by Celeste Lim
“Heeeeeeelp!” Yunli was screaming.
If she hadn’t sounded like she might be in mortal danger, I would have walked right past their door. They gave me enough trouble without me asking for it.
I pushed the doors open and found the room in a huge mess—several porcelain items broken, chairs overturned, dressers emptied, and hanfu strewn across the floor. For once, the sisters looked happy to see me.
“Th—There’s a spider jing in our bedroom!” Yunli cried.
“A what?” I frowned. “You mean you saw a spider.”
“No, tofu brain! I meant I saw a jing.” Yunli stomped her feet. “I know it is. It made a human sound.”
“You have to help us find it! Or I won’t sleep in this room tonight,” Yunmin cried with a shudder.
“Don’t be stupid. This isn’t a regular spider; if we can’t find it, Mama will have to call in the exorcist. Only they know how to get rid of pesky household jing.”
I tried not to roll my eyes. “Well, Da Jie, if it really was a jing, it should be smart enough not to let us find it now that you’ve made your threat so clear.”
But I started rummaging around the room anyway, putting away clothes and clearing up the mess while hunting for the rumored spider. Not all jing were welcomed or worshipped by humans; therefore they generally kept to their own kind. But when situations like this arose, people sought help from exorcists, normally a shaman or monk from the local shrine. However, jing were usually intelligent enough to hide or escape before they got caught, and sure enough, we could no longer find any trace of a spider in the room.
“It might’ve run away already.” I shrugged.
But Yunli wouldn’t have any of it. The monk from the temple agreed to come in first thing the next day to perform a cleansing ritual. And that night, I laid out extra mattresses in the master bedroom so the entire family could sleep together and keep one another company, which, of course, did not include the tongyang xi.
It was not as though I cared, because I was used to this treatment by then. Besides, after my last encounter with jing, I wasn’t particularly afraid of them anymore.
I settled into a comfortable sleeping position in my own room. Even back in Huanan, Shenpopo often told us that malevolent jing liked to disguise themselves as people or other things and live among humans to absorb life force that turned into negative chi. Therefore, if this spider jing had really meant us harm, we would’ve experienced misfortune of some form before now. If it was a jing at all.
I opened my eyes when I heard a tiny clicking sound, then something that was too soft at first to hear.
“Little girl, little girl, please wake up!”
I gasped and sat up. Upon lighting the oil lamp on the wooden box beside my bed, I found, sitting primly next to the lamp, a spider as big as my palm, waving one of its spindly front legs at me.
It couldn’t have just spoken. Because if it had, then this was…
“Y-You’re that spider jing! What are you doing here?”
Why was it still lingering in our house when its life was in danger? The exorcist would surely kill it!
There was a little sniffle, and then the spider spoke.
“Please, little girl, I need your help. I have lived in this house for a long time. When the weather is warm, I make my burrow in the garden outside, and during the white season, I retreat underneath the house and keep still for many moons. I am a very young jing, for I had just elevated from a regular spider after surviving my hundredth winter last year. The weather is just getting warm, so I decided that today would be a good day to return to the garden. But alas, I startled your sister when I crawled out from underneath her dresser, and she dropped a jar of face powder right beside me, and…” The spider looked down, twiddling her furry pincers hesitantly. “It was my fault, because I sneezed and she heard me. While she was squealing in panic, I scuttled underneath her bed and hid in between the wooden frames until all of you gave up searching the room.”
“But I looked everywhere. Even under the beds!”
The spider seemed to chuckle as she gestured at me with a front leg. “Come, take a closer look at me.” I held out my hands and the spider crawled sedately onto them. Her furry legs tickled and I couldn’t help giggling. Then she made a proud little twirl. “Look at my outer shell. You wouldn’t have been able to find me easily in the shadows under the bed.”
I took a closer look at the creature in my hands. She was a beautiful Qifang spider—golden brown all over, with glossy black patterns on her legs and abdomen.
