Chapter Sixteen
Hong Kong
Yut Ying
I had forgotten all about Tommy Yeung until, come the middle of August, he surfaced once again in my life.
I was walking to the factory, slower than usual since the summer heat had spurred my feet to swell and now my shoes chafed with every step.
I distracted myself from the pain by looking around to see if any of the seeds I’d scattered had sprouted.
Birds and squirrels had devoured most of them, then the monsoons had come and swept away everything else.
The only survivor was a loquat tree, half a meter tall.
It would take years before it bore any fruit.
I crouched, sprinkling water to keep the tree’s soil moist—when I heard the familiar chime of a bicycle bell.
“Yut Ying!” Tommy shouted, hopping off his bike. “You cut your hair, I almost didn’t recognize you. Remember me?”
In the span of six months, he’d grown taller, and the shape of his face had changed, too. His chin had lost its boyish roundness and there were new angles in his jawline. He sported a dimple when he smiled.
“Tending to Hong Kong’s finest orchards, I see,” he said pleasantly. “What is that, apricot?”
“Loquat,” I said, resuming my stroll to work.
He steered his bicycle alongside me. “Your aunt must be grooming you to take over the factory,” he chatted. “Still sewing slippers, or have you been promoted to a supervisor?”
I frowned, but secretly I was pleased to see him again. I quickened my pace. “I’m going to be late.”
“Let me give you a ride. I can drop you off a block before the factory, if you’re nervous about your aunt seeing you.”
It was a thoughtful gesture, but I hesitated. “Why did you say she’s grooming me to take over the factory?”
“My grandfather used to take my cousin and me to his farm during harvest season. He’d make us pick soybeans from dawn to dusk, then we had to dry them and remove their skin and extract their milk.
He said it wasn’t enough to know how to run a business, we had to understand every aspect of the product we sold.
I figured your aunt was making you gain experience, too. ”
“You overestimate her,” I replied.
“Then why does she make you work?”
Truly, I didn’t know. It had been almost a year now, and Gu Ma had stopped asking me about the other seamstresses.
“I don’t mind it,” I said, for that was true. Every hour in the factory was one fewer hour at 12 Harbourage with Sai Ma. “It’s not like I’m that girl in your story—Yeh . . .”
“Yeh Shen,” he supplied, grinning widely. “You remembered!”
He was a puppy in boy form, I thought, the way he wore his emotions on his sleeve and how eager he was to please. Prince Cannonball would eat him alive.
“I never got to finish it for you,” Tommy babbled on. “Shall I continue?”
There was no getting rid of him. I nodded and started up another one of Hong Kong’s damned hills.
“I recall exactly where we left off. Yeh Shen yearned to go to the Spring Festival, but her stepmother forbade it. In spite of this, Yeh Shen harbored no grudge and remained as kind and good as ever.
“For years, her stepmother had saddled Yeh Shen with chores and hard labor. The only time the girl was allowed to leave home was to wash clothes at the river behind the village. Wanting to know why Yeh Shen remained so happy, one day the stepmother secretly followed her to the river. There, she spotted Yeh Shen talking with the fish.”
“The fish?” I repeated.
“Have you forgotten? Yeh Shen befriended a fish whose scales shone like drops of sunlight, so magnificent that crows constantly circled it, desperate to peck at the gold. To protect her friend, Yeh Shen wove a seaweed sheath to cover its scales, but the sheath was fragile and often needed to be repaired. She’d sit by the river, talking to her fish while she worked. ”
“Her stepmother saw,” I said, my stomach roiling with dread.
Tommy confirmed with a nod. “The next morning, the lady brought a basket of laundry to the river and lured the fish out by pretending to be Yeh Shen. ‘I’ve made a new jacket for you,’ she called.
‘This one won’t break as easily.’ As soon the fish appeared, she flung her net and ensnared him.
Can you guess what she and her daughter ate for lunch? ”
My throat went tight. “That’s cruel.”
“Yeh Shen had no idea. That very afternoon, she heard crows cawing loudly at the river and rushed to check on her friend, but the fish wasn’t there. Concerned, Yeh Shen searched along the river. Eventually, she ran into an old peddler washing his feet in the water.
“ ‘Good sir,’ she said, ‘have you seen a golden fish in the river? Its scales are shaped like teardrops, its eyes like two cash coins.’
“ ‘Indeed I have,’ said the peddler, who was a sage in disguise. ‘That fish is a guardian from heaven. The crows told me he was caught this morning by a woman from the village. Your stepmother. She killed him.’
“Yeh Shen fell to her knees. ‘No,’ she wept bitterly. ‘This is my fault.’
“Cry if you must, but do not despair. His bones carry a magical spirit that watches over you still. If you are ever in need, you may pray to them.’
