Wei left the house early again the next morning. He was reminded of his childhood, when his amah Ching walked him to school each morning. It was a time when Guangzhou was still an intimate city, famous for its large harbor that drew ships in from all over the world. Sometimes after school, Ching took him down to the port to watch the ships come in, their colorful flags of origin flying atop each one. He heard languages from all over the world and tried to guess which country they were sailing from. He memorized each flag so he could go home and look them up in his father’s library. America, Spain, the Netherlands. It was a memory of breadth and distances crossed that filled him with an unexpected joy.
Wei again walked toward the Pearl River, choppy and murky in the morning breeze. He followed the river’s path until he flagged down a pedicab to take him down to the harbor. As they approached the streets leading to the port, the pedicab passed the burgeoning crowds of early-morning shoppers and street vendors. Wei smelled the salt fish air, the roasting chestnuts, and the long, greasy donuts frying in their large open woks and eaten with rice porridge. Wei was excited being there again, watching the big ships enter the Guangzhou harbor from the Pearl River, which was once called the “Silk Road on the Sea” during the Ming and Qing dynasties. What courage it must have taken for men to leave their homes and families for months, even years at a time, sailing on the vast open seas with only the dreams of adventure, along with the lingering threat of never making it back home to their loved ones again.
Wei paid the pedicab driver and walked down to the old wooden harbor where Ching used to take him. He stood looking out to the Pearl River, murky and roiling, which connected with the Dong, Bei, and Xi rivers moving throughout China. They would never change, no matter how much Guangzhou had since his childhood. The rivers would always flow at their own will and for that he was grateful. They were once China’s main arteries to and from the rest of the world. He could only imagine how many of the artifacts he’d studied at Lingnan were brought down the rivers from other parts of China on large cargo ships. He wished Tao were there, so he could explain to him just how powerful China once was, and how everything had changed since Mao and his Party came into power. All the vibrancy and color had been drained from the city of his childhood. Times were more difficult and opportunities slim, all restricted under Party control. Was that why he’d written the letter, to reclaim his past? What did it matter now, if he didn’t have his family to share it with?
Wei had spent his entire life hiding behind walls, first at the university and then at the villa. It was time to step forward and do something other than wait defeated, day after day, hoping to hear from Sheng. He needed to know if his son was still alive. The authorities had told them nothing. If he could just see Sheng, it wouldn’t change the situation, but it might at least give Kai Ying some peace of mind. It was the very least he could do after all the hurt he’d caused. Wei suddenly recalled an old proverb from his childhood: an ant may well destroy a whole dam. And a father may well find his son, he thought.
As Wei watched the ships move in and out of the harbor, it was the first time in a year he felt an inkling of peace. He closed his eyes against the glare of the sun and felt Liang standing beside him. It had been weeks since he had sensed her presence, and his heart raced, thinking she had finally returned to him. He wasn’t alone anymore. I’ll make everything right again, he whispered to her. What were you thinking? He could hear her questioning him, though her tone wasn’t angry. Then he saw her smile and felt the warmth of her hand taking his.
At that moment, Wei was certain of what he had to do.
Song
Song cut another stem of bak choy from her garden for Kai Ying before she stood up. She heard a noise coming from the courtyard and walked toward it, stopping at the end of the brick path where she’d seen Wei leaving from the front gate, just hours earlier. He left the house early every morning now and walked, he told her, to clear his head. Song was just about to call out his name when something stopped her. He seemed in a hurry to get somewhere and her first thought was not to disturb him. Song was tempted to follow him, to see where he was off to every morning, until she looked down at the mud-splattered clothes she was wearing. It was only after the gate closed behind him that she realized he was carrying something that looked like his old leather work satchel.
Again she heard footsteps. Song covered her eyes against the sun’s glare to see Kai Ying hurrying toward her. Song’s smile disappeared when she saw the anxiousness in her eyes.
“What’s happened? Is everything all right?” Song asked.
“Lo Yeh’s gone.”
“No, no, he’s out walking. I saw him leave the house this morning…”
“No, he has gone to Luoyang,” Kai Ying said, her voice anxious. She handed Song a piece of paper. “He left this note.”
Song put down her basket of vegetables and looked at Wei’s fluid characters. She remembered what Liang had once said to her. In another life, Wei must have been an Imperial scribe. It was true, in his beautiful script he had written: I’ve gone to Luoyang to find Sheng.
Stories
November 1958
Wei
The last day of October brought cooler and milder temperatures, the sky overcast and gray. Wei left the house early, just as he had been doing for the past few weeks so his absence wouldn’t warrant suspicion. He’d left a letter for Kai Ying on the kitchen table, and was almost approached by Song, but he hurried out of the front gate before she could talk to him. There was nothing left to say, and he didn’t want to explain why he was carrying his old leather satchel with him, bulging with a pair of pants, a few shirts, and a woolen sweater for Sheng. He was also wearing his new mein po. It would be cold and dry in Luoyang, a flat region surrounded by mountainous terrain that was so different from Guangzhou.