“You are very pretty.”
“Thank you, little girl,” the spider said. “So about tomorrow…”
I nodded. “Of course I will help you, but why can’t you escape now? Or rather, why haven’t you escaped already?”
The spider sighed. “I would, if I hadn’t my egg sac with me. I cannot leave my children to their deaths.” She spun a little handkerchief right from her abdomen and blew into it. “I didn’t know what else to do and was crying beside my burrow. And that was when the nightingale who lives in the garden told me to come to you for help.”
A nightingale? The spider must be talking about Mr. Guo’s pet. But if the spider actually talked to Koko…
“You spoke to Koko? Is he a jing, too?”
The spider jing took a while to consider before speaking. “Well, I’ll explain it this way: We animals have a way of communicating with each other that doesn’t make sense to human ears. It’s difficult to explain…” She drifted off enigmatically, and then continued. “Koko said that you’re a nice girl who treats him like a friend and takes good care of him. He also assured me that you’d help if I asked nicely.”
I nodded so hard my neck was in danger of snapping. “Of course I would. Let’s not waste any more time. I will move you and your children to a safe place.”
In my hands, the spider was shuddering. I thought she had caught a cold, but she sniffled and said, “You must be the most wonderful human child in the world.”
The spider led us to a tiny burrow just underneath the peach tree in the garden. Even with an oil lamp, I could hardly spot the entrance. It was long past the hour of the boar, and the sky was pitch black except for a little patch of gray clouds that the moon was hiding behind.
“Over here.” The spider lowered herself onto the ground and pushed aside a few blades of long grass, revealing a hidey-hole.
“How are we going to get it out?” My hand wasn’t going to fit in the entrance, and if I dug at the hole, I might hurt the egg sac if the burrow caved in.
“Don’t worry. I will go in and cut off the binding threads, then roll the sac out,” said the spider and disappeared promptly into the hole. In a few moments, a pale little ball the size of an egg appeared at the entrance. The spider was pushing at it from behind. I held the sac as carefully as I could in my hands. It felt as soft as freshly picked cotton, and I couldn’t help telling the spider so.
“Even softer.” The spider jing waggled her spinnerets with pride. “It is made from the best silk in my body.”
I wrapped the sac in a piece of cloth and placed it in an empty leather bag. Thousands of baby spider lives depended on me now. With the spider clinging on to my shoulder, I left my lamp on the ground and hoisted myself onto the lowest branch of the peach tree.
“Where are you taking us?” the spider asked, clicking her pincers with curiosity.
“The branches of this peach tree intertwine with the maple that grows in our neighbor’s garden,” I explained as I reached for the second branch. “See where the branches grow right across the walls into the next garden? I can just climb over.”
I picked my branches carefully, testing the strength of each one before trusting my entire weight on it, and very soon, we arrived at the point right in between the two trees. I reached for a branch on the maple tree that seemed the sturdiest.
“Be careful, oh be careful!” the spider squealed. “Can’t we just find a field or meadow somewhere
instead of doing something so dangerous? I don’t want you to get hurt.”
“Xiawan is a big, ugly city. There is no field or loose soil except in these private gardens. Don’t worry, I’ve climbed more trees than anyone I know. I’ll be fine.” I sat down on my branch and reached over to the other with my foot as far as I dared to test its strength.
It was wobbly. I retracted my leg. “That one’s not good. The strongest branch I can see is the one below us. We will have to drop down on it. Hang on tight.”
And before the spider could protest, I slid off my branch, holding on to it with my hands. Even dangling like this, my feet were still a couple of inches above the maple branch. I should move farther out so I could drop on a stronger part. I started monkey-swinging my way across.
“Please be careful; I shan’t forgive myself if you get hurt.”
I couldn’t answer. I was holding my breath for the drop. If I went any farther, the branch I was clinging on to might snap. I forced myself to look down as I let go. My right foot slipped from under me when I landed, and the spider squealed. But I had managed to land directly on top of the maple. For a few moments, I kept hugging the branch until I stopped shaking.
