by Mingmei Yip
After more months of agony, the weather finally let up. Two weeks later, when there was a hint of warmth and the air smelled of new vegetation, I suggested we take the qin to the riverbank and play outside. At last released from such a harsh winter, I was in a very happy mood. I sat cross-legged under the rejuvenating tree, lay the eight-hundred-year-old qin on my lap, and played all my favorite pieces.
Qing Zhen watched my hovering fingers with admiration. "Precious Orchid," he said when I finished, "your playing is so tranquil and nuanced."
"But I like your style of vigor and passion." I shot him a flirtatious look. "Now your turn."
Qing Zhen played the Gaoshan-High Mountain, and Liushui- Flowing Water. While my fingers floated on the strings like clouds drifting along the wind, his were like dragons roaring in the ocean.
After his fingers left the instrument, he said, "The high mountain is yang energy and flowing water yin energy, so the two pieces played one after another would generate the right balance of male and female elements."
Then, as we sat beside the rushing water of the brook, he told me the familiar story about the famous qin player Boya and his woodcutter friend Ziqi.
No matter what tune Boya played, Ziqi, though illiterate, would immediately grasp its meaning.
One time when Boya played the High Mountain, Ziqi exclaimed, "Ah, how imposing, the high mountain!" Then when Boya began to play the Flowing Water, Ziqi sighed, "The flowing water, how impressive! "
Boya was astonished, for not only was Ziqi a country bumpkin, he had never heard the pieces before, so how could he tell that one depicted the high mountain and the other the flowing water?
"How can I ever fool you with my tunes!" Boya exclaimed, praising his woodcutter friend as a zhiyin-one who understands sound.
Therefore, when Ziqi died, Boya, realizing that no one else would understand his music as well as his friend, smashed his qin at Ziqi's grave and sighed, "Why play the qin when there's no more zhiyin to understand my music!"
From then on, the term zhiyin had been used to describe soul mates.
"Precious Orchid," Qing Zhen looked at me intently while a solitary bird soared behind him in the vast sky, "you realize how lucky we are? Most people search all their life for a zhiyin but never find one. We're not only lovers; we're also zhiyin."
Though I was used to compliments from men and usually did not take them seriously, this one from Qing Zhen touched a silk string in my heart.
With the arrival of spring, I expected that the misery I felt living on the mountain would melt away with the snow. But I was wrong. Because of the good weather, Qing Zhen was out almost every day collecting herbs. Occasionally he'd take me with him, but most of the time I was left behind. Stuck in the small hut by myself, I couldn't help but feel lonely. I'd practice the qin for hours. Now my favorite piece was "Playing the Flute on the Phoenix Terrace," by the Sung dynasty poetess Li Qingzhao:
When I grew bored with the qin, I'd sing opera arias or recite poems. I also did some cleaning and cooking to pass time as well as to release Qing Zhen from these chores-though I bitterly hated them. Back in Peach Blossom Pavilion, I lifted my fingers only to pour wine, to light an opium pipe, or to play mahjong. When I was hungry, there was Aunty Ah Ping to cook me delicate meat and fish and Little Rain to bring them to me.
Remembering Peach Blossom now made me feel very nostalgic. Though I hated my slavery to Mama and De, I missed Ah Ping, Spring Moon, and my parrot Plum Blossom. Then I thought of Teng Xiong. What was happening to her now?
My mother had once told me the Buddhists believe that only after a man and a woman have cultivated for a thousand years will they generate the Karma to share the same pillow. Therefore, under the same logic, Qing Zhen and I must have cultivated in endless past lives. But what about those customers whom I hated, but was forced to share my pillow with? And what about Teng Xiong, though both women, had we also cultivated for a thousand years in our past incarnations?
One time I secretly took a scrap of Qing Zhen's paper and tried to paint her from my memory, as she liked to show herself in a Western suit and also as a long-haired woman in an elegant dress. She must have been heartbroken that morning, waking up in the simple temple room expecting to rub mirrors with me, only to find the other side of the bed cool. Would our Karma lead us to another rendezvous in this lifetime? If so, I'd try to make her the happiest lesbian under heaven.
