Mingmei Yip - Song of the Silk Road

“No, you didn’t do it just for the money, but for the love of adventure. You aspire to be somebody, and you will be someday.”

“How? Are you a clairvoyant now?”

“I’m not, but the blind fortune-teller is. Isn’t that what he predicted, that you’ll be famous someday?”

“Yes, he did say that.”

“See?”

“But, Ma….” I stopped in midsentence, realizing I’d just called this strange woman Ma!

“Go on, my daughter, don’t be embarrassed to call your own mother that. It’s just natural.”

What was wrong with me? This woman, whom I’d known less than a week, seemed to possess the power to scramble up my brain. Had she bewitched me somehow? But I again blurted out, “Ma, I…” Then I paused to inhale deeply before I went on, now feeling completely disoriented, “I am… sorry for… our time lost….”

“Don’t regret the past. Plan for the future and act now. You’re a remarkable woman, and I am sure that you will be very successful someday, just as the fortune-teller saw on your life’s map. According to him, heaven has a scheme for every one of us. That means our life is already mapped out the moment we’re born. Master Soaring Crane is one of those very few who can read this hidden map. So listen to him, follow the signs, and don’t go against the flow.”

“How?”

“When a river flows into a rock, it will course around the rock to continue its journey. Water never fights but is powerful by being just soft and going along.”

Although she talked about being soft, she didn’t look that way to me. “Does that mean you were also once soft and tender?”

“Of course, when I was very young and very pretty. But when I lost both I had to force myself to be tough. However, money can also do the job of softening the heart of the warden, the guards, the government officials.”

“But you said you don’t have money left!”

“In fact it’s not my money but someone else’s. This person pays for everything.”

“Who?”

“Someone who…” She stopped.

I pressed her, but she remained silent.

I was digesting our conversation as I leaned closer to this ghostly woman, trying to understand her eloquence, confidence, insight, suffering, toughness, strangeness, cunning…. Not knowing what more to say, I patted her wrinkled hand. “Ma, maybe we should call it a day. I’m sure you’re tired and need some rest now.”

“I’m pleased by your concern. But don’t worry, my destiny will soon lead me to my eternal rest, so I don’t care to rest now.”

Suddenly the reality that this strange woman, my mother—sitting right across from me—was dying hit me so hard that I felt an electric jolt inside. I desperately wanted to do something, anything, to get her out of this situation, however hopeless it seemed. Could I seduce the guard to let her out? Or the judge to revoke her verdict?

As if reading my thoughts, my mother spoke, her voice pained yet strong. “Lily, I’m very happy that we have finally reunited and the treasures have been returned. My conscience, now free, will not detain me for more than my allotted time. So don’t you worry about me. Whether we like it or not, all of us will face the same end. This is the ultimate fairness embedded in our life’s maps.”

To my surprise, she was the one who suffered, but I was the one who burst into tears. If I was not mistaken, this ghostly woman in front of me even looked happy—like a saint who sees all, knows all, understands all, and forgives all. How strange. Shouldn’t I be the one who knew all and forgave all?

Then I thought of the couplet at the entrance of Wang Jin’s cemetery:

I sighed heavily, then poured the rest of the snow lotus drink into my mother’s cup. “I’m sure this will cure your disease.”

Like a good kid she obediently drank the last drop as I watched her like a mother her sick child. I had no idea what thoughts were on her mind, but they were definitely nothing simple—this complicated, sophisticated, dying woman. My mother.

She touched my cheek. “Don’t worry too much, my daughter. All our maps are just previewed ones and can always be redrawn.”

That night, exhausted from the meeting with my mother, I decided to give myself a break, so before going to sleep I unplugged the phone. Other nights I had sometimes been awakened by callers speaking in strange dialects who were misdirected by the operators to my room.

The next morning, feeling a little more rested, I went down to the hotel restaurant for the all-you-can-eat breakfast buffet. As soon as my eyes landed on the abundant spread of food—Chinese doughnuts, pork buns, pickled vegetables, onion and scallion pancakes, thousand-year-old eggs, fermented stinky tofu, fried rice, congee (with scallion and beef, fish fillet, pork belly, and seafood), all kinds of juice and tea—my stomach started to rumble like boiling rice soup.

