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  The kits stopped, their noses twitching. They'd caught her scent. Now they ran in panic in three directions, falling and slamming into things as they went. Why, they were blind!

  The poor things. They'd never survive on their own. And that's why the mother was nowhere around, of course. She must have realized something was wrong and simply left them to their fate.

  Xing Xing stopped moving.

  Within minutes, the kits squealed again. After all, if the strange scent had been a mortal threat, it t would have attacked by now. They grouped together, linked by sound and scent.

  If she abandoned them, as the mother had done, they'd be dead by evening. Sooner, probably. They were meat to any passing carnivore no matter what Xing Xing did.

  Wei Ping needed meat.

  Xing Xing untied the hunting cloth from around her waist. She put the rock in it and slung it hard at a kit. The little thing didn't even let out a cry. But the thump of the rock scared the other two. They screamed and ran in circles.

  Xing Xing wiped at her nose, which always ran when she was sad. It was unnatural to kill babies, but it made no sense not to kill these. In fact, a swift death with a stone was more humane then letting them be ripped limb from limb by a wolf. She took the rock and slung it hard at another kit. It missed the mark. She fetched it before she lost her resolve and slung it again. The kit fell dead.

  Xing Xing picked up a dead kit in each hand. Then she sank to her knees, her arms as limp by her sides as the small bodies in her hands. "Mother," she called out. "Stay with me, Mother."

  The spirit of her mother brushed her cheeks. The girl closed her eyes and let the spirit brush her eyelids, her ears, her temples, her lips.

  Now the spirit brushed the back of her right hand. It took a nip. Ouch.

  Xing Xing opened her eyes. The third kit had gone from testing her hand to nosing his dead brother. If she didn't stop him fast, he'd turn cannibal.

  Xing Xing let herself fall onto the live kit, so that he was caught under her pelvis. She quickly closed her skirts around him, trapping him there with one hand, while she gathered up the hunting cloth and the two dead kits with the other.

  Chapter 5

  Stepmother's eyebrows, which always arched high in the thinnest of pencil lines, arched

  even higher at the sight of the dead kits. But when she realized the live kit was blind, she nodded in silent accord. She opened an old birdcage on the floor, and Xing Xing guided the kit into it.

  "We'll feed him, and when he's big and plump, we'll eat hearty," said Stepmother.

  "No, no. It's better that he should be a pet," said Wei Ping. "I can play with him."

  "Wild creatures make poor pets," said Stepmother, but she spoke hesitantly. Xing Xing watched the conflict in her face. Pain rendered her daughter practically a prisoner these days; indeed, the girl was still sitting on the kang, where she'd been since she woke. She needed amusement—anyone could hear that in the strain of her voice. Stepmother got the knife and set to cleaning the two dead raccoon kits.

  Without being told, Xing Xing went outside for fresh water, this time taking only the medium-size pail. She made a quick diversion to Father's grave first, so that she could tell his spirit about the raccoon kits—about how hard it was to kill them and how small the remaining one was, how very dear. As she talked, she tenderly brushed away leaves that had fallen on the grave and creepers that were starting to grow across it. Sparrows twittered, magpies raucously clamored, thrushes warbled. The birds let her know that Father understood.

  She scooted back to the path and hurried down to the pool. She dipped the pail in the water and, oh, what on earth had happened? She stared. The beautiful fish swam in the pail. Xing Xing laughed. "You're so lovely," she said. "White as a peony." The peony was Xing Xing's favorite flower, because it had been Mother's favorite flower.

  She splashed a little water on the dirt at her feet and picked up a stick to draw with. She wrote her own poem:

  Fins like red clouds at sunset

  Eyes like gold tears of joy, sparkling wet

  White fish in cold water, happily met

  Then she tipped the pail till it emptied, for who could catch such loveliness? But when she refilled the pail, the fish swam into it again. She emptied it and refilled. Once more the fish swam into the pail.