Many days my memories would make me restless, thinking not only of Teng Xiong but also my mother. Unlike Pearl, they were still in the yang world, but I had no idea how to find them. When Qing Zhen was away, a few times I went out to look for temples. But no monks or nuns had ever heard of Mother. Some even suggested that she might have already left the sangha and become a layperson, moved to another mountain, or even entered nirvana. All these conjectures and ruminations depressed me, but when night came, as I stared at Qing Zhen's handsome, intent face above mine while feeling his vigorous movements below, all my troubles generated by this floating world would vanish into thin air. I felt love so strong as to drive away my dissatisfactions.
As the mountains and trees around us began to sparkle with a bright green, I realized I'd been living with Qing Zhen for more than nine months. I also realized that love had made me an outsider who watched from a distance as the world revolved. Perhaps Qing Zhen did sense my discontent, because he would often do things to please me-bring me bunches of wildflowers, or take me out to the woods for a picnic, or an elegant gathering of qin playing, though there were only the two of us. He'd even made two sets of clothes for me-monks all learned how to sew since they had no women to do it for them.
Yet, though a Taoist monk would feel satisfied to dwell on a mountain surrounded by auspicious pines and lingzhi funguses, I, a woman and an ex-ming ji, longed for friends, parties, and elabo rately embroidered silk gowns. I had expected a simpler existence, but not this day-after-day monotony.
One day when the sky appeared dim like pale ink, Qing Zhen told me-since this weather was best for communicating with spirits-he was going to draft four fu: one for protecting me; one for finding my mother; one for aiding my father in the yin world; and one for stripping the warlord's power.
During Qing Zhen's deep concentration, he looked transformed, to a xian, an immortal. Waves of love rose to warm my body. Watching him, I felt the presence of the pure land, far from all the smoke and dust of this imperfect world. I'll love and be kind to this man for the rest of my life, I said silently to myself. Then I looked out the window and my eyes caught the gentle green of new leaves, witnessing my vow.
Much as I appreciated the care Qing Zhen put into making the fu for me, I was still not happy on the mountain. The legend is told that when a day passes inside the immortal's cavern, a thousand years have already gone by in the outside world. But now it turned out just the opposite: a single day on the mountain felt like a thousand years. I remembered a line from a poem by the famous Tang dynasty courtesan Yu Xuanji: It's easier to find priceless treasures than a loving man. Now my problem was, though I'd found the loving man, I still wanted the priceless treasures!
Then one day Qing Zhen told me that in a week, the Taoist festival of Zhai Qiao-fasting and offering-would be held at Celestial Cloud Temple. Hundreds would attend, to pray, to make offerings to the numerous Taoist gods, and to eat and be entertained. There would be operas, folk music, puppet shows, magic, and all kinds of food and games ...
My eyes widened and my face flushed just listening to Qing Zhen's description. I couldn't wait to go out and have fun, to be around people!
But then Qing Zhen said, "Precious Orchid, we'll go to Celestial Cloud together, but once we've arrived, I can't stay with you."
"Why not?"
"Because I'm a monk and everybody knows me there."
I felt too hurt to utter a word.
"Precious Orchid," he looked embarrassed, "please understand ..."
It was exactly because I understood that I felt so sad. What combina
tion could be more sensational-and more condemnablethan a runaway prostitute and an amorous monk? Not long ago, had our relationship been found out, we would've been stripped naked, then tied together for onlookers to throw stones at. After that, if we were still "lucky" enough to be alive, we would be taken to a lake and, with our necks and feet tied with big stones, thrown into the icy water.
I swallowed my bitterness. "Don't worry, once we're inside the temple, I'll act just like a stranger. And I know how to entertain myself."
I wanted very much to start a fight just to stir up the air between us. However, catching his sad glance, my words retreated inside my mouth while my heart quietly shattered.