A half hour later, I was amazed at myself that I’d wiped my plate clean not only once but three times. Satisfied with my filled-up, now-quieted-down stomach, I decided my next step was to empty my brain. So I headed straight back to my room to take a nap, which I hoped would be dreamless.

Around three in the afternoon I woke up, quickly washed my face, then went out for a walk. Wandering aimlessly, I spotted a black signboard with four gold characters: BIG BOWL TEA HOUSE.

I felt my heartstring pulled by the two words “Big Bowl.” Cool. I always loved things big. Or people with a big heart, like Alex. And of course the huge, infinite desert I’d just left behind….

Now looking at these four characters, “Big Bowl Tea House,” though not long ago I’d eaten a huge breakfast, I felt myself drawn like one hopelessly bewitched by a femme fatale.

As I stepped inside, the soothing fragrance of tea meandered over to caress my nostrils. The place, bright and spacious, was decorated in red and gold, the two colors of good luck and festivity. The waitresses were all dressed in red cheongsam—body-hugging Chinese dresses with a high collar but even higher side slits to play hide-and-seek with sensuously moving legs. Above the chatting diners were suspended round red lanterns, square black ones with red tassels, and delicately carved golden bird cages. Tables were draped with red cloth embroidered with gold threads in the Chinese characters of Fu, good fortune; Lu, wealth; and Shou, longevity. Framed paintings and calligraphy occupied most walls. The one that caught my eye read:

One entire wall was covered by a huge Chinese painting of plum blossoms. In front of it was a small red-carpeted platform, and flanking the painting was a couplet:

Don’t make fun of my doggerel

Always, the best tea does taste like a beautiful woman

Wow. This unusual comparison suddenly made me feel very beautiful, giving me a sudden impulse to splurge on the best kind of tea.

A very young waitress led me to a small table.

“Miss, your first time here?” She smiled, revealing some regular teeth.

“Yes.”

“Tourist?”

“Yes, how can you tell?”

“You people look so different.”

“In what way?”

“I don’t know, more Westernized, I guess,” she said, handing me the menu.

I glanced at the huge varieties of tea with poetic names: Iron Bodhisattva, Cold-Headed Oolong, ancient Pu’er, Yellow Mountain Hairy Peak, Big Red Robe, White Peony, Before Rain, Dragon Well, Cloud and Mist, Turquoise Spring, Blushing Lotus, Sorcerer’s Plum…. You name it and they had it. So, to hide my confusion as well as ignorance, I decided to order according to price. But then I discovered some tea, like the Big Red Robe and one special kind of Iron Bodhisattva, cost as much as two hundred renminbi a pot, which made me feel, alas, suddenly much less generous.

Probably seeing that I couldn’t make up my mind, the waitress said, her voice soothing like green tea, “Miss, just pick one. All our teas are first rate. But if you want my recommendation, try the aged Pu’er.”

I joked. “Is this to match my face?”

She jumped back. “Oh, no, of course not!”

I felt a little guilty that she actually looked very frightened.

“That’s not what I meant, miss. You look very young and pretty.”

“Thanks, and so are you.”

She blushed. “Maybe you don’t know since you don’t live here. Pu’er tea is getting more expensive each day. At auctions, collectors literally pay the price of gold for just a few pounds.”

“Is that so?”

She nodded. “And this particular one was just won in an auction by our boss. That’s why I recommend it.” She paused, then said, “If you go elsewhere, you might end up drinking fake Pu’er.”

I widened my eyes to show disbelief. “How can tea leaves be fake?”

She laughed a little. “Of course, the color is dyed and the fragrance sprayed on.”

“Oh, heavens!” This time I laughed. “How old is the Pu’er here?”

“Three years.”

“That’s old?”

“For tea, yes. There are some even older, but those are reserved only for our very special and distinguished guests.”

“How distinguished?”

“You should know, miss, that this is a very famous teahouse established in the 1940s. You’re lucky you got a seat today, because you arrived early. Even celebrities and movie stars have to order our tea in advance and reserve seats for our performances. We have tea ceremony, Beijing opera, pop songs, storytelling, magic shows.”