SU TONG

(1963– )

Born in Suzhou, Su Tong graduated from Beijing Normal University in 1984 and became an editor. A prolific author of nine novels and hundreds of short stories, he is best known for Wives and Concubines, a collection of four novellas published in 1990, later adapted for the screen by the director Zhang Yimou under the title Raise the Red Lantern, which was nominated for an Oscar for Best Foreign Film. He won the Man Asian Literary Prize in 2009 for the novel The Boat to Redemption. Reminiscent of William Faulkner and Gabriel García Márquez, Suoften writes about pain, torture, and desire in the south, where tradition crumbles like a house of cards and humanity struggles to keep its sanity, as depicted in the excerpt that follows.

Raise the Red Lantern (excerpt)

When Fourth Mistress, Lotus, was carried into the Chen family garden, she was nineteen; she was carried into the garden through the back gate on the west side at dusk, by four rustic sedan bearers. The servants were washing some old yarn by the side of the well when they saw the sedan chair slip quietly in through the moon gate and a young college girl, dressed in a white blouse and black skirt, step down from it. The servants thought it was the eldest daughter returning from her studies in Beiping; when they rushed forward to welcome her, they realized their mistake: it was a female student, her face covered with dust and looking unbearably exhausted. That year Lotus’s hair was cut short, level with her ears, and tied up with a sky-blue silk scarf. Her face was quite round; she wore no makeup; and she looked a little pale. Lotus climbed out of the sedan chair, stood on the grass, and looked blankly all around; a rattan suitcase was placed horizontally beneath her black skirt. In the autumn sunlight, Lotus’s slender figure appeared tenuous and delicate; she looked as dull and lifeless as a paper doll. She raised her hand and wiped the sweat off her face; the servants noticed that she wiped the sweat not with a handkerchief but with her sleeve; this minor detail made a deep impression on them.

Lotus walked over to the edge of the well and spoke to Swallow, who was washing yarn. “Let me wash my face. I haven’t washed my face in three days.”

Swallow drew a pail of water for her and watched her plunge her face into the water; Lotus’s arched-over body shook uncontrollably like a waist drum played by some unseen hands. Swallow asked, “Do you want some soap?” Lotus did not speak, and Swallow asked again, “The water’s too cold, isn’t it?” Lotus still did not speak. Swallow made a face in the direction of the other maidservants standing around the well, covered her mouth, and laughed. The maidservants thought this newly arrived guest was one of the Chen family’s poor relations. They could tell the status of nearly all the Chen family’s guests. Just then Lotus suddenly turned her head back toward them. Her expression was much more wide-awake after washing her face; her eyebrows were very fine and very black, and they gradually knit together. Lotus gave Swallow a sidelong glance and said, “Don’t just stand there laughing like a fool; wipe the water off my face!”

Swallow kept on laughing. “Who do you think you are, acting so fierce?”

Lotus pushed Swallow away violently, picked up her rattan suitcase, and walked away from the well; she walked a few paces, turned to face them, and said, “Who am I? You’ll all find out, sooner or later.”

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THE FOLLOWING DAY everyone in the Chen household learned that Old Master Chen Zuoqian had taken Lotus as his Fourth Mistress. Lotus would live in the south wing off the back garden, right beside Third Mistress Coral’s room. Chen Zuoqian gave Swallow, who had been living in the servants’ quarters, to Fourth Mistress as her private bondmaid.

When Swallow went to see Lotus, she was afraid; she lowered her head as she called out, “Fourth Mistress.” Lotus had already forgotten Swallow’s rudeness, or perhaps she just did not remember who Swallow was. Lotus changed into a pink silk cheongsam and put on a pair of embroidered slippers; the color had returned overnight to her face, and she looked much more amiable. She pulled Swallow over in front of her, examined her carefully for a minute, and said to Chen Zuoqian, “At least she doesn’t look too dreadful.” Then she spoke to Swallow. “Squat down; let me look at your hair.”

Swallow squatted down and felt Lotus’s hands picking through her hair, carefully searching for something; then she heard Lotus say, “You don’t have lice, do you? I’m terribly afraid of lice.”

Swallow bit her lip and did not speak; she felt Lotus’s hands, like the ice-cold blade of a knife, cutting into her hair, hurting her slightly. Lotus said, “What’s in your hair? Smells terrible; take some perfumed soap and hurry over and wash your hair.”

Swallow stood up; she stood there motionless, with her hands hanging down. Chen Zuoqian glared at her. “Didn’t you hear what Fourth Mistress said?”

Swallow said, “I just washed my hair yesterday.”

Chen Zuoqian yelled at her, “Don’t argue about it; if she tells you to go wash, you go wash. Careful I don’t beat you.”

Swallow poured out a pan of water and washed her hair under the crabapple trees. She felt she’d been horribly wronged; hatred and anger pressed on her heart like an iron weight. The afternoon sun shone down on the two crabapple trees; a clothesline was strung between them, and Fourth Mistress’s white blouse and black skirt were waving in the breeze. Swallow looked all around; the back garden was completely quiet, and no one was there. She walked over to the clothesline, spat right on Lotus’s white blouse, then turned and spat again on her black skirt.

CHEN ZUOQIAN WAS exactly fifty years old that year. When Chen Zuoqian took Lotus as his concubine at the age of fifty, the affair was carried out in a half-secretive manner. Right up until the day before Lotus came through the gate, the First Mistress, his first wife, Joy, still didn’t know a thing about it. When Chen Zuoqian took Lotus to meet her, Joy was in the Buddhist chapel counting out her rosary and chanting the sutras. Chen Zuoqian said, “This is my First Mistress.”

