Foreward - Dim Sum Yum Cha

Set in present-day Beijing, China, "Dim Sum Yum Cha" illustrates the daily life of Ying Liu and his family. This collection of one-dozen children's stories draws on the history, music, culture, and cuisine to illustrate daily life for the average Chinese family. This story was written for parents to share with their children, ages 7-10.

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Lantern Festival

Grandpa Jong often shared a long-told story about the choosing of names for the years in the Chinese Zodiac. Twelve animals gathered in front of the Buddha. He organized a race across the river. The years would be named based on their order of finish.
As the race began, the Rat jumped on top of the Ox’s head. The Ox swam across the stream, leaving the others far behind. As he reached the shore, the crafty rat jumped off the Ox’s head and onto the shore, winning the race.
The New Year was the Year of the Rat. As usual, the crafty old rat had tricks ready for Ying and the people of Beijing. Even though the days were bright and clear, the first two weeks of the year proved to be the coldest. When one stood inside and looked out, that person might have thought it was a warm summer day.
Teaspoons clanked and mouths slurped as the Liu family enjoyed hearty bowls of Tangyuan. Balls of rice bobbed in the thick chicken broth as everyone devoured their soup. They hoped it would bring good luck and great wealth.
Ying fished every single rice ball out of his bowl with his spoon before slurping the broth. Mrs. Liu cleared the bowls from the table and placed a dish of sweet dumplings between Ying and Lien-Hua.
“What are we doing for the Lantern Festival?” asked Lien-Hua.
“Your father and I were thinking of taking you to HouHai Lake.”
“I love HouHai Lake, but it is so cold outside,” said Lien-Hua.
“There will be plenty to keep you warm,” answered Mrs. Liu.
“I haven’t see Papa all morning long. Where is he?” asked Ying.
“He’s at the furniture store right now. He’ll meet us at the Lake.”
After the last sweet dumpling was eaten, Ying and Lien-Hua got ready for the Lantern Festival. They put on several layers of clothing and their warmest coats. Mrs. Liu warmed up the car and away they went.
Vending carts lined the sidewalks around HouHai Lake as people walked about. Musicians played and people ate at the restaurants next to the Lake. People on skates and Ice Bikes gathered on the Lake. Mrs. Liu walked with a child on each side, holding their hands.
They walked to a teahouse next to lake and sat down. Soon, Mr. Liu showed up and drank tea with them.
“Can we go out onto the Lake?” asked Lien-Hua.
“I thought you were cold,” said Mrs. Liu.
“I am, but I’ve never ridden an Ice Bike.”
“You have to ride with Ying,” said Mrs. Liu.
They walked up to the Pier, where an old man had an Ice Bike Shop. Lien-Hua ran up and searched through the Ice Bikes parked on a bicycle rack. She picked out a pink Ice Bike.
“Lien-Hua, I’m not riding on a Pink Ice Bike,” said Ying.
“Please?”
“Why not this silver one instead?” said Mr. Liu.
“But I really like the pink one,” cried Lien-Hua.
“I’m not riding the pink one. If you want to ride an Ice Bike, I get to pick the color,” said Ying.
Lien-Hua frowned at her brother.
“All right, we’ll ride the pink one,” said Ying.
“Thank you, my brother,” said Lien-Hua.
The children got on the bike while Mr. Liu gave the old man enough coins to rent the bike for an hour.
“Aren’t you going?” asked Ying.
“We’ll stay here on the pier and watch you two,” said Mrs. Liu.
“Hold on tight, Lien-Hua,” said Ying. He pushed off from the pier, skating along on the thin metal skids. Lien-Hua grabbed her brother by the waist and held on tightly. He waddled his feet on the ice like a seal, trying to gather speed.
As Ying figured out how to move his feet, the bike eventually picked up speed, skating quickly along the surface. He huffed and puffed while his sister went along for the ride.
“That’s enough,” said Ying.
“We’ve only been on for a few minutes,” pouted Lien-Hua.
“If you want to ride more, you’ll have to help.”
Lien-Hua slid her boots along the ice, helping to push the Ice Bicycle along. Mr. and Mrs. Liu watched from the pier. Many of the older children’s Ice Bikes slid across the pond. Their children’s four feet flailed about and the bike wobbled in a jagged line.
The children fell off the bike several times, as Lien-Hua and Ying struggled. Mr. and Mrs. Liu chuckled as they watched the children. The children finally gave up on the Ice Bike, walking it back across the ice toward the pier.
“Did you like it?” asked Mrs. Liu.
“I don’t see what all the fuss is about. I thought it was horrible,” huffed Lien-Hua.
“I think it would be fun once you got better at riding,” said Mr. Liu.
“Maybe, but I’m not sure,” said Ying.
The children unbundled the top buttons of their coats, letting some of the cool air inside their jackets, which were toasty from riding the Ice Bikes.
“Would you like to see the Dragon Dances?” asked Mr. Liu. The children nodded. They walked across the bridge a two-story building on the other side. A large sign read “HouHai Mall.” Lien-Hua opened the doors and rushed inside.
Pounding drums and clanging gongs echoed through the mall. Lien-Hua followed the noise, as the rest of the Liu family followed. The stores faced an open area, which was crowded with people. Lien-Hua weaved through the mass of people until they blocked her path to the stage.
“I can’t see!” said Lien-Hua.
Mr. and Mrs. Liu caught up to their children. Mr. Liu grabbed Lien-Hua by her hands and pulled her onto his shoulders. Mrs. Liu pointed out a bench where Ying could stand and peer over the crowd.
In the center of the mall, two dragons whirled about, dancing to the rhythm of the clanging music. Their beautiful bodies swooped and dodged around the stage. The two dragons were very different. The green dragon was large and covered the dancers so only their feet showed. It danced slowly, a great dragon stalking the stage.
The orange dragon, however, was like a ribbon, held aloft by tiny bamboo sticks its dancers held above their heads. It swooped and swirled effortlessly as the dancers moved their arms and bodies. The orange dragon even did a corkscrew that twirled through the dancers that held it. They jumped over its quick tail as it swooped close to the ground.
Ying looked at the people around him, enjoying the festivities. He spotted a store selling candied fruit skewers and decided he wanted some. He took his mother by the hand and led her to the counter.
“I haven’t had fruit skewers since I was a child,” said Mrs. Liu.
“Then we should get some for everyone,” said Ying.
As the man wrapped the candy in a paper bag, Ying dug into his pocket and brought out a new dollar bill. Mrs. Liu pushed his arm away with one hand while she dug in her purse.
“I’ll get it,” she said.
“No, let me.”
“Ying, keep your money. Today is my treat.”
Ying tucked his money into his pocket and grabbed the paper bag. He walked back to the spot where his father and sister had been standing.
Lien-Hua had gotten tired of riding on Mr. Liu’s shoulders and wanted to rest. Mr. Liu helped her down and they found a seat in one of the teahouses inside the mall. Mr. Liu waved his hand and got Ying’s attention.
“Over here,” he said.
Mrs. Liu and Ying joined Mr. Liu and Lien-Hua. Ying pulled out the treats and handed them to everyone. He held his fruit skewer up and investigated his skewer. It was decorated with pieces of candied apples, mangoes, pear, and papaya. Ying ate from one end to the other, starting at the top.
“Can I have your papaya fruit?” asked Lien-Hua
Ying glanced up from his skewer.
“You still have fruit left to eat.”
“I only like the papaya,” she said. Everyone left the papaya fruit on their skewers for Lien-Hua to eat.
“I haven’t eaten today. Is anyone else hungry?” asked Mr. Liu.
“Ya, I wish you would have told me before we got these fruit skewers. We have ruined the children’s appetite.”
“I’m still hungry,” said Ying.
“Me too,” said Lien-Hua.
Mrs. Liu ordered a large bowl of rice noodles and four cups of milk-tea. Everyone shared the noodles as they listened to the clanging music of the dragon dance.
“Children, I have something I wanted to tell you,” said Mr. Liu.
“What is it, papa?” asked Ying.
“I went to the furniture store today because I had a very important meeting.”
“What about?”
“The owner of the furniture store wants me to help run a new store in Shanghai.”
“Shanghai? How will you go to Shanghai?” asked Lien-Hua.
“That’s just it. We’d all be going to Shanghai.”
“Do we have to?” asked Ying.
“I already told the owner I would accept his offer. We will get a brand new apartment in the middle of Shanghai.”
“Are Grandpa and Grandma going to be there?” asked Lien-Hua.
“Of course they will?”
“How about Mr. Li and Bo and Jing?” said Ying.
“We cannot move everybody from Beijing to Shanghai,” said Mr. Liu.
“I guess not. I just don’t know what Shanghai will be like.”
“There will be lots to see and do,” reassured Mr. Liu.
“Your father and I discussed this for quite some time. We thought it would be the best for all of us.”
“What about the Opera House?” asked Ying.
“There are other Opera Houses,” said Mrs. Liu.
“I don’t know. When we will be leaving?”
“Luckily, we won’t have to leave until the end of the school year. That will give you both plenty of time to say good-bye to all your friends. We’re also going to visit Shanghai a few times between now and then, so we can pick new schools and our new place to live,” said Mr. Liu.
The children sat quietly as they finished their rice noodles. The sound of clanking spoons could barely be heard over the clatter of the dragon dance. Mr. and Mrs. Liu knew the children would be upset, but this was a decision that was best for everyone.
They walked silently through the mall and out to the lake. Fiery red Chinese Lanterns swung from poles that many people carried around HouHai Lake. The lake and the buildings surround the lake were decorated with lights, just as they had been for the last two weeks.
Ying walked silently with his family, watching the festivities. For a moment, he was very deep in thought.
“What do you think the Year of the Rat will be like?” Ying asked his father.
Mr. Liu grasped Ying by the hand and squeezed it gently. He was silent for a long while. Ying knew his father’s silence. It meant he was thinking deeply about something, just as Ying always did. They walked, hand-in-hand, down the busy Hutong.
“Well?” asked Ying.
“I don’t know,” answered Mr. Liu.
“You thought an awful long time just to say ‘I don’t know.’”
“But I don’t know. That is the great thing about life. It comes at you from every angle. Like a dancing dragon, weaving this way and that.”
Ying thought about that for a moment. Life had been like a dancing dragon. He would miss Beijing. He would miss visits from Jing and going to Yum Cha teahouse, too. Most of all, he would miss the busy Hutong. He would miss tinkling bicycle bells, taxicab horns and the chatter of people running outside his window.
“Papa, I think it’s time to watch a new dragon’s dance,” said Ying.
“I think so, too.”

