Keiko and Mayumi had returned. Keiko was jubilant, like a lark, chattering on endlessly about everything she had seen and heard, about the places she and Ren Qingfei had visited together… Yamaguchi Mingchuan and Wu Aizhen were absorbed in their own love; neither of them noticed the admiration and lingering fondness in Keiko’s voice when she spoke of Ren Qingfei. As Mayumi listened to Keiko’s talk, her eyes rested far more often on Mingchuan’s every move. She knelt there demurely, wearing a gentle smile, casting affectionate, adoring glances now and then at Mingchuan as he brewed tea. But Mingchuan seemed totally oblivious and paid no attention, doing all he needed to do, only occasionally acknowledging her smile with an understanding, courteous nod. And whenever he spoke to Mayumi, he was extremely polite. Even so, every word of greeting from him seemed to overwhelm her with flattered astonishment, and her whole being, her very face and heart, betrayed an irrepressible admiration and delight.
On the third day after their return, Mingchuan went off to entertain some guests. Keiko said to Wu Aizhen in a low, mysterious tone, “Sister Aizhen, I’m taking you to meet someone today.” “Your mother?” “You’re so smart.” “Shouldn’t we tell your dad?” “No, if we tell him, he’ll absolutely forbid you to go. Let’s just say the two of us are going shopping.” “What if he wants to come with us?” Wu Aizhen, holding her phone, was about to call Mingchuan when she hesitated and said, “Then let’s just leave him a note. Say we didn’t want to disturb his work so we didn’t call.” “Is that all right? Hasn’t he already agreed to let you meet your mother? Why does this have to be so complicated and secretive?” “I’m afraid Dad will still stop me — I just feel it. I want to give Mom some money,” Keiko said pitifully. Wu Aizhen could not bear to refuse, so she did as Keiko said and left a note for Mingchuan on the tea table. Then she went with Keiko to a teahouse in a shopping arcade.
As soon as they found a seat and sat down, Keiko said joyfully, “Mom’s here.” Wu Aizhen looked toward the sound of her voice and saw a middle-aged woman approaching, wearing a white-and-green checkered skirt suit. Her face was round, her hair smoothly drawn back into a chignon, her skin rather fair; at first glance she looked like an ethnic Korean. Up close, one could see that her eyebrows and eyes were cast from the same mold as Keiko’s, except that time and hardship had left their trace.
She sat down gently beside Keiko, gave her a loving look, then smiled at Wu Aizhen with warm, friendly goodwill.
“Mom, this is Sister Aizhen, the one I told you about, the one I met in Tibet,” Keiko introduced her.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Yamashima Mako. Keiko has told me about you.” Mako spoke with a smile, politely inclining her body.
“I’m Wu Aizhen. Hello!” Wu Aizhen hurriedly returned the greeting, and then found herself at a loss for what else to say. She studied the woman before her and wondered: twenty years ago, had Mingchuan really broken up with her over a single letter? What sort of love had they shared?
Yamashima Mako had brought a new outfit for Keiko. Keiko excitedly took the outfit out of the bag and examined and stroked it; her mother’s gaze never left her daughter’s face and movements, her own smile and expression shifting in response to Keiko’s delight…
Watching this, Wu Aizhen suddenly felt a pang of sorrow.
“Is your father in Macau right now?” Mako asked.
“Yes. Last time, after I saw you, Dad even asked how you’re doing now. He cares a lot about you.” Wu Aizhen could not tell whether Keiko was lying.
“Would he?” As she said this, Yamashima Mako’s face abruptly went cold. In her calm, gentle eyes there surfaced a long-suppressed fury that looked ready to overflow.
Wu Aizhen was startled. After all these years, could she still not let go of her hatred for Mingchuan?
“Keiko, last time there were others around, so I couldn’t tell you. Now I’m going back to Japan — your grandfather has passed away, and I have to go deal with the inheritance. I may not come back to Macau. I have to say this even in front of your close friend: I want you, as soon as you start working, to become independent as quickly as possible and get out of that demonic household, away from your father. The sooner and faster, the better. Your Uncle Keisuke has also been murdered. He was the only good man in that place. If he had left your father, left that organization earlier, he wouldn’t have died such a horrible death. Keisuke was very kind to me. Back then, if he hadn’t sent me a warning in time and helped me flee to Macau, I would probably have died long ago at the hands of that ruthless, cold-blooded father of yours.”
As she spoke these words, Yamashima Mako seemed to be reliving the past. Her face turned ashen, her lips quivered slightly, her speech quickened and shook, and her hands kept moving restlessly on the tabletop; her whole demeanor seemed almost neurotic.
Keiko looked at her mother sadly and said nothing…
“Mom, it’s been so long. Can’t you forgive Dad yet?” Keiko said gently after a long silence.