“Yeh Shen hardly heard the advice. In deep anguish, she hurried home. Sure enough, there was a pile of fish bones on her stepmother’s and stepsister’s plates.
“ ‘You missed a delectable lunch, Yeh Shen,’ said her stepmother wickedly. ‘Your sister and I enjoyed the most succulent carp; we ate until our bellies were full. Be a good girl and wash these plates clean.’
“With a heavy heart, Yeh Shen mourned her beloved friend. Remembering what the sage had told her, she kept the fish bones safe, though she had nothing to wish for except the fish’s forgiveness.”
It was only a story, yet I pitied Yeh Shen. She was nothing like me, who grumbled about my work but didn’t have the spine to rebel. She was patient and compassionate. She didn’t deserve all her hardships.
“If I had magic fish bones,” I said, “I’d wish for the stepmother and stepsister to be turned into cockroaches. Then I’d set my cat on them.”
Tommy laughed. “Then there’d be no story.”
“I’d be free of them, that’s story enough for me.” We’d reached the top of the hill, and I stopped to pat my sweaty temples with my sleeve.
Grinning, Tommy took out two thermoses from his backpack. “Pick one: I’ve got soymilk and leung cha. Then I’ll tell you a secret.”
I chose the herbal tea. Not my favorite, but my grandmother swore by its healing properties. The drink was warm and did little to quench the heat in my throat.
I wiped my mouth and took another sip. “What’s the secret?”
“Next time choose the soymilk,” replied Tommy. “It’s actually very cooling. The best part is, you don’t have to drink it cold. It’s good warm and hot, too.”
I had to laugh. “You know, I’ve never met anyone more fixated on soymilk.”
He held the thermos high, throwing his shoulders forward in a way that parodied the models on billboards. “Soy is joy,” he uttered with dramatic flair.
I was still laughing. Tommy loved soymilk the way I loved music. If it were up to him, he’d spend all day waxing on about soybean farming and milk production. And, to my surprise, I’d want to listen.
“So what does Yeh Shen wish for?” I asked.
Tommy winked. “I’ll tell you next time.”
“Another half a year from now?”
“Sooner,” he said cheekily. He waved goodbye, his long bangs falling over his eyes, and there came a strange flutter in my chest that turned my insides warm. He’d gotten handsome, my friend Tommy.
I hoped he wouldn’t forget me.
The following week, I found Tommy by the loquat tree, tying a bamboo stick to its trunk.
“So it’ll grow straight,” he explained, straightening a bit himself when he spotted me.
I was impressed. “Did you learn this on your soybean farm?”
“I learned it so you’ll invite me for loquats when the tree bears fruit. You promise?”
“You like loquats that much?”
He grinned. “I like you that much.”
Back home, when boys flirted, I pushed them into the pig trough. Obviously there was no pig trough here. So why, then, did my tongue tie up like those knots Tommy had made around the tree?
Still grinning, Tommy sprang to his feet and motioned at his bicycle. “It’s good you’re early. Hop on, I’ll take you to breakfast.”
“I can’t—”
“Don’t say no. I know a cha chaan teng that opens extra early. It’s not far, and the owner’s a family friend. I already told him you’re coming—you can’t make me lose face.”
Cha chaan tengs were a new kind of teahouse everyone was talking about, but I was more interested in his bicycle. It looked different than before. The seat was longer, with room for both of us. Had he changed that just for me?
“Will you come?” Tommy asked.
Why not? I climbed on, sitting behind him on the seat. “I’ve never ridden a bicycle before,” I admitted.
“You’ll . . . you’ll have to hold on to me,” he said. “Like this.” He wrapped my arms around his waist. “Going downhill can get fast, but don’t worry. I won’t let you fall.”
He turned to the road, pedaling strongly. The momentum propelled me forward, so my chin landed on his shoulder. It felt nice there.
Tommy was wiry and athletic and didn’t seem to mind having to cycle up the hills while bearing my extra weight. Going downhill, the streets blurred into a pinwheel of color, and I squealed in his ear. He laughed and rang the bell on his bicycle.
“Were you a devil in your last life, Ha Yut Ying? I swear I almost threw up when that tram on the road came out of nowhere.” Then he’d whisk us down another even steeper hill.
Never had I laughed more, or screamed more.
We were two young people on the cusp of adulthood, carefree and invincible. I never wanted it to end.
The cha chaan teng was on the corner of Kam Hong and Albert Crescent Road.
It had green-painted windows and white lace curtains, and instead of offering only traditional Cantonese food, the menu also introduced Western food like bread with butter, milk tea, and potatoes that were fried in strips and dipped in tomato paste.