Back in Beijing, Yomei went to live at the Zhous’ residence and office, West Flower Hall, in Zhongnanhai, the mysterious compound in which a dozen or so of the CCP leaders’ families were living. It consisted of more than two hundred acres and had a lake inside that was more like a series of big ponds. Yomei had her own room in West Flower Hall. The building was a courtyard of sorts, composed of a dozen or so rooms plus a commodious living hall. In front of the main house, done in an ancient architectural style and with flying eaves, was spread a large flower bed planted with peonies and daffodils. Behind the house stood cypresses, white-barked pines, fruit trees—some branches were just sprouting yellowish leaves that were like tiny scissor blades. Yomei was known as the premier’s daughter, so she could enter the most restricted residential areas within the compound without a pass.
These days she felt tired and looked gloomy and a little aged, having lost her usual vivaciousness. She no longer hummed songs or gave clear peals of laughter as she used to. Mother Deng clearly knew what had happened to her, though she had never brought up the topic or alluded to it.
Under the excuse of reviving her spirits, Yomei went to stay a couple of days with her aunt Jun. Jun was thrilled to see the presents she’d brought back from Eastern Europe for her children: chocolates, Polish dolls, layettes, onesie pajamas, and velvet hoodie coats. Most of the clothes were one or two sizes too big, so that the kids wouldn’t outgrow them too soon. When Jun asked her why she looked so down, sapped of her glow, Yomei just said she had been frazzled after the long trip, which after all had lasted more than four months. She wondered if she should disclose Mao’s assault on her to Jun but decided against it—she remembered that in Harbin Father Zhou had again admonished her not to breathe a word to anybody. One thing nagging her these days was whether she might get pregnant. Though already fifty-six, Mao must still be able to father children. From time to time, some woman would turn up at Zhongnanhai with a baby, claiming that the child’s father was Mao. Although to date such a claim had never stuck (the guards office of the Zhongnanhai compound would tell the baby’s mother that she mustn’t presume that the great clearheaded leader had lost count of his own children), this might indicate that Mao was still potent and fertile. Yomei had become alert to every little stir in her lower abdomen. Not until mid-March, on her third day at Jun’s home, did she feel the throbbing cramps and find her period coming at last. This was a huge relief, which lifted her mood some. She heaved a sigh and said to herself, “Finally I can pull this nail out of my head.” Together with the feeling of relief, a kind of dull calm settled over her.
When Yomei went back to the Zhous’ a week later, Mother Deng smiled and said to her, “Look, who’s here.”
A young woman in her early twenties and with a strong face and a head of raven hair stepped into the living hall. Yomei was surprised to see her younger sister, Yolan, and rushed up to her. The two hugged, their eyes glistening tearfully. Mother Deng said, “Now we have two daughters.”
Yomei saw that another bed had been set in her room for Yolan. She realized that the Zhous may have brought her little sister over to elevate her spirits. Yolan had lived with their oldest aunt Ren Fukun’s family back in their home province of Sichuan. After their father had been killed in the late 1920s, there was no way their mother Ren Rui could possibly raise all those children on her own. Fukun offered to help raise one of her sister’s children, even though she already had three sons herself. So Ren Rui gave her youngest child to her elder sister. Yet at heart, Yomei never let go of her little sister. Even during the time when their family was all living at their aunt Fukun’s home, Yomei would say to Yolan on the sly, “We have the same mother. Your mother is actually our aunt.” The three-year-old could hardly grasp the full meaning of those words, though she was attached to Yomei and often followed her around and would get a piggyback ride from her. When their family was moving inland later on, Yolan didn’t leave with them, since Fukun loved her, treating her as her own. Over the decades, Yomei had often thought of Yolan, wondering if they could ever be together again.
Yolan told Yomei that a half year earlier her adoptive parents had explained to her how their mother had left her with Aunt Fukun two decades before. Now that Yolan planned to attend college in Beijing, she should reconnect with her real family, including her siblings in the north. Aunt Fukun told her that Yomei, whom Yolan still remembered vaguely, was Premier Zhou Enlai’s daughter now, so Yolan should try to rejoin her sister.