Just as Lotus was about to step forward and greet her, the string broke on Joy’s Buddhist rosary, sending the beads rolling all over the floor; Joy pushed away her amboyna chair and knelt down on the floor to pick up the beads, mumbling all the while, “It’s a sin, it’s a sin.” Lotus went over to help her pick up the beads and was pushed lightly away by Joy, who just repeated, “It’s a sin, it’s a sin,” and never once raised her head to look at Lotus. As Lotus watched Joy’s fat body crouching down on the damp floor to pick up the Buddhist beads, she covered her mouth and laughed silently. She looked at Chen Zuoqian, who said, “All right, we’re going.”

Lotus stepped over the raised threshold of the Buddhist chapel, took Chen Zuoqian’s arm, and asked, “Is she really a Buddhist? Why’s she chanting the sutras at home?”

Chen Zuoqian said, “A Buddhist! Ha! She’s just too lazy, hasn’t anything to do, so she plays at being a Buddhist, that’s all.”

Lotus was enthusiastically welcomed into the rooms of Second Mistress, Cloud. Cloud had her maid bring out watermelon, sunflower, and pumpkin seeds, and several kinds of candied fruits for Lotus. The first thing Cloud said after they sat down concerned the melon seeds. “There aren’t any good melon seeds around here; I have someone buy all the melon seeds I eat in Suzhou.”

Lotus spent some time cracking melon seeds at Cloud’s, cracking and eating until she was quite bored; she didn’t like snacks like that, but she could hardly show it. Lotus stole a sidelong glance at Chen Zuoqian, hinting she wanted to leave, but he seemed to be intent on staying a little longer at Cloud’s and acted as though he didn’t see Lotus’s expression. Lotus inferred from this that Chen Zuoqian was particularly fond of Cloud; then her gaze couldn’t help lingering on Cloud’s face and figure. Cloud’s facial features had a kind of warmth and delicate grace, even though she couldn’t hide the tiny wrinkles and the somewhat noticeable slackness of her skin; in her movements she had even more the appearance of a cultured young woman from a good family. Lotus thought a woman like Cloud could easily attract men, and women would not dislike her either. She very quickly addressed Cloud as Elder Sister.

Of the Chen household’s three earlier wives, Coral’s room was closest to Lotus’s, but Coral was the last one Lotus met. Lotus had heard of Coral’s extraordinary physical beauty, and she wanted very much to meet her; but Chen Zuoqian refused to take her there. He said, “It’s so close, you go on over yourself.”

Lotus said, “I’ve gone over there; the maid said she was sick, blocked the door, and wouldn’t let me in.”

Chen Zuoqian snorted through his nose. “Huh, whenever she’s unhappy she says she’s sick.” He went on, “She wants to be more impor­tant than I am.”

“Are you going to let her?”

Chen Zuoqian waved his hand and said, “Don’t be ridiculous! Women can never be more important than men.”

Lotus walked by the north wing and noticed that Coral’s windows were hung with curtains of pink lace drawnwork; a sweet scent of flowers emanated from inside. Lotus stopped in front of the windows for a moment; suddenly unable to control her desire to peek in, she held her breath and gently pulled open the curtains. The shock she received then nearly frightened her to death: Coral was also watching her from behind the curtain. Their eyes met straight on for only a matter of seconds, then Lotus ran away in dismay.

When night came, Chen Zuoqian came to Lotus’s room to spend the night. Lotus helped him take his clothes off and handed him some nightclothes, but Chen Zuoqian said, “I don’t wear anything. I like to sleep naked.”

Lotus just looked the other way and said, “Suit yourself, but it’s better to wear something, otherwise you’ll catch a chill.”

Chen Zuoqian started to laugh. “You’re not afraid I’ll catch a chill, you’re afraid of seeing me naked.”

Lotus said, “I am not afraid.” But as she turned away, her cheeks were already crimson. This was the first time she had a clear look at Chen Zuoqian’s body. Chen Zuoqian had a body like a red-crowned Manchurian crane, bony and skinny, and his penis was as taut as a well-drawn bow. Lotus felt a little out of breath, and she asked, “Why’re you so skinny?”

Chen Zuoqian climbed onto the bed, crawled under the quilt, and answered, “They’ve worn me out.”

When Lotus rolled over on her side to put out the lamp, Chen Zuoqian held her back. “Don’t put it out. I want to see you. Put out the lamp and you can’t see anything.”

Lotus touched his cheek and said, “Suit yourself. I don’t know anything about it anyway, so I’ll follow you.”

Lotus seemed to fall from a high place into a dark valley where pain and dizziness were accompanied by a feeling of lightness. The strangest thing was that Coral’s face continually intruded into her consciousness; that most beautiful face was also hidden in the darkness. Lotus said, “She’s really strange.”

“Who?”

“Third Mistress. She was behind the curtain watching me.”

Chen Zuoqian’s hand moved from Lotus’s breast to her mouth. “Don’t talk. Don’t talk now.”

Just at that moment someone knocked lightly on the bedroom door. The two of them were startled; Chen Zuoqian looked at Lotus and shook his head, then put out the lamp. In a little while the knocking started again. Chen Zuoqian jumped up and shouted angrily, “Who’s that knocking?”

A timid girlish voice came from outside the door. “Third Mistress is sick; she’s calling for the Master.”

Chen Zuoqian said, “She’s lying, lying again. Go back and tell her I’ve already gone to bed.”

The girl outside the door said, “Third Mistress is very sick; she says you have to come. She says she’s about to die.”

Chen Zuoqian sat on the bed and thought for a minute, mumbling to himself, “What’s she up to this time?” Lotus watched his uneasiness, then pushed him. “You better go. It would be terrible if she really died.”

Chen Zuoqian did not return that night. Lotus listened carefully to hear what transpired in the north wing, but nothing at all seemed to be happening. Only a robin in the pomegranate tree called out a few times, leaving a clear and mournful sound lingering in the distance. Lotus drifted between disappointment and sorrow, and could not sleep. Very early the next morning, when she got up to put on her makeup, she saw that her face had undergone some sort of profound transformation; the rims of her eyes were dark black. Lotus already knew what Coral was up to, but the next day, when she saw Chen Zuoqian emerge from her north wing room, she went up to him anyway and inquired about Coral’s illness. “Did you call a doctor for Third Mistress?”

