Lili spotted an old rectangular, black lacquer box on the nightstand. She sat on the bed and picked it up. Although she’d seen it there since she’d been a child, she’d never touched it. No one had told her not to, but somehow she’d sensed this was her mother’s special treasure — something she’d brought with her, hand painted with rose and blue-colored swans, all the way from Shanghai.
Lifting its hinged lid, Lili discovered within its imperial yellow velvet and satin lining, several old papers, letters, and photographs. She saw her parents’ marriage license and their insurance premium booklet, but the letters were all in Chinese, which she couldn’t read. Her mother had rarely talked of her life in China. But when Lili was nine, she found her mother crying over a letter she’d just received.
Su-Wei told her it had come from the Chinese government. “They say my father is dead,” she’d sobbed. “He promised to send for me, but he never did. Now everyone in China is gone.”
It was the only time Lili ever recalled her mother crying. After that, Su-Wei unpacked the camphor tree chest she’d always kept filled with clothes, shoes, and other necessities for her eventual return to China and never spoke of her sadness again.
Lili picked through the few photos. There were several she’d never seen before: one of Lili’s father in his Sunday suit. Probably brought to Su-Wei’s aunt by the old woman who made the match. Lili wondered what her mother felt when she saw this picture for the first time. Did she even think to protest a forced marriage to a man more than twice her age? She picked up a snapshot of her parents standing side by side, not touching, looking directly into the camera, but registering no sense of emotion — just acceptance.
A small snapshot of Su-Wei as a child lay at the bottom of the box. She couldn’t have been more than ten. Funny, how much she looked like Lili. What was even more striking was her expression — dark eyes radiant, confident, carefree as she held her father’s hand. Lili studied the picture of her grandfather. He was handsome, with jet black hair and serious eyes. Su-Wei had told her he was a doctor. A great professor — you can be proud of your ancestors.
For several moments, Lili stared at her mother and grandfather holding hands. Su-Wei was so happy once. Then Lili stood and began to wander from room to room, running her hands over objects barely remembered: a lace tablecloth, a silk pillowcase, a rosewood chopsticks box. Odd. She had grown up here, but curiously felt no attachment.
Now perhaps she was beginning to understand. She’d fled this house the moment she’d been accepted at Wellesley because she’d been ashamed of her mother — her old-fashionedness, her reluctance to learn English, her insistence on clinging to the old ways. Lili left because she didn’t want to be like Su-Wei the rabbit — so accepting of her joss. Like the half-emptied bottle of pain pills still on the bathroom counter. Or maybe Lili just never appreciated what Su-Wei had lost.
Lili returned to her mother’s bedroom and shut the lacquered box. Sitting down on the bed, she felt in her pocket for the jade locket her mother had given her and held it by the gold chain. She knew the intricately carved gold letters stood for shou, the Chinese symbol for long life and almost laughed at the irony. Her mother had died so young.
But, of course, that was not really why Su-Wei kept it so close to her heart all these years. Lili opened the locket and stared for a moment at the tiny portrait of the beautiful Chinese woman who was her grandmother.
Remember, if you are Chinese, you can never let go of China in your mind.
Feeling overwhelmed, Lili sensed how little she really knew of her roots.
She placed the locket around her neck.
Someday I hope you will return to China for me. I will live in you now.
Lili retrieved Dr. Seng’s card from her purse. Remembering his words today: I merely wanted you to know that we welcome your coming home.
Oh, God, she thought as she reached up and touched her cheek. She looked in the mirror. Only then did she know that the wetness was her own tears, that she was crying as she could never remember crying.
Now she understood that she was all alone in the world.
CHAPTER TEN
Los Angeles, California
One week later, Dylan paced the tiny space in his lab office. Lili sat at his desk looking grim. “You can’t be serious, he said.”
“I’ve never been more serious.”
“Leaving residency in the middle of the year. Trenton will never agree.”
“As a matter of fact, I met with him. He seems to feel I could use some time off. Something about not being able to keep my mind on my work.”
“Lili —”
She held up her hand. “I know about Sanderson’s letter. I even know about Trenton’s little chat with you.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“What good would it do? As long as you and I are seen together, Trenton will be on your case.”
“But —”
“Let’s face it. My leaving solves everybody’s problems.”
“What about us?”
“Not now,” Lili snapped, a raw nerve exposed. “My mother’s dead. I’m all alone. I need time.”
“I’m so sorry about your mother.”
“So much of my life was spent fighting her and —” Lili’s voice cracked, “what she represented. I owe her this trip.” She bit the corner of her lower lip. “Maybe it’s time. Time to go home.”
“When do you leave?”
“Tomorrow. I’ve arranged to sublet my apartment. I’ve bought my ticket and before Dr. Seng returned to China, he expedited my visa.”
Dylan walked over and pulled her up from her seat. “Lili, I don’t want to lose what we’ve started.”
“Dylan —”
He put a finger to her lips. “I think I understand how you feel. I know what it’s like to feel lost. Without roots.” He slipped his arms around her waist. “Listen. I’ve got two weeks vacation coming. Why don’t I meet you in China in a month or so? You could show me around.”
