When Luhua was small, she did not live on a boat, but in a village with her mother. For a time, the village wa…
When Luhua was small, she did not live on a boat, but in a village with her mother.
For a time, the village was not so desolate. Fishing nets were hung to dry in rows along the river, and sun-dried fish filled the courtyards. Children gathered in small packs, chasing chickens through the lanes until the elders scooped them up and sent them off in one direction: to the house of Elder Li.
Elder Li was the village's sole learned man. "Learned" might be too grand a word; in truth, he had mastered no more than half the Classic of Poetry. Yet, in this corner of the world, literacy alone commanded respect. Thus, any child of age was sent to Elder Li's home to begin their letters.
Mother used to say that when the time came, Luhua too would study under Elder Li.
But that day never dawned. As the fires of war drew near, visits to Elder Li's house grew rare, replaced by long hours scavenging for wild greens upon the river flats.
Elder Li had a granddaughter named Xia. Though she and Luhua were the youngest in the village, Xia always returned with a basket brimming with herbs.
And Luhua's basket was just as full.
"Why have you gathered only weeds? And wild mushrooms... Mother told me these are dangerous. They'll make you ill."
"Grass... is grass." Luhua pointed to Xia's basket, then her own, nodding with a simple, distant look.
"No, no, they are quite different! Come, follow me, I shall show you."
That evening, Luhua's meal was graced with many more flavorful wild greens.
Thereafter, two tiny shadows were often seen by the water: one leading the search for Wild Vetch, the other following behind.
"Let us gather the vetch, for the vetch is soft and new," Xia sang, clutching a fresh handful.
"Homeward, we say, though the year is drawing to its close," Luhua echoed, cradling her own bundle.
"Long ago, when I set out, the willows swayed in the breeze..." Luhua faltered. "Xia... what is a 'willow'?"
Xia paused, stumped. "A willow... Master says it is a tree with leaves so long, longer than your braids, even. My mother said you and your auntie came from far away. Perhaps they grow in your true home?"
Luhua nodded, etching the words into her heart. That night, her mother told her their home had no willows, only ink-black mountains, silver-white waters, and snow that fell in endless drifts.
Having said this, her mother lilted a tune for her.
The lyrics escaped her, but the melody remained. When she sang for Xia, she filled the gaps with the verses she knew: "Let us gather the vetch... Homeward, we say... The willows swayed... The snow fell thick..."
Xia smiled. "Then our homes are one and the same," she said. "They both see such vast, white snows..."
The river flowed crystal clear. While the village elders tended to their toils, the two girls scavenged for vetch by the shore, their voices rising in song.
The song was their pact. "If you seek me out to play, just sing 'Let us gather the vetch,'" Xia said, tapping her chest. "And if I find my way out, I shall answer with 'Long ago, when I set out,' and row my boat to you."
But then came a day when her mother moved them far from the village, and Xia appeared no more.
On the first day, Luhua rowed out and sang, "Let us gather the vetch..." Xia's window remained shuttered.
On the second day, Luhua rowed out and sang, "Homeward, we say..." Xia cast out the reed doll and the little pinwheel Luhua had gifted her.
The third day... the tenth...
Luhua rowed out as she always did, singing, "Long ago, when I set out, the willows swayed..." Xia finally opened her window, but only to cry out: "You! You come from the side of the foreign invaders! You have no right to sing our song!"
Luhua could not fathom why Xia forbade her the song, why the echoes had died, or why her mother had led her away from the only home she knew. Yet she remembered it so vividly:
"Our homes are one and the same. They both see such vast, white snows."
The snow falls once more this year. Mother... Elder Li... Xia... Will they ever return?