Chen Zuoqian shook his head in embarrassment. He looked completely exhausted and was too enervated to speak; he merely took hold of Lotus’s hand and gave it a long, soft squeeze.

THE REASON LOTUS was married to Chen Zuoqian after already spending one year in college was very simple: her father’s tea factory went broke, and he could not afford her tuition. The third day after Lotus had quit school and returned home, she heard members of her family shouting wildly in the kitchen; she ran in and saw her father propped against the side of the sink; the sink was full of fresh bubbling blood. Her father had slashed his wrists open and gone effortlessly down to the Yellow Springs of the Dead. Lotus remembered the feeling of despair she had at that time. When she held up her father’s icy cold corpse, she felt even colder all over than his body did.

When this misfortune occurred, she couldn’t even cry. No one else used that sink for many days after, but Lotus still washed her hair in it. She did not feel the nameless fear and trembling that most young women would. She was very practical. As soon as her father died, she had to be responsible for herself. Lotus stood beside that sink washing and combing her hair out over and over again; it was her way of calmly planning for her future. Thus when her stepmother came right to the point and asked her to choose between going to work and getting married, she answered dryly, “I’ll get married, of course.”

Her stepmother asked further, “You want to marry into an ordinary family or a rich family?”

Lotus answered, “A rich family, naturally; do you have to ask?”

Her stepmother said, “It’s not the same. If you go to a rich family, you’ll be small.”

“What does it mean: ‘be small’?” Lotus asked.

Her stepmother thought for a moment and said, “It means to be a concubine; your status will be a little lower.”

Lotus laughed coldly. “What is status? Is status something people like me can be concerned about? No matter what, I’ve been given to you to sell; if you have any consideration for my father’s affections, then sell me to a good master.”

The first time Chen Zuoqian went to call on her, Lotus barred the door and refused to see him; “Meet me at the Restaurant Occidental,” she said from inside the door. Chen Zuoqian thought to himself that since she was a college student she would naturally be different from most vulgar young women. He reserved a table for two at the Restaurant Occidental and waited for Lotus to show up. It was raining that day, and as Chen Zuoqian waited and looked through the window at the street made misty by the rain, his emotions were unusually warm and sweet—feelings he had never experienced before in his first three marriages. Lotus came walking slowly along, carrying a delicate little flower-patterned silk umbrella. Chen Zuoqian smiled happily. Lotus was just as pure and pretty as he had imagined, and just as young. Chen Zuoqian remembered that Lotus sat down opposite him and pulled a big handful of little candles out of her purse. She whispered to Chen Zuoqian, “Order me a cake, all right?”

Chen Zuoqian had the waiter bring them a cake; then he watched Lotus stick the candles one by one into the cake until she had put in a total of nineteen candles; she put the remaining candles back into her bag. Chen Zuoqian said, “What’s all this; is this your birthday?”

Lotus only smiled. She lit the candles and watched them burn with nineteen bright little flames. In the light of the candles Lotus’s expression grew exquisitely beautiful; she said, “Look how lovely the flames are.”

“They are lovely,” Chen Zuoqian agreed.

After she finished talking, Lotus took a long deep breath and blew out all of the candles at once. Chen Zuoqian heard her say, “Let’s celebrate my birthday early; nineteen years have gone by.”

Chen Zuoqian felt that there was something to think about in what Lotus said. Much later he still often recalled that scene of Lotus blowing out those candles; it made him feel that Lotus possessed a kind of elusive yet beguiling power. As a man with an abundance of sexual experience, Chen Zuoqian was even more obsessed with Lotus’s skill and passion in bed. He seemed to envision many kinds of ecstasy the first time he met her, and later on they all came to be confirmed in practice. It is difficult to judge whether Lotus was like that by nature or was reshaping her own disposition in order to please him, but Chen Zuoqian was very satisfied; the way he doted on Lotus was noticed by everyone high and low in the Chen household.

IN THE CORNER of the back garden wall there was a wisteria vine; from summer to fall the wisteria flowers weighed heavily on the branches. From her window, day after day, Lotus saw only those fluffy clumps of purple flowers delicately swaying in the autumn breeze. She noticed there was a well beneath the wisteria vine and there was also a stone table and stone benches. It was a very quiet, comfortable place, but no one was ever there, and the path leading up to it was overgrown with weeds. Butterflies flew by and cicadas sang on the wisteria leaves; Lotus remembered that last year at that time she was sitting under the wisteria at school studying—it all seemed like suddenly waking from a dream. Lotus walked slowly over to the vine, carefully pulling up her skirt so as not to let the weeds and the insects rub against it; slowly she pulled back a few branches of wisteria, and saw that the stone tables and benches were covered with a thick layer of dust. The walls of the well were covered with moss. Lotus bent over and looked down into the well; the water was a bluish black color, and there were some ancient dry leaves floating on the surface. Lotus saw the broken reflection of her face in the water and heard the sound of her breathing being sucked down into the well and amplified, weak yet oppressively deep and low. A gust of wind rushed up; Lotus’s skirt billowed out like a bird taking flight, and at that instant she felt a coldness as hard as stone rubbing slowly up against her body. She started back, walking very quickly now, and when she reached the hallway of the south-side wing, she heaved a long sigh. Just as she looked back at the wisteria vine, two or three clumps of flowers suddenly dropped off; they tumbled down quite abruptly, and Lotus felt it was awfully strange.

Cloud was sitting in her room waiting for Lotus. She immediately noticed that Lotus looked very troubled; she stood up and patted her on the shoulder: “What’s wrong with you?”

Lotus answered, “What’s wrong with me? I was walking around outside.”

Cloud said, “Your complexion looks awful.”