The rest of the climb was easier. We were on a low branch now, and all I had to do was slide toward the trunk and scamper down the rest of the way. The bark of the old maple tree was rough and bumpy, so there were many foot- and handholds. Soon we were back on solid ground.
The spider crawled onto my palms and paced anxiously. “How will you get back home? You cannot possibly climb back the way you have come.”
I couldn’t help being proud of my own foresight. “Getting back is easy. I will just climb that last maple branch out of the walls. It is close enough to the ground for me to drop safely onto the street, and from there, I can sneak back into the house through the back door that I left open.”
Without a lamp, the darkness made it difficult to see much, but in the moonlight, we managed to find a cozy, secluded spot under some bushes.
“This is a nice place; you will be safe here. And now we shall be neighbors,” I said as I lowered the spider and her egg sac to the ground. She turned around to face me.
“Kind human child, I can’t stay in Xiawan for much longer. Now that I have turned into a jing, it becomes dangerous for me to live alongside humans. So after my babies have hatched this spring, I shall move deep into the forest.”
I looked away and tugged at a blade of grass. Why did she have to leave when she didn’t want to? This was her home. My chest hurt, and I felt like crying. “Haven’t you lived here most your life? Aren’t you sad…having to leave your home?”
The spider crawled onto my lap and patted my hand gently. “No, dear child. I shan’t be sad, because home is what I carry with me.” She waggled her little silk-filled abdomen. “It is inside me, see? And it will be where I choose to make my new burrow. So I am not sad at all.”
I stopped abusing the poor grass. She was right; how nice to be able to carry your home wherever you went. If I could do that myself, then maybe…maybe I would feel at home no matter where I was. Because then everywhere could be home, and I wouldn’t even need a place to feel as though I belonged. All of a sudden, a spider’s life sounded much more fulfilling than a human being’s.
“I owe you a great debt, human child,” the spider jing continued. “You saved my life and my children’s. And for that, I would like to leave you with a parting gift.” As she spoke, the spider began to weave very rapidly with her spinnerets, and something long and silvery appeared at the end of her abdomen. Holy Huli Jing—after a few moments, the spider placed a pair of the prettiest ribbons I had ever seen into my hand. They were translucent white, edged with elegant silver trimmings, and ever so soft. They glinted in the moonlight, as though they were spun from crystals.
“These are made out of every kind of silk in my body,” said the spider. “Keep them as a memento, and if you should ever need my help one day, burn one and scatter its ashes into the ground, for then I shall know and will come to your aid.”
My mouth had to open and close a few times before I could speak. “This is absolutely the most beautiful thing I have ever received.”
The spider seemed happy to hear this, for she twirled around on my lap before leaping back onto the ground. Then she asked, “Little girl, what is your name?”
“My name is Li Jing.”
I could almost see the spider nod her tiny head. “Such a magical name…and how coincidental.”
“But it’s not the same character,” I tried to explain, but the spider waved one of her front legs dismissively.
“Oh, I know that very well. No parent would ever name their child after us jing.” Here she paused for a moment, then continued. “But your name might have a bigger role to play in your destiny than you might think.”
I remembered Shenpopo’s words. Why did people speak as though they knew my destiny? It wasn’t fair that I seemed to know less about myself than they. “It’s uncanny how you’re not the first one to tell me this.”
“And I am sure whoever told you that is a wise person. Take it from a spider jing who has lived a hundred years. Keep this knowledge close to your heart, and when the time comes, you will understand. But for now, dear crystal maiden, we must part.”
When the spider turned to go, I stopped her. “Wait! I still don’t know your name.”
“The names of jing are not for human ears, my child. But if you fancy, you may give me a nickname.”
I thought for a moment. “Can I call you Sisi? For the wonderful silk that you spin.”