  It would be unwise to ignore such insistence. So Xing Xing carried home the pail. But before she entered the cave, she hid the pail behind a boulder and went straight into the back of the cave to the small room with a ceiling so low that you had to crawl within it. That's where Stepmother stored the few bowls and pots remaining from Father's working days. Every now and then she sold one. That was their sole source of income. Stepmother said that Wei Ping would be married before the storeroom was empty, though, so they had no cause for fear. Wei Ping's husband would take care of all of them. And if by some mistake of chance the storeroom emptied prematurely, there were other solutions.

  Xing Xing fervently hoped a husband would come for her half sister soon, for she knew of the most likely other solution: Stepmother would sell her, and with the money, she could buy a younger girl to help around the cave and still have enough left over to wait for a husband for Wei Ping. Though Xing Xing's life had been reduced to hardly more than that of a slave girl since Father's death, she feared being sold. She was clearly a young woman, and at her age slavery could mean the very worst fate for a female.

  So Xing Xing moved within the black air of the storeroom with the utmost care. It would never do to break a bowl. Her blood banged in her temples. She shouldn't be taking such a risk for a fish. Yet memory urged her on. Her fingers played on every object till she found exactly the bowl she sought, the one with the scalloped edges.

  She backed out of the storeroom, clutching the bowl to her chest. When she emerged, Stepmother was there, waiting.

  "What could this mean?" she asked in anger. "Am I to change your name from 'Lazy One' to 'Wicked One'?"

  Xing Xing bowed. "Amusement for my sister," she said. She ran past Stepmother and brought back the pail. Then she filled the bowl with water and scooped the fish from the pail into the bowl.

  "What nonsense is this?" asked Stepmother.

  "Let me see," called Wei Ping.

  Xing Xing carried over the bowl and set it on the kang beside her half sister.

  Sunlight danced on the bowl's enamel, where brilliant yellows and greens and reds played out the legendary story of the carp at Dragon Gate. The yellow carp fight their way upstream in spring. Some of them try to leap Dragon Gate. According to common belief, a tremendous storm follows this fight and sets afire the tails of those bravest fish that succeed, turning them into dragons. The outside of the bowl pictured a frenzy of jumping fish; the inside, the blaze of a single dragon. And in the very center of the inside was one word, which Xing Xing herself had written: li. Saying that syllable with the tone of the voice dipping and then rising in pitch, it meant "carp"; saying that same syllable with the tone of the voice falling from a high to a low pitch, it meant "advantage." The spoken word was a pun about the story illustrated on the bowl, and Xing Xing had thought of it herself, much to the delight of Father, who was a master of puns.

  "Look at the fins on this fish," said Wei Ping. "They're red already. This fish wants to become a dragon." She smiled.

  Xing Xing could hardly remember the last time Wei Ping had smiled.

  "Struggle has its rewards," said Stepmother. And she looked at Xing Xing with approval.

  Xing Xing could not remember Stepmother ever having looked at her with approval. Inside her head she thanked the lovely fish.

  Chapter 6

  Xing Xing sat in the dark under the stars. Father used to say this habit cleansed the mind and formed a base for the understanding of things. She was in need of understanding.

  Stepmother's look this afternoon had unnerved her. She wanted to see that look again. It had been a long time since Xing Xing had felt anyone cared for her.

  S
he missed that terribly, for her parents had been devoted to her, despite the fact that she was born a girl. Her mother used to say that Xing Xing was precious and dazzling, her "Sparkling One." That's why she had named her Xing Xing, meaning "stars." And her father had taken great pride in her cleverness.

  When Xing Xing's mother lay dying of the illness that twisted her insides and made her cough blood, she said that her hun, her spirit, would always protect Xing Xing. And she had asked her daughter for one promise, one promise only: that Xing Xing would take care of her father's needs better than anyone else for the rest of his life and that she would be the one to eventually listen to her father's final words.

  Stepmother heard the request and sucked in her breath loudly in disapproval. Such bald talk of feelings between parent and child was not traditional. The whole thing was shameful, scandalous.

  Father heard as well, but he didn't care one bit about scandal. He insisted that the deathbed wish be respected. From that point on, Xing Xing alone served Father his meals and washed his hair and feet and sang to him in moments of sadness.

