Chapter 3

The imperial palace stood in Xiandu, more than two thousand li from Yihe’s village. Part of the journey was by water and part overland. It would cost roughly one tael of silver.

Yihe’s entire savings amounted to two taels and seven-tenths, and she needed to keep some money for her expenses in Xiandu.

To save on the fare, she approached a boat captain and offered to work off part of the cost.

The captain was a woman surnamed Zhu.

Captain Zhu did not lack workers. But after many years traveling the world, she had a strong sense of loyalty and fair dealing, and she was willing to help Yihe.

Yihe had barely saved a little money, with no time even to feel pleased, before she struck a losing bargain.

She rescued a girl who had stowed away in a vat and paid her fare.

The girl’s name was Little Douzi. She was skin and bones, and when she smiled, her skin creased. She was pitifully ugly.

Little Douzi was going to Xiandu to find her parents.

“A lady in the palace wanted a new palace built, so they came and took my mother and father away.

“The old people in our village say the man is the master of every household. That’s why I’m going to find the emperor. I’ll ask him to keep his wife in line and let my parents go.”

As she spoke, she wiped her eyes on her sleeve, then bared her teeth in a grin.

The tears slipped past the corners of her mouth, which she was trying so hard to keep raised. They ran down to her chin and dripped onto her belly, turning the gray cloth black.

The village elders had also said that no one strikes a smiling face. Little Douzi had escaped many beatings by following that wisdom, so she was always smiling.

Yihe could only think how expensive that smile was, uglier than crying. It had cost her six hundred copper coins.

For the first time in her life, Little Douzi was a paying passenger. Although Yihe had paid, she felt the expense keenly and swore she would eat back every coin.

She was forever slipping into the kitchen, coming out with grease shining around her mouth. She did have a conscience, though, and remembered to bring Yihe a chicken leg.

Gnawing on it, Yihe kept feeling that something was wrong.

Little Douzi ate so much every day, yet she never gained weight. Her face remained sallow, her limbs thin. Only her belly grew rounder and rounder.

A few days later, she clutched her stomach and began to cry with pain.

Captain Zhu sent a physician.

He examined her, listened, asked questions, and took her pulse. Then he said nothing.

Yihe asked what medicine she should take, but he waved a hand.

“There’s no saving her. Prepare for her funeral.”

Little Douzi had eaten Guanyin clay.

After leaving her village, she had joined a crowd of refugees traveling north.

On good days, they could get porridge handed out by wealthy townspeople. On bad days, they had only water to dull their hunger.

At last, crazed with hunger, she had eaten Guanyin clay along with the others.

The physician said:

“Once that clay goes down, it sticks to the gut and cannot pass. The more you eat, the sooner your bowels rupture.

“She’s lucky to have lived this long before falling ill.”

Little Douzi listened. Despite the terrible pain, she gave a little laugh and begged him not to charge Yihe.

The physician was young, his heart not yet hardened. He sighed and left.

“Sister, if I’d known it would end like this, I’d never have let you spend those six hundred coins.

“Sister, will you do one more thing for me? If you get to Xiandu and meet the emperor, could you ask him to let my parents go?”

Yihe looked at her thin, yellow face. “Little Douzi, it’s the emperor who wants the palace, not his wife. It’s the emperor who can seize people, not his wife. Whether you beg him or I do, it won’t help.”

Little Douzi grew frantic. “Then what can we do?”

Yihe took the bronze mirror from her bundle. “Would you like to hear news of your parents?”

Mirror-listening gave mortals powers like those of immortals: they could summon wandering souls and learn of events a thousand li away.

But mortals were not meant to possess such power. Every time the art was performed, it shortened the practitioner’s life.

That was why Yihe had waited for her mother’s letter before using it.

She had already spent six hundred coins on a girl she had met by chance. Now she was about to give up several years of her life for her as well.

Yihe cursed herself for a fool.

Even the sages had said: in poverty, perfect yourself; in prosperity, help the world.

She was penniless. What business did she have saving people?

Yet Little Douzi’s eyes were bright as she asked, “Can I really find out?”