Gung Hei Fat Choy

Night descended upon the streets of Beijing and the first moon rose high in the sky to greet the coming New Year. Outside the Liu Family house, lights flashed as people said goodbye to the old year and welcomed the new one. As always, the familiar sound of firecrackers filled the Hutong.
Inside the Liu house, the clatter of dishes filled the air as everyone gathered in the kitchen. Every holiday Mrs. Liu assigned jobs to each of her children. Ying set up chairs and arranged furniture for the guests while Lien-Hua was in charge of coats.
Ying went downstairs and picked up some chairs. He set them up in the living room and the sewing room. As he did, Auntie May interrupted his work.
“Ying, someone wants to see you,” said Auntie May.
”I wonder who that could be,” he replied.
Miss Yan stood on the porch, wearing her floppy hat and bundled in a long, flowing coat. Her cheeks blushed in the cold winter wind.
“Gung Hei Fat Choy, Ying!” exclaimed Miss Yan.
“Gung Hei Fat Choy,” he replied.
“Can I come in? I have a gift for you and your sister.”
“You do?”
Miss Yan pulled two red envelopes from her purse and held them high.
“Lucky money!” he exclaimed. New Year’s was one of the few times Ying got overly excited. Aunts and Uncles gave him red envelopes; each one filled with crisp new dollar bills.
“There’s one red envelope for you and one red envelope for your sister.”
Lien-Hua ran up and collected her envelope from Miss Yan. She ran her finger under the seam and burst it open.
Lien-Hua pulled out the dollar bills and counted them, “One, two, three, four! Thank you, Miss Yan.”
“Thank you, Miss Yan,” repeated Ying.
“You don’t have to use my proper name. You can call me Jing.”
“Thank you, Jing.”
“Jing, it’s been such a long time since I’ve seen you. Would you like to stay for dinner? ” asked Mrs. Liu.
“I can only stay for a bit. I’m meeting friends at Tiananmen Square.”
Ying took Miss Yan’s coat while Mrs. Liu filled a plate for her.
Everyone filled their plates with the many dishes Mrs. Liu had prepared. Grandpa Jong finally had his chance to pick more skin off the Peking Duck while Ying got his first taste. Relatives filled plate after plate until only the duck’s skeleton remained.
After dinner, people filtered from room to room, catching up with family. In the sewing room, Grandma Mei had picked up her Pipa and began strumming while cousins clapped and sang along.
In the living room, the mood was quiet and still. Auntie May and Mrs. Liu shared stores about the last year of their lives.
“How is the Opera House?” asked Auntie May.
“It’s going well. We just finished another show and are getting ready
Lien-Hua laid in the middle of the floor with Auntie May’s daughter. Red Tangram tiles were scatted between them and a small stack of cards sat next to Lien-Hua. The girls took turns drawing red Tangram tiles and trying to create the design on the top card. Ying leaned against the couch and watched the girls.
Just then, Bo Li appeared at the front door, holding a large cake.
“Gung Hei Fat Choy!” he said.
“You came at just the right time. We cleared a cake-sized spot on the buffet table,” said Grandpa Jong.
“You lead, I’ll follow,” said Bo.
“Where’s your father?”
“He’s keeping Yum Cha open until midnight.”
“How did you get out of working tonight?” asked Grandpa Jong.
“I’m going to Tiananment Square and Tiananmen Square for the celebrations. Very few people go to teahouses on New Years Eve,” replied Bo.
“I just might have to pay him a visit,” said Grandpa Jong.
“I think he would like that very much,” said Bo.
Ying followed them into the kitchen and watched as Bo sliced the cake. He returned to the living room and sat next to Auntie May. He enjoyed the cake as the ladies continued their conversation.
Auntie May leaned over and grinned at Ying. He fed her a bite.
“That’s so moist,” said Auntie May.
“That’s because they mix fresh pears into the filling,” replied Ying.
“Can you help me start up a game of Mahjong?” whispered Auntie May.
“I’ll help you set up the table but I’m not playing.”
“Not playing?”
“I don’t like Mahjong.”
“What Chinese boy doesn’t like Mahjongg?”
“I don’t like Mahjong?” scowled Auntie May.
“I don’t like Mahjong,” replied Grandpa.
“Shame on you! It’s your name! How can you possibly not like Mahjong?”
“I’m not fond of it either,” added Mr. Liu.
“Some mess this is.”
Ying dug the card table from the hall closet and unfolded the legs. Auntie May grabbed one end of the table and flipped it upright.
“Who will play Mahjong?” asked Auntie May.
“I’ll play with you, May,” replied Mrs. Liu.
“Bao, I haven’t played with you in quite some while.”
When Auntie May visited was one of the few times Ying heard to his mother referred to by her first name. The rest of the family called her Lien; the nickname Grandpa Jong gave her as a child when she chased butterflies in the flower gardens.
“Can I play?” asked Lien-Hua.
“Do you know how?” asked Auntie May.
“I’ve been learning.”
“Fine, then you can sit across from me, but we still need a fourth.”
“I could play one game,” said Miss Yan. She sat down across from Mrs. Liu.
“Here we are,” said Auntie May as she touched Jing’s hand. She also reached out to her sister. The four women linked hands as Auntie May said a prayer. It was always Auntie May’s personal custom to say an opening prayer before a game of Mahjong, “I will be the East Wind and my sister will be North Wind. We blow separately, yet work together. The movement of one will deterime the reaction of the others.”
They took turns throwing dice to determine the dealer. Mrs. Liu rolled three sixes.
“The North Wind is the prevailing Wind. A cool breeze blows.”
“May you’re so dramatic,” sighed Mrs. Liu as she dealt the tiles. They clinked on the table as she mixed them.
Everyone laughed and played as Ying watched them. As always, there was something else on Ying’s mind.
“Mom?”
“Yes, dear?”
“I was thinking about Tiananmen Square.”
“You know how I feel about that.”
“Well, I was just thinking, since Bo is going, maybe I could go with him.”
“Ying, you don’t go inviting yourself to other people’s events. What if he has other plans?”
“I would be happy to take him,” said Miss Yan. Ying smiled brightly.
“I guess it’s okay,” said his mother.
“How about me?” asked Lien-Hua.
“The girls will go with go with us,” said Auntie May. She picked up her purse and pulled out several red envelopes.
“We were going to wait until the New Year, but you’ll need this if you want to buy something at Tiananmen Square.” Auntie May handed out the red envelopes to all of the children. Grandma Mei and Mrs. Liu also gave red envelopes to each of the children.
The girls quickly tore through their red envelopes and gathered their money. Lien-Hua held hers in the air while she did a little dance. Ying careful peeled back the flap on his envelopes, to reveal crisp dollar bills. Ying counted them out: One – Two – Three – Four.”
“Yng, I’m going to give you two more. Six stands for responsibility. I want you to remember that,” said Mrs. Liu.
“I will.”
“Bao, the boy will be fine,” said Auntie May.
Ying took his lucky money and divided it into two parts. One part he put into his pocket for Tiananmen Square. He took the other to his bedroom and folded it in half. He tucked that part under Ge’s cricket cage.
“You take care of this for me, alright?” Ying said to his cricket. The cricket chirped as if to say, ‘It will be safe with me.”
Ying returned to the living room, where everyone was getting ready for midnight. The mahjong tiles and the Tangram pieces had been put away. Auntie May and Mrs. Liu stood next to the kitchen sink, washing dishes. Grandma Mei had even put down her Pipa.
“Lien-Hua, get everyone’s coats.” Lien-Hua ran to her bedroom and returned with a bundle of coats. The coats piled high in her arms, making Lien-Hua look more like a coat monster than anything else. People grabbed their coats and put them on, lightening the little girl’s load.
“Is everyone ready?” asked Auntie May.
“I need to go to the washroom,” replied Bo.
As Bo disappeared to the washroom, Auntie May approached Jing.
“He’s very nice, isn’t he?” Auntie May asked her.
“He’s nice,” replied Jing.
“You know, he’s single and he’s going to Tienanmen Square, too.”
“May, leave her alone,” said Mrs. Liu.
“She’s single. Bo is single. This is the time of the year where we look out for the future generations, right?”
“She can handle herself,” said Ying’s mother. Jing chuckled as she bundled her coat and headed for the door.
“Don’t worry about me. Ying’s my date tonight,” answered Jing. She held out an arm, waiting for Ying to walk her to Tiananmen Square. Just then, Bo returned to the living room.
“It looks like you’re on your own, young man,” said Grandpa Jong. Everyone chuckled silently then made their way into the Hutong.
The canopy of lights strung over the Hutong gave a golden glow to the faces crowding the street. People buzzed about, waiting for the New Year. Firecrackers exploded all around them, filling the Hutong with noise.
The group walked to the end of the Hutong, which opened into the street that led to Tiananmen Square. The street was filled with cars and bicycles. Grandpa Jong put his fingers in his mouth and whistled. The shrill sound tweeted above the crack of fireworks.
Several taxes stopped in front of the group. Ying got into one taxi with Bo and Jing, while Lien-Hua got into a bus with the rest of the cousins.
Lanterns hanging from streetlamps swayed in the bitter winter wind. Tiananmen Square was filled with people, too. The cab stopped in front of the Tiananmen Square, where Ying walked between Jing and Bo, on their way to Tiananmen Gate.
A line formed at the gate, leading up the stairs and into the large building. As they entered the building, a man collected admission. Ying dug into his pocket, gut Jing pushed it away.
“Let me pay for this,” said Jing. Ying tucked his money back into his pocket and followed Bo and Jing into Tiananmen Square.
A mass of people gathered in the Square. Ying had never seen Tiananmen Square this crowded. He stood at the top of the stairs leading down into the square. A voice came over the loudspeakers.
“It’s almost midnight!” Jing shouted. The noisy crowd gtrew louder as they began counting down towards the New Year.
“Six – Five – Four – Three – Two – One!”
“Gung Hei Fat Choy!” everyone shouted. Jing kissed Ying on the cheek and kissed Bo, too. It was a blessing of good luck for the New Year.
Fireworks and Roman Candles shot into the air of Tiananmen Square. People sang, danced and cheered. The sound of the firecrackers popping was as loud as ever..
As an old man swept one area clean, more firecrackers took their place. The firecrackers popped and unraveled. The square was filled with paper firework wrappers and streamers. At one point, everyone covered the ears to protect from the loud noises.
“You ready to go home?” Bo shouted.
“Already?”
“It’s two o’clock in the morning, Ying.”
“Wow, the time just flied by!”
Jing said goodbye to the boys as they left Tiananmen Square. They exited through the Gate and found a taxi. As the taxi whisked them home, Ying leaned his head against the window, watching the fireworks fizz and crackle in the air. Fire Snakes circled in the air, leaving a smoke trail behind. Ying inhaled, taking in the smell of sulfur and used gunpowder.
“Did you have fun tonight?” asked Bo.
“I’m glad I got to go with you and Jing. Mom wouldn’t have let us go into Tiananmen Square. She says there are too many fireworks and its too dangerous.”
“It can be at times, you just have to know where the safe areas are,”
“Thank you, Bo,” said Ying.
“Anytime Ying.”
Ying rested his head on the window again, watching the people outside his window. Finally, the taxi came up to the Hutong where Ying lived. He got out and ran home, where everyone had already fell asleep, except Grandma Mei.
“Hello, Ying,” she greeted from her sewing chair.
“Hello Grandma Mei.”
“Gung Hei Fat Choy,” she said.
“Gung Hei Fat Choy,” replied Ying.He went to bed and laid in the silence, his ears ringing with the sound of fireworks. Ge chirped silently. It was the perfect song to begin a New Year.

