2  SHANGHAI  LOVE   LAYNE  WONG  

SHANGHAI  LOVE  By  Layne  Wong  

   EXCERPT  

 Peilin  watched  as  news  of  the  impending  Matchmaker’s  visit  set  her  mother  into  a  flurry  of  preparation.  At  eight,  Peilin  was  not  quite  sure  what  all  the  commotion  was  about  but  knew  that  it  was  important  by  the  way  her  mother  swept  their  small  dwelling  with  the  new  straw  broom  and  tended  to  the  ancestors’  altar,  burning  fragrant  ylang-­‐ylang  incense  and  leaving  offerings  of  barley,  sorghum,  and  fresh  plums.  All  this  so  the  gods  watching  overhead  would  send  blessings  from  above.     The  day  before  the  Matchmaker  was  to  meet  the  Dus,  Kwan  Taitai  had  instructed  her  cook  to  purchase  the  largest  pig  possible  and  roast  it  with  the  finest  basting  of  ginger,  lemon,  and  honey.  The  succulent  gift  was  securely  wrapped  for  the  journey  and  delivered  to  the  Du  family  by  the  Matchmaker  upon  her  arrival.  At  the  day’s  end,  Kwan  Taitai  hoped  her  marriage  emissary  would  return  bearing  the  pig’s  head  and  rump,  a  signal  that  the  nuptial  process  had  an  auspicious  beginning  with  promises  for  an  equally  fortunate  end.     Peilin,  hidden  behind  the  door,  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  Matchmaker  when  she  arrived  the  next  day.  A  stocky  woman  missing  several  front  teeth,  she  presented  the  roasted  pig  to  Mother,  Father,  and  Grandpa  Du.  Peilin  noticed  that  her  mother  wore  her  best  acorn  brown  jacket  and  trousers  as  she  led  their  guest  to  the  large  bamboo  mat  in  their  small  sitting  room.     The  elder  Du  had  advised  Peilin’s  mother  not  to  serve  tea.  Should  even  a  drop  spill  on  this  important  day,  Peilin’s  future  family  would  withdraw  their  intentions,  interpreting  any  mishap  as  a  bad  omen.     The  Matchmaker  kneeled  as  she  pulled  out  a  heavy  and  wellworn  almanac—the  Ten-­‐Thousand  Year  Calendar.  Generations  of  matchmakers  had  referred  to  this  definitive  text  when  predicting  future  marriages.  Once  the  visiting  woman  was  ready,  Mother  Du  officially  presented  her  with  Peilin’s  ba  zi.     Peilin’s  father,  with  his  long  straggly  beard,  paced  the  room.  He  turned  to  Grandpa  Du  suddenly  and  announced,  “Father,  my  own  sister  did  not  receive  such  an  opportunity.  She  was  sold  as  a  servant  at  a  very  young  age.”     “Aiiii!”  lamented  Grandpa  Du,  his  heavy  eyes  cast  downward.  “And  I  have  regretted  that  decision  so  many  times.  I  should  have  sold  the  animals,  the  land—anything  but  my  own  flesh  and  blood.”     Peilin  gasped.  Prior  to  that  point  she  hadn’t  known  she  had  an  aunt.  She  had  heard  of  other  girls  in  the  village  being  sold  off,  but  she’d  believed  it  was  because  they  had  done  something  wrong.  Even  at  her  young  age,  Peilin  knew  in  her  heart  that  her  adored  grandfather  would  never  do  such  a  thing  unless  he  was  forced.     “It  was  the  drought,”  Peilin’s  father  reminded  him.  “It  was  for  survival.”       “Still,”  Grandpa  Du  sighed,  “I  should  have  figured  out  another  way.”     Father  Du  grunted.  As  the  second  son,  all  he  had  known  was  