“How could it be over? He can live it up every day, so of course it’s over for him. But do you know how I’ve spent all these years? To hide from his gang’s power, I had to leave Japan, leave my parents behind, and run away to Macau. My own mother, so worried and missing me, died the very next year, and I couldn’t even see her one last time. Here, in this place far from home, I had no money, no family, no friends. My husband was in poor health and left me early. I suffered alone through everything…” At this, tears rolled down Mako’s cheeks, though she seemed to have nearly cried herself dry. “All these years, every time I confronted a new hardship, my hatred for Mingchuan grew. He is the cause of all of it…”
Mako’s emotions began to churn violently. Facing her daughter — perhaps the only family she had left in this world — she seemed to want to pour out all the pain, resentment, and hatred pent up over so many years. But the years were too many, and the grudges had piled up too long; she hardly knew where to begin. Yet the sorrow and hatred filling her heart seemed to seep out from every cell of her body…
“How can it be so easily over? How can it so easily be over?” she murmured, her eyes nearly vacant.
Looking at her mother’s empty, dry eyes that did not match her age, Keiko’s tears fell.
“Mom, even now I still don’t understand why you and Dad separated. Grandma said it was because of a letter. Is that really true? And why would Dad want to kill you over it?” Keiko wept as she asked.
“Your father is an extremely selfish and cruel man. I was with him only a year and a half from meeting to separation. At first, right after we married, things were all right. But every time I went out to social occasions with him or when guests came to visit, he would always say I was too flirtatious around men, while he himself kept seeing other women outside. To avoid arguments, I eventually stopped going out with him and mostly stayed home alone. Later, when I became pregnant with you, I secretly rejoiced for a while. I hoped your birth could change the suspicion and unhappiness between us. I have to admit that I still loved him then, valued him a great deal, and hadn’t yet given up hope. One time, while tidying old clothes at my mother’s house, I found a letter in the pocket of an overcoat. It was a love letter written to me by my late husband — the man I later married. We’d had a romance before your father appeared. The letter was beautifully written. At that point, I was suffering from pregnancy sickness, and your father’s coldness and lack of understanding made me ache for a love and affection I wasn’t getting. When I re-read that letter, I cried. In truth, I wasn’t thinking of the man who had written it; I was just reliving the sweetness of love, touched by the memories it stirred. I couldn’t bear to throw it away, so I put it in my bag and brought it home, simply wanting to keep it as a memento and comfort of ‘love.’ But your father found that letter. Even though I repeatedly explained that it was from long ago and showed him the date on it, his rage could not be contained. He coldly demanded to know why, knowing that this letter could provoke him and wound his feelings, I had disregarded his pride and feelings by keeping it and letting him see it — and he cursed me as a despicable, venomous woman. After that, our relationship became worse and worse. He lived outside the home for a long time and rarely came back. After you were born, he proposed divorce, and my heart went cold too. If it was my fault — if I shouldn’t have kept that letter without regard for his feelings — then what about him? From marriage to divorce, when had he ever cared about my feelings? After the divorce, I was angry and resentful, but I still didn’t hate him. Hearing that he was treating you well, having the nanny Minghui look after you, even stirred a faint feeling of gratitude in me. I thought you were the fruit of our love, and the fact that he was carefully caring for you was at least a measure of regard for the bond between us. I tried to understand his actions, his pain — he had grown up in a family full of plots and struggles, and he held that kind of position; it was natural for him to develop an overbearing, dark, cold heart, and with such a mindset, his behavior was naturally perverse, something ordinary logic could not fathom. I wanted a new life, a new love. Later, I reconnected with my old boyfriend — the one who wrote that letter. He was still unmarried, so we renewed our relationship. But I never imagined that your father would then try to have me killed… I thought that since we were already divorced, my actions could not harm or affect him in any way. It was only then that I realized I had truly met a devil — he is utterly inhuman, cold-blooded to the extreme.” By the time she had spoken to this point, not only were her lips trembling, but her hands on the table were also quivering. Her dry eyes stared blankly ahead, filled with sorrow, pain, indignation, and a desolate resolve to cut herself off from feeling.
Keiko poured her mother a cup of tea. Wu Aizhen listened, still, not knowing what to say. In her heart, she truly could not bear — could not bring herself — to connect the lover with whom she was now so passionately in love with the cold, ruthless man Mako described. After weighing the matter carefully, she said softly, “People change. Maybe Mingchuan once lorded it over everyone with his arrogance, but after so many years, perhaps he has reflected on and regretted the mistakes he made. Wasn’t your reunion with Keiko arranged by him? I hope you can be a little forgiving and give him a chance to make amends.”
“How can I forgive him? He might change. Maybe one day his conscience will stir and he’ll realize the harm he did to others. But that kind of pain and trauma — can it be wiped away by one or two deeds or a few words? I hate him; you could say he ruined my whole life. But what can I do to him? I can’t kill him; I don’t have that kind of power. I’ll carry my hatred for him into the grave. I will never forgive him.” Mako spoke with absolute finality, her ashen face twisting painfully with hatred…
Wu Aizhen looked at her with pity, at the frail frame that had somehow held such a heavy hatred for twenty years and now still hated with such force. Before this woman who seemed forged out of hatred, all preaching was weak and useless. Perhaps the only thing that could help her was love — only that kind of selfless, unconditional love could save her. Wu Aizhen had seen the way Mako looked at Keiko; that gaze was so soft. Who could see such pain and hatred behind such a gentle look?
