Mingmei Yip - Peach Blossom Pavilion

‘Sister Pearl, are you all right?’

‘Oh yes. Don’t you worry about me, I’m fine. I just wonder how’s Spring Moon now. Hai, poor girl, I hope she can pull through.’

I asked tentatively, ‘Where’s the police chief?’

‘He was tipsy. Otherwise Spring Moon would have been shot in the head already and started her journey to the Western Paradise. Then I got him completely drunk, so his gang took him back. Hopefully by tomorrow morning he won’t remember a thing. Otherwise he may still cause trouble.’

‘Is he very important?’

Pearl chuckled. ‘Did you see how he swung his gun? He’s a local despot! Have you ever heard the saying “When a scholar argues with a soldier, even if he has reasons, he has no way to make them clear”?’

She plunged on, ‘Because the soldier is armed with a gun! So he doesn’t give a damn about the scholar’s reasoning, he’ll just shoot him!’ She looked me straight in the eyes. ‘And remember, Xiang Xiang, we’re not even scholars, but whores.’

That night, I could not sleep at all because my mind kept spinning with the image of Spring Moon.

The next day, as soon as it became light, I went to knock at Pearl’s door and heard her tell me to come in.

Wearing a high-collared gown embroidered with gold-threaded peonies, she was standing beside the large blue-and-white bowl, feeding her goldfish.

I walked up to her. ‘Sister Pearl, have you heard anything about Spring Moon?’

‘She’s in the dark room.’ Not looking at me, Pearl continued to throw morsels of bread into the bowl.

We silently watched the fish swim and wag their tails for a while before she motioned me to sit on the sofa.

It seemed strange to be resting my bottom on the soft velvet cushion while Spring Moon was down there. Creepy sensations crawled all over my body. ‘But she’s wounded, why did they put her there?’

‘Because she offended the police chief. Nobody can afford to do that. If you do, you’re asking for a bullet in your head. She’s lucky that she’s now only lying in the dark room, not in a grave.’

‘You think she’ll die?’

‘You think Mama, after she’s made her investment, will let her daughters die so easily? Of course not, because any living daughter is better than a dead one. Once dead, all her investment will be thrown into the chamber pot. But a living daughter … even if she’s disfigured, Mama can still sell her to a cheap whorehouse and get some money back, even if just a few coins.’ She paused, then, ‘Anyway, her wound was not serious.’ She sighed, ‘The dark room is to teach any disobedient girl a lesson.’

Some silence passed before Pearl spoke again. ‘Let’s not talk about unpleasant things.’ She stood up, went to the luohan bed, and from underneath it took out an elongated object in a brocade cover. She removed the case and carefully put the object onto the table.

I studied it for long moments before I asked, ‘What is this?’

‘It’s a qin – seven-stringed zither,’ she said softly, running her fingers along its length.

The wooden surface, lacquered and decorated with dots of mother-of-pearl, shone with a lovely lustre.

‘So are we going to play this today?’

Pearl chuckled. ‘Ah, silly girl, you think you can just learn how to play this instrument in a day? It takes years and years of hard work.’

She went on, her voice filled with emotion, ‘I want to play you a piece. It’s called “Remembering an Old Friend.”’

I asked tentatively, ‘Is it … Spring Moon?’

‘No, but my elder sister. Spring Moon is naïve like her.’

‘Where is your sister now?’

Pearl didn’t answer my question. The sadness on her face suppressed my urge to further enquire. So I changed the subject. ‘Sister Pearl, do you know how Spring Moon ended up here in Peach Blossom?’

Pearl smoothed the brocade cover and sighed, ‘Her father was a well-off ship merchant. One time when he was shipping some precious goods from Shanghai to Hong Kong, a storm struck and destroyed everything – the goods, the ship, the sailors, and himself. So her family lost everything overnight, literally. Not only that, since they hadn’t bought insurance, they had to pay for all the losses, including the goods to be delivered to Hong Kong and the compensation to the sailors’ widows. After the father’s costly funeral, there was nothing left. So her father’s concubines sold her here to pay their debts.

‘Spring Moon was thrown overnight from atop the clouds to the ground. She was used to having maids serve her, and now she is bossed around. I was told she had a really nice and handsome fiancé. So of course it revolted her to be molested by that disgusting police chief. Poor girl, that was her first day out, and she’s already caused this big trouble.’

Pearl put away the qin , then took the pot and poured us both tea. We sipped in silence.

Then I asked, ‘I don’t understand why Spring Moon kept staring at me from behind the bamboo grove.’

Pearl looked me in the eyes. ‘She’s envious of your beauty, especially those dimples of yours.’

‘She told you that?’

‘No. But I can tell. I always catch her squeezing in her cheeks to have the illusion of dimples.’ Pearl sighed. ‘ Hai , poor girl. She still doesn’t have to sleep with customers. When she does, there’ll be more …’

‘More what?’

‘Nothing.’

Moments passed. Pearl once again slid the qin out from its brocade cover and started to tune it. The seven strings, lightly touched, emitted soft, subtle sounds as if they were whispering the secrets of heaven. When Pearl had finished tuning, she meditated for seconds, then began to play. The melodies seemed to tell a very sad tale. Mesmerised, I imagined waves of melancholy sloshing gently through the room, caressing our wounded hearts.

I also noticed something unexpected – the transformation of Pearl’s face. During her pipa playing when she vigorously plucked the strings, she always looked animated and flirtatious. Her long hair would fall over her face and tremble like dark waves and her eyes would give out sparks like twinkling stars. But as she played the qin , her countenance composed itself into that of a scholar’s – serious, serene, respectful. The fingers that pulled and plucked aggressively on the pipa now effortlessly glided and pirouetted, like dragonflies skipping over a brook, swallows touching water, or petals falling on waves.

My mind was lifted away by Pearl’s elegant playing to a quiet, far-off place where I could almost see Baba sitting under a shaded bamboo grove, playing a sad tune from his fiddle and smiling wryly at me.

After she finished, we sighed simultaneously. I felt sorry that such wonderful music had to end.

‘Sister Pearl.’ I searched her eyes. ‘The qin sounds so beautiful—’

She stared at me curiously. ‘You find this music beautiful?’

Eagerly I nodded.

‘You’re very gifted, Xiang Xiang. Not many young girls have the insight to appreciate qin melodies—’

‘Can you teach me how to play the qin ?’

Her face darkened. ‘No.’

‘But … why not?’ I felt both surprised and hurt by her refusal.

‘Because I think you should concentrate on the pipa. ’ Before I could protest, she went on, ‘Xiang Xiang, the qin won’t make you famous and popular, but the pipa will.’

‘Why? And how?’

‘Because the pipa ’s tone is short and its music tuneful. You can attract the customers’ attention right away. But it’ll take years of cultivation just to appreciate the qin , let alone to play it, and play it well. As women, we have only very limited years of youth and beauty. So by the time you’ve mastered the instrument, you’ve already lost both. Worse still, hardly any customers will be cultured enough to appreciate the qin – or your talent.’