Essays    Reportage    Marginalia    Interviews    Poetry    Fiction    Videos    Everything   
Seasons Of Bloom 花開時節

When the epiphyllum buds reached peak bloom, petals everywhere began to fall. They began to fall like rain.

Fiction | Queer Time, Taiwan
July 28, 2021

Editor’s Note: The following story by Yang Shuang-zi 楊双子 is part of a notebook Queer Time, co-edited by Ta-wei Chi and Ariel Chu, which gathers contemporary queer Taiwanese literature in translation. To read the full Queer Time collection, visit its home here.

To read Lin King’s English translation, click here.


前情提要

  1930年代,台灣正值日本帝國殖民統治的和平時期。就讀女子中學的女主角楊雪泥(暱稱雪子),實際是2016年的楊馨儀。楊馨儀因緣巧合,從2016年「穿越」(時間旅行)到1920年代,變成雪子這個六歲女童。楊馨儀與貴族少女松崎早季子(小早)相伴成長,因而決心接受時間旅行的結果。她借用「雪子」的身分活下去,活了十餘年,進入1930年代——自然,她不打算回去2016年了。在這裡的小說節選顯示,到了1930年代,這個具有2016年思想的十幾歲少女雪子,企圖帶領台灣中部地方望族楊氏家族(知如堂)迴避1940年代以降一連串的歷史悲劇。但是,雪子的哥哥,惠風,也就是楊家原定繼承人,卻自殺未遂,因此打碎了雪子的所有規劃。

第十三章〈曇花〉節錄

  放學後,雪子前往州立圖書館。

  圖書館開架式書庫的書櫃與書櫃之間,小早等候在那裡。

  雪子與小早如同往昔、隱藏秘密似的在圖書館會合,借著還書及借書的片刻相聚,也許聊一兩句這天發生的小小的趣事。可是,由於稍早在課堂上內藤老師對同學們出言譴責,雪子和小早也心頭沉悶,於是安靜地分別了。

  分別以前,雪子的手指碰觸到小早的制服海軍領,緩慢而仔細地撫順衣領邊緣。小早的衣領平整而毫無皺摺,那更像是想要撫平彼此心中的摺痕。

  想必是無法輕易撫平摺痕吧。

  雪子走在新盛橋通,有腳步聲從身後追上來。

  回過身去看的時候,發現是因為加速步行而雙頰緋紅、額髮凌亂的小早,臉龐流露出凜然之色,加深了眉宇之間的冰霜氣息。

  真的是小早嗎?同學間一向都說,早季子同學名符其實,有如盛開的花朵,立如芍藥,坐如牡丹,行如百合花。

  「早季──」

  「雪,這樣太奇怪了!」

  小早並沒有給予雪子詢問「發生什麼事情了嗎」的機會,拋卻過去恪守的舉止禮儀,沒有端正站姿就開口說話。

  「太奇怪了不是嗎?去內地讀書是雪一直以來的願望,不是嗎?為什麼要這樣輕言放棄?一名女性要如何做到自力更生,不仰賴任何人而生存在這個世界之中,不就是建立在獨立的經濟能力嗎?如果是金錢的話……」

  「小早。」雪子喊住她。

  並不是「早季子同學」,而是「小早」。

  如同小早毫不顧忌同校女學生們可能就在身邊,此刻雪子也沒有顧慮言詞上的距離。

  「如果只是談論富有,幸長先生與清子夫人難道並不富有嗎?可是小早,松崎家仍然要抵達本島,才能獲得真正想要度過的生活,不是嗎?在這種時候,財富並不是關鍵,而是沒有辦法不顧慮家族的緣故啊!」

  「……。」

  小早眼眶慢慢的變紅了,眼睛裡水光瀰漫,抿直了的嘴唇輕輕發顫。

  啊!好想帶著小早逃走!