On arrival in Beijing, Yolan went to Zhongnanhai straightaway, but the guards stopped her, saying the Zhous had no relative like her. Then they phoned Mrs. Zhou, who, after figuring out who Yolan was, told them to send her directly to West Flower Hall. The Zhous believed her sudden presence in Beijing might help ease some of Yomei’s anxiety and restore her lively spirit.
After dinner, the two sisters chatted away, deep into the night. Their elder brother Yang had just transferred back to Beijing, but was now at the state planning commission, which didn’t have a permanent working site yet. Since he was single now, having divorced recently, he lived in a dorm, sharing a room with a colleague. So the two sisters had better stay together in the city. Yomei wondered if she and Yolan should look for a place of their own, and she even sounded the Zhous out on this, saying her sister’s sudden presence here might inconvenience them. But both Father Zhou and Mother Deng insisted that Yolan stay with them for the time being, because they had already adopted her elder sister as a daughter. They said this was the minimum they should do for their late parents. Father Zhou suggested that they pay a visit to Zhu Deh, who had once gone to Europe with their dad to look for a way of saving China from the clutches of warlords and feudalism. Father Zhou had met the two Sichuanese men, Zhu and Sun, in downtown Berlin in the fall of 1922 and introduced them to the Communist Party. Yomei assured the Zhous that she and Yolan would go see Uncle Zhu, whose family was also living in the same compound, at Forever Happy Hall.
Yomei believed that for now Yolan should stay at West Flower Hall and get to know the Zhous better—eventually Father Zhou might help her get into a fine college in Beijing.
One afternoon the two sisters took a long stroll around the southern part of the lake in the Zhongnanhai compound. As they were crossing the isthmus toward Ying Terrace, the little island in the middle of the southern pond, they ran into Jiang Ching, who was with Neh. Mother and daughter were on the shore throwing cooked millet to a school of koi, their fluffy whitish tails spread like miniature gauze parasols. Yomei introduced Yolan to Ching and told her that her sister and she had lost touch for more than two decades and had finally been reunited. Ching was wearing black-rimmed glasses. She looked well, perhaps owing to her medical treatment and recuperation in the Soviet Union the previous fall. She seemed glad to see Yomei, though Yomei noticed a shadow flit across her smooth face. Ching said to her, “I hope you had a wonderful time in Russia. Please come see me so we can compare notes and share our discoveries about the Soviet Union. I also want to know how Chairman Mao spent his time there.”
For a moment Yomei was flustered, then collected herself. She said, “Sure, I’ll be happy to share what I know with you.”
Ching waved goodbye to both of them and left with her daughter. Yolan was amazed to see that Madame Mao was so young and said to Yomei, “She’s pretty, isn’t she? Do you see Jiang Ching regularly?”
“Not really. I don’t like her that much. Both our mother and I got to know her long ago in Shanghai. But don’t tell Father Zhou and Mother Deng that we ran into Jiang Ching. Ching can be troublesome. Most people avoid her.”
“All right, I won’t breathe a word.”
Though Yomei had agreed to share her experiences in the Soviet Union with Jiang Ching, she didn’t go see her at all. In fact, she was disturbed by Ching’s eagerness, wondering if Ching had heard something about the night she had spent with Mao on the train. Ching must have had “eyes and ears” on Mao’s staff; they might have noticed that Yomei had abruptly quit teaching Mao Russian in the evenings, and must have guessed that something unusual had transpired between Mao and her, and they might have informed Ching of this on the sly. The more Yomei mulled over this possibility, the more agitated she became and the more resolved she was to avoid meeting Ching in private. It might have turned ugly if Ching had demanded to know whether Yomei had attempted to seduce her husband, the Great Leader.