Lotus laughed and said that she had just got her period. Cloud laughed too and said, “I wondered why in the world you came over to see me again.” She opened a parcel and took out a roll of silk: “Real Suzhou silk; it’s for you to make a dress with.”

Lotus pushed back Cloud’s hands. “No, no, no—how could I accept gifts from you? I should be giving you gifts.”

“Shush,” said Cloud. “What do you mean by that? When I saw how very likable you are, I immediately thought about this piece of silk; if it were that woman next door, I wouldn’t give it to her if she tried to pay me; that’s just the way I am.”

Lotus took the silk, put it in her lap, and ran her hands over it. Then she said, “Third Mistress is a little strange. But she’s very good looking.”

“Good looking? If you scraped Coral’s face, a pound of makeup would come off.”

Lotus laughed again and changed the subject. “I was just walking around by the wisteria vine. I really like that place.”

“You went to the Well of Death?” Cloud shrieked. “Don’t go there, that place is bad luck.”

“Why do you call it the Well of Death?” Lotus asked in alarm.

Cloud answered, “No wonder you looked so bad when you came in here. Three people have died in that well.”

Lotus stood up, leaned against the window frame, and looked over at the wisteria vine. “What sort of people died in the well?”

Cloud said, “They were all family members from earlier generations, all women.”

Lotus still wanted to ask more, but Cloud could not tell any more; she only knew that much. She said everybody high and low in the Chen family avoids the subject; everybody’s lips are sealed tight as a jar. Lotus stood there puzzled for a moment, then said, “Things like that, I guess it’s just as well not to know about them anyway.”

THE YOUNG MASTERS and young ladies of the Chen family all lived in the central compound. Lotus once saw the two sisters Yirong and Yiyun digging for worms in the muddy ditch; from their radiantly cheerful faces, so natural and innocent, Lotus could tell at a glance that they were Cloud’s children. She stood to one side, quietly observing them. The two sisters noticed Lotus, but went on stuffing the worms into a little bamboo container as if no one were there. Lotus asked, “What are you digging worms for?”

Yirong answered, “To go fishing,” but Yiyun stared rudely at Lotus and said, “None of your business.”

Lotus felt unpleasantly awkward; walking on a few steps, she heard the two girls whisper, “She’s a concubine too, just like Mom.” Lotus was suddenly stunned; she looked back and stared angrily at them. Yirong giggled out loud, but Yiyun stared back at her with unyielding contempt and whispered something else. Lotus thought, “It’s terrible for them to be so young and already saying such nasty things. Heaven knows what sort of education Cloud is giving those girls.”

The next time Lotus ran into Cloud, she could not help telling her what Yirong had said. Cloud said, “That child just can’t hold her tongue. When I get home, I’ll pinch her lips good.” After Cloud apologized, she went on. “Actually those two girls of mine are still pretty easy to handle. You’ve never seen the Little Master from next door. He’s just like a dog, biting and spitting on anyone he runs into. Hasn’t he ever bitten you?”

Lotus shook her head. She recalled the little boy next door, Feilan, standing on the porch eating a piece of bread and peering over at her, his oily hair combed back and shiny, with a pair of little leather shoes on his feet. Sometimes Lotus could catch a glimpse of something like Chen Zuoqian’s expression on Feilan’s face. Probably she was more disposed to accept Feilan because she hoped to give Chen Zuoqian another son. “A boy is better than a girl,” thought Lotus. “Who cares if he bites people or not?”

After a long time only Joy’s son and daughter remained unseen by Lotus. From this it was easy to discern their high status in the Chen household. Lotus regularly heard discussions concerning the son Feipu and the daughter Yihui. Feipu was always out collecting rents and carrying on real estate transactions, while Yihui was studying at a women’s college in Beiping. Lotus casually asked her maid Swallow about Feipu, and she said, “Our Eldest Young Master is very resourceful.”

Lotus asked, “How is he resourceful?”

Swallow answered, “Well, anyway, he is resourceful; the whole Chen household depends on him now.”

Lotus further asked Swallow, “What’s the Eldest Young Mistress like?”

Swallow replied, “Our Eldest Young Mistress is pretty and demure; she’s going to marry a rich man someday.”

Lotus laughed to herself. The tone of Swallow’s praise for those two implied a criticism of her, and Lotus found it quite irritating. Taking out her anger on the Persian cat curled up at her feet, she kicked it away and cursed, “Stop licking your ass over here, you little tramp!”

Lotus became increasingly annoyed with Swallow; mostly because, whenever she had nothing to do, she would run over to Coral’s room. But also because every time Lotus gave her a chemise and underpants to be washed, her face would take on a sullen expression. Sometimes Lotus would scold her. “Who are you trying to impress, frowning like that? If you don’t like being with me, you can go back to the servants’ quarters, or even go next door, it’s all right.”

Swallow would defend herself. “I’m not. I wouldn’t dare frown; I was born with this face.”

Lotus would grab a hairbrush and throw it at her, and Swallow would shut up. Lotus guessed that Swallow slandered her quite a bit throughout the rest of the house. But she could not treat her too harshly because she had once seen Chen Zuoqian come into her room and take the opportunity to fondle Swallow’s breasts. Although it was a fleeting and altogether natural thing, Lotus had to control herself somewhat; if it were not for her master’s fondling, Swallow would not dare act so insolently toward her. Lotus reflected, “Even a common servant girl also understands how to rely on a little fondling to build up her courage. A woman is just that sort of creature.”

ON THE EIGHTH DAY of the ninth lunar month, one day before the Double Ninth Festival, the Eldest Young Master, Feipu, returned home.

