Epilogue

P’eng carried the bowl of gruel, holding the familiar polished wood carefully in front of her. She stopped at the altar of the God of the Soil to chant a brief phrase at every corner, raising the bowl to her forehead each time. Then she walked along the worn path to the garden.

So little had changed.

Tiny flies danced above the waist-high grass on either side of the path. She missed Molly and Mark and Ariel—such funny faces, but you got used to them. Chuan had never returned. But there were the new families in the li. And frequent visits from the Lady Shen. So much had changed.

As she rounded the corner of the garden, she heard the low whirring sound she had heard so many times during her service as daughter of the garden. She paused, looking out over the wide stretch of prairie with its timeless, tawny grass. So little ever changed.

She walked into the garden itself, but did not leave the bowl on the offering stone. Instead, she carried it across the turf, past Li-Tsai at his table with its ink-bowl and scrolls, past the pool where tiny frogs swam and into the hut. She placed it with all her old reverence on the table by the window and looked out at the small, bent figure of the Lady in the garden beyond.

So much had changed.