Clean House Good Luck

On the darkest days of Winter, storm clouds gathered and dropped a blanket of snow on everything in Beijing, including Ying’s school house.
After school, Ying went to fetch his sister from class before heading home. She stood next to the coat rack as he tucked a scarf around her neck and bundled her coat.
“Where are your mittens?” he asked.
“I accidentally left them at home.”
“I’m sorry. I should have noticed that,” said Ying. He took off his gloves and pushed them over Lien-Hua’s tiny hands. They were much too big, but that was the only choice they had. Ying balled his hands into fists and stuffed them deep into his pockets.
“Come on,” ordered Ying. They hiked down the road from the school house, following a trail of footprints left by children who had already gone home. Lien-Hua lingered behind her brother, her gloves looking like giant five-headed puppets on each of her hands.
“If you don’t hurry up, I’m going to take back my gloves and you’ll have to try walking with her hands in your pockets.”
“I’m going as fast as I can.”
“Let me take your books,” said Ying as he tucked them between his elbow and ribs.
They shuffled home in the snow and stamped their feet on the front step, cleaning the wet slush off their boots.
“Your mother is waiting for you children,” said Grandma Mei.
“Where is she?”
“Boiling tea in the kitchen.”
Ying and Lien-Hua walked into the kitchen, not knowing what to expect.
“Mama, Grandma said you wanted to talk to us,” said Ying.
“It’s New Year’s Eve. You know what that means, right?”
Ying sighed.
“Grab a broom and dust pan from the closet and give it to your sister. She can do the sweeping.”
“Oh mom,” groaned Lien-Hua.
“You’re getting off easy,” replied mother.
“What about me?” asked Ying.
“I need you to take a snow shovel and clean off the step and the sidewalk in front of the house.”
Ying retrieved the necessary tools from the hall closet. He gave Lien-Hua a dustpan and broom, and then got a snow shovel for himself.
Outside, the street of the Hutong was busy with people. Many of the houses in the alley were already decorated with lanterns and ribbon. Christmas lights were stretched from one side of the Hutong to the other. Tonight, they would be illuminated, casting a golden light throughout the Hutong.
Ying quickly shoveled all the snow from the front porch and sidewalk, continuing a short distance in both directions.
Miss Yan, who lived next door to the Liu family had been watching Ying from her living room. She opened the front door and stood next to Ying as he finished cleaning off her porch.
“You didn’t have to do that,” she said.
“Gung Hei Fat Choy,” said Ying, which meant Happy New Year.
“Gung Hei Fat Choy,” she replied.
“Thank you, Ying.” Ying blushed as she planted a kiss on his cheek.
“You’re welcome,” said Ying. He quickly returned inside, where his mother needed his help again.
“Your sister isn’t making much progress,” she said.
Ying put the snow shovel away and went to his parent’s bedroom, where Lien-Hua was trying to work the broom and the dustpan at the same time.
“Let me take that,” he said.
Ying pushed the broom around the room, sweeping under beds and dressers. Lien-Hua moved the dustpan across the floor, gathering dirt and dumping it into the trash can. They continued through all of the bedrooms then finished in the kitchen.
“We also need to dust the furniture,” said Ying.
“Mom didn’t say I had to,” said Lien-Hua.
“I bet she would if I asked her,” replied Ying.
Ying retrieved dust rags and cleaned dust from the furniture and cleaned cobwebs from corners. As he stretched behind the couch in the sewing room, several of Ge’s six-legged friends hopped this way and that.
“You’d better not let your mother see them,” said Grandma Mei.
“Shoo! Shoo!” said Lien-Hua. They gathered as many crickets as they could, setting them free on the middle of the Hutong. Lights and lanterns were lit, ready for the New Year. The Hutong came to life as New Year’s drew closer.
Ying and Lien-Hua returned to the kitchen, , where Grandma Mei had joined their mother, busily fixing dinner for their many New Year’s guests.
“Do you need us to do anything else?” asked Ying.
“Fetch a bucket from the basement and fill it with cleaning water. I want you to mop and wax the floors.”
Lien-Hua groaned.
“That’s the last thing you have to do,” reassured Mrs. Liu.
“Why do we have to do all these chores?” asked Lien-Hua.
“A clean house in the New Year brings good luck and invites wealth.”
“Okay,” sighed Lien-Hua. She followed her brother into the basement as he retrieved a scrub brush, a mop and a bucket. He poured floor cleaner into the bottom of the bucket then put it under the faucet. Suds formed as water filled the bucket.
Ying and Lien-Hua returned upstairs. As Ying cleaned the tile in the bathroom, Lien-Hua mopped the wooden floor of all the bedrooms.
“I’m finished.”
“Let me check,” said Ying. He ran the mop over every place that Lien-Hua missed and handed her the mop.
“Stand right here and wait while I finish scrubbing the bathroom.”
She leaned against the mop, staring at her brother as he scoured the bathtub. When he finished, it was pearly white.
Ying grabbed the mop and quickly ran it over the bathroom floor.
“Carry the bucket into the kitchen,” Ying ordered his sister. Ying put the finishing touches on the bathroom and followed her into the kitchen.
He began scrubbing the kitchen floor as Lien-Hua mopped. Mrs. Liu stood next to the stove as her children cleaned the rest of rthe kitchen floor around her.
“What now?” asked Ying.
“Leave the mop and bucket there. I’ll have to go over it again anyway.”
“Do you need me to do anything else?”
Mrs. Liu stopped cutting vegetables to think for a moment. Just then, a knock came at the front door.
“Get the door,” she replied.
It was Grandpa Jong, carrying a covered serving dish.
“Take this while I get more from the car,” said his Grandpa.
Ying grabbed the serving dish and placed it in the middle of the kitchen table.
“That’s one problem solved,” said Mrs. Liu.
Ying pulled the lid off the serving dish. A whiff of steam rose from the middle of the platter. He inhaled deeply, smelling the aroma of the large roast duck sitting on the tray.
“It smells wonderful,” said Ying.
Just then, Grandpa Jong came into the kitchen, carrying two armloads of groceries. He sat one bag down and plucked a piece of skin from one of the wings and popped it into his mouth. The rich flavor of the roasted duck melted in his mouth.
“Father, why can’t you wait until midnight, when everyone can enjoy the meal together?” said Mrs. Liu.
“it’s just a little piece of skin, and it’s under the wing where nobody will know it’s gone.”
“I’ll know it’s gone and so will Ying.”
“But nobody else will know unless you tell them,” said Grandpa Jong.
“If you’re hungry now, I made a kettle full of Buddha’s delight. You can eat some while we get ready for the New Year.”
Ying helped Grandpa Jong unload the groceries and cleared a spot on the table for the bowl of Buddha’s Delight. He sat it next to the Roast Duck and began filling a bowl.
“I’m not hungry,” said Grandpa Jong.
Mr. Liu came in and took off his jacket. After he leaned over to kiss his wife on the cheek, he plucked a piece of skin from beneath the duck’s other wing.
“Ya Liu!”
Hurriedly, Grandma Mei filled a bowl for each of the men and shooed them to the sewing room.
“Where do you want us to eat?” said Grandpa Jong.
“Anywhere but here,” said Grandma Mei, “you’re giving your daughter fits.”
“Ying, don’t forget to fetch lap trays from the hall closet,” said his mother.
“I will,” he answered.
“And don’t forget to put away the cleaning supplies. It’s a bad omen to see brooms or dustpans in the New Year,” added Ying’s mother.
“Good luck could get swept away,” said Grandma Mei.
Ying finished cleaning up, then joined the rest of his family in the sewing room. He dug his spoon into the ingredients of his Buddha’s Delight: Bamboo Shoots, Black Mushrooms, Arrowroot, Carrots, and Potatoes. He finished everything but the Fat Choy, which he thought looked like rotten grass.
“It’s bad luck to not eat everything in your bowl,” said Grandma Mei.
“But I don’t like Fat Choy.” Grandpa Jong leaned over and ate the last few bites in Ying’s bowl. Grandma shook her head.
People arrived soon after, bringing their entire families. Aunts, Uncles and cousins. Lien-Hua took everyone’s coat and stacked them on her bed while Ying fetched more lap trays and set them up in the sewing room.
Ying stood in the doorway of the sewing room, looking at everyone’s smiling faces. Some were familiar and some were not.
He took a deep breath again. The woodsy smell that came off everone’s body mixed with the smell of the roast duck and Buddha’s Delight.
“Ying, you’re growing up into such a big and handsome boy,” said his Auntie Fay. She kissed him on the same cheek where Miss Yan had kissed him. Her kisses smelled like the same musty perfume Ying had always smelled on Auntie Fay.
“The year’s almost over. Is there anything you wish you would have done since the last time I saw you?” she asked.
Ying looked at his watch and thought for a moment. He looked around at his extended family.
“I wish time would go more quickly when I was at school and it would go slower when I was home with my family,” he replied.
“You and everyone else,” chuckled Auntie Fay.
“Would you like a bowl of Buddha’s Delight?” asked Ying.
“I would love some,” she replied.
Ying fetched a soup bowl from the kitchen table and filled it with Buddha’s Delight and served it to his Auntie. She took a sip of broth and smiled.
“Did you try some?” she asked.
“I had a small bowl.”
“You know what they say about Buddha’s Delight, right?”
Ying shook his head.
Buddhist monks ate Buddha’s Delight for the first five days of the New Year. One can never eat too much. Eat another bowl, Ying. It will cleanse your soul. Clean Body Long Life.”
He fixed another bowl, savoring the ingredients that would cleanse his soul. This time, he even ate the Fat Choy, finishing the Buddha’s Delight himself.

Paradise Flycatcher

Gentle breezes blew through the branches of the Poplar trees as Ying and Lien-Hua hurried home from school. Animals scampered from tree to tree and leaves chattered in the breeze. Ying hurried home to see Grandpa Jong. Ying spent school day thinking of his Grandfather.
What started his daydream was his social studies class. Mr. Tsang stood in front of the class, showing a piece of embroidered silk to his students. Ying had seen one like it before in Grandpa Jong’s dresser drawer.
“Does anyone know what this?” asked Mr. Tsang.
Many children raised their hands.
“It’s a Mandarin Square,” answered a girl.
“That’s correct,” replied Mr. Tsang. He reached up and pulled down a map of China. Ying thought about the silk patch in Grandpa Jong’s dresser. He had only seen it once. Ying remembered Grandpa Jong’s stories of the Imperial Chinese Navy. As Ying ran home, he hoped Grandpa Jong would share more stories.
“Wait for me,” called Lien-Hua. Her tiny legs carried her as fast as they could, but Ying was much older, and much faster, too. He turned down the alley and jogged the last few steps down the Hutong. Mrs. Liu, who was standing at the front door, opened it and let Ying inside.
“Where’s your sister?” she asked.
“She’s right behind me,” gasped Ying. In fact, Lien-Hua was far behind him. She had stopped running before they had even left the schoolyard.
“You know you’re supposed to wait for her,” said Mrs. Liu.
“I was in a rush. I wanted to see Grandpa. Where is he?”
“He’s sleeping,” said Mrs. Liu.
Ying went to his bedroom and put away his backpack. He peeked his head into Grandpa’s bedroom. Ying walked into the sewing room, where everyone else had gathered, including Lien-Hua, whose face was hot and flushed from running after Ying.
“Ying, I think you should apologize to your sister.”
“I’m sorry,” said Ying.
“It’s okay. I’m just tired.”
Ying sat on the couch between his sister and mother. “Grandma?” he said.
“Yes dear?”
“Do you know anything about Mandarin Squares?”
“That’s a peculiar question. Why do you ask?”
“Our teacher was talking about Mandarin Squares in social studies.”
“You know that Grandpa Jong had a Great Grandfather who was a Mandarin, right?”
“What’s a Mandarin?” asked Lien-Hua.
“A Mandarin was a very important man in ancient China. Some were officers in the Chinese Navy. Some worked for the Government and held important offices.”
“Wasn’t one of my relatives a Mandarin?” asked Ying.
“My Great Grandfather was a Mandarin,” said Mrs. Liu.
“How did he become a Mandarin?” asked Lien-Hua.
“That’s a very good question. He had to take an examination.”
“A test?” asked Lien-Hua.
“Before he could become a Mandarin, he had to prove he was worthy. He would walk to a village far from home to take the examination.”
“An examination?” asked Lien-Hua.
“There were all kinds of questions. He had to know about Government and Mathematics, Arts, Music, and even Horsemanship and Archery.”
“Why did he have to know so much?”
“He worked for the government, making laws and working as a judge for the people. Many men studied to become Mandarins. Only a few actually passed the examination.”
“Can I show her the Mandarin Square?” asked Ying.
“It’s in my jewelry box on the dresser. Make sure not to wake your Grandpa,” said Grandma Mei.
Ying sneaked into Grandpa’s bedroom and carefully opened Grandma Mei’s jewelry box. Ying searched through the necklaces and earrings, but the Mandarin Square wasn’t there. The jewelry clunked as Ying pulled the Mandarin Square from beneath the jewelry.
“Hello,” said Grandpa Jong, startling Ying.
“I’m sorry, Grandpa.”
“I was already awake. What are you up to?” asked Grandpa Jong.
“We were in the sewing room, talking about Great Grandpa Zhou and I wanted to show Lien-Hua his Mandarin Square, but I can’t find it.”
“That’s because it’s in the sock drawer.” Grandpa Jong got up and slid into his slippers. He shuffled over to the dresser and pulled the sock drawer open. A large silken square lay beneath the socks. Grandpa Jong pulled it out and held it up. The bright colors shimmered in the light. Ying moved closer to inspect the stitches.
“What do you want to know?” asked Grandpa Jong.
“My teacher was talking about it today and I just wondered.”
“Give me a few moments and I’ll tell you all about it.”
Ying closed the bedroom door behind him as he waited outside Grandpa’s room. Grandpa Jong slipped into a fresh set of clothes and grabbed a flashlight.
“If you really want to know what it was all about, follow me into the basement so we can look for something,” said Grandpa Jong.
Ying went with his Grandfather into the musty old basement, following the flashlight’s beam. As they shuffled down the steps, they stireed up a cloud of dust. Ying coughed a few times, then stopped as the dust settled.
“What are we looking for?” asked Ying.
“There’s something I call the ‘war chest’ that has pictures from when I was a kid. I also have some old drawings Grandpa Zhou made of his gunboat when he was in the Navy.”
They searched through the basement until they found the chest. It was made of brown leather with tarnished brass handles. Grandpa Jong flung it open. Inside the chest, there was a collection of odds and ends. Childhood toys and newspaper clippings laid in the bottom of the chest, covered with musty clothes. Grandpa Jong pulled the newspaper clippings out of the ‘war chest’ and fastened the lid.
Grandpa Jong walked upstairs to the sewing room, followed closely by Ying.
“Ying, you didn’t,” scolded his mother.
“Leave him alone. I was already awake and needed to get out of bed anyway.”
Grandpa Jong sat in his chair and looked through the papers in his lap.
“It was quite an honor to be a Mandarin,” said Grandpa Jong.
“Were you a Mandarin?” asked Lien-Hua.
“No, but Grandpa Zhou always told stories about Mandarin life.”
“What was it like?” Grandpa Jong motioned to Lien-Hua, who sat on his lap as he began his story.
“When he was a young man, he traveled to and from the Examination Hall for each Examination. The Examinations lasted three days and three nights.”
“That’s a very long test,” said Ying.
“It was an important duty to be a Mandarin. When they stayed at the Examination Hall, they slept and ate there, too. Every time he returned home without becoming a Mandarin, it was a long, sad journey. Zhou had to take the Examination four times before he returned home as a Mandarin.”
Ying and Lien-Hua flipped through the papers, investigating pictures of Great Grandpa Zhou’s Yamen, the building where he lived and worked during his time as a Mandarin. Not only was it his office,e but also his home, where he lived with his wife and their children.
There were also pictures of him standing aboard a ship in a sailor’s uniform..
“Tell us about Great Grandpa Zhou’s time in the Chinese Navy,” begged Lien-Hua.
“So you would like to hear a Navy story?” Both children nodded eagerly.
“He didn’t join the Navy until he ended his time as a Mandarin. He sailed on a gunboat in the South China Sea.”
“What was that like?” asked Ying.
“I would imagine it was harder than the Imperial Examination. He spent months at a time on the gunboat. Navy ships back were converted boats, actually. My Great Grandpa always said that the hardest thing about being a sailor was sleeping on the ship at night. The men slept beneath the deck, so it was hot and dark. The boat was tossed back and forth in the sea, often making sailors sick.”
“That would be terrible,” exclaimed Lien-Hua.
“I’m sure it was, but Grandpa Zhou said it was the best time of his life. He was very proud of his time with the Chinese Navy.”
“Why do you think he said that?” asked Ying.
“There were plenty of reasons. He spent a long time on the sea. These men were like a family. They spent every minute of every day together and depended upon each other for their lives.”
“I think his ship was beautiful. The great sail flying over their ship, taking them from one port to another.”
“I suppose there was some romance to it, Lien-Hua. Every time we talked about his time on the Sea, his voice changed. I knew there was something more.”
“Why didn’t you join the Navy?” asked Ying.
“Grandpa Zhou wanted me to join, but I married Grandma Mei when I was just a young man. I guess that’s part of it.”
“What’s the other part?” asked Ying.
Grandpa chuckled. “I never learned how to swim. I guess that’s the other part. I decided to work in a factory instead.”
“Do you regret not joining the Navy?”
“How could I? I got to stay with Grandma Mei.”
“I wonder what I will do when I become older,” said Ying.
“You have plenty of time to figure that out when the time comes,” said Grandpa Jong.
“Plus, if your grandfather would have gone off and joined the Navy, who knows where we all would be now? Because he married your Grandma, he had me, so I don’t regret it,” said Ying’s mother.
“Me neither,” said Lien-Hua.
"The only thing I regret is missing breakfast," said Grandpa Jong, "Is there any chance we could have an early lunch?"
"Of course Dad," said Mrs. Liu.
She fixed a bowl of Lo Mein for lunch. Everyone gathered around the dining room table while Grandpa Jong shared more stories about Grandpa Zhou and the Imperial Chinese Navy.