  This was the start of Stepmother's distaste for Xing Xing—at least, so far as the girl could tell. With each passing year, Stepmother's jealousy of her grew until, in the end, the woman hardly looked at her without curling her lip. Xing Xing was never certain why Mother had made her deathbed wish. Surely she had to know that it would gall Stepmother to see Xing Xing taking on these wifely duties. Maybe Mother had feared that after she was no longer around to protect her daughter, Xing Xing would become as unimportant as she actually did become after Father died—especially if Stepmother had gone on to have a son. Xing Xing could never know.

  But at least one very good thing for Stepmother came out of the strengthened bond between Father and Xing Xing: She grew closer to her own daughter. She had not treasured Wei Ping before. Indeed, the girl used to be called "First Child," nothing more. Stepmother was fond of repeating the popular saving "Better one deformed son than many daughters wise as Buddha." In both cities and villages, newborn girls were often thrown away, their bodies eaten by dogs and rats. Xing Xing's mother had been fragile and vulnerable, whereas Stepmother was always strong and large. So no one had expected Xing Xing's mother to be a good breeder—no one was surprised or disappointed that she had only one child, and a girl, at that—but everyone had expected Stepmother to be an exceptional breeder. The woman simply assumed she'd have son after son. It was fortunate that Stepmother had not thrown away her daughter like others had done, for though she worshipped the White-Robed Guan Yin all her married life, the goddess brought her no son. In fact, no other children at all. When Xing Xing's mother died and left her in charge of Father, Stepmother turned to her daughter for comfort and finally gave her a real name.

  Xing Xing understood all of that. And she was sincerely happy to see Wei Ping cherished at last.

  But, oh, how she wanted to be cherished too, cherished like she used to be.

  And how she wanted to laugh with someone. Father used to tell jokes. She laughed with him all the time. But Stepmother had no sense of humor, nor did Wei Ping.

  Still, she should be grateful. After all, Father was unfortunate enough to be the last of his family, and Mother's family would never take in a girl relative. Xing Xing was lucky Stepmother had not turned her out. Maybe with time, Xing Xing's obedience would impress her and the woman would come to care a little for her stepdaughter.

  From a jujube tree nearby came the sound of scratching. The kit was clawing noisily at the spokes of the birdcage that kept it both safe and imprisoned. When Wei Ping had gone to bed, Xing Xing had hung the cage there on the chance that the raccoon, a naturally nocturnal animal, would recognize night even in his blindness and make so much noise inside that he'd wake everyone up. Her mouth opened softly in interest at his activity now. The kit couldn't be hungry, for Wei Ping had fed him continually whenever he woke all afternoon. The little creature turned out to be a glutton for boiled soybeans.

  Xing Xing fingered the hole that the kit had made in her skirt as she'd carried it home today. What terrible thing could a person do in one life to make it come back in the next as a blind raccoon kit?

  She shivered, alone on the rock ledge, in the black.

  But then she dipped a hand in the bowl of cool water beside her. The beautiful fish sucked at her fingertips. She knew it would. Carp are funny like that. And it wasn't hunger that made the carp do that either, for Wei Ping had also fed the fish all afternoon—bits of dried apple and wine-saturated dates. What wonderful thing could a person do in one life to make it come back in the next as a marvelous white fish with red fins destined to become a dragon?

  She waved her wet fingers in the air, painting on the night. Master Tang always said painting that didn't ask for calligraphy was silent poetry, expressing feelings that couldn't be put into words. Xing Xing filled the sky with her fluttering fingers.

  Chapter 7

  The next month in the cave passed in a new balance, almost a harmony. Both the raccoon and the fish grew so steadily that Stepmother named the first Zhang Yi—Growth One—and the second Zhang Er. She threatened continually to kill them for a feast, but it was said in teasing, for heij eyes betrayed her satisfaction at Wei Ping's vigorous objections—finally the girl was taking an interest in something again. Xing Xing never entered the fray, but stood behind her half sister in silent support. Both girls had grown terribly fond of the kit and the fish.

