And do you not remember your cousins? Kenny and Keith? Such terrors they were. Within the first hour of visiting they’d broken our TV. I bet Auntie only said that because she’s jealous that she doesn’t have a daughter.”
I laugh through my tears. “Oh, Ma.”
Ma hurries over and envelops me in a fierce hug. “You are everything we wished for.”
“And more,” Ba says, reaching over and grasping my hand.
“I’m sorry I messed everything up with Wutai Gold,” I say when Ma lets go of me. “I know you really wanted to acquire them.”
“Oh, Mulan. I did want to acquire them, yes, but not for the reasons you think. I wanted you to acquire them. I wanted you to assess them, not just purely with your mind, but with your heart and your instincts. You are so good with numbers. But what we do is so much more than numbers. Anyone can look at the numbers and make a decision to buy or not, but you want to know my secret? Why I have such a good success rate?”
I nod.
“Because I look for something off the page. I look for resilience. It is the one thing that drives someone to succeed, because they will get up again and again, no matter how many times it takes. And that’s what I saw in Wutai Gold. It’s what I see in you. And I wanted you to see that for yourself. It takes a special gift to see how a struggling company can become successful because of the people behind it.”
A light dawns inside me. So that’s why he wanted me to take Wutai Gold home. “I understand.”
“I know you do. And I’m proud of you. For everything you’ve become.” He touches my cheek and smiles, nodding. “Shall we start cooking?”
“Yes,” I say, wiping the last of my tears away. We stand, me giving my dad’s arm one last squeeze, and make our way into the kitchen, where Ma has taken out the pork, scallions, cabbage, and other ingredients that I’ve brought.
We chat as I chop up the scallions the way I’ve seen Shang do, then mix them into the minced pork. I add ginger, Shaoxing wine, salt, pepper, soy sauce, sesame oil, and oyster sauce before stirring it all up with a pair of chopsticks. Then I take the bowl over to my parents, as well as a pack of premade dumpling skins, and say, “Let’s make jiaozi.”
“My goodness, Mulan, where did you learn to do this?” Ma says, picking up a dumpling skin and placing a dollop of pork filling on it.
My mouth turns into a thin line before I finally say, “Shang.”
“Ah,” Ma says, her expression turning soft. “And how are you two doing? Have you talked?”
I shake my head, keeping my focus on the dumpling I am folding. “He says he needs time.”
“Time heals all wounds,” Ba says. “It’s a Chinese saying.”
“Pretty sure it isn’t, Ba.”
“I’m sure there’s a Chinese version.”
“There is, actually,” Ma says. “In Chinese, we say, ‘Time’s a great healer.’”
“Huh,” I say, crimping my dumpling closed and placing it on a plate. “I like that.”
Despite everything falling apart, I feel a semblance of peace, right here in my parents’ kitchen, making dumplings with them. The physical act of folding dumplings is a great way of channeling the frustration and sadness inside me, and the easy conversation keeps my mind off the bleak mess of my life. And the conversation I had with them has eased such a weight from me. A weight I’ve carried for decades, a weight I probably would’ve carried for the rest of my life if I hadn’t met Shang. I have no idea what will happen between Shang and me, but I hope that I might one day be given the chance to thank him for everything he’s done for me.
With three pairs of hands working, it isn’t long before all the pork is used up and we end up with two big plates of dumplings. I heat up the wok, then place the dumplings in carefully. I splash in some water and close the lid. Halfway through, I pour in a cornstarch slurry, then close the lid once more before getting to work on the dipping sauce. When I turn around, I find my parents gazing at me with wonderment.
“You really learned all that from Shang?” Ma says.
I shrug, my cheeks growing warm.
Ma and Ba exchange a look. “I’ve been trying to get her to learn how to cook basic dishes all these years and all it took was a boy and poof , she’s a chef,” Ma says.
I groan. “Whatever, Ma.”
They both cheer when I finally announce the jiaozi are done and slide them out onto a plate. I put another plate on top of it and flip it over, revealing a crispy layer on the bottom. My parents ooh and aah at the sight. I step back and admire my handiwork.
