Mingmei Yip - Peach Blossom Pavilion

During the whole meal, Fang Rong kept piling food into my bowl. ‘Eat more, soon you’ll be a very healthy and charming young lady.’

I’d never before tasted food so delicious. I gulped down chunks of fish, shrimp, pork, chicken, and beef, washing them down with cup after cup of fragrant tea.

When dinner was finished, I asked, ‘Aunty Fang—’

‘Did you forget that I’m now your mama?’

Her stare was so fierce that I finally muttered a weak, ‘Mama.’ I swallowed hard. ‘After dinner, are we going to see the master and the mistress of the mansion?’

Barely had I finished my question when she burst into laughter. Then she took a sip of her tea and replied meaningfully. ‘Ha, silly girl! Don’t you know that we are your new master and mistress?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘That’s what I mean – I am the mistress and my husband is the master of this Peach Blossom Pavilion.’

‘What is Peach Blossom Pavilion?’

‘A book chamber.’

I looked around but didn’t see any books, not even bookshelves.

Fang Rong cast me a mysterious look. ‘A cloud and rain pavilion.’

Now Wu Qiang added soothingly, ‘This is … ah … a turquoise pavilion.’

‘What—’

Fang Rong spat, ‘A whorehouse!’

Wu Qiang looked on with a mysterious smile while his wife burst out in a loud laugh. Then she chided me affectionately. ‘Why do people always have to have the entrails drawn?’

She was referring to the Chinese saying that when one paints a portrait, he even includes the intestines – an act redundant and stupid.

Shocked, it took several beats before I could utter, ‘But didn’t you tell us that the master is a merchant of foreign trade?’

Fang Rong laughed, her huge breasts and bulging belly shivering. ‘Ha! Ha! It’s true. From time to time we do entertain British, French, and American soldiers here. Don’t you know you’ve just arrived at the night district of Si Malu ? This is the most high-class shangren lane, where all the book chambers are found!’

I felt a queasiness simmering in my stomach. ‘You mean … I was sold into—’ Fang Rong’s harsh voice pierced my ears. ‘No, you were not sold, silly girl! You were given to us as a gift—’

Using his long-nailed pinky to pick some meat from between his teeth while stealing a glance at me, Wu Qiang added, ‘We didn’t even have to pay your mother.’

‘That’s why we never forget to make offerings to the Buddha, Guan Yin the Goddess of Mercy, and,’ her sausage finger pointing to the sword-wielding, horse-riding general, ‘the righteous, money-bringing White-Browed God.’ Fang Rong winked, then pinched my cheek. ‘So, little pretty, see how they look after us!’

Now, as if he were my real father, Wu Qiang looked down at me tenderly, his voice unctuous. ‘Xiang Xiang, don’t worry. From now on, you’ll have plenty of good food to eat and pretty clothes to wear. You’ll see we’ll take care of you like you’re our own daughter.’

But they were not my mother and father. That night, alone, helpless, and abandoned, I cried a long time before I fell asleep in the small, bare room to which I’d been led.

My only hope was that my mother would write to me and soon come to visit.

In the following days, it surprised me that my anger at being tricked into the prostitution house had gradually waned. I had to admit, with embarrassment, that life here didn’t seem to be so bad after all. Fang Rong kept her promise to my mother – I was well clothed and fed. Moreover, I felt relieved to be spared, not only from accompanying clients but also from the menial chores like washing clothes, scrubbing floors, cleaning spittoons, emptying chamber pots. Those jobs were given to maids – girls too plain to ever serve as ‘sisters.’

In comparison to their work, mine was easy: serving the sisters and their customers while they played mahjong; refilling the guests’ water pipes and serving them tea and tobacco; helping the cook in the kitchen; carrying messages for the sisters; running errands for Fang Rong. Needless to say, I didn’t like serving Fang Rong, but I actually enjoyed the other tasks. Especially the mahjong playing – when the game was finished, the customers always tipped me generously by secretly pushing money into my hand.

Moreover, when the game finished and dinner was served in the banquet room, a puppy would always materialise to gobble bits of food thrown down by the guests and sisters. He was so cute that whenever I saw him, I’d pick him up, squeeze him in my arms, and bury my face into his fluffy yellow fur. Strangely, he was never given a name, but was just called ‘Puppy.’ One time when I’d asked a sister why didn’t the puppy have a name, she laughed, ‘Because we don’t want to bother. Why don’t you give him one?’ And I did. So he became Guigui – good baby. Guigui began to recognise me and follow me almost everywhere. His favourite place was beside me in the kitchen while I helped the chef, Ah Ping.

Ah Ping, a fortyish, mute, and half-witted woman, always secretly fed me and Guigui with goodies. For a chef, she was unusually thin. I always stared at her hollow cheeks and wondered why she never seemed to have any appetite. Or why she only spoke with jumbled sounds which no one could understand.

I carried out my chores mostly during my spare time. My main duty in the pavilion was to learn the arts – singing parts from Peking and Kun operas; playing the pipa – a four-stringed lute resembling a pear; painting; and practising calligraphy.

The painting and calligraphy teacher was Mr. Wu, an old man in his forties. I felt very fond of him not only because he painted well, but, also because he was a very kind teacher – never scolding but gently redirecting my brush to show me how to form the strokes more elegantly. The opera teacher, Mr. Ma, was younger than Mr. Wu, but also pretty old – thirty-eight. I didn’t like him, for he looked at me strangely and would accidentally brush his hand against my face, my belly, sometimes even my breast (when he demonstrated how to lead my breath from my chest down to my dantian – cinnabar field).

A young woman named Pearl was assigned to teach me to play the pipa . Beautiful with shiny black hair and sparkling white teeth, Pearl was the most popular sister in the pavilion. Although I was extremely fond of her, somehow she also made me feel uneasy. I found it hard to tell what kind of a person she really was – sometimes sweet and lively like a rabbit, at other times arrogant and difficult like a cat. Though usually bright and bubbly, at moments she would become sad, as if burdened with forbidden secrets.

Besides Pearl’s unpredictable temper, I had another source of unease in the turquoise pavilion – the pair of sad eyes peeking out from the bamboo grove and staring at me whenever I passed the courtyard.

However, I felt happy and content with my art lessons and fine food; Fang Rong and her husband seemed almost parental to me, so I had little inclination to complain.

Life in this turquoise pavilion was really not so horrible as it was described by people outside.

Yet one thing made me sad. I’d been here nearly four weeks now, but Mother had never written to me nor come to visit as she’d promised. Counting on my fingers, I suddenly realised that she would be leaving for Peking tomorrow. So I went to Fang Rong and asked for her permission to let me leave the pavilion to see my mother off.

Although she smiled, the big mole between her brows looked as if it were about to leap toward me in full force. ‘Ah, you foolish girl. Don’t you know the rule in Peach Blossom? You can only be allowed to go outside the main gate on the following occasions: when you get an invitation from some very important guests, that’s only after you’ve become very popular and much sought after; when I take you out for business like fixing your hair or having clothes sewn for you; when the pavilion organises an outing to entertain important parties.’