Ever since he visited the harbor two weeks ago, Wei had been planning this trip. He checked his pocket once again for his money as he walked to the bus station. There were so many unanswered questions that worried him, but he avoided them now and hoped to find the answers along the way. Nothing was going to detour him from seeing Sheng. After years of remaining stagnant Wei had a purpose; he was no longer standing still and gathering dust.
* * *
As Wei approached the bus station, the sun broke through the clouds. It was a good sign. He shifted the satchel he carried to his other hand and could already smell the bus fumes from a half block away. Taking the bus would be slower, but he assumed it was also cheaper. He had no idea how long it would take to see Sheng. Until then, he’d have to use his savings sparingly. During his last years at Lingnan, Wei had set a little money aside, hidden among his books. Before he left, he divided the money into two envelopes, one in the inside pocket of his mein po, the other tucked in between the clothes in his satchel.
Wei hadn’t eaten much before he left the house and his stomach rumbled. He stopped to buy a bag of dry plums and some biscuits in a tin to tide him over for the first leg of the trip. He could buy more when they reached the next city.
Wei hurried, anxious now. The last time he’d been away from Guangzhou was more than twenty-five years ago when he caught the train to Shanghai to give a lecture on Sung Dynasty art. Then, his satchel was filled with notes on the complicated dynasty that was divided into two distinct periods; the first defined by art, philosophy, growth, and stability, while the latter half was characterized by war, brutality, and displacement. It all came back to him now. He had also brought along color reproductions of the misty, ethereal paintings of that period, which reflected the conflicting moods of the time. How could he have once been so confident, so sure of himself standing in front of an audience of hundreds of faculty and students, while he’d spent the past ten years hiding away behind the walls of the villa? Wei saw it now as the conflicting halves of his own life. How was it he could know so much and so little?
Wei paused for a moment to catch his breath. The city was awakening. He began to see more people
walking down the streets, clutching their bags and possessions as bicyclists skillfully weaved in and out, carrying everything from cages filled with chickens to a pig carcass wobbling precariously on the backs of their bicycles. But what amused Wei most was the sight of two riders, pedaling side by side in perfect sync as they transported a set of straw mattresses tied across the backs of both bikes. Such simplicity somehow agreed with him, entire lives flitting by on the backs of bicycles.
Wei grew warmer as he continued down the street. He unbuttoned the collar of his tunic, but kept his mein po on rather than carry it, even as the sooty air became more oppressive as he approached the station.
The Guangzhou Long-Distance Bus Station shared the same building as the Guangzhou Railway Station. Within the cavernous structure was a world of its own as people arrived and departed from all over China. Walking through the train station, Wei was immediately surrounded by a crush of rushing bodies and the high, singsong voices of merchants selling everything from kites to pots and pans. Sweaters and silk pajamas were stacked high in all sizes, vibrant silk scarves, umbrellas, and Parker pens in every color—the shrill, frantic voices calling from every direction and vying for his attention. “Right here, right here, the best quality in town at the lowest prices!” It had been a long time since he was in the midst of so many people moving so quickly.
Wei pushed his way through the crowds and walked to the far end of the building, which housed the quieter bus station. A few passengers sat on wooden benches waiting for their buses to arrive or depart, and an older woman directed him to the bus schedule; a large black board with changing white names and numbers. When he didn’t see Luoyang on the board, he approached a young man sitting behind the counter reading a magazine.
“Can you tell me if there’s a bus that goes directly to Luoyang?” Wei asked.
“Luoyang?”
“In the Henan province,” he added.
Wei watched the young man flip through a blue book, his finger moving down the columns line by line until he had found Luoyang. He wondered how he’d gotten the job when he had no idea where Luoyang was.
“There’s a bus that leaves in an hour, but it’s a very long trip. It looks as if there are about twenty-two stops in between,” the young man finally said.
“How long will it take?”
“Three or four days,” he said. “Maybe more.”
“That long?” Wei asked. He was aware that Luoyang was far away, but hearing that it took days on a bus left him feeling suddenly defeated.
The young man looked up at Wei for the first time. “You might want to take a train instead. It’s faster and should take half the time to reach Luoyang. And even the most inexpensive seat would be more comfortable.”
Wei smiled and thought the young man looked faintly like a student he once had, though he thought that of so many young people he saw. “Do you know what the cost would be?”
“You’ll have to ask at the train station.” The young man gestured in the direction he’d just come from.
Wei nodded. “Thank you,” he said, turning away.
* * *
Wei looked around, trying to find a place to buy a cup of tea and something to eat. He felt dizzy in the noisy, crowded building, with the trapped stink of cigarette smoke, sweat, and the acidic edge of urine. He leaned against a concrete wall and for a moment he thought he might pass out, a sourness rising to his mouth, which he quickly swallowed back down again. He wasn’t about to pass out before the trip had even started. Wei rooted through his jacket pocket until he found his bag of mui, the salty dried plums, and sucked on them until his queasiness subsided and he felt better again. It was what his mother always gave him as a child when he had bouts of motion sickness, and one of the many childhood habits that had stayed with him.