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hard  work.  Peilin  could  sense  the  pain  on  her  father’s  face.  His  older  brother,  Quong-­‐Yiu,  had  been  groomed  to  be  the  herbalist,  while  Father  Du  tended  to  the  labor-­‐intensive  rice  fields.  But  when  the  boys  were  still  young,  a  plague  hit  the  village.  Grandpa  Du  and  Quong-­‐Yiu  did  all  they  could  to  treat  the  sick.  Quong-­‐Yiu  was  in  constant  contact  with  the  disease  and  soon  fell  ill.  He  died  as  a  teenager  and  Grandpa  Du  never  fully  recovered.  He  abandoned  his  herbal  garden  for  many  years,  choosing  to  join  his  second  son  in  the  fields.  In  the  years  after  the  plague  it  was  critical  to  their  survival.  Grandpa  Du  put  his  passion  for  herbs,  remedies,  and  helping  others  on  permanent  hold.     It  wasn’t  until  all  these  many  years  later  that  Grandpa  Du  was  finally  ready  to  return  to  the  garden.  It  was  partly  about  having  the  stability  to  do  so,  but  it  was  mostly  because  it  took  that  many  years  to  heal  from  the  loss  of  his  first  son.  By  the  time  Ping  was  born,  Peilin  was  already  spending  the  majority  of  every  day  in  the  garden  with  her  grandfather.  He  had  already  claimed  her  as  his  little  apprentice.  When  Ping  came  along,  he  was  naturally  consigned  to  join  his  father  doing  the  hard  labor  of  tending  to  the  family’s  fields.     Peilin  continued  to  think  about  her  aunt.  She  wondered  how  old  she  had  been  when  she’d  been  sold.  Peilin  shuttered  to  think,  What  if  it  had  been  me?     Lost  in  contemplation,  she  didn’t  detect  Grandpa  Du  approaching  her.  He  must  have  sensed  her  distress  because  he  reached  over  and  gently  patted  her  on  the  back.  The  Matchmaker  spoke  up.  “Destiny  cannot  be  changed.”     With  her  oversized  magnifying  glass,  the  stout  matron  returned  to  the  pages  of  her  large  book,  flipping  back  and  forth  between  several  charts.  Grandpa  Du  studied  the  Matchmaker  as  she  toiled  with  her  calculations.  Peilin  sensed  that  her  grandfather  might  have  once  agreed  with  the  intense  woman’s  assessment  of  destiny’s  immutable  quality,  but  here  he  was  changing  hers.  A  lifetime  of  toiling  under  the  hot  sun  and  years  of  studying  the  healing  power  of  herbs  taught  him  a  new  way  of  thinking—while  destiny  may  be  impossible  to  change,  it  was  possible  to  refine.     Working  with  Peilin’s  eight  characters,  the  Matchmaker  drew  lines  between  the  symbols,  forming  four  columns.  The  venerable  time-­‐honored  system  took  years  of  training  to  master.  Although  it  was  not  customary,  the  sharp-­‐witted  woman  attempted  to  explain  her  calculations  the  best  she  could.     “The  Four  Pillars  of  Fate  are  anchored  by  the  prospective  bride’s  year,  month,  date,  and  time  of  birth,”  she  explained.  “This  first  column  is  called  the  Earthly  Branch.  Peilin  was  born  in  the  year  of  the  rooster.”     Mother  Du  nodded.  “My  daughter  rises  each  day  with  the  morning  sunlight.”     “There  is  more,”  continued  the  Matchmaker.  “The  calendar  is  a  sixty-­‐year  cycle.  Therefore  the  rooster  appears  five  times—each  with  a  different  Heavenly  Stem—wood,  fire,  earth,  metal,  or  water.”  The  toothless  matron  returned  to  Peilin’s  chart.  “Your  daughter’s  stem  is  metal—power  energy.  Her  confident  bird  sign  is  supported  by  two  elements  of  wood.”  The  visiting  matron  smiled.  “Kwan  Taitai  will  be  pleased  to  hear  this.”     Grandpa  Du  grinned  as  Peilin’s  fate  continued  to  grow  more  positive.  Peilin  sensed  that  his  heart  was  forever  burdened  with  his  own  children’s  destiny.  Anything  he  could  do  to  change  his  granddaughter’s  might  ease  the  difficult  memory  of  what  he’d  allowed  to  

4  SHANGHAI  LOVE   LAYNE  WONG  

happen  to  his  daughter.     “And  Master  Yao?”  queried  Peilin’s  anxious  mother.  “What  does  his  chart  reveal?”     The  Matchmaker  held  up  her  hand,  pulled  out  young  Yao’s  calculations,  and  closely  compared  his  to  Peilin’s.  “Kwan  Taitai’s  son  is  a  fire  snake,  supported  by  elements  of  earth,”  she  revealed.  “Much  ambition,  much  power—fire  must  be  kept  under  control,”  she  advised,  “For  excess  heat  energy  can  be  lethal.”     Mother  Du  twisted  her  hands  together,  plagued  by  this  possible  cloud  in  her  daughter’s  future,  but  the  Matchmaker  assured  the  family.  “This  is  a  small  caution,  not  a  big  concern.”     Turning  back  to  her  almanac,  the  concentrating  woman  continued,  “The  rooster  and  snake  fall  into  the  triangle  of  success.”  She  looked  up.  “This  is  an  excellent  match.”     Now  Peilin’s  father  turned  to  the  Matchmaker.  “But  how  can  we  ever  provide  enough  dowry  for  such  a  prosperous  match?”     “Not  to  worry,”  replied  the  confident  fortune-­‐teller.  “The  Kwans  will  supply  all  that  is  needed,  including  the  bridal  dress.  And  due  to  the  distance,  Peilin’s  wedding  preparations  will  take  place  at  Dragon  Lake.  The  fact  that  Peilin’s  eight  characters  match  Master  Yao’s  will  be  more  than  satisfactory  for  Kwan  Taitai.”     With  the  session  completed,  the  Matchmaker  packed  up  her  belongings.  As  Peilin  watched  her  mother  wrap  the  pig’s  head  and  hindquarters  for  Kwan  Taitai,  she  noticed  her  grandfather  alone  outside.     Digging  his  walking  stick  into  the  ground,  the  elderly  man  seemed  to  be  murmuring.  Peilin  observed  Grandpa  Du  turn  his  head  up  toward  the  sky,  but  she  was  too  far  away  to  understand  his  words.     And  with  that,  Peilin’s  fate  had  been  sealed.    