“Wow, can’t believe that actually worked.”
“Was that the first time you made this dish by yourself?” Ba says.
“Yeah. I wasn’t sure if I would burn it or not. Anyway, dig in.”
We dip the jiaozi in the homemade sauce and take a bite.
“Mulan!” Ma says, her mouth still full of jiaozi. “This is so good, oh my goodness. I am shocked.”
“Okay, Ma, you don’t have to be, like, so surprised.” I take a bite and my eyes go wide. “Oh wow, these are good. Good job, me.”
“These are delicious. Even better than the ones your mother makes.”
Ma smacks Ba’s arm. “He’s right, though. These are better.”
I sigh. “Well, I guess if our firm gets sued to the ground I’ll open up a dumpling shop.”
“No use worrying about that right now,” Ba says.
And, somehow, sitting here in my parents’ house eating dumplings, I manage to not worry about things, just for a bit.
After we finish eating, I allow myself a peek at my phone. No texts from Shang, but there is one from Mushu, asking me out for drinks. I could really use a drink right about now, so I reply and tell Mushu I’ll meet her at our usual bar. I kiss my parents goodbye and leave, and half an hour later, I’m in the heart of the city, in an upscale bar called Ginger Flower.
Mushu arrives looking as fabulous as always, wearing a silk dress with a cutout that shows off her abs.
“You look nice,” I say.
“Thank you. You look tired.”
“Rude.”
“Well, you’re beautiful, so you can get away with looking tired,” she says.
“After the day I’ve had, I am tired.” I pour wine for Mushu and we clink glasses.
“I’m sorry about how things went down,” Mushu says. “You okay?”
I take a long sip of wine. “I’m about as okay as I can be in this situation, I guess.”
“You’ll be okay,” Mushu says firmly. “I know you. You’re strong. Stronger than anyone I know, including myself.”
“Thanks, Mushu. You know, you sell yourself short.”
“Not really. I just tell it like it is. Look at me, I took this job at Facai Capital because I had no idea what else to do after college and I really thought I’d have it figured out by now, but nope.”
“You will. I know it. You’re way too vibrant and capable not to.”
Mushu coughs and waves a hand in front of her face. “Okay, enough of that. Change of subject before I feel too awkward and duck out.”
Smiling, I tell Mushu about making jiaozi with my parents.
“Aw, that is so sweet. But wait, you make jiaozi now? Who are you and what have you done with my cousin?”
“That’s what my parents said, too. Am I really that bad of a cook?”
“You weren’t bad, you just…never did it.”
I laugh. “True.”
“So what are you going to do about Wutai Gold?” she says.
“I’ll apologize to them, obviously, but I’m not sure when and how to do it. I doubt any of them would give me the time of day now. And they have every right not to.”
Mushu looks at me with concern. “And Shang?”
I sigh. “He says he needs time, so.” I take another gulp of wine and look out the window for a while, letting my mind wander. It’s a weeknight, so the area isn’t too busy. I’m watching a couple strolling down the street hand in hand when the mention of Wutai Gold catches my attention. I turn back to Mushu. “What?”
“I didn’t say anything.”
I swivel in my seat, scanning the place. I could’ve sworn I heard someone say Wutai Gold . Then I see him. James, sitting two tables away. Argh. I grab the drinks menu and hold it up like a shield. I lean forward and hiss, “James Li is here.”
“Where?” Mushu looks around.
“Don’t look. He’s there, to our left.” I cock my head.
Mushu peers over the menu, then ducks behind it again. “You’re right.”
“Just when I thought the day couldn’t get any worse.”
“Well, at least he hasn’t seen us.”
I nod, thanking my lucky stars that Ginger Flower keeps its lighting very, very dim. The place is only half full, and most patrons are speaking in low voices, unlike James, who seems to be the only person speaking at full volume. I roll my eyes at his obnoxious loudness. But then I catch more of his conversation and for the first time, I think that maybe there is some good to James’s loud voice after all.