To Touch the Heart

Sunlight stole into the windows of the Liu Family house, casting a long white rectangle of light across the floor and walls of Ying’s bedroom. Ying slept while Ge crawled up one side of his cage and chirped steadily as he faced the bright morning sun.
Another long rectangle of light illuminated the sewing room. As usual, Grandma Mei and Mrs. Liu were the first ones awake. Grandma Mei sat at her sewing table making a blanket while Mrs. Liu sat on the couch, reading a book. They enjoyed the silence as the day slowly unwrapped.
It was one of the few times Mrs. Liu could hear birds chirping in the alleyways of the Hutong. She looked out the sewing room window and thought for a moment.
“Wouldn’t today be a nice day for Dim Sum?”
“Oh my! I think today would be a great day for Dim Sum,” replied Grandma Mei.
“Then let’s go to Mr. Li’s for Dim Sum.”
Yum Cha Tea House transformed into a restaurant every Sunday. Mr. Li and his son Bo also got up early every Sunday morning and prepared food for their guests to eat.
Mr. Li laid banana leaves on the table and brushed the surface with butter. Bo followed closely behind, dumping spoonfuls of rice in the center of each banana leaf. Afterwards, they folded the banana leaves around the rice, forming a large packet of sticky rice. Bo carefully placed each packet in bamboo steamers. After they wrapped the sticky rice, it was on to dumplings.
Mr. Li began chopping pork and vegetables and placing the ingredients into the dumplings, then folding the edges. All morning long, they prepared food, saying little. Their Sunday morning ritual was so well rehearsed they did not have to say a thing, just do what was next.
Mrs. Liu stood in the middle of Ying’s doorway, watching her little angel sleeping. Ge chirped steadily as Ying folded his blanket away from his face. He could feel his mother’s presence in the room as he tried opening his eyes. He squinted in the bright sunlight.
“Good morning,” she said.
“How long have you been there?” asked Ying.
“Only a moment or two. Would you like Dim Sum?”
“Mmmmmmm,” said Ying.
“Then get up, get showered and make sure everyone else does the same,” said Mrs. Liu.
Ying stretched the sleep from his body and hopped out of bed. He quickly showered and dressed. Now it was time to get everyone else out of bed.
“Come on, get up, get up. Mama has decided we are going to eat Dim Sum today,” announced Ying. He went from room to room, waking Grandpa Jong, his father, and Lien-Hua.
Unlike mornings where Lien-Hua had trouble getting ready for school, Dim Sum mornings found Lien-Hua eager to rise and shine. On this very morning, she hopped out of bed, showered and changed in seconds flat.
“Grandpa Jong, what are you doing still in bed,” said Lien-Hua as she bounced on Grandma and Grandpa’s bed.
“What do you want, my little Chinese Jumping Bean?” asked Grandpa Jong.
“I want you to get out of bed so we can eat dim sum!”
“Lien-Hua, let your Grandfather be so he can get ready,” scolded her mother.
“I was just making sure he got up.”
“Go wait on the couch with your brother until everyone’s ready,” commanded her mother. Lien-Hua went into the sewing room and sat next to her brother. It seemed to take an eternity waiting for everyone else.
“Alright, let’s go,” said Grandpa as Grandma Mei got up and fixed the collar on his shirt. Everyone loaded into the car and Mr. Liu drove them to the restaurant.
People were coming and going as they walked towards the restaurant. Bo Li stood at the front door, holding it for guests.
“Good morning Ying,” said Bo.
“How long will our wait be?” asked Ying.
“I’m not sure. It’s been very busy today,” said Bo.
“It’s okay, the line will go fast,” reassured Lien-Hua. She tugged on Grandpa Jong’s hand as she led him into the restaurant. She couldn’t bear the thought of going to another restaurant or skipping Dim Sum altogether.
Many of the coffee tables were pushed together, creating several long rectangles. Friends and family gathered around the tables, enjoying their Dim Sum.
The older Mr. Li came up and led the family to a table. He quickly wiped off the surface and arranged the seats. Grandpa Jong sat at one end of the table and Mr. Liu sat at the other.
“I’ll bring some tea while you’re waiting for the hostess. Is there anything else?” said Mr. Li.
“Can I have some soy milk?” asked Lien-Hua.
“It would be my pleasure,” said Mr. Li. He ripped a sheet off his tablet and placed it in front of Grandpa Jong with a pencil.
“I want rice noodles,” said Lien-Hua.
“Can I have some pot stickers?” asked Ying.
“Don’t forget the Sticky Rice,” said Mrs. Liu.
Grandpa Jong quickly jotted tallies on the sheet of paper and handed it back to Mr. Li as he returned with Jasmine Tea and Lien-Hua’s soy milk.
“We’ll get that right away,” said Mr. Li. He disappeared behind the counter again. Ying got up and quickly served tea to everyone at the table, then Grandma Mei took the teapot and filled his cup with tea and added a splash of milk, just how Ying liked.
Before their order arrived, a girl came by, pushing a serving cart filled with bamboo steam trays. Mr. Liu picked a few dishes and the server placed them in the center of the table. She took her crayon and added to Grandpa Jong’s tally sheet.
“Steamed clams!” exclaimed Ying. He grabbed one and put it on his plate. As he began eating, the rest of the meal arrived. He placed the dishes on the table wherever they would fit.
“Ting, This was such a great idea,” Mr. Liu said to his wife.
“I was hungry for Dim Sum and we haven’t had it for some time.”
“Mom, can you pass the sticky rice?” interrupted Lien-Hua.
“Here you go.”
“And the soy sauce?”
“Here.”
“Are there any pot stickers left?” asked Mr. Liu. Grandpa Jong tilted up the bamboo steamer, showing two pieces.
“Can I have them please?”
“Of course. Ying, pass these to your father,” said Grandpa Jong. Ying it to Lien-Hua who passed it to her father.
“Can I have one too?” asked Lien-Hua.
“Eat to your heart’s content,” said Mr. Liu. Literally translated, that’s exactly what ‘Dim Sum’ meant – to eat to the heart’s content, or to touch the heart. Lien-Hua removed the pot stickers from the steamer, placing one on her father’s plate and one on her own.
Mr. Liu ordered a replacement. The server took the empty steamer and tallied the order on the card.
Hands moved about as dishes were passed from one family member to another. It was one of the many orchestras going on in the restaurant. Families and friends shared food and conversation. As Ying plucked the last steamed clam from the bamboo steamer, it was replaced with a fresh steamer, filled with steamed clams. He and his Grandpa Jong ate every last one. If Ying had flicked a finger at his belly, it surely would have rang like a temple bell.
After Dim Sum, the family split into two parts. Lien-Hua returned home with her parents and Grandma Mei. Meanwhile, Ying stayed behind to play Go with Grandpa Jong.
Some families stayed for most of the afternoon, but most ate their meals and returned home. Grandpa Jong always lingered at Dim Sum, playing Go or Mah Johngg and helping Mr. Li and his son clean up the restaurant.
In the kitchen, a successful Dim Sum meant piles of empty bamboo steamers. Old Mr. Li and young Mr. Li would spend a good part of the afternoon, rinsing off bamboo steamers and stacking them on drying racks above the sink.
“It’s been some day, hasn’t it?” said Grandpa Jong as he stood at the sink next to Mr. Li.
“It sure has,” answered Mr. Li.
“It was one of the busiest Sundays I’ve ever seen,” said Ying. Ying helped the servers, cleaning tables and carrying dirty dishes into the kitchen. When all the dishes were clean, they gathered around the Go tables. Bo delivered a teapot full of Jasmine tea and a small glass of milk for Ying.
“I’m so tired,” sighed Ying.
“You did a lot of work,” said Bo.
“Are you too tired for a game?” asked Grandpa Jong.
“Never.”
Ying divided the stones into two armies, saving the black ones for himself and giving the white ones to his grandfather. Quickly, Grandpa had secured a good portion of the board, extending Ying’s army to the outer edges of the board. Grandpa Jong investigated the few remaining places on the board and placed his stone.
Ying held his last stone in his fingertips, tapping it on his teeth. It clanked loudly as he investigated his choices. He sighed and put his stone on the board. Grandpa Jong placed his last stone and began to tally the scores.
“No need to count. I know where I made my mistake,” said Ying.
“Don’t be upset. You win some, you lose some, right?” asked Mr. Li.
“I’m not upset at all. Playing Go isn’t always about winning,” he answered.
Mr. Li smiled. “No it isn’t. It isn’t at all.” He rubbed his hand in Ying’s hair, as if he was rubbing it for luck. Ying smiled at Mr. Li and then divided the stones again.
“Are you ready for another game?” asked Grandpa Jong.
“Always,” said Ying.
The smell of Jasmine tea drifted through the air. Go stones clinked on teeth, then slid across wooden tabletops before coming to a rest. Spoons chattered against the insides of soup bowls.
After they had stayed to their heart’s content, Grandpa Jong and Ying decided it was time to return home. They said their goodbyes and went out to the street. Three-wheeled bicycles called rickshaws drove through the streets, carrying passengers from one place to another.
Grandpa Jong flagged down a rickshaw driver. They climbed into the carriage and rode through the quiet streets of Beijing. Wind blew across their faces as the rickshaw driver pedaled the rickshaw.
Ying could clearly see the Hutong from where he sat. As they turned down the Hutong where the Liu house sat, Ying dug into his pocket and pulled out one of the coins Mr. Li gave him.
“Ying, I’ll pay for it.”
“No Grandpa, let me,” insisted Ying. He placed the coin firmly in the rickshaw driver’s hand and thanked him.
“You didn’t have to do that Ying. That coin was a gift from Mr. Li.”
“You always pay for everything Grandpa. I always feel like I owe you,” said Ying.
“The problem is that once you start trying to repay someone for what they have given you, you'll find the more you owe,” said Grandpa Jong.
Grandpa Jong rubbed Ying’s head and planted a kiss on Ying’s forehead. Ying realized that as he had gotten a gift he had received one, too. It seemed that he would always owe his Grandpa Jong.

