Lover from the Tang Dynasty

Author: Xi Lingxue
Publisher:
Publish Date: 2006-09-01
Features: I am an abandoned child. I don’t know who my parents are, why they abandoned me, or my exact date of birth. I know nothing about these things. Only recorded history counts as history. So, Chinese history begins with the Yin Ruins, while my history begins at the southern wall roots of the Daming Palace Ruins in the northern suburbs of Xi’an. The Yin Ruins were the abandoned capital of the Shang Dynasty, Xi’an was the abandoned capital of the Tang Dynasty, and I, perhaps, was also an abandoned city in my mother’s memory? A woman who loves a man enough to bear his child must love him deeply. Yet she still left me, a discarded waste, for some unavoidable reason. It must be a poignant story. My adoptive parents said it was a winter day, with breath turning into frost. I was wrapped warmly and didn’t cry, lying in my cradle rolling my eyes, completely unaware that my fate had already been handed over. My adoptive mother, Zhou Qinglian, often went to the base of the Daming Palace walls early in the morning to warm up her voice. There was fog, the air was damp and cold, and I couldn’t see more than a few steps ahead. She cleared her throat and began to sing: “Ah—Oh—How can such fine weather be wasted? Who enjoys such pleasures?” Suddenly, a laugh came out, innocent and childlike, making her jump. She swallowed the word “yuan” (garden). Looking down, she noticed a faint red in the distance after a dozen steps. Walking over, she found me, a tiny child, smiling. This must be fate, then? From that moment on, my recorded history began. To this day, Ms. Zhou still keeps my belongings from that time: a pair of cotton padded pants with a red silk exterior and snow-white spun silk lining, embroidered with a hundred butterflies weaving flowers, a large red satin overcoat with gold-threaded borders, and two (strings) of newly forged golden bracelets from my wrists to my elbows. The craftsmanship was exquisite, with uniform thickness and weight, and each bracelet had a unique design—some twisted wire, some entwined branches, some with dragons playing with pearls, some with clouds breaking through the moon, and some with joy on plum branches. There were a total of eighteen, extraordinary. This only adds to the mystery of my origins. If my mother had such eighteen golden bracelets, she must have been well-off. Then why did she still abandon me? Moreover, she was so generous to leave even living expenses behind, yet she refused to leave a single word—why not at least a note stating my birth date, as is customary for abandoned infants? To this day, when people ask my age, I still answer loudly, “23,” while secretly wondering if it might be 24. Oh, almost forgot—I was wearing shoes at the time, also red silk embroidered, with unmatched quality and craftsmanship, definitely not something an ordinary family could afford. The pattern wasn’t a common “Five Poisons” or “Fortune, Longevity, and Happiness,” but rather five-colored auspicious clouds supporting a pair of swallows in flight—the swallows were purple, with wings like scissors, vividly lifelike. My adoptive father nodded and sighed, “This girl comes from a noble family, either wealthy or noble. Could it be that ‘The swallows that once flew before the halls of the Wang and Xie families have now flown into the ordinary homes of the people’?” My adoptive father, Tang Zhonghua, was a lecturer in ancient literature at Northwest University, and his greatest passion was antique appreciation. However, my string of golden bracelets had been newly forged, making it impossible to determine their age.