Hong Kong Young Writers Anthologies Fiction Group 3 - 2017 | Page 364

rhythmic pattering of the raindrops. Yulan realized her crime now—the crime of not leaving Shanghai while she had a chance.
A chance she had missed 17 years ago…
***
Father’s gloved hand gripped Yulan’s own as they sped through the factory. Yulan watched as her father bit his lip, steeled his
composure and tidied his suit as he headed towards the thumping noise from the door that only grew in strength and intensity as
a seconds ticked by.
Yulan took the chance to scan the factory. Father never liked her walking around this area, it was filthy of grease and wax,
inhabited by the scum of the earth. But Yulan didn’t care much for her father’s words. Yes, she knew being a worker was
tough, but she was fascinated by the steaming pots of wax, pigment and perfume being mixed for the thousands of lipsticks that
were to adorn the lips of ladies across the breadth of the nation. Yulan adored the red gleam of these seemingly divine sticks
that made even the most down woman’s face glow in ethereal tones in a matter of seconds.
The thumping on the door grew louder and quicker—the patience of whoever was outside was quite obviously wearing thin.
Father swung open the door as a stern officer barged in, complete with the blue sky and the white sun on his cap.
“Oh…Commissar Chiu!
How nice to meet you again!”
The commissar, not flattered looked at Yulan and nodded as he spoke, “Mr. Jiang, would you mind talking in a more…secluded
place?”
Yulan watched them talk by the rumbling machinery. Father started seemingly steady and confident at first, yet he returned
visibly sweating and pale.
“Thank you Mr. Jiang. I hope you understand.”
“Yes...yes. Of course. For party and state!”
Father turned towards Yulan. Yulan knew from the swelling drops of sweat on father’s forehead that something was terribly
wrong. Father took out a handkerchief to wipe away his sweat, “Yulan, the Reds. They’re coming. We’ll have to leave for
Hong Kong tonight.”
“Tonight?
Why?”
Nervous yet adamant, father continued, “Yulan, you’re young and won’t be able to see the big picture, but father can. And the
big picture tells us that we cannot stay. Those landlords and entrepreneurs the Reds are always rambling about? That’s us,
Yulan.”
But father, don’t you see those revolutionaries?
They’re saving us from ourselves!”
They’re not here to destroy—they’re here to save us and save this country!
“Sweetie, don’t be mistaken, when the reds—or “revolutionaries”—as you’d say scream for equality, it means taking from us…”
Yulan realized the futility of continuing the argument, as she threw the very lipsticks that she used to treasure on the floor. It
was the product of vile capitalism—the very same feudalistic capitalism that had been plaguing China for centuries.
“Yulan!
I know you don’t want to leave. But listen to me, take this.”
Father placed a ticket for a ship to Hong Kong in her palm, as he continued, “The ship leaves at midnight. Think carefully
about the choices you make.”