Chinese Moon Fiddles

The day stretched long and wide as the Liu family gathered in the sewing room. Mrs. Liu worked at Grandma Mei’s sewing machine while the children played with Ge in the middle of the living room floor.
They sat on two sides of the cricket as he hopped back and forth, between them. He chirped gently as Mr. Liu, Grandpa and Grandma watched.
Lien-Hua held the pencils that Mr. Wong had used to show how a cricket chirps in her hands, clucking them noisily. Although it would usually upset Mrs. Liu, she was busy sewing a dress for the Opera. Grandma Mei and Grandpa Jong, on the other hand, loved the noise that their grandchildren made.
“Lien-Hua, see if you can be the harmony to Ge’s chorus,” said Grandpa Mei.
She clicked the pencil slowly, keeping time to Ge’s chirping rhythm.
“That’s it,” said Granda Jong.
Grandma Mei hummed softly, singing a gentle ballad for the rest of the family. Granda Jong tapped his foot softly as Ying drummed his hands on the carpet.
Ge continued singing and jumping about. He jumped across the sewing room and into the living room. Soon, Ying and Lien-Hua could not keep up as he hopped towards the bedrooms.
When Ying finally caught up with his cricket, they were in Grandpa and Grandma’s bedroom. Ge had crawled beneath Grandpa and Grandma’s bed and was hiding in a dark corner, just behind a large wooden crate.
“Come here,” said Ying as he stretched his arm towards Ge. The cricket crawled further into the corner, just out of Ying’s reach.
“How am I supposed to get you if you stay there in a far-off corner?”
Ge walked up towards Ying’s hand, and as Ying tretched out, Ge backed away again, happy in his dark, safe corner.
“Papa! Grandpa! Come here, I need your help!” In just a few moments, everyone had gathered around Ying.
“Ge won’t come out,” said Ying.
“Let me try something,” said Grandpa Jong. He reached behind the bed and waved his arm about. Ge hopped away from the corner and toward Ying’s outstretched hand.
“Somebody move that crate,” said Ying.
As Mr. Liu moved the crate, Ying reached out and grabbed the cricket.
“What is in that crate, papa?” asked Lien-Hua.
“Yes, what exactly is in that mysterious crate?” said Mrs. Liu as she crouched down and looked at the crate. She recognized the boxes immediately.
“Papa, you didn’t!”
“It was your husband’s idea.”
“Ya Liu, are you trying to make me cry?”
“No, I’m just trying to bring back an old smile,” he replied.
Mrs. Liu pulled the boxes from beneath the bed. Grandma Mei’s eyes lit up as she saw what her daughter had seen. It was another instrument case, only this one quite a bit larger than the other.
Mrs. Liu unsnapped the fasteners on the tiny black box and opened it. She pulled out a tiny, one-stringed violin called an Erhu. She held it gingerly in her hands.
“I forgot how good it felt to hold this,” said Mrs. Liu.
“Aren’t you going to open the other box?” Grandpa asked Grandma.
“I’m going to need a little help.”
Mr. Liu bent down and opened the large wooden crate. Inside it sat a large instrument.
“What is it?” asked Ying.
“It looks like a pregnant banjo,” said Lien-Hua.
“It’s a Pipa. It’s one of the oldest musical instruments from China,” said Grandma Mei.
“Play it for us,” begged Lien-Hua.
“I’m not going to play it here.”
“How about the sewing room?” asked Lien-Hua.
“Only if someone will carry it for me.”
Grandpa Jong picked up both instruments and carried them to the sewing room. He gave his daughter the Erhu and carefully placed the Pipa on Grandma Mei’s lap.
“It’s been a long time,” said Grandma Mei.
Ying’s mother held the bow in her hand awkwardly. A nervous smile escaped as she pulled the bow across the twin-stringed Erhu. The instrument let out a soft cry as she moved the bow back and forth.
“It’s been a very long time, indeed,” said Mrs. Liu.
Grandma Mei joined in, carefully plucking and strumming the Pipa that sat upright in her lap. Raindrops of notes jumped across the soulful cry of the Erhu.
“How about we play a song?” asked Grandma Mei.
“The only song I can remember is ‘Shining Energy,’” answered Ying’s mother.
“That’s one of my favorites. I remember you practicing it all night long,” said Grandpa Jong.
“Then Shining Energy it is,” said Grandma Mei. She plucked out the happy tune of Shining Energy, which floated along. Ying’s mother pinned the Erhu against her hip and pulled the bow across the strings. It sang the happy song of Shining Energy.
“That’s it,” said Grandpa Jong. A smile crossed his face as he tapped his large foot heavily on the sewing room floor. It boomed like a bass drum. Ying snapped his fingers and bobbed his head to the beat. Lien-Hua danced in the middle of the sewing room floor.
After the song ended, everyone clapped for the two Mrs. Liu girls. They bowed and set their instruments down.
“Ya Liu, where did you find my fiddle?” asked Mrs. Liu.
“I was in the basement looking through some old boxes when I found these. I opened the box and then mentioned it to your father.”
“So that’s what was in the box from Mr. Li?” asked Mrs. Liu.
“It wasn’t from Mr. Li. I took them into the furniture store and fixed them myself. I glued the fretboard on the Pipa and I replaced all the tuning knobs on your Erhu,” said Mr. Liu.”
“It’s beautiful. I have been wanting to teach Lien-Hua to play an instrument,” said Mrs. Liu.
“I like the Pipa more than the Erhu,” answered Lien-Hua.
“You could always learn both,” said Grandma Mei.
“Whichever one you wanted to learn, I’d love to help you,” said Mrs. Liu.
“And it would be good to hear music in the house again,” said Grandpa Jong.
Lien-Hua pulled her chair beside Grandma Mei and took the old Chinese Lute and set it in her lap.
“It’s very big,” said Lien-Hua.
The Pipa was almost as tall as Lien-Hua. Its neck stretching above her head. She investigated the Pipa for a few moments more, running her hands over the strings.
“If you press your fingers over one of these frets and strum, it changes the sound,” said Grandma Mei. Lien-Hua stretched her hand, trying to press several strings at once.
Grandma Mei strummed the Pipa gently. Her hand flowed easily over the pear-shaped box Pipa. Lien-Hua tried strumming, but couldn’t move her tiny hands over the long fret board quite quickly enough.
“Maybe you’re right. Maybe I should try the Erhu,” insisted Lien-Hua.
Mrs. Liu gave the bow and the Erhu to Lien-Hua and stood behind her, showing her how to properly hold the fiddle.
Lien-Hua looked up at Grandpa Jong and he nodded reassuringly. In the twinkle of an eye, Jong was transported back in time, when his daughter practiced every day and performed at countless recitals.
Lien-Hua carefully pulled the bow across the strings of the fiddle and it cried out in pain.
“It sounds like somebody’s stepping on a cat!” said Lien-Hua.
“Practice makes perfect. If you want to learn, we will teach you,” said Grandma Mei.
“I want to start with the Pipa,” said Lien-Hua.
“The Pipa is harder than the Erhu. You master the Erhu and then you can move on to the Pipa, okay?”
Lien-Hua frowned. “How long did it take you to learn?” she asked her mother.
“A long time,” answered her mother.
Lien-Hua frowned again.
“Don’t worry, we’re here to help you.”
Grandma Mei plucked out the notes of Shining Energy again and Mrs. Liu joined in, only this time, Lien-Hua held the bow. It chirped and squeaked unevenly, but with each stroke, it sounded a little better.
"Now turn that frown upside down," begged Grandpa Jong.
Lien-Hua smiled as they played more music.
The cricket began chirping again. This time, Ge was backed by the Liu family orchestra as they played all night long and sang songs together.