“I think he’s…” My voice trails off as I peer over the menu, this time to look at the man sitting across from James. My mouth drops open. “No way.”
“What?” Mushu says.
“He’s having drinks with Richard Foreman.”
“Who?”
I sigh. “Mushu, I love you, but you are in the wrong industry.”
“Tell that to someone who cares. Who is it?”
“It’s our biggest rival? Remember? The guy who was so obsessed with my mom that he tried to destroy Facai Capital?”
Mushu’s mouth turns into a perfect circle. “Ooh, that guy. Yeah, I remember now. Why is James meeting with him?” She gasps. “Do you think they’re plotting revenge?”
A pit opens up in my stomach and despair floods me. “Very possible.” I can definitely see James talking with Richard about what I’ve done, and Richard using it to his own advantage, maybe giving James advice on how to use this as an opportunity to sue the hell out of us.
I listen harder, closing my eyes so I can better focus on the two men. There are gaps in the conversation, but I manage to catch the gist of it, and somehow, it’s even worse than I’d expected.
James: “Thank god that deal fell apart.”
Richard (laughing): “Facai Capital is small fry, not worth spending time talking about.”
James: “I don’t know why Shang didn’t take you up on the offer to meet up. I swear, I love my cousin, but he’s just not a visionary.”
Richard: “No, he isn’t. He shouldn’t be the CEO of your company.”
James: “Fucking right he shouldn’t. I don’t know why they voted him in. My whole family acts like sunshine comes out of Shang’s ass.”
Richard: “It’s a good thing you and I see eye to eye. Your company is too traditional, it’s a relic, a dinosaur. It won’t make it past your generation. You know that, don’t you?”
James: “I do, that’s why I’ve been urging them to sell for the longest time. I just didn’t foresee Shang wanting to sell to Facai Capital.”
Richard: “Well, now that that’s no longer on the table, we should make our move. My team is drawing up a proposal as we speak, and I will have it sent to you by Monday.”
James: “And you’re still good on our deal?”
Richard: “You will get a very nice cut of the package.”
James: “Good. I fucking deserve it, after all the shit I’ve had to put up with.”
They clink glasses.
James: “Out of curiosity, what are you going to do with Wutai Gold? That Facai Capital bitch, whatever her real name is, kept yammering on about diversifying our customer base.”
Richard: “Like I said, Wutai Gold is a relic. Your brand is worth very little, given your aging customer base. The real value is in the proprietary information. Your recipe, your technique. Everything else will be broken down into parts and sold off.”
There is a beat of silence.
James: “Damn. The end of an era. Can’t say it won’t make me sad.”
Richard: “I’m sure your cut of the deal will make the sadness easier to bear.”
James (laughing): “Fucking right it will.”
I’ve heard enough. “Let’s get out of here,” I whisper to Mushu, who nods. I put some cash down on the table, and then we stand and leave as discreetly as we can manage. Outside, I notice that Mushu’s grabbed our bottle of wine as she left.
“I’ve got good priorities,” she says when she sees me looking at the bottle.
“Never mind the wine. Oh my god. Richard Foreman and James.”
“Yeah, that’s messed up. So he’s trying to get this deal done behind everyone’s backs?”
“I don’t know if that’s possible. He’ll still need the board of directors to agree, but I think he’s going to let them think that it’s a similar deal to ours when it isn’t. He’s going to destroy their company,” I say.
“Damn, and for what?”
“Did you not hear them? For money. James is getting a cut on the side.”
“That little worm. We should march in there and tell him what a piece of shit he is.”
As much as I would love to do that, I force myself to take a beat to ponder. “No, we have the advantage. They don’t know that we overheard them.”
Mushu frowns. “Are you going to tell Shang?”
“I have to.” I take out my phone and call him. I’m so swept up in what I’ve just found out that I don’t even hesitate until I hear the dial tone. I fight the urge to hang up, but I stay on the phone, counting the number of rings. After the fifth one, he picks up.
