Mingmei Yip - Song of the Silk Road

I continued to stroll, trying to pick up the threads of my earlier daydream. But the story refused to move forward. Did the prince and I undergo a stormy, passionate love affair before settling down to an erotic happy-ever-after, surrounded by delightfully shrieking little princes and princesses? I tried and tried but nothing came, so I gave up. Maybe after all I was not a rich man’s beautiful daughter in any of my past lives nor was there any handsome prince coming to my rescue.

Still savoring the impossible fairy tale, I spotted several men squatting on the ground surrounding a jade vendor. Attracted by the brightly colored stones and the powerful, concentric qi emitted by the men, I went up to the group and squatted down just like them, a pose I’d never adopt back in the States or in Hong Kong. The men turned to cast me curious glances.

The vendor, a brown-faced, fortyish Uyghur man wearing a Muslim cap and a white-turned-gray shirt, smiled at my intrusion, then asked in Mandarin, “You want buy jade for friends, relatives?”

I was wrong to have imagined that I’d started to blend in—first the little girl talked to me in English, and now this jade seller in Mandarin.

I smiled back. “Sorry, I don’t have any people to give to.”

He looked surprised. “No family?”

I shook my head.

“Oh, an orphan.” He turned to translate to the others.

Now all the men took on sympathetic expressions, collectively shaking their heads.

Suddenly a worry rose in my mind: Knowing I was here by myself, would they try to take advantage of me?

But the vendor leaned toward me. “Then buy one for yourself, for blessing and protection.” He spread and rearranged the jades on the carpet with his brown hands tipped with stained nails. Staring at his workman’s hands, I thought of Lop Nor digging for herbs and blinked back tears.

Oblivious of the emotions inside me, the vendor spoke. “Miss, these are Khotan jade, worn only by emperors.”

I squeezed a smile. “Then how did they end up on the street?”

“Ah, many years ago kingdom lost, no more jewelry, no cash, no good food, no pretty wives, not even one.” He made a sweeping gesture to sculpt in the air the outline of a voluptuous woman.

All the other men laughed; one emitted meaningful clucking sounds.

I ignored them while sifting through the stones to distract myself. Maybe thinking that I was a serious buyer, soon the others stood up to leave, one after another.

After they all left, the vendor looked around and said in a whisper, as if trying to share with me a slice of heaven’s secret, “Miss, if you’re looking for something special, take a look at my most valuable piece.”

My curiosity was pricked. “What is it?”

He slipped his hand inside his shirt, pulled out an object, then put it in my hand.

An ivory bracelet the color of antique white jade—just like Lop Nor’s white jade pendant. The piece was unusually wide and thick, its entire surface adorned by a streak the color of aged red wine, or Chinese Pu’er tea. Its antique silver clasp was an intertwined dragon and phoenix.

I bounced my hand a little to feel the solid, sensuous weight of the ivory in my palm. A unique piece, an unexpected find in this remote place. As I rubbed the smooth ivory against my wrist, it suddenly occurred to me that this would be a perfect match with Lop Nor’s pendant, now hanging from my neck.

I looked up to the vendor. “I really like it. But… I don’t think I could afford a treasure like this.”

He lifted my wrist. “Miss, only a small piece like this will suit your small wrist. If it’s bigger, even if you want it it’s no use. I’d say this piece has been waiting for you to claim it.”

I thought for a while. “All right, then, how much?”

“One thousand. I give you big bargain, so no bargain.”

This was someone’s whole year salary in China!

I caressed the off-white, luminous texture, smooth like silk and soothing as a massaging hand. “Why is there a red streak in the middle?”

“From tomb. It absorbed some of the dead person’s blood.”

Now the red seemed to undulate slightly before my eyes. Although I doubted it was real blood, the idea intrigued me. Maybe one day I could open my yin eye to communicate with the owner during one of his or her many incarnations centuries ago under a full, blue moon.

“Where did you get it? I hope that you didn’t…”

“I didn’t take it from the grave, if that’s what you mean. To disturb the dead would bring bad luck to my family for generations. My family got it from someone else.”

“Then where did that someone else get it?”

He paused to clear his throat. “All right. Thirty-odd years ago, when the government dug up a piece of land to rebuild, the workers found a grave underneath. Inside was a woman’s skeleton with this bracelet around her wrist. It was sent to a museum, but when the museum ran out of money it sold its collection. My grandfather, a rich man, bought this for my grandmother, who gave it to my mother and then my mother to me.”

“Then why are you selling it now on the street?”

“I need the money. My son has been waiting for a kidney transplant.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry.”

“Then buy this bracelet and save a life.” He took out his wallet, pulled out a picture, and showed it to me. “Me and my Baobao, nine years old.”

The picture showed the vendor with a bright-eyed boy in front of a mud cottage.

“But your son doesn’t look sick at all.”

“That was taken long time ago. I didn’t take any pictures of him since he’s got sick.”

“I’m so sorry. I hope he’ll get well someday.”

“I hope so, too.”

I slipped the bracelet onto my wrist, and it fit perfectly. But I asked, “Don’t you think it’d be bad luck to wear someone else’s blood around?”

He laughed, squinting at me. “No, on the contrary, it’s good luck.”

“How?”

“You kidding? Because the blood will enhance the circulation of your blood!”

His comment reminded me of my mother’s fondness for cooking me pig’s brain soup. Almost all older generation Chinese believe in yixing buxing —one shape boosting another similar one. Thus chicken feet are to build dexterous fingers; animals’ bones, your bone (especially menopausal women); pigs’ kidneys to strengthen your kidneys; chicken heart, your heart…

As a child, I bitterly hated this creamy, white, yucky pig’s brain soup but was forced to drink till not a single, precious drop was wasted. Didn’t it ever enter my mother’s mind that eating pig’s brain might turn her child’s brain into a pig’s?

I asked, “Then why don’t you save this for your son?”

“It’s too small for him. Besides, it only works when the bracelet has direct contact with one’s flesh.”

“All right, I’ll take it.” Even though I thought what he’d said about the blood was sheer nonsense, it was nonetheless a very titillating concept. So I took out my purse, pulled out ten bills, and handed them to the vendor. Then I took off the bracelet for him to put inside a silk pouch.

“Thank you very much.” He looked very happy, but his tone was chiding. “Miss, next time don’t just show your money like this. I’m an honest person, but not the others around here. When people see that you’re a cash-carrying tourist, I can assure you that their brains will suddenly heat up.”

I chuckled. “Thanks for the advice.”

“All right, you take good care of yourself.” He lifted up the four corners of his blanket and tied them into a thick knot. After that, he threw the bag over his shoulder and hurried away before I had a chance to say, “You, too.”