“What’s your name?” Niu Yueqing asked.
“Liu Yue.”
“I’m Yueqing and you’re Liu Yue. What a coincidence that we both have a ‘moon’ in our names.”
“That means I was destined to work for you,” Liu Yue said.
Visibly pleased, Niu Yueqing said, “That’s our karma. You can see now, Liu Yue, this is our house. The work isn’t terribly hard, but we have lots of visitors, and there won’t be a problem so long as you keep your eyes on everything and receive the guests properly. People are strangers outside, but once you’re in here, you’re family. Your Zhuang Laoshi is busy running around all day, so the two of us will stay indoors like sisters.”
“I feel like I’ve fallen into a bed of roses. But I’m a country girl, uncultured and inattentive, and I’m afraid I’ll make mistakes receiving important guests. I won’t mind if they complain about me, but I wouldn’t want to damage your family’s reputation. So I’m going to treat you like my own dajie, my big sister, the same as a grownup in my family. You must teach me. Let me know when I fail to measure up. You can curse me, even hit me if you like.”
That thrilled Niu Yueqing. Liu pulled her hair into a ponytail before rolling up her sleeves to wash the vegetables. Niu Yueqing stopped her.
“Don’t be in such a hurry. You’ve just arrived, and you haven’t even had time for your sweat to dry. I won’t need your help yet.”
“You really are a dajie. I’m not a guest here. I was eager to come today precisely because I knew you’d have a house full of guests, and there’s work to be done. Otherwise, why am I here, to enjoy the festivities?” Liu said.
“Then you should at least get some rest first,” Niu Yueqing said.
Zhuang took Liu Yue out to meet the others, all frequent guests at the Zhuang home, before showing her around. Liu noticed that the main wall of the large living room was taken up by calligraphy in a black glass frame done by the man of the house, which read “God Is Silent.” It looked familiar, and after a mental search, she realized that it was from one of Zhuang’s books. The original phrase was longer: “Ghosts look hideous and God is silent.” Without the first phrase, it fit better in a living room and demanded rumination, which made her marvel at how uniquely different writers are. The wall by the door was lined with four screens carved with soaring phoenixes, next to a black Hong Kong — style oval table with two high-back black chairs on each side. Under the calligraphy was a sectional sofa of Italian leather. The south side of the room was taken up by a black four-shelf stereo cabinet and a squat glass and chrome stand with a TV set above and a VCR below. A light-colored floral silk cloth was draped over the TV, next to which was a black ceramic vase from Yaozhou containing a bouquet of plastic flowers, adding a liveliness to the room and highlighting the understated elegance of the contrasting black furniture and white walls. Liu Yue sighed over the refined taste of an intellectual family, so unlike her previous employers, whose house was filled with gaudy colors. To the south of the living room were two bedrooms, one of which, for the master and mistress, had a beige wool rug and two single Simmons beds, each with a low nightstand. A bronze-colored modular cabinet was placed along the wall facing the door, while a row of low cabinets stood by the window with floor-length fuchsia-colored silk curtains around an air-conditioner. A large wedding photo hung between the beds. Behind the door was an exquisite glass frame with a colorful mermaid print. What interested her most were the twin beds. There was a question in the look she gave to Zhuang, and it was not lost on him.
“The beds can be put together if desired,” he volunteered.
She giggled, drawing Wang’s wife and Xia Jie from the study. She blushed from embarrassment. After Zhuang made the introductions, Xia led Liu into the study.
“You’re no maid; you look more like a princess. Where are you from?”
“Northern Shaanxi.”
“I’ve heard it said that Qingjian is famous for its flagstone, Wayao Fort for its coal, Mizhi for its women, and Suide for its men. You must be from Mizhi.”
“You are really smart,” Liu said with a nod.
“Your master is the one who’s smart,” Wang’s wife said. “Just look at his study.”
Liu Yue checked out the room. Every wall of the modest-sized study was filled with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, leaving room only for the door and a window. The top two tiers were reserved for an array of antiques in various sizes, heights, and quality. Liu recognized some earthen jars from the Han dynasty, plus pottery containers for grain and silkworm cocoons and pottery stoves from the Eastern Han dynasty, as well as tri-colored glazed horses and colorful figurines from the Tang dynasty. She did not know the origin of the other objects, which included ancient jars, bowls, Buddha’s heads, and bronze plates. The lower seven tiers did not have glass doors with hidden locks, and the books on them were unwrapped, exposing their eye-pleasing colors. Every shelf had about four inches of empty space to hold all sorts of roof tiles, stone axes, rocks in odd shapes, wood carvings, clay sculptures, dough figurines, bamboo weavings, jade objects, leather cutouts for puppet shows, paper-cuts, and the twelve zodiac animals carved in walnut, along with a pair of grass sandals. The curtain was raised at the window, in front of which stood a large desk. A bronze bust of the master sat in the middle of the desk, flanked by a tall pile of books and paper. Brushes, ink stone, paper, and ink were strewn across a table by the bookshelf next to the door, while scrolls of various lengths protruded from a large blue-and-white ceramic vat beneath the desk. In the middle of the room and in front of the sofa was a low table of the type commonly found on brick beds used by country folks; it was made of passable wood but was finely crafted. Atop the table was a coarse city wall brick that supported a large, heavy-looking bronze incense burner; alongside the burner was the figure of a Tang dynasty chambermaid, her hair piled high above a brightly rouged face with upwardly slanting eyes and long, slender eyebrows. She was full-figured, with a lavender shawl draped over a short red jacket. Her hands were folded in front, and a smile seemed about to appear on her handsome face. Liu Yue smiled at the figure.
“She looks like she’s moving,” she said, a comment that pleased Zhuang Zhidie.
“Liu Yue has fine instincts to be able to sense that.”
He lit a stick of incense and put it in the burner, sending a tiny column of smoke rising through the three openings to the ceiling, where it roiled like white clouds. “Take another look now.”
“The more you look at her, the more it feels like she’s flowing toward you.”
“This is clearly fate,” Xia Jie said. “Look, doesn’t the maid resemble Liu Yue? You could almost say the facial features were modeled after her.”
Liu Yue had to agree. “I was modeled after her,” she said. Suddenly overcome by shyness, she leaned quietly against the door.
“You’re home alone with your dajie, Liu Yue, so you can come here to read any time you like,” Zhuang said.
“Your study is like the emperor’s audience hall, and commoners are seldom allowed in,” Xia Jie said. “It was because of Sister Wang that I was lucky enough to spend some time here. But Liu Yue gets special treatment the moment she arrives.”
Zhuang blushed. “Well, she’s family now.”
That only made Xia Jie less willing to drop the subject. “Oh, so she’s family now. That sounds so intimate.” She went up and whispered to Zhuang, “You’re getting a maid, not a concubine. So be careful.”
He was so embarrassed, his face turned red as a cinder. Liu Yue had not heard what was said, but she could tell it was something about her that embarrassed her master.
“I can read,” she said, “but I could never learn to be a writer. It would be enough for me to breathe in the air here when I come to clean the place.”