Yamashima Mako fell silent. Keiko took hold of her mother’s hand; it was ice-cold. She could feel that her mother’s heart was suffering as if living in hell.
Mako felt the love and warmth flowing from her daughter, and her face gradually softened. She tried to compose herself, looked at Keiko, and her dry lips moved, but no more words came out. Wu Aizhen hurriedly refilled the teacups for both mother and daughter…
When it was time to leave, Keiko brought out the money she had prepared, but Mako refused. She said she would not take a single cent that came from the Yamaguchi family. If Keiko truly wished to care for her as a daughter, Mako would wait until Keiko was working and could support her with money she had earned herself.
On the way back, Wu Aizhen asked Keiko, “Do you hate your father?” “I don’t hate him, but I feel sorry for my mother. I can’t understand my father, but I still can’t link him to the father my mother described. I want to give my mother some Buddhist books so she can study Buddhism. Maybe that will help her emerge from her suffering. Do you think my mother has a karmic affinity with the Buddha?” Keiko’s expression was still sorrowful as she asked.
“Whether she has an affinity with the Buddha or not, reading Buddhist books can clarify some of the meaning of life and the principle of cause and effect. I think it will help. Let’s both make a vow and pray that the Buddhas and Bodhisattvas will soon help her escape the ocean of suffering.” Keiko’s eyes reddened…
Back at the residence, Mingchuan had already returned, his face dark and displeased. Keiko glanced at him and silently withdrew to her room. Wu Aizhen thought something had gone wrong with Mingchuan’s business that day, so she asked with concern what the matter was.
But Mingchuan, in a rather chilly tone, asked her whether she had gone to see Keiko’s mother, why they had sneaked off, leaving a note that they were going to a shopping mall. “Don’t you trust me? Why did you lie to me?” He threw the note down in front of her.
Wu Aizhen flushed. She wanted to say that Keiko had asked her to do it, but that didn’t feel right. She said, a little aggrieved, “I was afraid you’d find out and stop us.” “Afraid I’d stop you? I already agreed to let Keiko see her mother. If I wanted to stop it, I wouldn’t have helped her find her in the first place. But why did you go? And lie to me? Want to learn about my past?”
“I only wanted to go with Keiko, that’s all,” Wu Aizhen said, aggrieved.
“Hmph. Do whatever you like. From now on, you don’t need to let me know,” Mingchuan said coldly.
“How can you be like this? I just went with Keiko to see her mother. You do so many things every day too — do you have to report every one of them to me? Do I really not even have this much freedom? If you were worried about me out of love, now that I’m back, why are you still angry? Yes, I lied, but I only hid it because of your past attitude toward Keiko’s mother — there wasn’t any ill intent. Why are you so furious about this? I’m your lover, but I’m also Keiko’s friend. If she asks me to keep something secret, I have the right to keep it from you. I won’t disrespect her or disclose her private matters to you just because she’s your daughter. Sometimes what happens between friends doesn’t need to be reported to a father or a lover.” Wu Aizhen laid out every word in careful defense.
But Mingchuan didn’t want to hear any more. He stormed out in a huff.
Wu Aizhen had spent the morning listening to Yamashima Mako’s sobbing complaints, and now she had to take Mingchuan’s anger — her chest felt unbearably heavy, and she had no one to tell her own grievances to. The sweetness she’d been drunk on, day after day in love, suddenly felt as though it had been struck by a hailstorm, cold to the bone. Thinking of Mako’s brimming hatred, for a kshana she was aware that Mingchuan might have kept Keiko from seeing her mother precisely because he knew Mako. But twenty years had passed — why were the two of them still so mutually incompatible, and why did they have to pass the grievances and faults of their youth on to the next generation, burdening their child with such a heavy load? In all this, how much of it actually came from love? Perhaps Mingchuan’s anger today had a different cause. Wu Aizhen sank into thought, wondering whether love had suddenly blinded her. Maybe she had never truly seen or understood Yamaguchi Mingchuan, and the “illusion of love” he showed her was only a phantom beyond real life, a mirage-like beauty, nothing more than a pretty veneer over real life.
Mayumi came in and called her downstairs to eat. With a cautious, placating smile — she’d probably heard Mingchuan’s outburst — she said, “When Mingchuan-kun came back this morning and asked where you’d gone, I said you might have gone to see Keiko’s mother, because I saw Keiko calling her mother about where to meet. Maybe that’s why Mingchuan-kun is upset.” Watching the glee she couldn’t quite keep hidden beneath Mayumi’s look of concern, Wu Aizhen was suddenly so sad she didn’t know what to say. For Mayumi’s petty cleverness, for Mingchuan’s rage, for Keiko’s sorrow, for her own daily effort to fill every heart with love, and for Yamashima Mako’s hatred that she was prepared to carry to the grave — she felt a deep sorrow. Suddenly, with a self-mocking, resigned smile, she said, “It’s nothing. That’s life!”
Mayumi had no idea what she meant and gave her a slightly guilty glance. During the meal, Mingchuan put food on Wu Aizhen’s plate several times. Everyone tacitly let the matter drop. Life drifted back into its former pattern, slipping by in peaceful sweetness.
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