\.|    Peilin  sat  in  front  of  the  small  dressing  table  in  her  new  family’s  home.  The  Good  Luck  Lady  took  her  time  performing  the  combing  ritual  on  Peilin’s  long  hair.  “The  first  combing  symbolizes  beginning  to  end,”  the  old  lady  recited.  “Second,  for  harmony  all  your  life,”  she  continued.  “Third—”     The  bathing  room  door  flew  open;  the  Matchmaker  entered  with  a  flourish.     “What  is  taking  so  long  in  here?”  she  wailed.  “Kwan  Taitai  is  nearly  in  hysterics—the  entire  family  waits  for  Peilin’s  entrance.”     But  the  attentive  woman  continued  to  stroke  Peilin’s  locks  with  care.  “Almost  done.  Third  combing  blesses  this  bride  with  many  sons  and  grandsons.  Fourth—”     “Give  me  that  comb,”  snapped  the  Matchmaker,  but  the  Good  Luck  Lady  held  on  tight.     “Fourth  and  final  combing  brings  wealth  and  long-­‐lasting  marriage,”  she  persisted.  The  Good  Luck  Lady  finally  put  the  comb  down  and  smiled  at  Peilin.     Coiling  Peilin’s  hair  into  a  tight  bun,  the  caretaker  declared,  “The  proper  hairstyle  for  a  married  woman.”  She  held  up  the  bronze  mirror.  Peilin  stared  at  her  reflection,  surprised  by  the  change  she  witnessed  in  her  own  features.  Prior  to  this  day,  like  all  unmarried  women,  she  had  only  worn  her  hair  in  a  long  ponytail  against  her  back.  

5  SHANGHAI  LOVE   LAYNE  WONG  

  “We  must  hurry,”  said  the  Matchmaker,  holding  out  the  new  bride’s  outfit.     Peilin  slipped  on  the  two-­‐piece  red  silk  hong  qua—a  dress  adorned  with  golden  phoenixes,  chrysanthemums,  and  peonies.  Red  shoes  decorated  her  tiny  feet.  This  was  the  day  she  had  been  waiting  for  for  many  years.     Finally,  the  ornate  phoenix  bridal  crown  was  carefully  fitted  atop  Peilin’s  head.  It  was  embellished  with  numerous  kingfisher  feathers  and  pearls.  A  red  veil  covering  the  bride’s  face  represented  her  loyalty  to  her  husband.  As  she  rose  for  the  first  time,  the  elegant  headdress  caused  Peilin  to  balance  herself  against  her  kind  caretaker.     The  Good  Luck  Lady  smiled.  “Beautiful  bride,”  she  cooed.     “Yes,”  agreed  the  Matchmaker.  “Like  none  I  have  ever  seen.”     Continuing  the  customs,  the  Good  Luck  Lady  turned  so  that  Peilin  could  climb  upon  her  back  and  be  properly  presented  to  her  new  family.     But  Peilin  stood,  unable  to  move.  A  tear  trickled  down  her  cheek.     The  old  matron  turned  around  and  saw  the  sadness  in  Peilin’s  eyes.  “Wah!  Why  is  my  pretty  bride  crying?”     Peilin  bowed  her  head,  unable  to  contain  her  heartache  any  longer.     “Good  Luck  Lady,  you  have  shown  me  much  kindness,  but  maybe  you  do  not  know,”  whispered  Peilin.  “My  future  husband  is  already  dead.  I  am  marrying  a  ghost.”      Layne  Wong  is  a  novelist  and  advocate  who  writes  her  characters  through  her  

own  multi-­‐cultural  lens.    Her  perspective,  based  on  her  personal  love  story,  

takes  into  consideration  influences  that  encompass  culture,  history  and  

societal  effects  that  are  current  and  relevant  and  that  impact  all  of  humanity.  

Layne’s  a  native  Californian.  She  graduated  from  UCLA  with  a  degree  in  

English  Literature.  She  has  written  for  TV  and  entertainment.  She  is  of  

Chinese  heritage,  converted  to  Judaism  in  2001,  and  married  a  Jewish  man.  

More  information  can  be  found  at  www.laynewong.com