“Hey,” Shang says.
“Shang, don’t hang up,” I say quickly. “It’s me, Mulan. Uh. Zhou. But I’m really Mulan. Uh, anyway, I need to tell you something about James and Wutai Gold. I heard—”
“Uh, Mulan, I’m going to stop you right there,” Shang says. “I cannot discuss matters of the company with you any longer. I’m sure you understand. And I still need some space to think. Have a good night.” With that, he hangs up.
I stare at my phone, emotions storming inside me. “He hung up.”
“Damn it. I’m sorry. Are you okay?”
I blow out my cheeks. “I—I can’t think about him right now. His family company is in trouble. I need to warn them.”
“Yeah, I don’t think any one of them is going to talk to you. Or me. Or anyone at Facai Capital.”
“Oh god, you’re right,” I groan. I pause. “Maybe Auntie Jiayi might talk to me.”
“Shang’s mom? Really?” Mushu looks skeptical. “I mean, no shade, but if I were his mom I wouldn’t talk to the person who hurt my kid.”
I wince. “I know. But she’s so kind and she seems to be the most levelheaded person in the family. Anyway, it’s worth a try, right?”
“Sure, I guess so. Are you going to call her now?”
“It’s so late. I’ll text her.”
It takes us over fifteen minutes to compose what we think is a decent enough text to send. I start off by apologizing for everything once more, then say I have urgent information about the company that involves Richard Foreman and James and that though I understand that Auntie Jiayi has no reason to trust me, I really need to relay the information to someone at Wutai Gold.
I hit send, and exhale. “There. That’s that. All right, I’m going home. With any luck, in the morning I’ll wake up and find that this whole day has been nothing more than a bad dream.”
Unfortunately, I don’t wake up to find that the previous day was just a dream. I do, however, wake up to a reply from Auntie Jiayi.
Auntie Jiayi:
Hello Mulan. We should talk. I will meet you at Lamian Paradise at eleven a.m.
I sit bolt upright. Holy crap. I can’t believe that Auntie Jiayi is willing to meet up with me after everything that’s happened. I quickly type out a response.
Thank you so much, Auntie. I’ll be there.
I stay home from work and spend the morning bustling around my apartment, trying to pass the time by doing various chores. Several times, I think of Shang and how cleaning is his hobby. And now I can’t keep my mind off him as I clean. I rehearse what I’m going to say to Auntie Jiayi.
I arrive at Lamian Paradise well before eleven and perch nervously on my seat. This is even worse than waiting for my finals to begin. When Auntie Jiayi arrives, I jump out of the chair and greet her awkwardly, unsure if she would want a hug from me. Luckily, she does, enveloping me into her arms. I close my eyes and will the tears back. It’s a close battle, but I win.
We sit down and I pour some chrysanthemum tea into Auntie Jiayi’s cup. “Thank you so much for meeting me, Auntie.”
Auntie Jiayi nods. “I am curious about what you have to say. But before that, I just have to ask: Why?”
I lick my lips before replying. I’ve rehearsed this a dozen times, but now that Auntie Jiayi is sitting in front of me, looking concerned and sad and so terribly present, all of my carefully crafted words have dissipated from my mind. “I didn’t want to disappoint my father,” I say finally.
“Ah.” Auntie Jiayi takes a sip of her tea. “I understand this. I’ve been wondering, you know, ever since we found out about it. Because you seemed like such a nice girl, not someone who would lie to us. But there is one other reason why you felt you had to do what you did.”
I look at her quizzically.
“The fact that you’re a woman, and you’re right: There would’ve been nothing you could say to win my brothers over if you hadn’t lied to them. I know this is a fact. I grew up with my brothers, and I have had to lie and go about things in sneaky, roundabout ways to be heard by them.”
Guilt coils like a snake in my belly. “Thank you for saying that. It still doesn’t excuse what I did, but I appreciate you acknowledging that part of it. I’m so very sorry.”
“I know,” Auntie Jiayi says simply. “I can see it on your face. You’re not someone who is used to lying.”
