chapter 2

No one in the village found it strange that the headman’s family had gained another daughter.

The tea pickers gossiped for a few days, but Father and Mother brushed their questions aside. They said I was a child from Mother’s elder sister’s family who could no longer be fed.

No one pressed them. In a time of war and disorder, children were often sent to relatives. Besides, everyone knew what kind of people my parents were. If a beggar passed their door, they would give him half a bowl from their own table.

Within a few days, the village had accepted me.

Everyone except Zhao Xiaoyu.

Xiaoyu, Xiaopang, Qiantao, and Sibao had grown up together.

My sister Sibao went around dusty and disheveled every day, but she was actually very pretty. She had a slender figure, almond-shaped eyes, and fine, smoky brows. Father and Mother had spoiled her, though, and at thirteen she was still a greedy, lazy child, innocent and utterly unworldly.

Xiaopang was not fat. His grandmother had merely hoped for a plump grandson when she named him. He had good taste, was quiet and dependable, and spent his days doing Sibao’s work and cleaning up her messes.

Xiaoyu had been born on a rainy day and was the only child in his family. When it came to being unreliable, he and Sibao were evenly matched. He had good taste too. He trailed after Qiantao like a strip of sticky plaster.

Qiantao had the prettiest name, and she was pretty herself, graceful with a touch of spirit. Of the four, she was always the neatest and most presentable.

Her taste, unfortunately, was questionable.

She had actually agreed to be betrothed to that fool Zhao Xiaoyu.

The first time he saw me, Xiaoyu guardedly asked my name.

I ignored him and tried to pick tea the way Sibao had taught me. There was so little strength in my wrist that I could not pluck a single bud. I was nearly in tears.

Sibao hurriedly coaxed me into resting beneath a tree. Xiaoyu kept after me, demanding my name so relentlessly that even Xiaopang could not pull him away.

Qiantao went on picking tea nearby, stealing glances at us every so often.

Once I was seated, Sibao shoved Xiaoyu aside. “Her name is much prettier than yours. She’s called Guanqi.”

“That’s a wonderful name!” Xiaopang declared loudly.

Sibao lifted her chin, pleased by his agreement. I had no idea what either of them was so proud of.

“It’s not pretty at all. What a strange name,” Xiaoyu said.

When he saw Qiantao’s hand pause over the tea bush, he immediately rushed to defend her. “Qiantao is still the prettiest name.”

Qiantao glanced up at us, curled her lip, and returned to her picking.

Boys were childish. Sibao ignored them too and worked beside me, looking over every now and then.

All across the slope, people laughed and talked while their hands darted among the leaves like pecking chicks. Cuckoos and thrushes traded calls about pruning old tea shrubs.

Warm sunlight lay across my shoulders. Wind passed through bamboo and new leaves. The hillside was lively and peaceful at once.

“Give Guanqi some!”

At Sibao’s shout, I saw that Xiaoyu had run back with several branches of wild fruit in his hand.

“Why should I give her any? These are for Qiantao.” He held them out to Qiantao with shameless eagerness.

Qiantao did not even look up. She picked until her palm was full, tossed the leaves into her basket, and only then walked over.

“Admit your name is strange and I’ll let you have some.” Her voice was gentle, but there was a challenge in it.

“She’s a little mute,” Xiaopang cut in. “Don’t frighten her.”

“Then she can nod,” Xiaoyu suggested at once.

Sibao stamped on his foot so hard that he hopped backward in pain. She planted herself in front of me, then turned to soothe me. “We don’t want any. Big Sister will take you to a sweeter bush tonight.”

“I’ll find some for you right now,” Xiaopang said.

“Hmph. No fun.” Qiantao twirled the branch of April berries in her hand.

She plucked one into her mouth and stuffed the rest into my hands. “Here, you can have them. The bush your sister knows isn’t half as sweet as mine.”

I looked down at the branch. Tiny red lanterns crowded between dark green, round leaves, filling every twig.

I had seen them in a book. Silverberry.

The villagers called them April berries.

I lifted the branch, plucked one, and tossed it into my mouth. It was sweet with a light tang, its flavor clean and distinct.

Nothing like the book’s description: bland and astringent.

I neatly spat out the seed and held out my hand to Sibao. She took it and pulled me to my feet.

Watching the four of them turn away, I suddenly spoke.

“‘One watches the board in silence.’ That is my name.”

Even the cicadas seemed to fall quiet for several breaths. Four pairs of eyes swung toward me.

“Your name is beautiful too,” I continued.

I ate another April berry at my leisure, my gaze fixed on Qiantao.

“A thousand peach blossoms outshine all other flowers; blooming alone in late spring, they hold fast to youth.

“It suits you. Sister Qiantao is so pretty that you outshine every flower.”

Qiantao’s face flushed at once. Perhaps no one had ever praised her so bluntly, especially with such solemn sincerity.

“You’re not mute?”

“I never said I was.”

“Then why didn’t you talk?”

“I couldn’t be bothered.”

“Then who are you?”

“I’m your little sister, Guanqi.”

“I’m telling Mother!” Sibao cried.

Mother did not blame me. She thrashed Sibao instead, because I told her, “I can cast aside feuds and hatred. Let me stay in this paradise, and I promise I will make myself useful.”