  雪子也在內心裡發出了這樣的呼喊。

  越來越大的呼喊聲,只在心底發出迴響。

  雪子沒有告訴任何朋友,弓子、靜枝及花蕊沒有,甚至小早也沒有。

  如果是聰穎的小早,儘管雪子沒有說出口,或許也能夠預測這個結果。

  ──招贅夫婿的傳言並非空穴來風。

  卒業以後,雪子不去內地也不升學,而是招贅夫婿以支撐知如堂家業。

  阿爸與惠風哥哥的歸期一再向後延遲,早先說好是舊曆年前返鄉,新曆年剛過幾日,一封長信寄來知如堂取消原定計畫。惠風哥哥生了心理上的疾病,無法擺脫傷感的情緒,阿爸決定投以緩和的內地中醫療法治療,直到哥哥痊癒為止。

  那一天雪子單獨給阿嬤、阿母讀了這封漢文書寫的長信,阿母氣憤流淚,阿嬤面沉如水。就是那天夜裡,阿嬤對雪子說「家用長子,國用大臣」。一家之長接班人的重要性不可輕忽,因此一直以來傾注心力栽培長房長子的惠風哥哥,也對於惠風哥哥所犯下的錯誤給予寬恕的空間,試圖將他引導回到正途。可是,觀察結果不盡理想的時候,也必須果斷裁奪。

  知如堂,無法託付給惠風哥哥。

  那是阿嬤嘴裡輕輕的淡淡的一句話。

  過去知如堂的女孩子跪坐紅眠床前的腳踏板凳,俯在阿嬤腿邊的時候,心裡都想著什麼呢?

  長房長子尚能婚育的情況下讓屘千金招贅,聽起來很荒謬。

  然而,知如堂長房嫡長女遠嫁大稻埕的茶商暴發戶,二房嫡長女低嫁無根基的小商戶、嫡次女終身不婚,荒謬程度究竟如何比較高下?

  距離適婚年紀還有四年、五年,阿嬤並不著急雪子的婚配,因為良配需要花時間細細觀察。本島女學校教育旨在培育學生成為良家婦女,比起遠赴台北女子高等學院,不如在家讀書,小說、傳記、雜誌,想要什麼,就讓人去買來……

  雪子心裡腦裡一片空白。

  確定無法往內地升學的那一刻起,雪子就陷落在無法看見未來的迷霧之中,沒有辦法知道下一步會走到哪裡。可以確知的是,如果終究要走到婚配這條道路,招贅夫婿絕對遠比嫁人為婦更為理想。

  不,不對。

  招贅夫婿背後所蘊含的意義是,雪子可以守著知如堂,並且在未來各種危機之中成為引領知如堂方向的主事者。如此一來,即使不去內地讀書,只要雪子到時候下了舉家搬遷避世的決定,這個願望就有實現的可能性。

  ──保全知如堂上下度過各種可能的劫難。

  這不就是雪子想要的嗎?