A Cricket Named Song

Early on a Sunday morning, Ying rested his head upon his pillow. Wind pounded on his window as a mid-Winter thunderstorm poured rain over the people of Beijing.
A great collection of noises came from the alley outside Ying's window.
Motorcycles buzzed along as they splashed through puddles while rain beat upon his window. Ying lay in his bed, spying on the conversations of the people outside.
“Hurry up before it starts raining harder!” said one girl.
“I’m running as fast as I can,” said the other. Wheels whirred across the road and a motorbike’s horn beeped.
Ying also heard crickets chirping. He turned over on one side and looked at his empty cricket cage.
The sounds of cars and people soon subsided. Ying listened to the raindrops falling on the street and crickets chirping.
“Every cricket cage deserves a cricket,” he thought to himself. He sat up in bed and stepped into his sandals. As he snuck through the kitchen, Grandma Mei sat at her sewing machine, mending one of Grandpa Jong’s shirts.
Ying propped the back door open and slipped through it. The chirping came from beneath an old wooden piano sitting beside the door.
Ying crouched down and looked behind the piano. Several bright green crickets sat, chirping their songs.
Ying reached out his hand and the chorus of chirps stopped. The sound of a single "cree-cree-cree" continued as all but one cricket escaped Ying's grasp.
"Ah, I see the problem now," said Ying. Ying cupped a hand around the cricket and gently grasped it by a leg. With a careful pluck, he freed the cricket’s leg from a splinter of wood.
Ying held the cricket between his fingers and investigated it. The cricket chirped softly as his eyes watched Ying. The cricket’s eyes were bright orange-red.
“They thought you were the unlucky one, getting caught by the little boy, but you are the lucky one. You will get to live in a beautiful cricket cage that’s all your own.”
The back door creaked as Ying pulled it open. The sewing machine stopped and Grandma Mei came into the kitchen, to find her grandson half-way in and half-way out of the house.
“What are you doing up so early?" she asked.
“I found a cricket for my cage,” said Ying as held out his hand.
“He is very beautiful.”
“I think so, too,” said Ying.
“Go fetch the cricket cage and put him inside.”
Ying ran to his bedroom and opened the cage door.
“In you go.”
When he returned, Grandma Mei was standing at the kitchen sink, cutting apples into tiny slices and placing them in a small bowl. She put a sliver into Ge's cage. The cricket walked over to the apple and began to nibble.
"I once had a cricket when I was a little girl," said Grandma Mei.
"Really?"
Grandma Mei nodded. "Every day I would go to the orchard and pick fruit from the trees and slice it into cricket-sized bites."
She picked up the bowl and walked into the sewing room as Ying followed her. He set the cricket cage in the middle of the floor and laid beside it. Grandma Mei placed the bowl of apples beside Ying and sat in heer chair.
Ying rested his head in his arms, watching Ge explore the inside of the cricket cage.
“What was your cricket’s name, Grandma?”
“I called him ‘Guo-Guo,’” she said.
“I like that name. I wonder what I should call my cricket.” Ying investigated the cricket, which sang in his hand with a low, but steady ‘cree-cree-cree.’
“How about ‘Ge’? said Grandma Mei.
“Ge? Yes, I think I like that. Do you like that, little cricket?” The cricket chirped as Ying blew gently on his face.
‘Ge’ meant song and singing was Ge’s favorite thing to do. He chirped steadily, singing a song for Ying and Grandma Mei. Ying clucked his tongue, trying to chirp like a cricket. Ying rested his head on his arms as he stretched out next to the cricket cage.
"What do you have there?" asked Mrs. Liu as she entered the sewing room.
"Ying found a cricket."
Mrs. Liu looked at the cricket cage sitting in the middle of the sewing room floor. "Ma, you know how much I dislike crickets."
"I know you've always been afraid of bugs, but crickets are good luck."
"I'm not afraid of bugs, I just never liked them."
"I don't think you've ever touched a cricket your whole life," replied Grandma Mei.
"That may be, but I'm not afraid of crickets. Ying pick up the cricket cage and bring it here," said Mrs. Liu.
Ying picked up his cricket cage and advanced towards his mother. She opened the door and poured Ge into her open hand.
"See? I'm not afraid of crickets," said Mrs. Liu. She quickly dropped Ge back into his cage and fastened the door shut. It must have been quite some adventure for Ge, since he was quiet for the first time since Ying found him behind the piano."
"Wash up, Ying. We're going to run some errands before everyone wakes up."
Ying sat the cricket cage on the sewing table and went into the bathroom for a shower.
"Even though you put on a brave face for Ying, I know you used to be terrified of bugs," said Grandma Mei.
"Honestly mother, that was a very long time ago."
Ying finished getting ready and returned to the sewing room.
"Where are we going?" he asked.
"I have to run a few errands."
"Can we go to the library?"
"Of course," said Mrs. Liu.
Ying took Ge along, cradling the cage in both hands as they rode to the library. Ying checked out several books about crickets and read them as Mrs. Liu ran her errands. She went to the bank and the florist and then the grocery store. When she shopped, Ying went inside with her. Ge went along, too.
"Mama, I read that Crickets like apples. Could we buy some apples?"
"Of course," she answered.
Mrs. Liu pushed the shopping cart through the store, stopping in the produce section. Ying rubbed his chin thoughtfully as he investigated the apples.
“Which one do you think he will like best?”
“Which one do you like best, Ying?”
“I like green apples.”
“Then we will buy green apples.”
“What if he doesn’t like them?”
“Then we can buy some red apples, too. Whichever ones we don’t eat, I’ll give to Grandma Mei. She can make us an apple pie.”
“That’s a good idea.”
After they finished shopping, Mrs. Liu paid for the groceries. Ying placed the cricket cage into the grocery bag with the apples.
“Ge, make sure not to eat all the apples while we ride home,” said Ying. They loaded the groceries in the back seat. Ying sat beside the groceries and watched the cricket cage. Ge was silent as he rode along in the grocery bag. Ying figured Ge was busy smelling the apples and could not focus on singing.
“We have one more stop to make,” said Mrs. Liu. She drove down familiar streets, stopping at the end of a Hutong.
“Are we going to the Opera House?”
“I need to see Mr. Wong.”
Ying smiled at his mother. He was happy that she had surprised her with a trip to the Opera House. Again he took his cricket cage with him, to show to Mr. Wong.
The inside of the Opera House was busy with activity. Actors were singing and studying their lines. Mr. Wong was in the tool shop, fixing one of the swords.
“What a pleasant surprise,” said Mr. Wong as he looked up from his bench. He set his tools down and stood up to greet Mrs. Liu and Ying.
“I wanted to return these costumes to you,” said Mrs. Liu.
Mr. Wong tried on his soldier’s costume. It fit perfectly. He picked up a sword and moved about, testing the seams.
“This is fantastic work.”
“Thank you, Mr. Wong,” replied Ying’s mother.
“No problem at all. You’re a blessing to the Opera House. I don’t know what we’d do without you.”
Ying’s cricket chirped loudly. Mr. Wong bent down and peered into the cage.
“What’s his name?”
“Ge,” answered Ying.
“I can see why. He’s very loud. A loud cricket is a blessing, too.” Mr. Wong grabbed rough wire from his desk and wrapped it around a pencil. He grabbed another pencil and rubbed them together. It clicked like a cricket’s chirp.
"Can I try?" asked Ying.
"Of course."
“Did you know that when a cricket chirps, it rubs its wings together?”
“That can’t be,” said Ying. Mr. Wong pointed to the back of the wings. There were tiny ridges on the inside of the wings, and as Ge rubbed them together, he chirped.
“What else do you know about crickets?” asked Ying.
“I know all sorts of things. I used to own a cricket when I was a boy.”
“Almost everyone I know owned a cricket as a pet.”
“It is good luck to have a singing cricket in every house,” said Mr. Wong.
“I guess we’re lucky then,” said Ying.
“Your sister and grandmother won’t be feeling lucky if we don’t get home and fix lunch,” replied his mother.
They returned home, only to find Grandma Mei and Lien-Hua in the kitchen, fixing egg drop soup. Lien-Hua stirred the chicken broth while Grandma Mei gradually added the raw eggs. They bubbled in the boiling water, instantly turning into egg drops.
“Mother, you didn’t have to prepare lunch,” said Mrs. Liu.
“I haven’t had a chance to cook in a long while. I wanted to prepare soup.”
“Grandma Mei makes the best egg drop soup,” said Lien-Hua.
“It looks like you’re making it too,” said mother.
“I’m just doing what Grandma tells me to do.”
Everyone gathered around the table as Grandma Mei chopped mushrooms and onions and dropped them into the soup. She filled bowls with soup and placed them on the table. Meanwhile, Lien-Hua put on a pair of oven mitts and retrieved pork dumplings from the oven.
Everyone but Ying began to eat, who was busy cutting one green apple and one red apple into slices. He placed slices in Ge’s cage and on his lunch plate.
As he sat at the kitchen table, Grandpa Jong looked at Ying’s new pet. The cricket took turns chewing on the red slice and then the green slice.
“I guess he likes both,” said Mrs. Liu.
“Me too,” said Grandpa Jong as he snuck apple slices from Ying’s plate.
“Hey!” said Ying.
“I just thought your cricket had good taste.”
“Of course he does,” answered Ying.
“What’s his name?” asked Lien-Hua.
“His name is Ge.”
“That’s a funny name,” answered Lien-Hua.
“I think it’s as good a name as any,” said Grandpa Jong.
“I still think it’s a funny name.”
“What would you have called him?” asked Ying.
“You should have called him ‘Lien-Hua.’”
“It’s a boy cricket,” said Ying.
“it’s still a better name than ‘Ge,’” she answered.
“Lien-Hua, when you get a cricket, you can name him whatever you want,” scolded Mrs. Liu.
Everyone continued to eat and talk about Ying’s cricket, a cricket named ‘Ge.’

Peking Opera House

Very early on a particular Saturday morning, Mrs. Liu disturbed Ying from a deep sleep. She leaned over and whispered into his ear, “My dearest Ying, will you please get up so we can go to the Opera House?”
Ying rubbed the sleep from his eyes and sat upright. His room was still dark, but he knew his mother wanted to leave soon. She was always one of the first to arrive at the Opera House on the day of a show. Ying stretched his body, then went to the bathroom and took a shower.
Meanwhile, Lien-Hua stayed in bed, snuggled safely beneath her blankets. As Ying came out of the bathroom, his mother called down the hall, “Ying, will you please wake your sister?”
Ying went into the kitchen and grabbed an ice cube from the freezer, He took it into his little sister’s bedroom and opened the door.
“Lien-Hua, mother wants you to get out of bed,” whispered Ying.
Lien-Hua laid in her bed, hoping Ying would let her sleep. Ying tiptoed through the room and stood beside his sister. He pressed his cold, wet hand against her face. Lien-Hua quickly pulled the blanket over her head, hiding from Ying.
“Quit it!” she shrieked.
“Mom wants you to get up. We have to be at the Opera House soon. Please don’t make her wait.”
“Just let me close my eyes for a few more minutes,” said Lien-Hua.
“If you close your eyes, you will fall asleep again.”
“No I won’t.”
“If you don’t get out of bed, I will put this ice cube under the blanket,” said Ying.
Lien-Hua threw back her blanket and scowled at her brother. Her usually beautiful long black hair looked like a tangle of black wires sticking out of her head.
“I’m up, now go away,” she said as she shooed Ying out of the room.
Lien-Hua got up and shuffled to the bathroom. Ying returned to the kitchen.
“Did she get up?” Ying’s mother asked.
“With a little help from this little ice cube,” said Ying as he popped the ice cube into his mouth and chewed on it.
“That was very clever of you. I always have such a hard time getting her out of bed.” Ying’s mother placed a bowl of cinnamon rice on the table and shared it with Ying. Mama’s cinnamon rice was Ying’s favorite.
After they finished, Ying took the bowl to the sink and rinsed it off. Mrs. Liu looked up at the clock. It was already 7:15, 15 minutes later than she planned on arriving at work. People would be waiting for her.
“Hurry up, Lien-Hua, we’re running late.”
Lien-Hua came into the kitchen and sat down at the table.
“We don’t have time for breakfast now. I packed yours with your lunch. You’ll have to eat it in the car.”
Mrs. Liu handed each of the children a brown paper bag. They grabbed their jackets and put them on as they hurried to the car. Ying and Lien-Hua rode in the back seat. Lien-Hua opened her lunch bag and looked inside. She pulled out a small rice ball and began eating it.
“Ma?” said Ying.
“Yes dear?”
“Do you think Mr. Wong will be there?”
“Of course he will. Today he will be working on choreography.”
“Choreography?” asked Ying.
“”You remember, don’t you?”
“Do you mean the dancing thing?”
“It’s more than just dancing. He works with all of the performers. He helps the sword fighters, too. He makes sure their footwork looks just right for the audience.”
“What will you be doing, mama?” asked Lien-Hua.
“I’ll be sewing costumes for the performers. We have to make sure everything is okay for tonight’s show,”
“Will I be able to help you?”
“I’m sure I’ll find something for you to do, Lien-Hua.”
While Lien-Hua and Mrs. Liu talked about plans for the remainder of the day, Ying thought about Mr. Wong. “How fantastic if I could watch Mr. Wong and the sword-fighters,” he said to himself. He rode quietly in the back of the car and wondered if he could hold a sword or be in a sword fight.
Mrs. Liu parked the car in a small alley and walked towards the Opera House. It was tucked in the middle of a Hutong which was lined with markets and shops. The shops were closed and the street was quiet.
A small brown pagoda stood at the entrance of the Opera House. Sign boards announced tonight’s show. Giant red lanterns swayed gently above the theatre entrance. Two golden Foo Lions stood guard on pedestals just outside the Opera House.
Ying reached out and grabbed the brass handles on one of the two large red doors. He held the door open for his mother and sister. The inside of the theatre was quiet, too. Wooden chairs were lined up for audience members. Mrs. Liu and the children walked down the aisle and through the orchestra pit. Mrs. Liu climbed the stairs at the front of the stage. Ying and Lien-Hua followed.
“Click-click-click.” Went their shoes as they walked across the wooden floor of the stage. Mrs. Liu opened a door at the back of the stage and inside they went. Several of the performers were in the backstage area, stretching and getting ready for their rehearsals.
“Good morning, Lien. I see you brought some guests.” It was Mr. Wong.
“I did. I hope they won’t get bored watching us get ready.”
“I think there will can find many things to do,” said Mr. Wong.
One of the dancers approached Mrs. Liu, holding a long shiny dress. “I need to fix a seam. It broke during last night’s rehearsal.”
“That’s awful. Let’s go to the fitting room and make sure it doesn’t happen again. Mr. Wong, could you watch Ying while we fix the dress?”
“It would be my pleasure. He could help us with choreography,” said Mr. Wong. Just as Ying hoped, he would get a chance to see sword fights.
Ying followed Mr. Wong and the actors through the winding hallways of the backstage. They climbed a set of stairs which ended next to a large control panel. It was covered in buttons, switches, and levers. Mr. Wong flipped several switches, which turned on the stage lights.
“There we go,” said Mr. Wong. He walked onto the stage, stopping halfway across.
“Ying, please come here.” Ying went towards Mr. Wong and stopped. Mr. Wong took him by the shoulders and moved him into position.
“Stand still.” Mr. Wong then positioned each of the actors onstage. He hopped off the stage and stood in the middle of the auditorium.
“Ying, move to your left,” he said. Ying shuffled his feet.
Mr. Wong held up a hand and waved it in the air. As he did, Ying moved left and right, positioning himself just right. Mr. Wong pointed to the actors and did the same. He worked the actors like a puppeteer, moving them on the stage with a wave of a hand or the motion of a finger.
“Stay right there!” said Mr. Wong.
He quickly climbed onto the stage and reached into his pocket. He pulled out a roll of glow-in-the-dark tape and broke off tiny pieces and placed them in front of everyone’s feet. Ying looked around at the stage. Tiny green marks were all over the stage.
“What are we doing?”
“These are called marks. We’re marking the stage so the actors will know where to stand.”
“But there are so many marks.”
“There are many actors doing many things. Each one has their own marks to hit during the Opera.”
“Now if you’ll do me a favor and stand offstage, I want to rehearse a scene with the actors.”
Ying waited next to the stairs. Mr. Wong talked with the actors, moving back and forth in a repetitive motion. After a few moments of waiting for Mr. Wong and the actors, Ying got up and wandered around the Opera House. As he walked around, he wished his sister was there so they could play hide-and-seek.
He walked down the steps and through a side door. The hallway was decorated in dark gold wallpaper and the floor was covered in red ornamental rugs. Ying thought this must be where the audience waited during intermission.
He walked along, looking at the pictures of dancers and swordsmen. A row of statues along an edge. Ying approached one of the statues and looked at it.
“That’s Mei Lan Fang,” said a voice. It was Mr. Wong.
“Who is he?”
“Mei Lan Fang was one of the greatest Dans of all time.”
“What is a Dan?” said Ying.
Mr. Wong walked along the hallway and stood in front of a picture of an actress in a silk robe. “Do you see that performer?” asked Mr. Wong.
“Yes.”
“That’s Mei Lan Fang.”
“Really?”
“A long time ago, all performers in the Beijing Opera were men – even the ones who played women. They were world famous for their roles.”
Ying looked at the picture of the woman in the silk robe then looked at Mei Lan Fang’s statue.
“He looks very different.”
“That was the magic of the Dan. They practiced their art form so nobody could tell they were men, even though everyone knew they were.”
“Are there Dans now?” asked Ying.
“Not anymore. Now women play women and men play men in almost every role.”
Ying and Mr. Wong walked along, looking at the displays in the lobby.
“I have some more rehearsals, would you like to come and watch?” said Mr. Wong.
“I don’t think so,” said Ying.
“I think you’ll like this part,” said Mr. Wong.
Ying followed Mr. Wong to the auditorium. A large group of actors were seated on the stage, waiting for Mr. Wong.
“Sit here,” said Mr. Wong. Ying sat with the actors he had met earlier in the morning.
“We were having problems with the fight scene last night,” Mr. Wong said to the actors. “We need to concentrate on hitting our marks for the scene. Everyone get up and go to your places.”
The actors got up and scattered across the stage. Ying stood up and remained there.
“Ying, come here for a second. I want to show one of the actors something. Take this sword and hold it just like so.” Mr. Wong positioned the sword in the air and stepped back for a moment.
“Ying, I just need you to hold the sword as I positioned it.”
Ying held it tightly in his fist. The sword was much heavier than he imagined. Mr. Wong took his own sword and stood in a ready position. Ying’s sword wavered slightly as Mr. Wong waved his sword back and forth.
Mr. Wong swash buckled with Ying and his steady sword for several moments, until Ying’s arm grew too tired to hold the sword any longer.
“That’ll be enough Ying. Thank you very much. You can sit in the audience with your fans,” said Mr. Wong. Ying turned around to see his father seated alone in the auditorium. As Ying hopped off the stage, the actors gave Ying a round of applause.
“Did you have fun?” Mr. Liu asked.
“Of course. I didn’t think I’d actually get to hold a sword.”
“I have to take you and your sister home now to get ready for the Opera.”
“Awww,” sighed Ying.
“We will come back after dinner to watch the Opera,” said Mr. Liu.
“But I would like to stay,” said Ying.
“The actors need some time to do some very important things. I’m sure you understand that, right?”
“Yes, papa.”
“Then let’s find your sister and go home.”
Ying and Lien-Hua went home with Mr. Liu. They ate dinner and got ready for the show. It was a magnificent Opera about an old Emperor with four daughters and no sons. Mr. Wong played the Emperor, dressed in a long golden robe and a fancy headdress.
After the show, Ying and his family were lucky enough to go backstage. Mr. Wong and Mrs. Liu were there, surrounded by many important people.
“Mr. Wong! Mr. Wong!” called out Ying.
“Hello Ying. Meet Mr. Tang. He owns the theatre.”
Ying shook Mr. Tang’s hand. Mr. Tang had a kind smile as he spoke directly to Ying.
“I heard you were practicing with Mr. Wong today. Will you be in my Opera some day?”
“Only if I get to act with Mr. Wong.”
“Then I guess I should make sure that happens,” said Mr. Tang.
“Yes Mr. Tang. I think you should.”
“The Liu Family went home and sat in the sewing room, sharing a pot of Jasmine Tea. The fragrant smell of the Jasmine Tea filled Ying’s nose as he took each sip.
“That was a very good Opera, Lien. I thought the costumes were especially beautiful tonight,” said Grandma Mei.
“I liked the oldest daughter’s gown the best,” said Lien-Hua.
“Thank you, everyone.”
“What did you think, Ying?” asked Grandma Mei.
“I was glad I got to go to the Opera House before the show. I got to see things many people will never have the joy of seeing.”
“And you got to do things many people will never have a chance of doing.”
“Yes, that too,” said Ying.
Ying smiled as he sat in the sewing room with his family. He thought about being a sword fighter for Mr. Tang’s Opera House. He imagined his statue in the lobby, next to Mei Lan Fang and Mr. Wong. Maybe one day, he too would be able to truly do something many people only dreamed of doing – being an famous actor for the Peking Opera.