Lotus was in the central courtyard admiring the chrysanthemums when she saw Joy and the servants crowding around a group of men; one in the middle, dressed in white, was very young and, viewed from behind and far away, looked quite tall. Lotus guessed that he must be Feipu. She watched as the servants carried a whole cartload of luggage to the back courtyard, running around and around like colorful carousel animals. Gradually everyone went inside, but Lotus was still embarrassed to go in. She picked some chrysanthemums and walked slowly toward the back garden; on the way she spied Cloud and Coral coming her way with their children in tow. Cloud grabbed her arm and said, “Eldest Young Master has come home, aren’t you going to go meet him?”

Lotus answered, “I go to meet him? He should come to meet me, shouldn’t he?”

Cloud said, “That’s right, he should be the one to come to meet you first.”

Standing to one side, Coral impatiently pushed Feilan on the back of the head. “Hurry up, hurry up.”

It was at the dinner table that Lotus actually met Feipu. That evening Chen Zuoqian had the cooks prepare a banquet to welcome Feipu back home. The table was covered with sumptuous and exquisitely prepared delicacies; Lotus looked at the food and could not help thinking that the welcoming banquet on the day she first entered the Chen household was not nearly as grand as this one. She felt a little hurt, but her attention very quickly shifted to Feipu himself. Feipu was sitting next to Joy; Joy said something to him, and then he leaned over toward Lotus, smiled, and nodded his head. Lotus smiled and nodded back at him. Her first impression of Feipu was that he was unexpectedly young and handsome; her second impression was that he was very thoughtful. Lotus always liked to evaluate people’s character on meeting them.

The next day was the Double Ninth Festival. The gardeners brought all of the chrysanthemum pots in the garden together in one place and arranged them in various colors to form the characters for “good fortune, prosperity, longevity, and happiness.” Lotus got up very early and walked all around, by herself, looking at the chrysanthemums. There was a chilly morning breeze, and she was wearing only a sleeveless woolen sweater; she just folded her arms across her chest, held her shoulders, and walked around, looking at the flowers. A long way off she saw Feipu coming out of the central courtyard and walking her way. Lotus was hesitating, trying to decide whether or not to greet him first, when Feipu called out, “Good morning, Lotus.”

Lotus was rather startled at his direct use of her given name; she ­nodded and said, “According to our generational difference, you shouldn’t call me by my name.”

Feipu stood on the other side of the flower beds, smiled as he buttoned up his shirt collar, and said, “I should call you Fourth Mistress, but you must be a few years younger than I am. How old are you?”

Lotus turned to look at the flowers in an obvious display of displeasure. Feipu said, “You like chrysanthemums too? I thought I’d be the first one to enjoy the scene this early in the morning; didn’t think you’d be up even earlier.”

Lotus replied, “I’ve liked chrysanthemums ever since I was little; I certainly didn’t just start liking them today.”

Feipu asked, “What’s your favorite kind?”

Lotus answered, “I like them all, but I just hate crab claws.”

“Why’s that?” asked Feipu.

“Crab claws bloom too impudently.”

Feipu laughed again and said, “That’s interesting; I just happen to like crab claws best.”

Lotus glanced over at Feipu a moment. “I figured you would.”

Feipu asked further, “Why is that?”

Lotus took a few steps forward and said, “Flowers are not flowers and people are not people; flowers are people and people are flowers; don’t you understand such a simple principle?” Lotus suddenly raised her head and caught sight of a strange gleam drifting by briefly, like a leaf, on the surface of Feipu’s moist eyes; she saw it and she understood it.

Feipu stood with his hands on his hips on the other side of the chrysanthemums and said suddenly, “I’ll take all the crab claws away, then.”

Lotus said nothing. She watched Feipu take all the crab claws away and put some black chrysanthemums in their place. After a short interval, Lotus spoke again. “The flowers are all fine, but the characters are no good; they’re too vulgar.”

Feipu wiped the mud off his hands and winked at Lotus. “Nothing can be done about that. Good fortune, prosperity, longevity, and happiness is what the Old Master told them to arrange. It’s the same every year, a custom passed down from our ancestors.”

Whenever Lotus thought of the time she spent enjoying the chrysanthemums on the Double Ninth Festival, she felt happy inside. It seemed as though from that day on she and Feipu had some sort of secret understanding between them. Sometimes, when she thought of how Feipu had moved the crab claws away, she would laugh out loud. Only Lotus herself knew that she really didn’t particularly dislike crab claw chrysanthemums.

“WHO DO YOU like best?” Lotus regularly asked Chen Zuoqian while he shared her pillow, “Of the four of us, who do you like best?”

Chen Zuoqian said, “Why, you, of course.”

“What about Joy?”

“She turned into an old hen long ago.”

“And Cloud?”

“Cloud’s still tolerable, but she’s a little flabby.”

“What about Coral, then?” Lotus could never control her curiosity about Coral. “Where does Coral come from?”

Chen Zuoqian said, “I don’t know where she comes from; she doesn’t even know herself.”

Lotus said, “You mean Coral is an orphan?”

Chen Zuoqian answered, “She was an actress. She sang the female lead in a traveling Peking opera troupe. I was an amateur performer myself. Sometimes I’d go backstage and invite her out for dinner; one thing led to another, and she just came along with me.”

Lotus stroked Chen Zuoqian’s face and said, “All the women want to go along with you.”

Chen Zuoqian said, “You’re half right there; all women want to go along with a rich man.”

Lotus began to laugh. “You’re only half right too; you should’ve said, ‘When a rich man gets rich he wants women, wants them so much he can never get enough.’ ”

Lotus had never heard Coral sing Peking opera, but that morning she was awakened from her dreams by a few crisp, clear, long, drawn-out words sung in opera style. She poked Chen Zuoqian lying next to her and asked if that was Coral singing. Chen Zuoqian responded groggily, “That bitch, when she’s happy, she sings, and when she’s unhappy, she cries.” Lotus opened the window and saw that a layer of snow-white autumn frost had fallen during the night. A woman dressed all in black was singing and dancing under the wisteria vine. It was Coral after all.