“No.”
“Another question: What about my son?”
I didn’t think I could feel any worse, but I do now. Oh, how I do. “I think he’s probably done with me. I don’t blame him, by the way.”
“Not that,” Auntie Jiayi says, waving a flippant hand. “I mean, what you two have—or had—what is it?”
I’m so taken aback by this that I blurt out the answer before I realize it. “Love.” There it is, raw and true in its simplicity.
Auntie Jiayi smiles, and her eyes crinkle at the corners, just like Shang’s. In that moment, she looks so much like Shang that a knot forms in my throat. I take a sip of my tea to try and clear it.
“Ah, I knew it,” Auntie Jiayi says. “Because I could see in Shang’s face also, you know. I have never seen him so happy before.”
“I haven’t been that happy before, either,” I say quietly. “But it doesn’t matter now anyway, because I told you, he’s done with me.”
“Oh, that.” She flaps her hand again. “What rubbish. Of course he is not done with you. He just needs some time to sulk a little. He can be quite sulky, you know, that Shang.”
I laugh. “Good to know. To be fair, though, if I were him, I would be very sulky, too.”
“Oh yes, of course. If I were Shang I would thunder everywhere. But never mind, he’ll get over it.”
“I hope you’re right.”
“Okay, so now tell me, what is this urgent thing about James and Wutai Gold?”
I lean forward and tell Auntie Jiayi everything I overheard last night. I’m surprised to find that Auntie Jiayi doesn’t seem in the least bit shocked by the news. In fact, she hardly reacts at all until I finish speaking. Then she says, “Hmm.”
That’s it? I’ve just told her about a whole conspiracy that her nephew has cooked up to stab them all in their backs and all she says is Hmm ?
“You look surprised,” Auntie Jiayi says.
“Yeah, I kind of am, because I was expecting you to, I don’t know—”
“Be angry? Be shocked?”
“Yeah, actually.”
Auntie Jiayi smiles. “You young people, always having such big reactions.”
I bite my lip, thinking of how raucous the Li uncles and aunties are around one another.
“Is it really so shocking, this thing?” Auntie Jiayi continues. “James has always wanted to sell the company. His heart’s never been in it.”
“Yeah, but this firm he wants to sell to—they’re not going to keep Wutai Gold’s legacy going.”
Auntie Jiayi sighs. “The Wutai Gold legacy. You ever heard of this saying: Zhong nan qing nu? Heavy male, light female. It means: Men are worth more than women . That is the real Wutai Gold legacy.”
I grow sad listening to Auntie Jiayi. None of this is news to me, of course, but hearing it coming from Auntie Jiayi somehow makes it that much worse.
“For years, my brothers have told me to shut up, be quiet, listen when men are talking. I still care about the company, so when I have good ideas, I suggest it to them. But I can’t just say the idea, oh no. If I did, they will ignore it because it came from a woman. No, I have to say it in little pieces here and there, make them think it’s their own idea. And it’s tiring, but I do it. I sacrifice for the family, because I love them.” Auntie Jiayi sets her teacup down. “But I do not love Wutai Gold.”
I look at Auntie Jiayi, really seeing her for the first time. Not as an auntie, or a mother, or a sister, but as a person in her own right, an individual with her own dreams and goals. For the first time, I see beyond the laugh lines of Auntie Jiayi’s face and I can imagine Auntie Jiayi as a young woman, moving from China to America, full of youthful vibrancy and hope for the future.
“What was it like for you, when you first came here?” I say.
Auntie Jiayi gets a faraway look in her eyes. “Exciting. Oh, so exciting! You know what America is called in Chinese? Mei Guo. Beautiful country. And it is. San Francisco is very beautiful, isn’t it? When I first arrived, I thought: This is a different place. And I will be a different person. I watched the Americans, you know, especially American women. Even the way they walk is different. They walk with a purpose, big strides, like they are all so important, going to important meetings and making important decisions. I thought to myself: Yes, this is who I will be. I will be an important person, too.”