Butterfly Among Flowers

Late autumn thunderstorms blew through Beijing, bringing cold rains and bitter winds. All of the beautiful red leaves fell from the Poplar trees and were washed down sewer drains.
At Ying Liu’s house, a steady trickle of raindrops ran down the windowpane as Ying practiced his Chinese writing. He got up from his desk and stood beside the window. He exhaled hot breath on the glass, fogging it over. He took a finger and traced his name on the windowpane.
“Ying, it’s time for lunch,” said Lien-Hua, who had been standing silently in the doorway.
“I’ll be there in a minute.” Ying used his shirt sleeve to clean the writing off the window.
“What were you doing?” asked Lien-Hua.
“Nothing,” he replied.
“You were drawing a picture,” said Lien-Hua.
“I was just thinking about something.”
“Thinking about what?”
“Nothing much,” replied Ying.
Ying and Lien-Hua washed their hands and went into the kitchen. Grandma Mei was already sitting at the table waiting for the children. Mrs. Liu pulled the frying pan off the stove and poured Garlic Chicken into a platter on the table. There was also a bowl filled with long noodles. Ying gabbed the serving fork and piled the long noodles onto his plate next to the chicken on his plate.
“What would you like to drink?” asked Mother.
“May I please have a glass of soy milk?” asked Ying.
“I’ll take a glass of soy milk, too,” said Lien-Hua.
Mrs. Liu served up two glasses of soy milk for her children and sat down with them to enjoy lunch.
Ying helped himself to the plate of Ginger Chicken. He took one bite and it melted in his mouth.
“This is really good, mama. It’s so tender,” said Ying.
“I fried it in ginger and soy sauce,” said Mrs. Liu.
As Ying ate his Ginger Chicken, he noticed something was missing. “Where are Grandpa Jong and papa?” asked Ying.
“They went to drink tea and talk to Mr. Li,” answered his mother.
“Will they be long?”
“It could be shortly, it could be a long time, I don’t know. They wouldn’t tell me or Grandma when they would be returning.”
“Your father said he wanted to play Weiqi.”
“Papa doesn’t like Weiqi,” replied Ying.
“That’s why I think they are up to some mischief,” said Grandma Mei.
After Ying ate several pieces of chicken, he sat at the table and stared outside, thinking about the window pane in his bedroom.
“Can I be excused?” he asked.
“As long as you take your dishes to the sink and rinse them,” said his mother.
Ying returned to his bedroom and went to the bookshelf. He grabbed a book and flipped through the pages. His name appeared inside many other words: Ying-!!!, !!!-ying, ying-!!!. He placed the book on the shelf and returned to the kitchen.
“You’re back already? That was quick.”
“Mama, I was just thinking about my name. Where did it come from?”
“Your father wanted your name to be Ying, just like his father.”
“No, I mean, where did the word ‘Ying’ come from originally?”
“That’s a very complicated thing,” said Mrs. Liu.
“Ying means ‘hero’,” answered Grandma Mei.
“Does it mean anything else?”
“What do you mean?”
“My name appears in many other words, like !!! and !!!”
“Two words form an idea, “Ying - !!!” means hero and !!! means !!!“
“I understand that part, but how did my name become hero?”
“When you write ‘Ying” you are drawing a man – a hero.”
“What do you mean?”
“Let’s go to the sewing room,” urged Grandma Mei. Everyone followed her to the sewing table. Grandma Mei pulled a piece of paper and ink pen from the desk and she began drawing symbols on the paper. “All words were once pictures. Grandma Mei traced an square on the paper. “This is the word for mouth. See how it looks like a mouth? And what are these three vertical lines?”
“Mountain,” Lien-Hua quickly answered.
“That’s right. See how it looks like a mountain? One line rising towards the sky, guarded by two supporting lines. All words were once pictures drawn on animal bones to share stories.”
“But what about ‘wind?’ It looks like a man in a building,” said Ying.
“You’re thinking correctly now.” Grandma Mei drew the symbol for ‘wind.’ Indeed, it looked like a man in the house, the house drawn as two walls and a ceiling, forming a shelter over the man.
“There was once a saying that went, ‘where the wind stirs, the bugs breed.’ Instead of a man, it’s a bug inside the house.”
“What does that mean?”
“I don’t know, but it sounds good, doesn’t it?”
Ying nodded.
“I take wind and put mouth next to it and it becomes a drafty place...
“But the name Mei means ‘beautiful.’ Do you think the symbol for Mei is beautiful?”
“Very,” said Grandma Mei. Her arm flowed freely over the paper, drawing the nine strokes that formed her complicated name.
“My hand moves freely over the paper, creating one of the most elegant words one could write.”
“What about my name?” asked Lien-Hua.
“Ah, Lien-Hua, that is a very interesting name indeed.” Grandma Mei grabbed Lien-Hua by the hand. She pulled Lien-Hua onto her lap and gave her the pen.
“Write your name for us.”
Lien-Hua drew two characters across the paper.
“You have to feel the writing, not just write it.”
“I am trying to feel it,” answered Lien-Hua.
“Let me show you.” Grandma Mei’s hand rested gently over Lien-Hua’s hand. Effortless, she drew Lien-Hua’s name, as if it were her own name.
“Lien-Hua. Lien means butterfly and Hua means flower. Your mom chased the butterflies through our flower garden when she was growing up.”
“Did you really?” asked Lien-Hua.
“Of course I did. I’ve always loved butterflies. You were a gift to your father and me. One warm spring day we were trying to decide on a name for you. I wanted to call you Lien and your father wanted to call you Hua, so we compromised. “Lien-Hua – butterfly among the flowers.”
Lien-Hua wrote her name again, attempting to draw as beautifully as her Grandmother.
“It’s very difficult,” sighed Lien-Hua.
“Not really, you just have to feel it,” insisted Grandma Mei.
Lien-Hua placed the ink pen on the paper again as Grandma Mei wrapped her fingers over Lien-Hua’s tiny hand.
“Relax your hand.”
Grandma Mei moved the brush effortlessly back and forth across the paper, drawing Lien-Hua’s name. Grandma Mei’s strokes and lines flowed from the ink pen as he hand moved over the paper.
“There you go,” said Grandma Mei.
The front door of the house creaked as it opened and banged as it shut. Grandpa Jong and Mr. Liu had returned with gifts. Grandpa Jong held several bright red sticks that Lien-Hua and Ying recognized immediately.
“Tanghulu!” exclaimed Lien-Hua. Grandpa Jong gave her one of the bright orange sticks and she stuck it into her mouth. The peppermint and sugar coating melted in her mouth. For Lien-Hua, nothing beat a crisp winter day with a stick of Tanghulu. Grandpa Jong held out a tiny wooden box for Ying.
“What is it?”
“Open it up and see,” said Grandpa Jong.
Ying carefully peeled the paper wrapping off the container. Inside, there was a small cricket cage made of bamboo.
“It’s beautiful. I think I’ll put it on my bookshelf,” said Ying.
“You cannot just leave it empty. Every cricket cage deserves a cricket,” said Grandpa Jong.
“Crickets bring luck,” said Grandma Mei.
“Crickets bring dirt and noise,” said Ying’s mother.
“You cannot leave a cricket cage empty,” insisted Grandma Mei.
“You have to keep it inside your room then.”
Ying nodded obediently and went to his bedroom, where he found an empty space on his bookshelf for the cricket cage. He returned to the sewing room where Mr. Liu still carried a large wooden box in his arms.
“What do you have in the box?” asked Mrs. Liu.
“You’ve been asking very many questions lately,” said Mr. Liu.
“You and my father have been keeping secrets lately,” replied Mrs. Liu.
“You’ll see,” said Grandpa Jong.
Mr. Liu went back to the master bedroom with the wooden box. When he returned, his hands were empty.
“Oh, Ya Liu, what am I going to do with you?” said Mrs. Liu as wrapped her arms around her husband’s neck and hugged him.
“Hugs and kisses won’t get the answer out of me,” said Mr. Liu.
“Alright then,” said Mrs. Liu. She let him loose and returned to the sewing table with her mother.
“What are we up to here?” asked Grandpa Jong.
“We were talking about how mom and dad gave me my name.”
“I kept telling them to call you ‘Nan,’” said Grandpa Jong.
“But ‘Nan’ means difficult,” whined Lien-Hua.
“See what I mean? I think it’s a very good name.”
“Lien-Hua, he is teasing you,” said Mrs. Liu.
“It’s not very funny,” pouted Lien-Hua.
“Okay, my little Nan,” said Grandpa Jong.
“Father! Leave her alone.”
“I’m sorry,” said Grandpa Jong. He leaned over and attempted to steal a kiss from Lien-Hua. She quickly stepped away.
“Now you’re being difficult,” said Grandpa Jong. He chased Lien-Hua around the sewing room as she ran and screamed joyfully. Grandpa Jong finally caught her and grabbed her in both hands. He planted tiny butterfly kisses across Lien-Hua’s face. She laughed and giggled at her Grandpa.
“There’s my butterfly,” exclaimed Grandpa Jong.
“Thank you, Grandpa,” said Lien-Hua.
“You’re not difficult at all. You’re my favorite grand daughter.”
“I’m your only grand daughter.”
“That doesn’t make it any less true,” said Grandpa Jong.
Grandpa Jong’s teasing was playful and fun, and he would never rest until his grandchildren knew how much he truly loved them. The dimples in Lien-Hua’s cheeks were all the symbols he needed to know everything was all right again....everything except the mystery of Ya Liu’s big wooden box.

