British Occupied Hong Kong
英屬香港, 1941
In the heart of the family library, Mingzhu turned the page of her copy of Dream of the Red Chamber. As the characters moved, she imagined their silk robes flowing, their whispering touch caressing her skin. A ceiling fan, crafted from polished wood, rotated above her, emitting a soft hum, providing relief from the torrid discomfort of July.
When the words began to blur, Mingzhu shifted her focus towards the windows. The afternoon light filtered through the glass, cascading over neatly arranged bookshelves that reached the ceiling. Having fled Shanghai and settled in Hong Kong three years earlier, Mingzhu found solace within the walls of the library. Few ventured into its depths, leaving it mainly for Mingzhu and her daughter, Qiang, as a sanctuary from the ceaseless noise of the outside world and the overwhelming presence of her husband’s concubine, Cai. When guests did visit, the men retreated to the downstairs drawing room, accompanied by her husband, Wei, and the women gathered on the terrace, their conversations punctuated by glimpses of the sparkling blue expanse of the South China Sea beyond the mountains.
Despite rumours of Japanese forces looming over Hong Kong, the library remained a haven where the echoes of war, which often haunted Mingzhu, felt somewhat distant. A knock struck the door, and Dream of the Red Chamber slipped from her grasp. She retrieved it quickly and tucked it between the velvet cushions of the couch. Ignoring her qípáo’s creased and dishevelled state, she hastened to a bench near the window and reached for a threaded needle and silk handkerchief.
Despite rumours of Japanese forces looming over Hong Kong, the library remained a haven where the echoes of war, which often haunted Mingzhu, felt somewhat distant.
‘Come in.’ Mingzhu shifted on the seat, beginning to sew.
A woman tiptoed into the room, and at the sight of her maid, Biyu, Mingzhu relaxed.
Biyu bowed and her long braid, tied up neatly with a ribbon, slipped over her shoulder. Her tunic and matching trousers were a spotless white. ‘Good evening, First Madame.’ She stepped further into the library, her eyes skimming the room before settling on the couch. ‘You might want to find a better hiding place.’
Mingzhu wrinkled her nose. ‘Too obvious, isn’t it?’ she conceded, rising from her seat and tossing the needle and thread back onto the bench. She recovered the book from between the cushions and returned it to its rightful place on the shelf. From the window, a spotted dove alighted on a branch of a willow tree several feet away.
Biyu began clearing a porcelain teacup and saucer from the low table. ‘Master Tang allows you to read. Why do you hide it?’
‘Allows . . .’ Mingzhu fixed her eyes on the dove. For a fleeting moment, she was transported back to her childhood, seated by a window, breathing in fresh ink and watching spotted doves land on towering camphor trees. ‘I wasn’t hiding the book from my husband.’
‘Then you must be hiding it from the Second Madame.’ ‘You know how she can be.’ Mingzhu brushed her hands over her qípáo. ‘She doesn’t think it’s proper for women to read anything but the latest fashion trends from Europe.’ ‘But you’re the primary wife. A concubine cannot dictate what you can or cannot read. It’s already a compromise that you allowed her the title of “Second Madame”. Frankly—’ Her maid pressed her lips together, refraining from the tangent she had been about to start. Mingzhu gave a small laugh, noting Biyu’s flushed cheeks and protective stance. At forty-three, Biyu had charcoal black hair, tidy brows and a gentle countenance, bearing a striking resemblance to Mingzhu. Some days, strangers even mistook them for sisters.
‘You know her incessant carping does my head no good.’ Mingzhu sighed.
‘It is nice when she speaks less,’ Biyu agreed thoughtfully.
Mingzhu laughed, then asked, ‘I assume you have come to tell me my husband is home?’
‘Master Tang returned not long ago. He has requested the presence of both wives to join him in the dining hall.’ ‘Can he not make do with Cai? What difference does one less wife make at the dining table?’ ‘You’re the main wife. It would be—’
‘Yes, I know, I know. Come on then.’
Mingzhu looked back at her bookshelves, knowing her peaceful evening had been interrupted. Why couldn’t her husband have stayed in his office in the city for one more night? Perhaps two? She left the library with Biyu close behind.
This is an extract from When Sleeping Women Wake by Emma Pei Yin (Hachette), available now at your local independent bookseller.
