He stepped forward, took my hands in his, and said, “I think we could be happy, you and I.”
Could a Yao nationality girl of seventeen hope for better words? Like my husband, I saw a golden future before us. That night, he followed all the correct traditions, even removing my bridal shoes and putting on my red sleeping slippers. I was so accustomed to Snow Flower’s gentle touch that I can’t really describe how I felt having his hands on my feet, except that this act seemed far more intimate to me than what came next. I didn’t know what I was doing, but neither did he. I just tried to imagine what Snow Flower would have done if she were under that strange man instead of me.
ON THE SECOND day of my marriage, I rose early. I left my husband sleeping and stepped out into the hall. You know that feeling when you are sick with worry? This is how I’d felt from the moment I’d read Snow Flower’s letter, but I couldn’t do anything about it—not during my wedding, last night, or even now. I had to do my best to follow the prescribed course until I saw her again. But it was hard, because I was hungry, exhausted, and my body hurt. My feet were tired and sore from so much walking these last few days. I was uncomfortable in another place too, but I tried to blot out these things as I made my way to the kitchen, where a servant girl about ten years old sat on her haunches, apparently waiting for me. My own servant girl—no one had told me about that. People in Puwei didn’t have servants, but I recognized what she was because her feet had not been bound. Her name was Yonggang, which means brave and strong like iron. (This would prove to be true.) She had already built a fire in the brazier and hauled water to the kitchen. All I had to do was heat the water and take it to my in-laws so they could wash their faces. I also made tea for everyone in the household, and when they came to the kitchen I poured it without spilling a drop.
Later that day, my in-laws sent another round of pork and sweet cakes to my family. The Lus held a big feast in their ancestral temple, yet another banquet where I was not allowed to eat. Before everyone, my husband and I bowed to Heaven and Earth, my in-laws, and the Lu family ancestors. Then we passed through the temple, bowing to everyone who was older than we were. They, in turn, gave us money wrapped in red paper. Then—back to the wedding chamber.
The next day, the third of a marriage, is the one that all brides wait for, because the third-day wedding books that family and friends have made are read. But by now all I could think about was Snow Flower and that I would see her at the event.
Elder Sister and Elder Brother’s wife arrived, bringing the books and food I was finally allowed to eat. Many women from Tongkou joined the females of my husband’s family to read the words, but neither Snow Flower nor her mother came. This was beyond my comprehension. I was deeply hurt . . . and scared by Snow Flower’s absence. There I was at what is considered the happiest of all wedding rites, and I couldn’t enjoy it.
My sanzhaoshu contained all the usual lines about my family’s misery now that I would no longer be with them. At the same time, they extolled my virtues and repeated phrases such as If only we could persuade that worthy family to wait a few years before taking you, or It is sad we are now separated, while entreating my in-laws to be lenient and teach me their family customs with patience. Snow Flower’s sanzhaoshu was also what I expected, incorporating her love of birds. It began, The phoenix mates the golden hen, a match made in heaven. Again, the usual sentiments, even from my laotong.
Truth
IF CIRCUMSTANCES HAD BEEN NORMAL, ON THE FOURTH DAY after my wedding I would have gone back home to my family in Puwei, but I had long planned to go straight to Snow Flower’s house for her Sitting and Singing month. Now that I was close to seeing her again, I was more anxious than ever. I dressed in one of my good everyday outfits, a water-green silk jacket and pants embroidered with a bamboo pattern. I wanted to make a favorable impression not only on anyone I passed in Tongkou but also on Snow Flower’s family, whom I had heard so much about over these many years. Yonggang, the servant girl, led me through Tongkou’s alleyways. She carried my clothes, embroidery thread, cloth, and the third-day wedding book I had prepared for Snow Flower in a basket. I was happy for Yonggang’s guidance yet uncomfortable with her company. She was one of many things I would have to get used to.
Tongkou was far bigger and more prosperous than Puwei. The alleyways were clean, with no chickens, ducks, or pigs wandering freely. We stopped before a house that looked exactly how Snow Flower had described it—two stories, peaceful and elegant. I had not been there long enough to know the village’s customs, but one thing was exactly the same as in Puwei. We did not yell out greetings or knock to announce our arrival. Yonggang simply opened the main door to Snow Flower’s house and stepped inside.
I followed right behind and was immediately assailed by a strange odor, which combined night soil and rotting meat with an overlay of something sickeningly sweet. I had no idea what the source of that could be, except that somehow it seemed human. My stomach roiled, but my eyes rebelled even more, refusing to accept what they were seeing.
The main room was much larger than the one in my natal home, but with far less furniture. I saw a table but no chairs. I saw a carved balustrade leading to the women’s chamber, but other than these few things—which showed in their craftsmanship a much higher quality than anything in my natal home—there was nothing. No fire, even. It was late autumn now, and cold. The room was dirty too, with food scraps on the floor. I saw other doors that must have led to bedrooms.
This was not only completely different from what a passerby might have expected from seeing the exterior, but it was vastly different from what Snow Flower had described. I had to be in the wrong place.
By the ceiling were several windows, of which all but one had been sealed. A single ray of light from that window pierced the darkness. In the gloomy shadows, I spotted a woman squatting over a washbasin. She was dressed as a lowly peasant in ragged and dirty padded clothes. Our eyes met and she quickly averted her gaze. Keeping her head down, she stood up into the shaft of light. Her skin was beautiful, as pale and pure as porcelain. She wrapped the fingers of one hand around those of her other hand and bowed.
“Miss Lily, welcome, welcome.” She kept her voice low, not out of deference for my newly acquired higher status but at a timbre that seemed tamped down by fear. “Wait here. I will get Snow Flower.”
Now I was totally shocked. This had to be Snow Flower’s house. But how could it be? As the woman crossed the room to the stairs, I saw she had golden lilies, nearly as small as my own, which to my ignorant eyes seemed remarkable for someone from the servant class.
I listened very hard as the woman addressed someone upstairs. Then my ears heard the impossible—Snow Flower’s voice speaking in its most stubborn and argumentative tone. Shocked, that’s how I felt, utterly shocked. But beyond this one familiar sound, the house itself was eerily quiet. And in that silence I sensed something lurking like an evil spirit from the afterworld. My whole body resisted this experience. My skin crawled in revulsion. I shivered in my water-green silk outfit, which I’d worn to impress Snow Flower’s parents but which offered no protection against the damp wind that blew through the window or the fear I felt to be in this strange, dark, smelly, scary place.
Snow Flower emerged at the top of the stairs. “Come up,” she called down to me.
I stood paralyzed, trying desperately to absorb what I was seeing. Something touched my sleeve and I started.