“I don’t know.”
“It’s not as if you’re going off the edge of the world,” he said and Lili laughed. “What I mean is, it’s not as though you can’t write or call or even fax me — just to let me know how you are and when it would be convenient for me to come.”
Lili gave him a hug and sighed. “Thanks for being my friend.”
“For now.” Dylan kissed the top of her head. “Just remember. You can always count on me.”
Beijing, China
Foreign Minister Lin was lost in thought when he turned to face General Tong. “I didn’t hear you come in. You have news?”
“Everything’s going as planned, comrade.”
“The granddaughter?”
“She should be here within three weeks.”
Lin nodded. Everything was going as planned. Still, it never hurt to have a back-up strategy. That was why, when the general turned to go, Lin pulled an intelligence dossier from inside his desk.
Washington, D.C.
A few days later, Carpenter and Halliday met in the park just opposite the Washington Monument. The warm days of early April brought the first blush of cherry blossoms. It was the nicest time of year, thought the CIA officer as he listened to Carpenter’s report.
“Everything worked just as you said. Even better than you planned.”
Halliday watched a small girl struggle with the string of a kite, a bright blue Mylar shark. “How so?”
“You knew the mother was terminally ill. But her dying just now seemed the catalyst for Dr. Quan’s decision to go to China. Perfect timing.”
“Yes, it was,” Halliday said as he observed the shark moving dangerously close to the trees.
“I guess I’ve done my part.”
Halliday did not respond.
“How shall I keep in touch?”
The CIA officer turned to face his old friend. “You know the saying, ‘Don’t call us—’ ”
Carpenter nodded. “I understand.” He del
iberately lowered his voice. “This clandestine stuff makes me nervous. I don’t know how you’ve done it all these years.”
Halliday shrugged. “Habit, I guess.”
The men shook hands. Carpenter departed for his car, slowly disappearing in the distance. Halliday watched him grow smaller. Fool, he thought. Assuming the events of the last few weeks were serendipitous, a result of “perfect timing,” luck!
The shark dipped, then glided on the breeze as the child skillfully moved it away from the cherry trees.
Halliday smiled to himself, understanding what Carpenter never could: experts left nothing to luck.
Xi’an, China
Ni-Fu Cheng did not have the heart to go on.
He felt the heaviness of the world on him with each breath. When he was young he could have pushed the stone up the mountain no matter how many times it fell back to the bottom. Like Sisyphus, he persisted despite failure upon failure. At the same time he was able to reassure those in power that though he was close, he was not yet there.
Now that he had finally perfected his elixir, the prize seemed pointless. Since his house arrest three months before, he had slowly faced a truth long denied. Just last week he was told of the government’s new scheme to eliminate all “spiritual pollution” among its youth. He shuddered to think of how he would be contributing to China’s downfall. So many destinies in the palm of his hand.
Ni-Fu reconsidered his lifetime of sacrifice. Was this really the country he had spent forty years trying to save? For what purpose? So that evil old men like General Lin could subjugate the masses? Perhaps, he thought, now it is I who am evil.
Ni-Fu stirred as he heard footsteps. With his back to the door, he could not see who was there.
“Dr. Cheng?”
“Yes?”
“I’ve brought your dinner.”
“Thank you, Chi-Wen, but I’m not hungry.”
“You haven’t eaten for five days. You need your strength or you’ll die.”
The old man sighed. “I don’t care.”
“But your work —”
“It doesn’t matter anymore.” He pointed to the wooden chair beside his bed. “Please, come sit.” He smiled as the young man came into his view. “There are few left to trust these days. I’m grateful for your company.”
BOOK TWO
THE PAST
THE POET THINKS OF HIS OLD HOME
I have not turned my steps toward the East Mountain for so long,
I wonder, how many times the roses have bloomed there. . .
The white clouds gather and scatter again like friends.
Who has a house now to view the setting of the bright moon?
— Li-Po
SWIMMING
After swallowing some water at Changsha
I taste a Wuchang fish in the surf
and swim across the Yangtze River that winds ten thousand li.
I see the entire China sky.
Wind batters me, waves hit me — I don’t care.
Better than walking lazily in the patio.
Today I have a lot of time.
Here on the river the Master said:
“Dying — going into the past — is like a river flowing.” . . .
— Mao Zedong, June 1956
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Saturday
April 15, 1989
Hong Kong
5 a.m.
Flecks of mauve, indigo, and gold streaked the early morning horizon as the huge, ungainly 747 swept low from the south aiming for the single fingertip runway of Kai-Tak Airport. Peering from her window, Lili held her breath, marveling at the gray South China Sea. Below her, sampans, junks, and snakeboats slid silently by, while up ahead cargo ships from all over the world were steaming toward the Kowloon peninsula.
“Five more minutes.”