  可是紅眠床前腳踏板凳上的雪子,心裡腦裡一片空白,有寒鐵一樣堅硬冰冷的東西堵在胸口。

  那個秋涼的立冬時節,阿嬤的寬敞紅眠床鋪,紗帳裡雪子坦承無法履行同去內地的約定,小早流露出複雜的表情,驚訝、困惑、迷惘、思索,沉吟片刻後浮上臉龐的是明顯的痛色。

  「難道沒有別的……」

  小早甚至沒有把話說完就沉默下來。

  雪子一度以為像小早這樣堅毅的女孩會發出抗議,那個當下小早卻沒有對此多說一句話,臉上沉痛的表情意味著她對雪子立場的深刻理解。小早不希望為難雪子。

  儘管如此,小早仍然在度過寒冬的新春季節奔跑在新盛橋通,碎髮凌亂,眼睛泛紅。

  「雪,這樣太奇怪了!」

  這一定是小早的心聲。

  雪子胸口鼓脹,想要過去緊緊拉住小早的手,奔走到沒有人知道的遠方。現實中卻只能打斷小早的話語,轉身走向與小早腳步相反的道路。

  蒸汽火車尖銳鳴笛,王田車站前方魁星商店的招牌閃耀,等在那裡的美國轎車反射斜陽光線,全部都刺痛雪子。

  回家的路上,轎車裡獻文哥抽了三根菸,直到車輪滾進知如堂的庭園。

  「聽說連校園裡都有妳要招贅的流言了。」

  「獻文哥消息真靈通。」

  「屘千金不知道,表少爺吩咐不少人去探聽呢!」

  「林仔,閉嘴!」

  獻文哥嚴厲喝斥,別說林司機嚇一跳,雪子也頓時醒覺過來。

  火柴擦響,燃起紅焰,獻文哥點了第四根菸。

  「我可以讓雪子過妳想過的日子,包括讓妳繼續讀書。」

  「……獻文哥這是想要入贅的意思嗎?」

  「呵,小雪子長大了,還是什麼話都敢說。」

  獻文哥笑了一下,吞吐著菸雲,「雪子只要知道一件事,妳的結婚對象,我會是最好的人選。」

  「……。」

  轎車緩慢平穩地繞過半月池,在鋪滿紅普石的外埕停下來。

  外埕越過矮牆,裡頭是背負著四知楊家自清國以來無數歲月的大紅厝。沉著古樸的知如堂,傍晚彩霞照映如濃血,如深沉的紅寶石,氣勢逼人。

  雪子凝望的癡了,那裡彷彿有無數身影倏忽閃逝,阿嬤,阿母,阿蘭姑,秋霜倌,還有那如花盛開的春子姊,恩子姊,好子姊,以及惠風哥哥……

  春花盛放過後,一日日凋零。

  天氣逐漸熱起來的時候,松崎家發請帖到知如堂,邀請賞玩曇花。

  曇花在深夜綻放,夜晚留宿松崎家,阿嬤、阿母於是推派雪子代表出席。雪子本來有點遲疑,阿母說「毋免煩擾,做汝去。」又說,「汝愛做,想欲做啥物,攏去做。」

  雪子覺得阿母也知道阿嬤的決定了。又或者,那其實是阿嬤與阿母的決定。

  赴約那天是上半天課的禮拜六,雪子放學後繞道小路,前往松崎宅邸。

  迎門的是小早,換下制服而穿著風格樸素的英國式洋裝。

  「家裡沒有其他人……」

  小早說著忽然停頓,與雪子目光相觸。

  雪子知道兩人同樣回想起前一個冬天、在這個門前曾經發生的對話情景。那時小早才說完「家裡現在沒有其他人喔」,雪子就忍俊不住地笑了。如今兩人站立在同一個玄關土間,互相望著彼此,誰也沒有笑。

  這天小早還是給雪子做了高湯泡飯,說著「可是今天沒有茄子的米糠醬菜」而端上桌的是小黃瓜和白蘿蔔,當然還有蕪菁千枚漬。飯桌安靜得只有細細的咀嚼聲,半晌小早的筷子停頓下來。

  「啊,真想要世界就這樣毀滅了。」

  雪子的眼淚差點奪眶而出。

  世界沒有毀滅。

  位在川端町的松崎宅邸,圍牆以內靜謐悠然,圍牆外頭直到掌燈時分仍然有人聲鼎沸。清子夫人買回養老軒的和菓子做宵夜,聽見杏仁茶的叫賣聲時,還是吩咐齊藤先生買進幾碗熱燙的杏仁茶和報紙包裹著的油炸粿。深夜裡綻放的曇花異常美麗,在午夜時分盛放極致,濃郁的香氣沁入脾肺。夏季的夜空無雲無月,滿天星光閃爍,指得出金星、北極星與夏季大三角。世界不斷的運轉前行。

