Yuxiu lowered her head. Everyone present would have been surprised by how fast her heart was pounding at that moment. She was on edge. As she shoveled food into her mouth, her heart leaped into her throat and she nearly choked. Tears threatened to spill from her eyes. I got what I came for, a place to live, she thought. Seeing her sister’s empty bowl, Yuxiu jumped up to refill it. But Yumi put it down and announced, “I’m full.”
So Yuxiu now had a place to live, and though she hadn’t given a thought to how her sister would feel about that, Yumi actually had high hopes for her and was content to let her be on her own. But Yumi found Yuxiu’s budding friendship with Qiaoqiao hard to accept. Guo’s foolish daughter was not easy to deal with, and Yumi realized that she was afraid of Qiaoqiao.
Normally, Yumi feared no one, but now she found that the girl had her exactly where she wanted her. Qiaoqiao was not the calculating type, not someone adept at playing tricks. Not Qiaoqiao. She was openly ruthless and tyrannical. She said what was on her mind and did what she felt like. That was just the sort of person Yumi found difficult.
Yumi recalled, for instance, how Qiaoqiao had come home from school one day shortly after the marriage, and Yumi had tried to show the girl how kind a stepmother she could be. In front of a crowd in the government compound, Yumi greeted the girl. “Back from school already, Qiaoqiao,” she said with a smile as she reached out for the girl’s schoolbag.
Qiaoqiao rewarded her by calling her a “dumb cunt”—hardly expected, especially in front of all those officials.
For Yumi, it was a disastrous loss of face. That night in bed she told Guo Jiaxing what had happened. “Why would she do that?” Yumi asked. “It was as if she’d seen the devil herself.”
Showing a remarkable lack of interest, Guo said in an offhanded way, “She’s only a child.”
“A child? She’s not much younger than me.” Actually, Yumi didn’t say that; she just thought it. This was not something she dared to say aloud. She was disheartened. Barely older than the dense Qiaoqiao, she did what was expected of a stepmother, but her dignity was in shambles and she had gained nothing for her effort. But that’s how parenting works sometimes. When you lose a mate, the natural reaction is to feel you’ve let your child down, and so to compensate, you spoil the child, who then becomes self-indulgent and undisciplined. As Yumi lay beside Guo Jiaxing, her chilled heart was filled with grievances. In the final analysis, men cannot be trusted. They flatten themselves out on top of you to satisfy their desire and exaggerate their emotional involvement. They are calculating in their choice of whom to be close to and whom to keep at arm’s length. A man is one thing before he pulls out and something altogether different after—bitterly disappointing.
Yumi wanted a heart-to-heart talk with Qiaoqiao so she could make it clear that she didn’t expect the girl to call her “Mother.” She knew she could never be the girl’s mother. But she could call her “Aunty,” couldn’t she? And if that was too much to ask, how about Elder Sister? Or she could settle simply on Yumi. But not a peep out of Qiaoqiao.
Daughter and stepmother spent most of every day together in the same rooms, and Qiaoqiao would not speak to her, as if a single sentence would split her lips. She just glared at Yumi as if she were a mortal enemy, refusing to give her a chance, unless, that is, Yumi liked the idea of being cursed. Qiaoqiao’s mouth was typical for a girl born to a mother who did not have the chance to bring her up right. There was nothing she wouldn’t say. Where had she picked up these things? You had to hand it to her. Yumi sometimes felt that her devotion to her “daughter” fared less well than feeding a broom—at least a broom acknowledges the effort with a bit of noise. Yumi could only sigh. She did fine as a second wife, but was a failure as a stepmother.
For some reason, Qiaoqiao and Yumi were natural enemies, like a mouse and a cat or a weasel and a dog.
Yuxiu could not have been happier. She derived considerable, if inexplicable, satisfaction from seeing anyone go after Yumi. Yuxiu’s heart flowered despite her attempts to suppress it, and that always led to smiles of pleasure. In Yumi’s presence she maintained a humble, modest attitude, but it was all an act. What she felt inside was a sense of liberation like that of an emancipated peasant. If Qiaoqiao called to her, instead of answering right away, she would cast a glance at Yumi before walking somewhat reluctantly, almost furtively, up to Guo’s daughter as if she were afraid of offending Yumi. In reality, she was putting her sister on notice, confusing her by digging a hole so deep that Yumi could not see the bottom and would forever be kept in the dark. In this way, Yuxiu created a mysterious relationship with Qiaoqiao, a cleverly concealed alliance in which they worked together with one mind. If Yumi asked about something, Yuxiu would feign ignorance and pretend to rack her brains. “That can’t be,” she’d say. Or “Don’t ask me” or “You don’t think she’d tell me, do you?” Or simply, “I forget.”
Once again, Yuxiu had a backer. Whenever Yumi tried to size up her sister, there was a sense of vigilance in her gaze—exactly what Yuxiu had hoped for. So long as Yumi hated her, saw her as a competitor, and was on her guard against her, then that was proof they were equals. Yuxiu did not want her sister to feel sorry for her. To keep that from happening, she relied upon Qiaoqiao. I don’t mind demeaning myself in front of others, but I cannot yield to Yumi, thought Yuxiu. Why did we have to be sisters in the first place? How strange.
Yuxiu’s job was to wait on Qiaoqiao. In general that meant taking care of the girl’s appearance, and under Yuxiu’s tutelage, Qiaoqiao had a change of attitude: I’m not a boy; I’m a girl, like any other girl. Her expectations in regard to her femininity rose dramatically. But she was too clumsy to improve her appearance on her own. Yuxiu, on the other hand, was an expert.
In light of Yumi’s objections, Yuxiu didn’t dare to pay too much attention to her own appearance, so she applied all her styling techniques to Qiaoqiao’s hair, accessories, buttons, and braided ornaments. She had that special knack and an assertive attitude that gave her a sense of accomplishment that belied a deep-seated sorrow, which was manifest in her attention to detail.
Qiaoqiao was a girl transformed, and if her father had not been a deputy director, people would have criticized her for looking like a vixen. Yuxiu worked especially hard on the girl’s nails. She managed, somehow, to acquire some garden balsam flowers, which she ground into paste, added some alum, and dabbed meticulously on Qiaoqiao’s fingernails, coat after coat; then she turned her attention to the girl’s toenails. When she was finished, she wrapped the nails in broad bean leaves. Several days later, the effects were spectacular: Qiaoqiao’s fingernails and toenails had changed color. They were bright red, beautiful, translucent, and remarkably eye-catching. Light bounced off them whenever she waved her hand or jiggled her feet.
There was something different about Qiaoqiao every day. The changes were visible and fundamental; they could be summed up in the saying “A girl undergoes dramatic changes at eighteen.” The people in the government compound took notice. The most visible and fundamental change in Qiaoqiao was in her eyes and her actions—the way she carried herself. In earlier days, her most notable attribute had been rashness; she had impressed people as a guerrilla warrior, wild and reckless. That image was a thing of the past.
Now there was room for twists and turns in both her expressions and actions. Somewhat affected, to be sure, but feminine. She and Yuxiu were often seen entering or leaving the compound together, walking side by side like best friends, as sweetly paired as devoted sisters. That had been Yuxiu’s fondest desire. Everyone in the compound knew who Yuxiu was. That’s Yuxiu, they’d say. That’s Director Guo’s young sister-in-law. A pretty young thing.