“It’s a pretty name; I should like that very much,” she said, and then waved her forelegs at me before disappearing into the burrow with her egg sac. Sisi never appeared in the Guos’ home after that, but I wore the beautiful ribbons in my hair every day.
A very nice thing happened to me about half a year into my stay in Xiawan. One afternoon, I had been out in the courtyard feeding Koko the nightingale some sweet pear and coaxing him to sing when a knock came from the front gates. It was the shopkeeper from Mr. Guo’s fabric shop. I had seen him a few times, but my first was on the day I was brought to Xiawan for my bridal inspection. The old man pressed something into my hands.
It was a small pile of letters. But at the very top of it was one that had a single character written over it in an untidy scrawl:
A tingle spread over my entire body. From head to toe. I couldn’t stop staring at the single word. Could it be from my family? Perhaps they wanted me back? A hand landed on my shoulders. I looked up at the shopkeeper and saw the encouraging look on his creased face. I fell into the deepest bow.
“Thank you.” I whispered my thanks over and over even long after the man had turned the corner. Clutching the letter to my chest, I placed the rest on the table in the living hall and scuttled to the back of the kitchen. My room would be too dark for me to read this. I’d have to light a lamp and I couldn’t quite be bothered with it.
Soon, sitting on the open landing of the hallway that faced the garden, I glanced down once more at my letter. It was only a sheaf of papers, crinkled and yellowed, but neatly folded and tied together with a piece of straw-woven string. I traced the strokes of my name with my fingers. This was a letter to me. Written for me. From someone I knew. Whoever sent it wrote this thinking about me. Whoever wrote it still remembered me. And missed me.
I gasped as a drop of tear stained the paper. I dried it carefully with my sleeves.
It had to be Wei. Baba could not read or write, but Wei took simple classes from a teacher in the village, along with the other boys. What would Wei say in a letter to his faraway sister? I tugged gently at the string, and it was just about to come undone when the entire letter was abruptly swiped out of my hands.
I looked up. Yunli had my letter dangling in between her thumb and index finger.
“Ah…I was wondering about that stupid smile you had on your face,” she said with an amused grin as
she studied the letter. “Could this be…from a secret lover?”
My heart almost stopped. If Yunli convinced Mrs. Guo I had a secret lover, it was adultery. A serious crime. I would be drowned in a river as punishment. “No, it’s a letter from my brother Wei.” I kowtowed at Yunli’s feet. “Please, return it to me, Da Jie.”
If she had asked me for an arm and a leg, I might have given it to her. The letter was the only thing that still connected me to the life I had had with my family.
Yunli laughed. “But what’s the use of you having it, Huli Jing? You aren’t even literate! You can’t read,” she concluded triumphantly. “Here, let me be a nice Da Jie and read it to you,” she offered in her kindest tone, and, to my horror, ripped the string right off and promptly unfolded the first page.
My hands balled into quivering fists. Jing, you cannot snatch the papers from Yunli. If the letter is somehow torn in the struggle, you would never be able to read it. Keep calm.
“Hmm…” Yunli spent a moment squinting at the paper, then rifled through the rest of the pages. “Why, I do believe your little brother is as illiterate as you!” she finally exclaimed, and burst into laughter. “He has drawn pictures instead of writing.”
What?
But I understood almost immediately. Wei wasn’t the one who was illiterate…I was. The letter was written for me, so I had to be able to read it. This was the only way I could understand his letter. Sweet, thoughtful Wei.
The look of surprise on my face must’ve been apparent, for Yunli smirked and handed me the page she’d just seen. “Here, you may see for yourself.”
I grabbed the paper and gazed at the image on it. Sketched probably with a piece of ash was a drawing of two grinning boys dressed in hanfu, together with a bull in a vegetable garden. The picture spoke to me as clearly as any words would have:
Jie, after you’ve been gone, Baba bought a big strong bull with some of the money. Our crops are growing well because of all the new tools and things we can now afford. Life is good for the moment…and Pan and I even got new hanfu for the Lunar New Year.