  雪子側首看見小早倚靠著緣廊的柱子安靜沉睡,輕手輕腳地將外衫輕輕罩在小早肩膀上。

  「雪子小姐真溫柔。」

  清子夫人笑著這麼說,幸長先生在旁邊面露笑容。不知道從什麼時候受到注目,雪子也只能頷首表示回應。

  「正因為是這樣的雪子小姐吧。」

  幸長先生彷彿想到什麼,補充說了這樣的話,「所以心高氣傲的早季子,打從心底欽慕的人就只有雪子小姐了。」

  「早季子小姐對待雪子小姐,赤誠之心有如親姊妹一般。如今就明白了,因為雪子小姐對待早季子小姐也是同樣的心意。」

  齊藤先生在旁邊發出附和之詞。

  作為松崎家管家的齊藤先生,每年大小節日專程前往知如堂贈送節禮,經常一併為小早帶去送給雪子的小物件。往來日久,彼此也很熟悉。

  雪子有點困窘,體貼的松崎家人也無意調侃追擊。清子夫人笑著叫起小早,「進房間去睡吧,曇花接下來就要閉合了。」

  賞花宴算是就此散席,雪子跟在清子夫人及小早的身後離開。各自簡單地梳洗清潔過後,雪子與小早也換上睡衣。

  進入小早房間之前,清子夫人「哎呀」一聲。

  「雪子小姐的裙襬似乎沾到污物,我們到明亮一點的地方看一下好嗎?」

  「好的。」

  儘管說了那樣的話,客廳裡的明亮光源下,從小早那裡借來換上的睡衣裙襬一片潔白。

  心頭感到異樣,雪子看向清子夫人。

  「幸長先生說的沒錯,正因為雪子小姐細膩又聰明,想必有許多人為雪子小姐深感心折吧。」

  清子夫人眼睛裡有一點歉意。

  「可是呀,身為母親還是有許多難處,所以沒有辦法答應早季子的要求,這一點如果雪子小姐能夠寬宥就太好了。」

  「抱歉,恕我失禮,可是我並不明白清子夫人的意思。」

  「咦,雪子小姐不知道嗎?」

  清子夫人面露驚訝,隨後平靜下來注視著雪子。

  「早季子對幸長先生提出請求,讓台三郎到知如堂提親求娶雪子小姐。」

  「這、怎麼會?怎麼可能?」

  比起清子夫人剛才的驚訝,雪子過於詫異的表情接近失態。

  清子夫人搖頭苦笑。

  「幸長先生拒絕以後,早季子請求卒業後留在本島升學,不返回內地就讀京都學校了。當然,幸長先生並沒有應允這樣的要求,而是痛責『妳的志向只是戲言嗎?』不瞞雪子小姐,那個時候我們都很失望。」

  雪子努力地克制臉上的表情,手指頭捏著手指頭,嘗試在腦海裡篩選出此刻合宜的應對詞語,卻因為緊咬嘴唇而一句話都說不出來。

  「……雪子小姐,果然是我們錯怪您了。繼承了父親與母親的傻瓜血緣,所以早季子才會是個頑固的傻瓜吧!既然妳們懷抱有如親姊妹的情感,也請雪子小姐一定要明瞭,對早季子而言,應該要走上什麼樣的道路才是正確的。」

  清子夫人小聲嘆息,「今晚請雪子小姐好好休息吧」這樣的說著,親自送雪子到小早的房間門口。

  榻榻米上頭鋪好兩套棉被,雪子摸黑鑽進了空著的那一個。

  「雪換了衣服嗎?好像有點久呢。」

  黑暗中傳來小早的聲音。

  雪子搖搖頭,想起黑暗裡小早不會看見。

  「衣服是乾淨的,清子夫人看錯了,只是,我們後來稍微聊了一下。」

  小早輕笑了一聲。

  「因為母親也喜歡雪。」

  雪子心頭酸楚,把身軀往小早那裡靠過去,直到額頭碰到小早的肩膀。

  小早的回應是撫摸雪子的頭髮。

  「雪身體不舒服嗎?」

  雪子無法言語,在小早手心底下輕輕地搖頭,咬住牙關沒有呼喊小早的名字。

  對父母提出為難的要求而受到責難,這件事小早一句話都不曾透露。

  小早是怎麼想的呢?

  惠風哥哥發生了那樣的事情,雪子因而無法赴內地讀書,可是小早認為雪子值得更好的處遇,只好對雙親做出唐突莽撞的請求嗎?

