Hong Kong Young Writers Anthologies Fiction 12 | Page 185

The Virtuous Phoenix Gate
Good Hope Primary School cum Kindergarten, Chan, Hoi Tung Daphne – 11
T
he foreigners came from faraway, a place called Fa Guo, or France, as the teachers told us. They marched
right into the core of our defenceless Shanghai while all our forces slacked, their navy velvet hats taller than
the sky. People whispered that they came from a concession not far away from Shanghai, and that they'd come to
get our homeland. Girls my age drooled over their golden breeches and fine blue eyes, but only I knew that they
were poising a threat to us. One day, after having finished my chores, I ran to Father and Mother.
"Dad, Mum, the Frenchmen are going to be a threat. We have to keep them out." I told my parents
sincerely. Mother laughed.
"Mei, you're thinking out of the barrel again. They're just here to make peace." Her sweet smile didn't sway
me, and I kept this suspicion deep inside my heart.
Months passed and the Frenchmen aimed their long-barrelled rifles at us normal citizens. Red painted the
wall of buildings and my family complained about the violence.
When a bullet killed my aunt Yu, we were outraged.
"We have to do something." I said, looking out a bullet puncture in the wall. People were running for their
lives. Gunshots echoed through the city and I felt the air dampen with blood. I repeated my words. "We need to
protect our city from the Frenchmen."
My parents shook my idea off like falling leaves. "Mei, we can't help the city. We don't have the strength
and resources." My father said, gesturing at the wreckage and the ruins of our house. "What are we going to do?
Build a wall?"
“Build a wall.”
The words resounded in my mind, and I set off to work secretly. The last night of a dark December on, I
shuffled my feet in Father's odorous leather boots off to meet with my band of friends. They shared the same
opinion with me: we should build a wall and protect ourselves from the incoming soldiers. The wall would, if
successful, scare away the remaining Frenchmen back to France.
Night by night, we set off to work, our hands growing callouses. Once Mother questioned me accusingly
over why my hands were rougher as time passed, and why Father's boots were muddy every morning. I never
could answer her. Soldiers came to demolish our wall, their shiny metal-tipped boots aiming sharp blows at our
rubble shield, and I bawled my eyes out while watching the force destroy the thing. Father and Mother patted my
shoulders with confusion but that didn't stop my tears.
Our gang rebuilt the wall quickly, but there was one corner left that had to be fixed. None of my team were
available that night so I set off alone. My parents and brother were tucked into their broken beds, and I slipped out
into the darkness in my brother's work clothes. The rough homespun robe felt bulky on me, and I felt glass shards
in his shoes, but I couldn't stop. Blood stained the earth under me and it yielded a spring of flowers. I called my
partner-in-crime's name. "Feng! Feng!" Soon Feng appeared from behind the trunk of a tree, his face grubby and
pale under the faint moonlight.
"Mei, stay away from the wall. The commanders are coming."
Oh, of course, the Frenchmen. The foreigner ghettos in the other part of town wasn't far away from where
we decided to start our construction.
"I don't care," I retorted intensely. "As long as Shanghai can thrive." Feng gave me a sad look and slipped
away. I continued beating the rubble so that they'd stay in place, and when the sun rose, I was finished. "The wall
is done." I said,