Yuanfeng eighth year, late November. I can no longer calculate the conversion between lunar and Gregorian calendars. But I know it's around this time—New York streets should already be hung with Christmas lights. The Christmas tree at Rockefeller Center, the window lights on Fifth Avenue, that string of fake mistletoe hanging at the coffee shop entrance—supposedly you must kiss if standing beneath it, but Emily and I always walked around it. Let's call it Christmas Eve.
Snow had stopped for three days, but snow on the ground hadn't melted clean, crunching beneath each step. I crouched before the Inner Kitchen stove, staring at the flames in a daze. In New York, Emily should already be digging out that mini Christmas tree from the dormitory—thirty centimeters tall, plastic, base cracked and wrapped with tape. Every year she said she'd buy a new one, every year she forgot.
I smiled at the stove fire. Then lowered my head, writing on a note:
"Tonight, can you come to the Imperial Garden? Want to show you something."
When the food box returned that afternoon, the back of the note read:
"Good. Will come after finishing lessons. What is it?"
I replied: "Secret."
He replied: "Hmph."
That afternoon I went early to the Imperial Garden. Not empty-handed. In my sleeve was a package—dried osmanthus, glutinous rice flour, brown sugar, a small piece of malt sugar, and several thin bamboo skewers. Secretly gathered these past two days. Eunuch Li saw, didn't ask.
I spread cloth on the stone bench, arranged the items one by one. Dried osmanthus was stored from autumn, the last bit. Glutinous rice flour was borrowed from the Inner Kitchen, saying I wanted to make pastries. Brown sugar was leftover from last month, malt sugar was slipped out by the young eunuch from the Imperial Kitchen. No oven, no molds, no Emily beside me saying "Ivy, are you trying to blow up the kitchen."
But I still wanted to make.
Gingerbread men wouldn't work. No ginger, no flour, no molds. But I had glutinous rice flour and osmanthus. I crouched on the ground, poured rice flour into a bowl, added water, kneaded into dough. Kneaded for a long time, until the dough was smooth and soft. Then pinched off small pieces, shaping them one by one into small human forms. No molds, entirely by hand feel. Some fat, some thin, some crooked and unable to stand. By the fifth one, finally somewhat presentable—round head, small body, two hands spread open, as if waiting for someone to hold.
Eunuch Li passed by, poked his head in for a look: "What is this thing?"
"Small people. Made with glutinous rice flour."
"What for?"
"To give someone."
He shook his head and left. I placed the small dough pieces into the steamer, crouched beside waiting. Flames jumped one by one, my shadow swaying on the wall. After steaming, the glutinous rice people became white and plump, round and chubby one by one. I used bamboo skewers dipped in brown sugar water to paint eyes and mouths for them. Some smiling, some dazed, one with mouth painted crooked, looking like it was angry.
Finally sprinkled dried osmanthus. Golden petals falling on the white small people, like draped with a thin layer of gauze.
I also boiled a little syrup with malt sugar, drizzled on top. No icing sugar, could only do this much.
Darkness fell. The moon hadn't come out yet, clouds thick, covering most of the sky. Palace lanterns in the Imperial Garden were lit, orange light falling on the snow, dyeing the entire snow warm.
Waited about a quarter-hour before Zhao Xu arrived. He wore that thick fur coat, white collar framing half his face. Running over, boots crunching through snow.
"I finished my lessons!" he said, panting.
"So fast today?"
"Because you said there was a secret."
He pulled the fur collar down, revealing his full face. Moonlight leaked through the clouds, falling on his eyes, bright.
"Look." I opened the cloth package, revealing those white plump glutinous rice people inside.
He paused, crouched down, leaning close to look. "What are these?"
"Small people. Made with glutinous rice flour."
"Why make small people?"
"Where I'm from, every year at this time, we make a kind of cookie shaped like small people. Called gingerbread men. Give to friends, to show—you are important to me."
He said nothing. Looked at those glutinous rice people, one by one. Looked at the smiling one, the dazed one, the one with crooked mouth looking angry.
"This one looks like me." He pointed at the crooked-mouthed one.
"How so?"
"When angry, my mouth crooks like this."
I looked at the glutinous rice person, then at him. His mouth wasn't crooked now. He was smiling. Mouth corners raised, eyes curved, moonlight on his lashes, sparkling.
"Then this one is for you." I handed him that crooked-mouthed person.
He took it, placed it in his palm. Very small, just fitting in his palm. He lowered his head looking at it, looked for a long time.
"A Heng."
"Mm?"
"Here, we also have customs of giving things. But not at this time. It's the first day of the first month. Elders give juniors New Year's money, friends exchange New Year's gifts."
"I know. But that's different."
"How different?"
I thought. "Where I'm from, this holiday is called Christmas Eve. Peace, means peace and safety. On this day, everyone gathers together, eats good food, exchanges gifts. Not necessarily expensive, but must be prepared with heart. Then sit together, waiting for dawn."