Lotus draped a cloak over her shoulders and stood in the doorway watching Coral from afar. Coral was already totally absorbed in her song; Lotus felt that she sang in a delicately plaintive manner, and her own emotions were aroused. After a long time Coral stopped abruptly. She seemed to have noticed that Lotus’s eyes were brimming with tears. Coral threw her long flowing sleeves back over her shoulders and walked toward the compound. Some crystalline specks of brightness danced on her face and clothing in the morning light; her round, tightly coiled chignon was moist with dew, and thus her entire appearance was damp and laden with sorrow, like a blade of grass in the wind.

“Are you crying? You’re living a very happy life, aren’t you? Why are you crying?” Coral asked dryly as she stood facing Lotus.

Lotus took out a handkerchief and wiped the corners of her eyes, then said, “I don’t know what happened. What was that you were singing?”

“It’s called The Hanged Woman,” Coral answered. “Did you like it?”

“I don’t know a thing about Peking opera; it’s just that you sang so movingly that I felt sad too, just listening.” As Lotus spoke, she noticed Coral’s face take on an amiable expression for the first time.

Coral lowered her head, looked at her opera costume, and said, “It’s only acting; it’s not worth feeling sad about. If you act very well, you can fool other people, but if you act badly, you only fool yourself.”

In Lotus’s room Chen Zuoqian started to cough, and Lotus looked at Coral with obvious embarrassment. Coral said, “Aren’t you going to help him get dressed?”

Lotus shook her head and said, “He can dress himself. He’s not a child.”

Coral looked resentful. She laughed and said, “Why does he always want me to help him on with his shoes and clothes? Looks like people are divided into the worthy and the unworthy.”

Just then Chen Zuoqian shouted from inside the room, “Coral! Come in and sing something for me!”

Coral immediately raised her willow-thin eyebrows; she laughed coldly, ran to the window, and yelled inside, “This old lady doesn’t care to!”

Lotus had experienced Coral’s temper. When she talked about it in an indirect manner with Chen Zuoqian, he said, “It’s all my fault for spoiling her years ago. When she feels defiant, she curses my ancestors for eight generations. That little bitch of a whore, sooner or later I’ll really have to punish her.”

Lotus said, “You shouldn’t be too cruel to her; she’s really quite pitiful; she has no other family, and she’s afraid you don’t care about her, so she’s developed a bad temper.”

After that Lotus and Coral had some lukewarm contact. Coral was crazy about mah-jongg. She regularly called a group together at her place to play; they played from right after dinner until very late into the night. From the other side of the wall, Lotus could hear the clicking sound of the tiles noisily shuffled all night, and it kept her awake. She complained to Chen Zuoqian, and he said, “I guess you’ll just have to stand it; when she plays mah-jongg, she’s a little more normal. Anyway, when she loses all of her money, I won’t give her any more. Let her play. Let her play until she drops.”

On one occasion Coral sent her maid over to invite Lotus to play mah-jongg, but Lotus sent her back with these words: “Invite me to play mah-jongg? It’s a wonder you could even think of it.” After her maid returned, Coral herself came over. She said, “There are only three of us—we need one more; do me a favor.”

Lotus replied, “But I don’t know how; won’t I just lose my money?”

Coral took Lotus by the arm. “Let’s go. If you lose, we won’t take your money. Better yet, if you win, you can keep it, and if you lose, I’ll pay for you.”

Lotus said, “You don’t have to go that far; it’s just that I don’t like to play.”

She saw Coral’s smile turn into a frown as she was speaking. Coral said, “Huh, what have you got here that’s so great? You act like you’re sitting on a big pot of gold and won’t move an inch; it’s only a dried-up old man, that’s all.”

Lotus was so irritated that her temper began to flare up; just as she’d decided to tell her off and the curses were already boiling up onto her tongue, she swallowed them back again, bit her lip, and thought for a few seconds. Then she said, “All right, then, I’ll go with you.”

The other two players were already seated at the table waiting; one was the steward, Chen Zuowen, but she didn’t know the other one. Coral introduced him as a doctor. The man wore gold-rimmed glasses; his complexion was quite swarthy, but his lips were moist, crimson, and softly expressive in a feminine manner. Lotus had seen him going in and out of Coral’s room before and, for some unknown reason, could not believe he was a doctor.

Lotus was quite absentminded as she sat at the mah-jongg table; she really could not play very well and listened, bewildered, as they shouted out, “My game,” and “Just the tile I needed.” All she did was shell out money, and gradually she began to feel bad about it. Finally she said, “My head aches, I need a little rest.”

Coral said, “Once you sit down, you have to play eight rounds—that’s the rule. You’re probably feeling bad about your losses.” Chen Zuowen chimed in, “It doesn’t matter, to lose a little money wards off many calamities.” Coral retorted, “Just consider that tonight you’re doing Cloud a favor; she’s been terribly bored lately. Loan the old man to her for one night and let her give you back the money you lose.”

The two men at the table began to laugh. Lotus laughed and said, “Coral, you really know how to amuse people.” But in her heart she felt like she’d just swallowed a hornet.

Lotus coldly observed the flirtatious glances passing between Coral and the doctor; she felt that nothing could escape her intuitive understanding. A tile fell off the table while they were being shuffled, and when Lotus bent down to pick it up she discovered that their four legs were wrapped in a tight embrace; they separated quite quickly and naturally, but Lotus definitely saw what they were doing.

Her expression did not change, but she did not look directly at Coral and the doctor’s faces any longer. At that moment her emotions were very complicated; she was a little apprehensive, a little nervous, and also a little exultant at finding them out. “Coral,” she thought to herself, “you’re living too freely, too brazenly.”

IN THE AUTUMN there were many times when the sky outside her window was dark and damp as a fine rain fell unceasingly onto the garden, splashing off the aspen and pomegranate leaves with a sound like shattering jade. At times like those Lotus would sit by the window, wearily staring at a handkerchief hanging on the clothesline being drenched by the rain; her feelings at the time were turbulent and complex, and some of her thoughts were so personal she could not reveal them to anyone.