  狹隘而有限的環境條件之中,小早獨自為雪子尋找解套的方法。

  那並不是松崎家的「傻瓜血緣」。

  沒有任何人比雪子更明白的了,奮力想要開拓前路的小早,是無雲無月深邃夜空裡的、最明亮閃爍的一顆星星。

  小早用盡全力想要為雪子照亮前路。

  然而雪子卻清晰預見前路泥濘,所以頹喪而無法積極,那就像雪子同樣內心透澈地知道,從今往後,松崎家和知如堂肯定存在著一道深刻的裂痕了。

  世界持續不斷地運轉前行。

  一周以後的端午節,阿爸攜惠風哥哥返回知如堂。隔幾日便是二叔的五十壽宴,家裡買進一輛嶄新的美國福特流線型轎車。

  一個月以後,報紙披露「北支事變」、「支那事變」。那是一九三七年七月七日。差不多同時,鹿港吳家傳來關於婚事的回音,婚約延後至隔年夏天。

  半年之間,報紙刊登南京攻略戰的種種訊息,直到年底日本皇軍攻占支那南京城。

  再兩個月,台北城傳來露西亞蘇聯及支那中華民國的軍隊飛行機空襲,報稱「松山大空襲」。與此同時,皇軍捷報連連,戰況一片榮景。

  一九三八年的春花再一次盛開了。

  繁花綻放到極致的時刻,花瓣如雨紛紛凋落。

Introductory Note

            The novel Seasons of Bloom begins in 1930s Taiwan, during a period of peace under Japanese colonial rule. Sixteen-year-old Yang Seh-Ni1 (known by her Japanese name, Yukiko) is really Yang Hsin-Yi, a college student from the 21st century. Ten years ago, Hsin-Yi jumped into a lake in the year 2016 and found herself in 1923, inhabiting the body of Yukiko, who was six years old at the time. After befriending Matsugasaki Sakiko, a girl descended from Japanese aristocracy, Hsin-Yi decided to accept the consequences of her time travel and live out the rest of her life as Yukiko. 

            In the following excerpt, Hsin-Yi has been living as Yukiko for a decade; though she has given up on returning to modern times, she still retains the worldview of a 21st-century woman, making her rather extraordinary for a teenage girl in the 1930s. As a member of Ti Ju Teng, a prominent family in central Taiwan, Yukiko aims to protect her loved ones from the historical catastrophes that she knows await them in the 1940s. 

            However, news arrives from Japan that Yukiko’s older brother and the heir to Ti Ju Teng, Yang Hui-Hong (known by his Japanese name, Keika), has attempted suicide. With this single event, all of Yukiko’s life plans have now been laid to waste.

EXCERPT FROM “CHAPTER THIRTEEN: EPIPHYLLUM”

            After school, Yukiko headed to the public library. Sa-chan2 was waiting for her between two bookshelves.

            Like always, the two of them were meeting in the library in the few minutes between returning and borrowing books, as if engaging in a secret rendezvous. Ordinarily they might have exchanged a few words about the school day, but that afternoon, after Naitō-sensei’s reprimand about classroom gossip, both were heavy-hearted and so did not say much.

            At the library’s exit, Yukiko reached out to touch the sailor collar of Sa-chan’s school uniform, slowly and meticulously smoothing down the hem with her fingertips. In reality, Sa-chan’s collar was tidy and wrinkle-free; what Yukiko was really attempting to smooth out was the stubborn creases in their hearts.

            If only those wrinkles could be as easily smoothed.

            They parted. Yukiko was halfway down Shinseibashi Avenue when she heard hurried footsteps approaching her from behind.

            She turned and found Sa-chan—cheeks reddened, hair tousled—wearing a solemn expression that deepened the crease between her brows.

            Was this really the Sa-chan she knew? Among their classmates, Sakiko-san was known for living up to her namesake, “bloom:” when standing, she seemed like a Chinese peony; when sitting, a mountain peony; when walking, a lily.

            “Saki—” 

            But Sa-chan abandoned all their usual propriety and interrupted Yukiko mid-sentence. “Yuki, this is all too strange!” she cried. “It’s always been your dream to study on the mainland3—why are you giving up so easily? Tell me, is that strange or what? Shouldn’t it be our priority to build a foundation for financial independence if we ever want to become self-reliant women in this world? If this is just about money . . .”