Grandpa's Two-Seat Bicycle

Ying woke the next morning to the smell of long noodles with eggs. Ying’s mother had cooked them special for Grandpa Jong.
Grandpa Jong grabbed his chopsticks and grabbed a clump of long noodles. He slurped each bite into his mouth as he ate.
“Father, don’t play with your food.”
“My sweet daughter Tien, you know it is bad luck to cut long noodles, so I will not use my teeth to make them short until the whole noodle is on my tongue.”
“You know that’s just a silly superstition.”
“Maybe so. Maybe not.”
Grandpa Jong was still slurping his long noodles when Ying came into the kitchen for breakfast. His mother had fixed him scrambled eggs and tea. He quickly finished his breakfast and went to school. He was in such a hurry that he forgot to wish his Grandpa Jong a happy birthday.
“Oh well, I hope he is not mad at me,” sighed Ying as he walked to school.
As Ying studied at school, Grandpa Jong was enjoying his birthday with his daughter and his wife. They shared a kettle of chamomile tea with honey.
“Daddy, what are you going to do for your birthday?”
“I was planning on going to the tea house and play chess with Mr. Li.”
“Why not spend your birthday with mom?”
“Tien, I have to see him the rest of the year. If he wants to play chess with Pu Li, go ahead and let him be.”
“Mother.”
“It’s okay, dear.”
Grandpa Jong winked at Grandma Mei and kissed her gently on the cheek.
“That’s the secret of a good marriage, Tien.”
“What is? Spending holidays apart?”
“No, treating every day as a holiday together.” Grandpa Jong put on his sweater and hat and walked down to Yum Cha, where Mr. Li was waiting for him.
“Happy birthday old Jong. I got something special to show you.”
“What?”
Mr. Li stuck up his hand and motioned to Grandpa Jong to come along with a single finger. Mr. Li grinned slyly as Grandpa Jong followed him to the back of the store. Pu Li showed his old friend Jong the bicycle built for two.
“It’s a beauty,” said Jong.
“It’s yours.”
“Mine? What for?”
“I’m repaying my Guanxi,” said Mr. Li.
“What Guanxi is that?”
“You’ve been very helpful lately and I wanted to show you my appreciation, so I built this bicycle just for you. Do you remember when we used to ride our bicycles through Beijing?”
“How can I forget? Those were great times.”
“Do you want to take a ride?” asked Mr. Li.
“Yes.”
“Our friendship is stronger than a knot and you don’t have to give me a gift,” said Grandpa Jong.
“You say I don’t have to, but I say I must, because you are my best friend and I must continue to build our friendship for the rest of my life.”
“Okay then. Let’s go for a ride.”
Pu Li drove the bike as Grandpa Jong rode on the bike – the birthday passenger. They carved a path through the crowded city streets and towards the countryside. The bike moved effortlessly as the two men worked the pedals. They returned to Yum Cha and parked it where Ying and Mr. Li and parked it before.
“That is a wonderful bike. Where did you get it?” asked Grandpa Jong.
“I cut two bikes and welded them together, then I built the rest from scraps.”
“I’m always amazed at what you do with your hands, Pu.”
Grandpa Jong joined Mr. Li for a pot of green tea and a few games of Chess. Often, Mr. Li would get up from the table and serve customers. Sometimes, Grandpa Jong would help him, collecting dishes and wiping tables with a clean washcloth for new customers.
“I think I’m going to surprise my grandson at school,” said Grandpa Jong.
“I think that is a good idea,” said Mr. Li.
Grandpa Jong went out back and climbed on his new bicycle. He rode it to Ying’s school, arriving there just before school let out. He leaned the bicycle against the swing set and waited for Ying.
When the final school bell rang, children came outside and gathered around Grandpa Jong and his two-seat bicycle. Ying came outside and saw his grandfather.
“Is that your bicycle, Grandpa?” he asked.
“It sure is. Do you want to take a ride?”
Ying shook his head no. It was embarrassing to be the center of attention for Ying.
“If you don’t ride home with me, I’ll have to ride home alone. Do you know how silly I felt when I biked here to see you?”
Ying shook his head.
“I guess I could ask someone else,” said Grandpa Jong. Every one of the children reached a hand towards Grandpa, hoping to be picked for the ride home. Grandpa Jong only wanted one particular passenger.
“Are you sure?” said Grandpa. He got on the bicycle and began to ride it around the playground. He did look rather silly riding a bicycle built for two alone.
Finally, Ying secured his backpack and held out a hand towards Grandpa Jong. Grandpa Jong stopped the bike as Ying got on.and away they went. Grandpa Jong waved at the children on the playground as they rode away.
“Do you like to go fast?” asked Grandpa Jong.
“Not really.”
“That’s too bad, Ying. You’re taking one of the most fun parts out of riding a bicycle.”
“It’s scary sometimes,” said Ying.
“Then we will only go as fast as you like.”
They biked through the city streets and passed right by Ying Liu and Grandpa Jong’s house.
“Where are we going?” asked Ying.
“You’ll see,” said Grandpa Jong.
Grandpa Jong drove the bicycle through the old hutongs – narrow alleys lined with small houses and apartments. As they rode along, they wove through the traffic of walking people.
At the end of one hutong, a little grocery market sat. Grandpa Jong got off the bike and went inside, leaving Ying to keep watch. When he returned, he was carrying two cups of bubble tea and a loaf of bread.
“Which bubble tea do you want, honeydew or watermelon?”
“What is the loaf of bread for?” asked Ying.
“It’s for later. Which do you want?”
“Honeydew.”
They sat on the curb and drank their bubble tea. The gummy balls of tapioca traveled through the straw and into Ying’s mouth. He chewed them as he enjoyed the icy flavor of his frozen bubble tea.
“Let’s go up the hill,” said Grandpa Jong.
“Okay.”
As they biked uphill, they rose out of their seats to push the bicycle up the hill with pedal power. When they reached the top of the hill, Grandpa Jong pedaled a little more, then moved his legs outward, letting the bicycle coast down the hill.
“Whee-Whee-Whee!” he shouted as the bike sped downhill. Ying stood up on his pedals and peered over Grandpa Jong’s left shoulder. The Imperial Garden and Palace Museum were just ahead. It was one of Ying’s favorite places. Ying looked up at the bell wall and pagoda at the top of the wall as they rode past Palace Museum.
“Can we stop at the Palace Museum?”
“I have a surprise for you.”
Ying rode along, waiting patiently for his surprise. They turned onto Yiyang road, which wound gently through the hills. Poplars and Cypresses lined the country road they rode on. Some were colored in yellow-gold and others were burning-red. Grandpa Jong turned left as the road forked and climbed a hill. A sign standing at the side of the road said ‘Baiwangshan Station,’ which means Hundred Looks Hill.
At the end of the road stood a small pagoda. Grandpa Jong and Ying parked the two-seat bicycle at the bike rack and hiked up the trail to a clearing.
“This is your surprise.”
“A pond?”
“Not just any pond. This is where I used to fish when I was growing up,” said Grandpa Jong.
“How can we catch fish without fishing poles or bait?” asked Ying.
“We’re not going to catch fish – we’re going to feed them.”
“I see now. That’s what the loaf of bread is for?”
Grandpa Jong nodded. As they tossed pieces of bread into the water, large carp came to the surface and gobbled it up. The fish crowded along the shore, fighting for each piece. Ying aimed each toss, feeding the smaller fish. He smiled whenever the fish he aimed for got a chance to eat.
“That was a good surprise, Grandpa.”
“I have another surprise,” said Grandpa Jong. They went back to the pagoda and went inside. At the back of the pagoda sat a small observation deck.
“This is another good surprise,” said Ying.
Ying leaned against the rock wall at the edge of the observation deck. Autumn had just begun and the trees were changing colors. There were many Poplar trees scattered through the valley. Their large round leaves were crimson red. They stood out next to the dark green of the Pines and Cypress trees. Smoke shrubs encircled the deck, their light purple flowers showing up brightly against the dark red and green of the other trees.
“See that village down there? That’s where Mr. Li and I grew up.”
“Did you come to Baiwangshan a lot?”
“Almost every weekend. Back then, nobody knew about Baiwangshan. There were no paved trails or roads and no pagoda, either.”
“It would be a nice place to grow up.”
“It was certainly nothing like living in the city.”
“Why did you move to the city?”
“We didn’t have a choice. Your Grandma Mei was a dancer for the Ballet and I worked for the City Water Department. Your mother was born, so we decided to live in Beijing”
“You have a choice now, though.”
“Your Grandmother and I choose to be close to you and your sister.”
“I’m glad for that,” said Ying.
As they walked back to the bike, Ying did something he had not done in a long time. He reached his hand out and put it in his Grandfather’s hand. Grandpa Jong’s hand was cold and rough. Grandpa Jong smiled as he wrapped his hand around Ying’s hand and held it. The coldness of Grandpa’s hand reminded Ying that winter would be here soon.
“Can I go fishing with you sometime?” asked Ying.
“Any time you want,” answered Grandpa Jong.
They got on the Grandpa Jong’s two-seat bicycle and coasted down Yiyang road and into downtown Beijing. Grandpa Jong cleverly steered the bike through empty streets and stopped in front of the Liu house.
“Good evening everyone! We’re home!” Ying called through the front door. Lien-Hua was studying math with Father while Mother was frying bok choy and chicken in the wok. Grandpa Jong and Ying had arrived just in time for another birthday dinner for Grandpa.