With those misgivings in mind, Yomei went to see Lily, who was back in Beijing now and served on the translation board of Mao’s writings in the editorial and translation bureau that was within the Party’s Central Committee. Lily was also involved in translating Stalin’s collected works into Chinese. Their mutual friend, Lisa, had moved to Beijing on account of Li Lisan’s new appointment as the head of China’s trade union. Lily didn’t have her own housing yet, so she stayed with Lisa. The two of them were quite close now. Yomei and Lisa were friends too, but she didn’t want to be too involved with the Lis because of the telegram scandal three years before and because she didn’t want to stir up trouble for Li Lisan—some people might accuse them of having formed a Soviet clique. As a matter of fact, Father Zhou had told her to be careful while mixing with foreigners.
Yomei and Lily were having ice cream in a snack bar on Wangfujing Street. The two had so much to catch up on, but both seemed a little guarded due to their current confidential work in the Party. Before the meeting, part of Yomei had wanted to reveal to Lily that Mao had assaulted her, but at the last moment she changed her mind, even though she still held Lily as her best friend. How could she convince Lily that she hadn’t flirted with Mao at all? In most people’s eyes, many women would want to have an affair with the great man and even to bear him a child. Therefore, she’d better not unburden herself of everything. Above all, the knowledge of such a secret might endanger Lily.
“So you seem to get on well with Jiang Ching,” Yomei said to her friend, her tone of voice verging on a question.
“Yes and no. She said she needed my help when we were in Russia. But I could see she was a crank and can be bossy and demanding. It’s hard for her staff members to work for her.”
“When did you last see her?”
“Just three weeks ago. She wants to put on some Russian plays. You know, because she’s not allowed to operate in the top political circle, she has become more interested in the arts, specifically drama and cinema.”
“Really? What plays is she interested in?”
“I’m not sure. She mentioned Gorky and Bulgakov.”
“That’s impressive. She used to be an actress, so she’s knowledgeable about theater.”
“Keep in mind, she might enlist your help too. In fact, she mentioned you, and we talked about you at length.”
“What did she say about me?”
“She said she had known you since you were a young girl. To her, you were talented, vivacious, and beautiful, but a little too naive and headstrong.”
“What did she mean by that?”
“She said you were more like a boy than a girl. Isn’t that true?”
“Probably. I used to be like a tomboy,” Yomei said pensively.
“I remember when we first met, I was fascinated by your carefree manner. I think that by ‘too naive,’ Ching might have meant you didn’t have political savvy and acumen. Come on, Yomei, you are like that, aren’t you? You never like officials; neither do I.”
“Goodness, they put too much egg yolk in this ice cream.”
Lily nodded. “They might use it as a substitute for butter and milk, I guess. Many Chinese don’t know what real ice cream tastes like anyway.”
They both laughed. They also talked about their personal lives. Lily said there was a young man, a navy officer, courting her, but she was reluctant to go with him because he was quite obsessed with rank and power, always becoming awestruck when a senior official’s name cropped up in conversation. Yomei smiled, saying her friend hadn’t adapted back to China thoroughly yet, but on the other hand, they both ought to retain their innocence, which was their true color and part of themselves.
Yet what Lily had revealed about Jiang Ching’s opinion of her brought Yomei both agitation and relief. She felt relieved because Ching seemed ignorant of what had transpired between her and Mao, while she was disturbed because she suspected that Ching might ask her to work on some Russian plays. If that came up, she had no idea how to respond. She knew that deep down, Ching was much more interested in power than in art and that it would be impossible to collaborate with that woman, who was vainglorious and capricious, always acting as Madame Mao and enjoying bringing others to heel.
So Yomei decided to continue avoiding Ching. With some bitterness, she remembered how Ching had intimidated others, including her first crush, Xu Yi-xin. Now, the woman definitely relished her status as First Lady. But she, Yomei, was Zhou Enlai’s daughter, and as long as Father Zhou was the premier, Ching couldn’t really hurt her. She could afford to ignore Jiang Ching.