"What do you wait for dawn for?"
"For good news."
He tilted his head looking at me. "What good news?"
"It's from a very old story—this night has good news. Specifically what, I can't say clearly, and no one really waits for that news. What everyone waits for, is the gathering itself."
He thought. "Then did you wait for it?"
I looked at him. He crouched before me, that crooked-mouthed glutinous rice person lying in his palm. Fur coat collar loosened by him, revealing thin neck. Nose tip still red, but eyes bright. Before him were several crooked glutinous rice people I made with rice flour, brown sugar, dried osmanthus, surrounded by snow, palace walls, Song Dynasty moon.
"Waited for it," I said.
He smiled. Then carefully tucked that glutinous rice person into his sleeve, with those notes.
"More? I want a few more."
"What do you want so many for?"
"To give people."
"Give who?"
"Give Eunuch Li. Give the young eunuch. Give..." he thought, "give the Empress Dowager."
I paused. "The Empress Dowager?"
"Mm. She hasn't scolded anyone recently. Probably because I recovered from illness."
I suppressed a smile. "Then which one will you give her?"
He looked at the remaining glutinous rice people, picked the one with the happiest smile. "This one. She should also look good when smiling."
I watched him tuck that smiling person into his sleeve, then picked another. "This one for Eunuch Li."
"Why give him?"
"Because he helps you hide things. I know."
I froze. "How do you know?"
"I know everything." He said this, then lowered his head looking at those glutinous rice people, as if this sentence was casually spoken. But I knew it wasn't. He knew everything. He just chose not to speak.
I picked another small person from the cloth package, this one without a mouth painted.
"This one for you."
"Why give me?"
"Because you haven't smiled today."
I crouched on the ground, looking at him. He looked at me, very serious. Moonlight leaked through the clouds, falling on his face, falling on the glutinous rice person in his hand.
I smiled. "Now smiling."
He handed me that mouthless person. "Then you paint it yourself when you return. Paint whatever expression you want."
I took it, placed it in my palm. Very small, white, soft, sprinkled with golden osmanthus fragments.
"Good."
When we left the Imperial Garden, the moon had fully come out. Large and round, illuminating the snow bright and sparkling. He walked ahead, I walked behind. He walked a few steps then turned to look at me, as if confirming I was still there.
"A Heng."
"Mm?"
"That holiday, Christmas Eve. How do people where you're from celebrate it?"
"Just gather together, eat good food, give gifts, wait for dawn."
"Just these?"
"Mm. Just these."
"Then we celebrated it too."
"What?"
"Christmas Eve. We gathered together. You also gave me a gift. I also gave you gifts. Now waiting for dawn." He looked up at the moon, "Though dawn hasn't come, but soon."
I paused. Then smiled. "Right. We celebrated."
He nodded satisfied, continued walking. Took a few steps, turned back.
"Celebrate again next year?"
"Celebrate."
"The year after?"
I didn't answer immediately. He looked up at me. Moonlight illuminated half his face, the other half hidden in shadow.
"The year after too," I said. "Always celebrate."
He nodded, very satisfied, continued walking.
When I returned to the Inner Kitchen, Eunuch Li was still there. He sat on the threshold, holding a cup of hot tea, saw me enter, said nothing.
I pulled that smiling glutinous rice person from my sleeve, placed it in his palm.
"His Majesty sends you this."
He lowered his head to look, paused. "His Majesty?"
"Mm. He said you should also look good when smiling."
Eunuch Li looked at that crooked glutinous rice person, looked for a long time. I wanted to say glutinous rice hardens when left too long, then thought he as chief of the Inner Kitchen would know this, didn't speak. Then he carefully placed the person beside his teacup, raised the tea for a drink.
"What do you want to eat tomorrow? I'll prepare ingredients."
"Fengzhen pork noodles."
"Noodles again?"
"Mm. His Majesty wants to eat."
He shook his head, stood up, left with his teacup. Took a few steps, turned back.
"That small person, thank His Majesty for me."
"Good."
That night, I wrote on a note:
"Today celebrated a Christmas Eve. In Song Dynasty."
After writing looked at it, felt wrong. Added another line:
"With people I know. One person, mouth painted crooked, very much like you."
After finishing, I tucked the note beneath my pillow. With those notes. With that jade. With Grandfather's paper. And that mouthless glutinous rice person, wrapped in cloth, also placed beneath the pillow. Tomorrow I'll paint an expression for it. Paint what? Thought about it, paint a smile. Not because of anything else—because today was indeed worth smiling about.
Moon outside the window was round, snow bright. I closed my eyes, remembering what he said—"We celebrated Christmas Eve. Now waiting for dawn."
Dawn will always come. That good news, will always come.
[End of Chapter 11]