* * *
Unlike the young man at the bus station, the thin, short-haired woman at the train station was terse and abrupt in her green drab uniform. “Buy a ticket or stand aside!” she snapped at him as he tried to explain himself. Wei would never have been spoken to so rudely at the university. The thought left him indignant and gave him courage. “Let them wait,” he snapped back. He stood there and calculated everything in his head. Even if he bought the lowest fare train ticket, a quarter of his savings would be gone before he even left Guangzhou, but the trip would be much faster and less arduous. “One ticket to Luoyang,” he reluctantly said. Then he sat down and waited for the train to depart.
Kai Ying
By the time she and Auntie Song had taken a pedicab to the train station, the train for Luoyang had already left and Wei was nowhere in sight. For a moment, Kai Ying stood in the middle of the bustling train station feeling completely lost. It was Song who whispered in her ear, “Let’s go, Wei will find his own way,” and led her back out into the sunlight and fresh air where she could breathe again.
Since returning home, Kai Ying tried not to show her distress, but her emotions swung from fear to anger. What was Wei thinking to go so far on his own? How would he be able to find his way? With all his education and intelligence, Wei was an innocent out in the world, a place he always took so little interest in. He’d spent a lifetime in a world of his own making, and now Kai Ying couldn’t imagine how he would survive outside of Guangzhou, where he had no control. There was no telling where he was, or how he was, as the train traveled farther and farther away from Guangzhou to a part of China that might as well be another country.
Kai Ying couldn’t imagine losing Wei, too.
* * *
At dinner that night, Kai Ying told Tao his grandfather had gone away for a short time. Suyin ate with them every night now, and watched quietly from the other side of the table.
“Where did he go?” Tao asked.
Kai Ying had decided to tell Tao the truth. “He went to Luoyang, hoping to see ba ba.”
Tao looked up at her. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I am telling you.”
“I could have gone with him.”
She heard the whine in his voice and knew he was upset. “It’s a very long way from here and you have school. Anyway, this is something ye ye has to do on his own. He’s a smart man and he knows how to take good care of himself,” she said with a quiet finality.
“How far away is it?”
“Over a thousand miles. It’ll take him two days or more by train just to get there,” she said, her voice quieting as if she were talking more to herself than to him.
“He’ll come back soon?”
“Of course he will. He just needs…” She paused and looked down at him. “He just needs to see if he can visit your ba ba to make sure everything is all right.”
“Have you ever been that far away?”
“No.”
“When is he coming back?”
“I’m not certain,” she answered. “It depends.”
“Depends on what?” Tao asked.
Kai Ying paused and took a breath. She suddenly wanted to get up and walk away from all her son’s questions.
“One day I hope to see all of China,” Suyin suddenly said. “I’d go to Beijing and Shanghai first,” she added.
Tao turned to her. “What about your baby?”
Suyin’s voice was a welcome surprise. Kai Ying smiled at her gratefully.
“She’ll go with me,” Suyin said. “Or maybe I’ll have to wait until she’s older.”
Kai Ying watched them talk. They could be brother and sister. Their voices filled the room, while she caught her breath. Now that Suyin was rested and had put some weight back on, she was quite a sweet-looking girl. There was only one matter of concern; Kai Ying had discovered food suddenly disappearing during the past week. She hoped that she wasn’t wrong about the girl, who, in her serious, industrious way was also becoming a big help to Kai Ying. They’d fallen into a comfortable routine; Suyin was learning to take care of the baby while also helping around the house and running errands to the market or the herb shop for her.
Suyin also seemed particularly interested in her herb work, asking questions and watching her closely, which pleased Kai Ying, who had begun teaching her the qualities and characteristics of each herb and how they worked together to strengthen and heal the body from the inside out. Just the other afternoon, Kai Ying laid out the basic herbs used as the core ingredients of any restorative soup: red dates, Chinese wolfberries, goji berries, ginseng, and astragalus roots, much to the girl’s delight.
Suyin had remained closemouthed about her own family and Kai Ying didn’t push. Her story would emerge when the time was right. The baby had just turned six weeks old and neither of them had mentioned a name for the child or what lay ahead. Kai Ying was certain of only one thing; she didn’t want to see anyone else leaving the house unexpectedly.
Wei
The train had left the station just before nine in the morning, his car no more than half full. There was a strong smell of camphor and menthol; the distinct medicinal odor of Tiger Balm ointment that mingled with the stale smoke-scented air. Wei glanced at all the passengers, deciding that the Tiger Balm emanated from one, or both of the two older ladies who sat toward the front of the car. The familiar scent brought back memories. His father had rubbed the ointment on his neck and shoulders whenever his rheumatism flared up, while his mother preferred Hua Tuo Luo Li oil. Kai Ying had made him a special liniment for his occasional back pains, which was just one more thing he’d forgotten to bring with him.