She simply could not understand why every time it was dark and rainy her sexual desires were heightened. Chen Zuoqian was incapable of noticing how the weather affected her physiology; he could only feel embarrassed at his inability to keep up with her. He’d say, “Age is unforgiving, and I can’t stand using aphrodisiacs like three-whip spirit ointment.” He caressed Lotus’s warm, pink flesh until countless little frissons of desire pulsated just under her skin. His hands gradually grew wild in their movements, and his tongue also began to caress her body. Lotus lay sideways on the sofa; with her eyes closed and her face flushed, she listened to the pearls of rain crashing onto the window, and spoke in a low moan, “It’s all because of the cold rain.”

Chen Zuoqian did not hear her clearly. “What did you say? Gold chain?”

“Yes,” Lotus lied, “gold chain; I want a beautiful gold chain necklace.”

Chen Zuoqian said, “There’s nothing you want that I won’t give you, but whatever you do, don’t tell the others.”

Lotus rolled over and sat up quickly. “The others? Who the hell are they? I don’t give a damn about them.”

Chen Zuoqian said, “Yes, of course, none of them can compare with you.” He saw Lotus’s expression change rapidly; she pushed him away, quickly slipped on her underclothes, and walked over to the window. Chen Zuoqian asked what was wrong. Lotus turned her head back and said with slightly veiled resentment, “I don’t feel like it now. Why did you have to start talking about them?”

Chen Zuoqian stood sullenly beside Lotus and watched the rain fall­ing outside the window. At times like those the entire world was unbearably damp. The garden was completely empty; the leaves on the trees were green and cold; in the far corner the wisteria vine swaying in the wind took on the appearance of a person. Lotus remembered the well and some of the stories she’d heard about it. She said, “This garden is a little spooky.”

“What do you mean, ‘spooky’?” Chen Zuoqian asked.

Lotus just pursed her lips and faced the wisteria vine. “You know, it’s that well.”

Chen Zuoqian said, “A couple of people died in that well, that’s all; jumped in and committed suicide.”

Lotus asked, “Who was it who died?”

Chen Zuoqian answered, “You don’t know them, anyway; a couple of family members from earlier generations.”

Lotus said, “I suppose they were concubines.”

Chen Zuoqian’s expression immediately grew severe. “Who told you that?”

Lotus laughed and said, “No one told me. I saw for myself. I walked over to the side of that well and immediately saw two women floating on the bottom; one of them looked like me, and the other one also looked like me.”

Chen Zuoqian said, “Don’t talk nonsense, and don’t go there anymore.”

Lotus clapped her hands and said, “That’s no good; I still haven’t asked those two ghosts why they threw themselves into the well.”

“Why would you have to ask?” said Chen Zuoqian. “It could only be because of some filthy affair.”

Lotus was silent for a long time and then suddenly burst out, “No wonder there are so many wells in this garden. They were dug for people to throw themselves into to commit suicide.”

Chen Zuoqian put his arm around Lotus. “You’re talking crazier all the time. Don’t go on imagining things like that.” As he spoke, he took hold of Lotus’s hand and made her rub him down there. “He’s ready again now, come on; if I die in your bed, I’ll be perfectly happy.”

In the garden the autumn rain was bleak and dreary, and for that reason their lovemaking had an aura of death about it. Everything that came before Lotus’s eyes was black; only a few daisies on her dressing table emitted a faint red glow. When she heard a noise outside the door, she grabbed a perfume bottle close at hand and threw it in that direction. Chen Zuoqian said, “What’s the matter now?”

Lotus answered, “She’s spying on us.”

“Who’s spying?”

“Swallow.”

Chen Zuoqian laughed. “What’s there to see? And besides, she can’t see us anyway.”

Lotus replied in a severe tone, “Don’t defend her; I can smell that slut’s foul odor from miles away.”

AT DUSK A crowd of people were sitting around in a circle in the garden listening to Feipu play a bamboo flute. Dressed in a silk shirt and silk pants, Feipu looked even more elegant and charming. He sat in the middle holding the flute while his listeners, for the most part his business companions, sat around in a circle. That crowd of people had become the center of attraction for everyone in the Chen household. The servants whispered back and forth as they stood on the porches observing them from afar. The rest of the people inside the rooms could hear the sound of Feipu’s wooden flute through the windows, like the faint sound of gently flowing water; no one could ignore that sound.

Lotus was frequently very moved by the sound of Feipu’s flute, sometimes so much that tears rolled down her cheeks. She wanted very much to sit down with that crowd of men and be much closer to Feipu. When Feipu took up his flute, he reminded her of a young man at college who used to sit alone in an empty room playing a zither; she could not remember that young man’s face very clearly and did not have any hidden, secret affection for him. But she was easily transported by that sort of exquisitely beautiful scene; her emotions flowed forth like ripples on an autumn stream. She hesitated quite a while, then moved a rattan chair out onto the porch, sat down, and quietly listened to Feipu’s playing. It was not long before the sound of the flute grew still and was replaced by the voices of the men talking. Lotus immediately felt it most uninteresting, and she thought to herself, “Talking is such a bore; it’s nothing more than you lying to me and me cheating you; as soon as people start talking, they put on a hypocritical display of affection.”

She stood up and went back into her room, where she suddenly remembered she also had a long flute, an heirloom left by her father, in her rattan suitcase. She opened the suitcase; it had not been in the sun for a long time and was already a little musty; all those abandoned and unworn schoolgirl dresses and skirts were neatly arranged in it as though all the days of her past were sealed there in dust, radiating tiny sparks from disappointed dreams. Lotus took out all the clothes, but did not see the flute. She clearly remembered putting the flute into her suitcase when she left home. How could it be missing?