The next day I woke up and-to my trepidation-found Qing Zhen gone. However, he'd left a message on the altar:
Precious Orchid, I'll be away for a day or two, at most three, for business. Don't worry about me, I'll bring you good news when I'm back.
Good news, what kind? That he was going to quit the temple, marry me, and have babies? But then what were we going to live on, that dead bird with its filthy feathers floating in the elixir?
As promised, Qing Zhen did come back in three days. The moment I saw his beaming face and heard his voice calling my name, my grudge vanished.
"Precious Orchid," his eyes searched mine with tenderness, 14 see what I've bought you."
My enthusiasm was immediately cooled by what I saw-a styleless, rough-textured top and pants plus a straw hat. Back in Peach Blossom, these were worn by maids of the lowest rank. My heart was bleeding inside, but I feigned joy. I conjured up my most prestigious, dimpled smile and directed it to Qing Zhen.
He couldn't possibly have looked happier. Like a child trying to show off by reciting poetry to his parents, Qing Zhen continued to display things he had brought back for me-pickled food, a scarf, a small purse, and a small amount of cash.
"Qing Zhen," I searched his face suspiciously, "where did you get the money to buy all these?"
"I earned them."
"Did you work? Where?"
"On the street."
"Did you sell your concoction?"
"Precious Orchid, you know I'd rather die than do that."
"I'm sorry." I knew I had trespassed his sacred space.
A silence, then he said, "I've been asking for alms."
These simple words suddenly sounded like thunderclaps bursting above my head. Qing Zhen had once told me he used to make his living by performing rituals-birthdays, blessings, funerals, casting away evil spirits. But since he was now living as a hermit monk, opportunity for this sort of work had been drastically reduced, and so was his income. Therefore, during his reclusion-especially after I'd started to live with him-finding money had been difficult.
But still, I couldn't believe that he had turned beggar!
I felt too humiliated even to look at him. Finally I said, staring at the cauldron, which now appeared like a tomb burning in hell, "So, you've been begging?"
"Yes," he replied, not a hint of shame in his voice.
I tried hard to keep my tone from sounding angry. "You're not embarrassed to beg in public?"
"Taoists call this `asking for alms,' `receiving donations,' or `connecting the good Karma.' It is nothing to be ashamed of."
Of course, I'd seen bedraggled monks and nuns begging on the streets of Shanghai but the regular monks attached to temples looked down on them. My mother had explained to me that, since hermit monks didn't have much source of income, begging had become their main way to make a living. Sometimes I `d even given them a few coppers to bring myself good Karma. But I'd never imagined I'd be so poor as to live on alms myself.
I stared at Qing Zhen and the gifts he'd bought with the money he'd begged, while feeling a surge of anger rising within. I lost control and spat out, "Qing Zhen, shame on you!"
He looked stunned. "Precious Orchid, you never talked to me like that!"
"Because I put up with you. Because I never imagined you'd turn a beggar!"
Veins throbbing in his temples, he said angrily, "Put up with me? Don't you love me? Haven't I been nice to you?"
"Nice? When you spend all your time caring for that dead bird in your concoction?"
"But that's my vocation!"
"Yes, you only care for your vocation." I tapped my chest. "Then what about mine?" I immediately regretted that I'd said this. What if Qing Zhen told me to go back to prostitution? Then relief washed over me-I'd never told him the truth that I'd been not a maid, but a prostitute.
Now he stared at me with eyes tinted with sadness. "You have your freedom here."
"Freedom? I hate this mountain. It's a prison! " I screamed. "You have your fu, your concoction, and your longevity exercises but what do I have? Nothing!" I started to cry.
Qing Zhen remained silent, then he gently put his arm around my shoulder. "I'm sorry, Precious Orchid. I didn't know you were so unhappy living here with me."
Still sobbing, I buried my head in his chest. "It's not that. It's ... I have no friends and no news of my mother."