            “Sa-chan,” Yukiko cut her off. Not Sakiko-san, but Sa-chan. Though any one of their classmates could pass by at any moment, Yukiko, like Sa-chan, abandoned formal speech.

            “If it were just a matter of money,” Yukiko continued, “don’t your parents have more than enough to live independently, whether on the island or the mainland? But, Sa-chan, isn’t it true that your family could only live freely after moving here, not because of money, but because of the scrutiny they receive over there?4 It doesn’t matter if you have money when you have to take your family name into consideration with everything you do!”

            Sa-chan said nothing. Her eyes grew pink, brimming with tears that glimmered under the late-afternoon sun. Her lips quivered ever so slightly.

            If only I could escape with Sa-chan!

            This was the cry that boomed inside Yukiko. 

            The cry grew louder and louder, but its echoes could only be heard in the depths of her bones. 

            The rumors about Yukiko seeking a bridegroom to take her family name5 were true.

            She had not told any of her friends—not Yumiko, Shizue, or Hua-Lui, and not even Sa-chan. Although clever Sa-chan could probably deduce it on her own.

            It had been decided: after graduation, Yukiko would not go to the mainland to continue her education. Instead, she would take a husband under the Yang name and uphold the Ti Ju Teng family business.

            Father had delayed his return from the mainland multiple times. At first, he had sent word that he and Keika-nīsan would return before the Lunar New Year, but a few days after the Gregorian New Year, he had sent a lengthy letter recanting this plan. Keika-nīsan had a psychological illness, Father had written—he could not resolve the feelings of deep despair within himself. Father had decided to seek a slower-paced treatment using Chinese medicine and would remain on the mainland until Keika-nīsan had fully recovered.

            Yukiko had read the long letter, written entirely in kanji, aloud to Grandmother and Mother. The three of them had been alone. Mother had burst into angry tears, and Grandmother’s expression had been as unfathomable as deep water. 

            That same night, Grandmother had repeated an ancient Chinese saying to Yukiko: “A country relies on its generals; a family relies on its eldest son.” The future heir was of the utmost importance to a family, hence the years of care and effort that had been invested in Keika, eldest son of the eldest son. Moreover, Grandmother had added, the family had been lenient about Keika’s previous mishaps, always trying their best to set him back on the right path. But, considering the less-than-ideal outcome, Grandmother would no longer put off the obvious and final decision.

            “Ti Ju Teng cannot be entrusted to Keika.”

            Grandmother had said it lightly, matter-of-factly.

            In that moment, Yukiko had wondered: What had the older girls of Ti Ju Teng been thinking when they, too, had knelt on this footstool by Grandmother’s wooden bed, curled up by Grandmother’s legs? What kinds of thoughts had run through their heads?

            Even Grandmother had to admit that the idea of making the lastborn daughter take a husband under the family name—when in fact the eldest son was capable of marrying and producing offspring—was a preposterous notion. Yet Yukiko’s elder sister, the eldest daughter of the eldest son, had already married into that tea-trading family in far-off Datōtei6. Yukiko’s older cousin, the eldest daughter of the second-born son, had married into a small, unknown family. Her twin sister, the second-born daughter of the second-born son, was too ill to wed. Talk about preposterous!

            Grandmother had then clarified: Yukiko was still four or five years from the marriageable age, and Grandmother was in no hurry to settle on a candidate. It would take a lot of time and careful observation to determine whether somebody would be a good match. As for school—women’s colleges on the island were all focused on grooming their students into good little wives. Rather than go all the way to Taihoku7 for such an education, Yukiko would be better off studying at home. Whatever books she wanted—novels, biographies, magazines—she only had to say the word . . .

            Yukiko had felt like somebody had emptied out both her heart and her mind.

            From the moment Grandmother had declared that studying in the mainland was now out of the question, Yukiko had been plunged into an impenetrable fog. She could not see the future, could not guess what her next step would be. What she did know for certain was that, if it was necessary for her to marry at all, taking a husband under the Yang name was far preferable to marrying into some family far from home.

            No—but that wasn’t all.