“You are important,” I say, my voice almost breaking with earnestness.
Auntie Jiayi scoffs. “No. I’m not. When I try to walk like them, my brothers and sisters-in-law say: ‘Why are you walking like a man, Jiayi? Walk like a woman. Don’t embarrass us.’ Every time I tried to make a change, they stopped me, they told me don’t be stupid, what would people say? This is a Chinese phrase that people always say: Ren jia kan. Everyone will look. Don’t do this or that, because ren jia kan. Everything I did that was outside of the norm, they’d say: ‘Stop that! Ren jia kan!’ And it would embarrass me enough into stopping, because what could possibly be worse than being judged for being different?” The last few words are said loud enough to turn heads in our direction, and Auntie Jiayi smiles and says, “See? Ren jia kan.”
I nod. I’m familiar with that phrase, too. Not so much from my parents, but from other parents who disapproved of the way that my parents raised me.
“The thing is, I was scared. My husband had passed away, I had a child, and I only had a high school diploma from China. I didn’t speak English like you kids do, so I couldn’t get a real job. So I listened to my brothers. I was—still am—grateful to them for looking after me and Shang. They built Wutai Gold out of nothing, and I thank the Merciful Goddess every day that she has blessed us with this. But what they seem to have forgotten is that it was me who gave them the idea to start a whiskey distillery.”
“What?” I cry. My head spins with this newfound knowledge.
The corners of Auntie Jiayi’s mouth curl up into a small smile. “Oh yes. Back in China, who do you think made all of our baijiu? It was me and the other aunties, of course. We were the ones who harvested the grains and fermented them and built our own homemade distillery using buckets and dough to keep it airtight and all that. All the men ever did was drink the liquor once it was done. What do they know about distillation? We couldn’t find baijiu easily when we first moved here, so I made it in our garage. And one day, I said to my brothers, ‘Why don’t we make bigger batches and sell to our neighbors?’ And so we did.”
“That’s amazing, Auntie,” I say. I still can’t quite digest the enormity of this news. To think that without this woman sitting in front of me there wouldn’t even be a Wutai Gold to speak of is staggering. And knowing the way the men in the family have continuously disparaged and belittled her despite her contributions is enraging. “I’m so sorry that you were never given the recognition you deserve.”
Auntie Jiayi shrugs. “This is their legacy.”
“I hate that they did that to you.”
“Yes, well. It is who they are. It’s okay, I see the younger generation, like you and Shang, and I have hope. You kids are so strong, look at you, Zhou—I mean, Mulan—you stand up straight, you dress like a man, you talk like you know everyone will listen, and they should, because you are a very smart person.”
I look down at my pantsuit. “I dress like a man?”
Auntie Jiayi laughs. “I have been listening to your ideas, you know. During our meetings? You are very capable. My brothers are very foolish to not want to work with you. If they really care about saving their precious legacy, it’s very clear they should work with you.”
“You really like my ideas?” The little kid inside my heart is grinning with excitement at this.
“Yes. Why wouldn’t I like your ideas? They are very good.”
Whether it’s the talk or the tea or hearing Auntie Jiayi’s story, the beginning of an idea starts to sprout in my head. “I might have one right now that might prove to your family that I have what it takes to save their brand, but I’m going to need your help.”
Auntie Jiayi leans forward, her eyes shining. Once again, I’m struck by the vibrancy of her. Once more, I see the younger version of Auntie Jiayi, her face bright with a million possibilities, her heart wanting to do something bold, something that will make ren jia kan. And I realize that maybe this isn’t just my second chance, after all. That maybe it’s also Auntie Jiayi’s second chance to make a statement. To finally be heard, and acknowledged for all the wisdom she’s carried with her and shared with her family. To claim her credit for helping build the company into what it is today.
“I am in cahoots with my future daughter-in-law,” Auntie Jiayi says.
I laugh. “Okay, Auntie, calm down, you’re going kind of fast for me.”
“We talk business now.”
And so we do.