He caressed my head, cooing, "Tomorrow you'll meet lots of people at the temple fair. And we'll also ask for your mother there."
27,
The Encounter
elestial Cloud was situated about twelve miles away from our Jhut. In order to save money, Qing Zhen suggested we walk half of the way, then hire sedan chairs for the rest of the trip.
When we finally arrived at the temple at noon, its entrance was already crowded with shanxin-virtuous believers, also called xi- angke, fragrant visitors, because they are constantly lighting incense as offerings to the gods. But I wondered. Did their investment produce anything more than ashes?
We had to push and squeeze our way in like eels wriggling in a crowded pond. But I didn't mind at all; in fact, I was tremendously enjoying being jostled by other people. I even stooped to pat a little boy's head and sniff the perfume wafting from an expensively dressed tai tai.
The temple looked impressively old. Sunlight glinted on the undulating yellow roof tiles where green dragons danced on golden clouds. Decorative banners rippled in the breeze as if waving to encourage the throng of pilgrims to make offerings in exchange for blessings. In the distance towered a white pagoda, looking like a bearded sage bestowing wisdom.
When we stepped inside the temple, we were greeted by paintings and statues showing every possible kind of god.
I nudged Qing Zhen's elbow. "Who are all these?"
He pointed to a series of paintings depicting bearded men in elaborate robes. "These are the highest of all the gods. They were here at the beginning of the universe." Then he pointed to men dressed in armor and riding on ferocious beasts. "These are the generals who command the demons to cast away evil spirits and suppress monsters."
"There are so many! "
"That way," he smiled mischievously, "there are enough gods to answer all the needs of us mortals."
I wondered: Why isn't there a goddess of romance to solve my problem with Qing Zhen?
Just then I spotted a white-robed goddess holding a baby. It was the son-sending Guan Yin. A woman, not quite young and not quite pretty, was praying in front of the statue, prostrating and knocking her head hard on the stone floor.
I pointed her out to Qing Zhen. "Do you believe this works?"
"It depends on how sincere one's prayer is.,,
I meditated hard on Qing Zhen's answer, then decided it had nothing to do with sincerity, but fate. Women are like fields; some fertile, others barren. I sighed inside. Even this Guan Yin couldn't bring me a son with Qing Zhen so long as he kept directing his semen back to his brain.
We stopped to admire a stone pillar carved with motifs of dragons and phoenixes-symbols of harmonious marriage. While my eyes outlined the graceful shapes and my hand ran along the cool texture, my heart sank. Like these birds dwelling in a soaring pillar, I was trapped and unable to fly away.
But these somber thoughts did not last long. The temple was quickly filling
up with noisy visitors. Everyone seemed to be dressed in their best. Though their clothes were hardly fashionable by Shanghai standards, watching them was a great joy after all my months of solitude. Women wriggled in colorful, embroidered jackets; their pomaded hair decorated with fresh flowers, kingfishers' feathers, or jeweled hairpins. Some men were clad in long Chinese gowns while others sported Western suits and felt hats. Although these people came from wuhu sihai-the five lakes and the four seas-all came for the same reasons: to cast away evil spirits, pray for good fortune, and receive blessings.
In the distance near a high platform, I saw a gathering of Taoist monks in elaborately embroidered, many-colored robes. As they talked, they made sweeping gestures, each movement setting the robes' gold and silver threads glimmering, conjuring images of flying fish diving in and out of the ocean, their bodies shards of glittering reflections.
Once Qing Zhen spotted the other monks, he pulled me aside. "Precious Orchid, now I have to go and join them to prepare for the ceremony." He paused to look around, then spoke again, "I want you to enjoy yourself. There'll be two more hours before the ceremony begins, so why don't you stroll around? This temple is huge, with many separate buildings, so there'll be more than enough to keep you diverted." He looked at me intently, his angular face achingly handsome and mysterious in the soft light within the temple. "Be sure to come back and watch the ceremony, but just in case you don't see me, meet me at the south gate of this building when the ritual ends. All right?"