“Swallow, Swallow, come here,” she called toward the porch.

Swallow came in and said, “Fourth Mistress, why aren’t you listening to the Young Master play the flute?”

Lotus asked, “Have you touched my suitcase?”

Swallow replied, “A long while ago you asked me to straighten up your suitcase, and I folded all your clothes, didn’t I?”

Lotus asked further, “Did you see a wooden flute?”

“Flute?” said Swallow. “I didn’t see one. Only a man can play a flute!”

Lotus stared straight into Swallow’s eyes, laughed coldly, and said, “Then you must have stolen my flute, didn’t you?”

Swallow replied, “Fourth Mistress, you shouldn’t just insult people any old way; why would I steal your flute?”

“Naturally you’d have your own mischievous plans,” said Lotus, “running around with a head full of clever schemes all day and still pretending to be little miss innocent.”

Swallow said, “Fourth Mistress, you shouldn’t wrongly accuse people like that. Go and ask Old Master, Young Master, First Mistress, Second Mistress, and Third Mistress, when did I ever steal so much as a single copper from my masters?”

Lotus paid no more attention to Swallow’s words; she stared contemptuously into Swallow’s face, then ran into her little bedroom, stepped on her cheap wooden trunk, and ordered, “You talk so tough; open up and let me see!”

Swallow pulled at Lotus’s leg and pleaded with her, “Fourth Mistress, don’t step on my trunk; I really didn’t take your flute!”

Looking at Swallow’s frightened expression, Lotus was even more sure of herself; she picked up an ax from the corner of the room and said, “I’ll hack it open and see; if it’s not there, I’ll buy you a new trunk tomorrow.” She bit her lips, swung the ax down, and Swallow’s trunk split right open as clothing, copper coins, and various sorts of trinkets spilled out all over the floor.

Lotus shook out all the clothes, but the flute was not there. Then, suddenly, she caught hold of a bulging little white cloth package; when she opened it up, there was a small cloth figurine. The figurine had three fine needles stuck into its chest. At first she thought it was pretty funny, but she soon realized that the little doll-like figure looked an awfully lot like herself; on close inspection she saw that it had one word faintly written on it in black ink: “Lotus.” She felt a sudden sharp pain in her chest, just as though she really was being pierced by three fine needles. Her face immediately went white. Swallow leaned back against the wall and stared at her in alarm. Lotus suddenly let out a shrill scream, jumped up, grabbed Swallow by the hair, and bashed her head repeatedly against the wall. She swallowed back her tears and shouted, “You trying to curse me to death? You trying to curse me to death?”

Swallow did not have the strength to struggle free; she just stood there limp and immobile, sobbing without end. Lotus grew tired, and while she was catching her breath she suddenly remembered that Swallow was illiterate. Who was it, then, who wrote her name on the cloth doll? This question distressed her even more. She squatted down and started wiping away Swallow’s tears, then spoke in a gentle tone of voice. “Don’t cry. It’s all over now; just don’t do it anymore. I won’t hold it against you, but you’ve got to tell me who wrote my name for you.”

Swallow was still sobbing as she shook her head. “I won’t tell. I can’t tell.”

Lotus said, “You don’t have to be afraid; I won’t make a big fuss about it. All you have to do is tell me, and I definitely won’t get you in trouble.” Swallow still shook her head. Then Lotus began to prompt her. “Was it Joy?” Swallow shook her head. “Then it must have been Coral, right?” Swallow still shook her head. Lotus swallowed back a breath of cold air, and her voice was shaking slightly. “Then it was Cloud?” Swallow stopped shaking her head; she looked both despondent and ridiculous. Lotus stood up, looked up into the sky, and said, “You can know a person’s face, but not her heart; I guessed it long ago.”

CHEN ZUOQIAN SAW Lotus sitting woodenly on the sofa with red and swollen eyes, twisting a bunch of wilted daisies lying limply in her hand. He said, “You’ve been crying?”

Lotus answered, “No. You treat me so well, why would I cry?”

Chen Zuoqian thought a moment and said, “If you’re feeling bored, we could walk around the garden, or we could go out for a midnight snack too.”

Lotus twisted the daisies again, tossed them out the window, and asked flatly, “What did you do with my wooden flute?”

Chen Zuoqian hesitated a moment and answered, “I was afraid you’d think of someone else, so I put it away.”

The trace of a cold smile formed in the corners of Lotus’s mouth. “All my heart is right here; who else would I be thinking about?”

Chen Zuoqian replied quite seriously, “Well, then, tell me, who gave you that flute?”

“It’s not a love token, it’s an heirloom; my father left it to me.”

“I was too suspicious,” Chen Zuoqian said with a slight air of embarrassment. “I thought some young student gave it to you.”

Lotus held out her hands and said, “Hurry up and bring it here; it’s mine, and I want to keep it here.”

Chen Zuoqian grew even more embarrassed. He walked back and forth, rubbing his hands together. “This is terrible,’’ he said. “I already had one of my servants burn it.” He did not hear Lotus say another word as the room gradually grew dark. When he turned on the light, he saw that Lotus’s face was white as snow and tears were flowing silently down her cheeks.

That night was a very unusual one for the two of them. Lotus curled herself up like a lamb and stayed far away from Chen Zuoqian’s body; Chen Zuoqian reached over and caressed her, but did not receive any response. He turned the lights off a while, then turned them on again and looked at Lotus’s face; it was as indifferent and unfeeling as a piece of paper. “You’re going too far,” he said. “I’ve almost got down on my knees and begged for forgiveness.”

Lotus was silent a moment, then said, “I don’t feel good.” Chen Zuoqian said, “I hate it when people frown at me.” Lotus turned over and said, “Why don’t you go to Cloud’s, she always smiles at you.” Chen Zuoqian jumped out of bed and pulled on his clothes. “I will go, then; thank God I still have three other wives!”

(Translated by Michael S. Duke)