            The implication of taking a husband under her name was that Yukiko would be the one to inherit Ti Ju Teng. She would become the family’s next pillar; she would be able to steer Ti Ju Teng away from the various dangers that she knew were coming in the near future. Even if she could not realize her dream of studying in the mainland, she could still realize her dream of repositioning the family to avoid the brunt of the coming wars.

            She could, in short, ensure that every single member of Ti Ju Teng would survive.

            Was that not what she wanted? 

            And yet, perched on the footstool before Grandmother’s feet, Yukiko had seen nothing, felt nothing. Something hard and cold like frosted steel had blockaded her chest.

            That conversation had taken place in the beginning of winter, back when the air had still stirred with autumn breeze. One day soon after, while Yukiko and Sa-chan had been taking their customary nap on Grandmother’s broad wooden bed, Yukiko had confessed that she would no longer be able to fulfill their promise of going to the mainland together. Under the silk canopy, a series of expressions had clouded Sa-chan’s face: shock, confusion, distress, deliberation. After a few moments, her countenance had settled into what was indisputably one of deep pain.

            “Isn’t there any other—”

            Sa-chan had not finished the question before stopping herself.

            Given Sa-chan’s strong will, Yukiko had thought that she would raise objections upon hearing the news. But in the moment, Sa-chan had not said another word. The agony in her face had shown that she had understood Yukiko’s position entirely. She had not wished to make things more difficult for Yukiko than they already were.

            Despite all this, here they were now: months later, on this frigid spring day, the formerly reasonable Sa-chan had chased Yukiko all the way down Shinseibashi Avenue. Messy-haired. Teary-eyed.

            “Yuki, this is all too strange!”

            This must have been her true opinion all along.

            Yukiko’s chest swelled. She longed to seize Sa-chan’s hand and run off to some faraway land that nobody knew. In reality, however, all she could do was to turn on her heels and walk off in the opposite direction—away from Sa-chan.

            When Yukiko got off the train at her station, every sight and sound felt like a sharp sting: the shrill whistle of the steam engine, the bright banners of the storefronts, the sunlight reflecting off the American car awaiting her by the station door.

            On the drive home, Hian-Bun-nīsan8 smoked three whole cigarettes in a row. He only put out the last one when the car rolled into the Ti Ju Teng gardens.

            “I heard that even your classmates are gossiping about the rumors of your marriage,” he said at last.

            “Hian-Bun-nīsan is well-informed as always.”

            Lin, the driver, chuckled. “Doesn’t Miss know? Master Hian-Bun sent out a bunch of people to scope out the news!”

            “Lin, shut your damn mouth!”

            Hian-Bun-nīsan’s harsh rebuke not only made Lin jump, but also jolted Yukiko out of her stupor.

            The strike of a match, the flare of a flame: Hian-Bun-nīsan lit his fourth cigarette.

            “Yukiko, I can give you the life you want. Including, of course, letting you continue with your education.”

            “. . . Is Hian-Bun-nīsan saying he’d like to take my last name?”

            “Ha! Little Yukiko-chan still says whatever she wants, even now that she’s all grown up.” Hian-Bun-nīsan laughed, swallowing and exhaling smoke. “Just know this one thing. When it comes to your marriage, I am the best candidate.” 

            Yukiko did not know what to say.

            The car slowly circled the half-moon pond and pulled to a stop in front of Ti Ju Teng’s outer apartments. Behind the garden wall stood the Yang family’s courtyard mansion, just as it had stood for countless generations since the Qing Dynasty. Steadfast, enduring Ti Ju Teng. The setting sun stained its red bricks into a bloodlike color, as if the walls and roofs were carved from a dark ruby.

            Yukiko lost herself in the imposing sight. She could almost make out familiar silhouettes in the courtyard, flickering in and out of sight: Grandmother, Mother, Aunty Lan, Madam Tshiu-Seng, and the young members of Ti Ju Teng who reminded her of so many blooming flowers: Haruko-nēsan, Onko-nēsan, Yoshiko-nēsan—and, of course, Keika-nīsan . . .

            Spring flowers: after reaching full bloom, they wilted day by day.

            The days began to grow warmer. One day, Ti Ju Teng received an invitation from the Matsugasaki residence for an epiphyllum blossom viewing.

