Hong Kong Young Writers Anthologies Fiction 4 - 7 2018 | Page 52

“I doubt we will have much luck with that.” The abbess sighed. There was a piece of torn paper lying on
the wooden table that caught her attention.
Forgive me, it said, one day I will repay your kindness with everything I could.
.***
Seattle, 2018
11:30pm. Helen reluctantly put her book down as she realized how late it was.
She couldn’t remember how many times she had flipped through the pages of this book till late night and
still felt she hadn’t read enough of it. Great Tang Records on the Western Regions. She admired Xuanzang,
the monk who made a brave journey in pursuit of the essence of Buddhism and wrote this book.
As a professor of Asian studies the book provided a valuable insight into ancient China for her, but as a
child of two Chinese migrants, Xuanzang’s resilient spirit resonated with her parents. The hardship they had
experienced on this land that never welcomed them was difficult for Helen to put into words.
Helen kept the thought about her parents to herself, for she knows that neither her husband nor her
daughter Laurie would understand. As she held the book in her hands she thought about Laurie, whose
interest in connecting with the Chinese culture had diminished as she immersed herself in the world of the
Americans.
Deep down Helen had always feared that Laurie would eventually lose her Chinese identity, she knew she
would be helpless when that day comes.
***
Chang’an, 628
“Is it…really you?”
She asked in a fleeting whisper. Part of her was telling her to deny the appearance of this monk in front of
her, he seemed more like an apparition to her.
“Yes.” His voice was calm as usual, “It’s me.”
When she first left the nunnery she had no particular destinations in mind. At first she walked to wherever
her instincts took her; her mind still lingering on the abbess and the nuns. Guilt had gnawed a hole in her
stomach after she left them without a second thought.
She had thought about going back when she collapsed due to starvation on the side of a path, or lost her
directions in the darkness, but she would instantly change her mind every time she saw the pendant.
It was as if she was enthralled by the idea that it was the embodiment of her mysterious mother, now
calling for her in somewhere afar.
Then one night she remembered Chang’an, a place that people thought would be the new capital of the
dynasty that was to come. She had made Chang’an her destination, for it gave her a sense of purposefulness
if she had a place in mind.
On the way there she was appalled by the people’s condition during the years of warfare. She saw peasants
in a famine lying on the infertile soil, gasping in despair; she drifted forward among the people who had lost
everything, their vacant eyes still haunted her; even herself had narrowly escaped the soldiers’ spears. The
further she went, the more painful she felt.
It was a miracle that she made it into Chang’an. It had occurred to her that it was the time to end her
impulsive journey. She had become the apprentice of a tailor there, who had taken her in with sympathy.
During the years she spent here she had often laughed at herself. What made her think that she could find
someone whose whereabouts are unknown to her? Perhaps her aunt was not even telling the truth.
Tears welled up in her eyes every time the thought came to her.
“How did you make it this far?” He asked.
“I don’t know.” She stared blankly into the space in front of her, “I ate bark and grass roots; somehow I
survived and made it here.”
He paused, “Jing-Ci Shitai would cry her heart out if she had known.”