  In their union against Stepmother's threats the girls found a comradeship they'd never known before. Wei Ping was no longer jealous of Xing Xing for being loved by Father, given that now she was the only loved one in the cave. And Xing Xing couldn't harbor jealousy toward Wei Ping because her foot pain was so pitiable, though Stepmother still allowed no one to talk about that.

  Stepmother spent a lot of time away from home these days, renewing friendships with women she hadn't visited for years. During Father's lifetime her friends had shunned her: They accused her of aspiring to a higher social class. Now she made every effort to show them that she was still the same woman she used to be and that her daughter, Wei Ping, would make a suitable wife for a man of the social class a potter's daughter belonged to rightfully. She painted her face red and white, penciled in her eyebrows, anointed her hair with pork fat to make it stand in peaks on the back of her neck, shook bells out the window to scare demons away from the home in her absence, and headed to the village. Xing Xing watched her slow progress, her round body formless within the loose pants and long sackcloth of mourning that came well below her knees. Her gait was unsteady as she hobbled on the heels of those small feet.

  Once as the girls watched Stepmother leave, Wei Ping said, "See the swing of her hips, see how sexy it is. I'll walk like that soon."

  But that gait tired Stepmother out, and sometimes she came home carried on the back of a peasant man whom she'd reward with a slip of paper money.

  Twice she had brought home old women who made a profession of being go-betweens for marriage—they found husbands for young girls. But both had taken one look at Wei Ping's long feet and declared her not marriageable to a man of their social class, so they'd been dismissed. Stepmother continued her visits to friends, hoping she'd come across a more amenable go-between in the process.

  The half sisters therefore had long hours alone together. In that time Xing Xing scrubbed the stone wall behind the stove till it shone. She swept the floor. She straightened all the bowls and jars on the tables against the far wall. She cleaned the picture over Wei Ping's bed that had the characters saying, Fine beauty and great wealth, meant to invite luck. She gathered firewood. She emptied the chamber pot onto the dung heap behind the cave. She did all the chores she'd always done. But still there was time, and since Wei Ping was alone, Xing Xing stayed at home rather than going to tend to Father's grave. The half sisters soon came to confide in each other.

  "Maybe you should sleep with your feet raised on a pillow," whispered Xing Xing as the girls s
at on the kang one morning feeding the beautiful fish from their hands, while Stepmother was outside examining the jujube trees, which were now thick with green dates. "When my feet hurt, it helps to raise them. Instead, you hang yours over the bed, which seems the very worst thing to do."

  "No, no," said Wei Ping. "I hang my legs over the bed so that the pressure of the bedstead behind my knees will dull the pain. You have no idea how bad it is." She clenched her teeth, and saliva made them shine like pearls. She clutched the calves of her legs, stretched out on the warm kang. "But I think it's working. They look smaller, don't they?"

  "Yes, smaller." Xing Xing said this without conviction, however, for the bandages on her half sister's feet were large and unrevealing. They also were stinking and seeping—it was time for their periodic soaking in hot water and cleaning in the river. To hide the doubt in her eyes, Xing Xing looked down into the bowl on her lap. The beautiful fish had grown so much, it could barely turn around. She'd have to crawl into the storeroom and find something bigger—a pot for holding large plants, perhaps.

  "And my nose," said Wei Ping, lifting her chin and turning her head so Xing Xing could see a full profile. "My nose is small, don't you think?"

  "Very small," said Xing Xing. "And you are as slender as a man's dream."

  "I am, aren't I? Even wearing our loose dresses, anyone can tell I have a fine form. I'm going to get married. I'm going to have sons." Wei Ping's eyes glistened. "So it's worth it." She gently petted the tummy of the sleeping raccoon that lay on her upper legs, stretched from her crotch to her knees, on its back, all four legs in the air. Since the kit had grown to full size, its position seemed that much more comical. Its mouth hung open in sleep, and its strong, pointed teeth formed a satisfied smile. Wei Ping and Xing Xing both smiled too. "Yes, it's worth it," said ; Wei Ping again with quiet determination.