Lili smiled at the woman seated on her right. Ms. Dorothy (call me Dottie) Diehl, a Dr. Ruth clone and retired geography teacher from Long Beach was finally going to see all the exotic places she’d taught. She pointed to a lined copybook. “I plan to write it all down and, who knows, if it’s good enough, maybe I’ll even sell it. Start a whole new career.” She laughed self-consciously. “You think I sound foolish?”
“Of course not. Many artists began their careers in their —” Lili searched for just the right decade.
“Sunset years?” Dottie suggested, giggling good-naturedly. She even laughed like Dr. Ruth. “You know, years ago geography was an important subject. Very important. No less respected than any of the three Rs. But today —” She shook her head. “My lord, today, most young people couldn’t find Florida on a map.” She tsked. “And forget about oceans. They probably think you can drive to Hong Kong from L.A.”
Lili suppressed a smile.
Ms. Diehl grabbed the plastic cup from her breakfast tray and downed her fourth Bloody Mary. “Calms the nerves. I’m a miserable flyer.”
Courage renewed, she kept talking. “I’m free now. Left everything behind — house, car, ex-husband. There’s nothing holding me back.” She looked at Lili. “Am I talking too much?”
“Not at all.” The nonstop chatter had actually made the last fourteen hours pass more quickly.
“Tell me, is the Far East as exciting as they say?” Dottie winked. “I’m not talking ancient ruins.”
“Beg your pardon?”
A conspiratorial whisper: “Asian men. I hear they’re real tigers in bed.”
“Well —”
Dottie’s bloodshot eyes flashed indignation. “You think sixty-five is over the hill?”
“Of course not.” Lili bit her lower lip to stifle laughter. “But I’ve never been east of New York.”
“Then you’re in for a treat.” Dottie tapped her guidebook to Asia. “Tomorrow I join a tour. Three weeks through China by train and boat arranged through a Chinese travel agency. Cheaper than booking through the States and not just the usual tourist sites. This is off the beaten path.”
“Sounds like fun.”
“Where are you going?”
“From Hong Kong I fly direct to Xi’an.”
“Without seeing any of the country?”
“I didn’t make the travel arrangements.”
“You said your people are from Shanghai?”
“That was forty years ago,” Lili replied. “There’s no one there now.”
“Still, you should see where your family’s from,” Dottie pressed. “You’ve come halfway round the world. Be impulsive. Just say you’re taking a little detour before starting your work.”
Unwilling to argue, Lili produced a noncommittal “We’ll see.”
The captain’s voice blared over the loudspeaker: “Ladies and gentlemen, fasten your seatbelts. We’re about to land.”
“Don’t forget what I told you,” Dottie said as they stood together later in the customs line. “China Products. Opposite the Central Market. That’s where you’ll find the best value. Nathan Road is strictly for tourists.”
“I’ll remember.”
“Oh, and if you decide to see some of China, you can buy a ticket and get your travel permits from the China International Travel Service. There’s a CITS office in Kowloon.” Dottie stopped to tell the immigration officer this was her first trip to the Orient. His response was a disinterested nod and a perfunctory stamp of her passport. “My tour leaves at 10:25 tomorrow morning,” she yelled before she was swallowed up in the crowd.
“Staying in Hong Kong long?”
“Excuse me?”
The customs officer continued processing passports without looking up.
“A few days. I’m a doctor. I’ll be studying at the Xi’an Institute. For about three months.” She wasn’t sure he needed so much information, yet she didn’t want to appear secretive.
The young officer interrupted his processing rhythm to stare at Lili. For a moment he seemed to look right through her. Then he checked and rechecked her passport picture, reconciling it with the young woman sta
nding before him.
“I know, it’s a terrible shot. I just decided to come to China . . .” Lili stammered, conscious of the impatient movement of people behind her. “I didn’t have time to get a good one.”
Without acknowledging her, the officer stamped the entry visa and motioned her through. “Next.”
Clearing customs, Lili maneuvered her luggage through several groups of tourists, each clustered around guides waving colored flags. Beyond them several individuals held placards with the names of arriving passengers. Not expecting to be met, she almost missed the card with her name on it.
“I’m Lili Quan,” she told the formally dressed chauffeur.
He bowed. “Welcome to Hong Kong.” His English had a clipped British accent.
“This must be a mistake.”
“You are Dr. Quan?”
“Yes, but —”
He gathered up her bags and started towards the terminal exit. “I’m to take you to your hotel.”
“I have reservations at the Holiday Inn.”
The chauffeur shrugged. “My instructions are to take you to the Peninsula.”
“The Peninsula Hotel?” Lili almost stumbled keeping up with him. She couldn’t afford that.
The chauffeur placed her luggage in the trunk of a green Rolls-Royce limo, then spoke in a tone that defied argument: “You are a guest of the People’s Republic of China.”
Xi’an, China
“Please, professor, just a little more. The soup will give you strength.”
Ni-Fu Cheng looked up at the young man trying so valiantly to keep him alive. Over the past six months he’d become very fond of Chi-Wen. Although Mao’s Cultural Revolution had ended Chi-Wen’s formal education as a youngster, he was naturally bright.
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