            Epiphyllum flowers bloomed only in the dead of night. Attending the viewing would mean staying overnight at the Matsugasakis’; Grandmother and Mother therefore decided to send Yukiko as their sole representative. Yukiko hesitated at first, but Mother said to her, “No need to worry, just go. Do what you would like to do.”

            Yukiko understood, in that moment, that her mother also knew about Grandmother’s decision. Or rather, that it had in fact been Grandmother and Mother’s decision all along.

            The invitation was for a Saturday, a half-day at school. After class, Yukiko took the back alleys toward the Matsugasaki residence.

            Sa-chan greeted her at the door. She had changed out of her uniform and was in a plain, English-style dress.

            “There’s nobody else at home—” Sa-chan began, then stopped mid-sentence. Her eyes met Yukiko’s.

            Yukiko knew that they were both recalling an earlier conversation, one that had taken place at this very door. Back then, when Sa-chan had said “There’s nobody else at home right now,” Yukiko—recalling erotic clichés from the twenty-first century—had not been able to stop herself from giggling. Now, standing in the same entryway and looking at each other, neither of them could muster up a smile.

            Nevertheless, Sa-chan invited Yukiko in and served her ochazuke made with broth. She laid out pickled cucumbers, radishes, and turnips, saying “Sorry—we don’t have pickled eggplants today.” 

            The table was silent except for the gentle sounds of their chewing. A little while later, Sa-chan’s chopsticks stopped moving.

            “If only . . . if only the world would end right this second.”

            At this, Yukiko almost burst into tears. 

            The world would not end here.

            Sa-chan’s mother, Kiyoko-san, returned with Japanese sweets from Yōrōken meant for that night’s viewing. The Matsugasaki residence was located in bustling Kawabata-chō; while the mansion was tranquil within its walled enclosure, people’s voices outside could be heard all the way until sundown. When Kiyoko-san heard a vendor calling out for hot almond tea, she sent Saitō-san, the housekeeper, to buy a few bowls, along with crisp fried dough wrapped in newspaper.

            At midnight, the epiphyllum blossoms reached full bloom. They were exceptionally breathtaking and exuded a rich aroma that filled the lungs of their viewers. The summery night sky, which showed no signs of clouds or even the moon, was somehow carpeted with glittering stars. One could easily point out Venus, Polaris, the Summer Triangle: the world continued to run itself, to move forward.

            Sa-chan had nodded off, resting her head against a column. Yukiko removed her jacket and laid it gently over Sa-chan’s shoulders.

            “How sweet-natured Yukiko-san is,” Kiyoko-san said, smiling. Next to her, Sa-chan’s father, Yukinaga-san, was likewise smiling. Yukiko, who had not realized that they had been watching her, only nodded by way of response.

            As if suddenly recalling something, Yukinaga-san added, “Yukiko-san is the only person whom Sakiko, with all her pride and principles, truly admires from the bottom of her heart. It must be because of Yukiko-san’s sweet nature.”

            Next to him, Saitō-san said, “Sakiko-san always treats Yukiko-san like a sister. Now you see—it is because Yukiko-san treats Sakiko-san with the same sincerity.” As the Matsugasakis’ housekeeper, Saitō-san was often tasked with delivering invitations and gifts to Ti Ju Teng, and sometimes also delivered small trinkets from Sa-chan to Yukiko. After so many years, he and Yukiko were likewise well-acquainted.

            Yukiko felt suddenly ill at ease with all this attention. Observing her embarrassment and evidently not wishing to further it, Kiyoko-san woke Sa-chan with a laugh: “Go sleep in your room—the blossoms are closing anyhow.”

            Thus ended the flower viewing. Yukiko followed Kiyoko-san and Sa-chan to wash up and change into nightclothes. Before they stepped into Sa-chan’s bedroom, however, Kiyoko-san gestured for Yukiko to stop. “Oh, my—there seems to be a stain on Yukiko-san’s hem. Shall we take a look at it somewhere with more light?”

            “Ah—yes, please.”

            And yet, under the bright lights of the living room, the nightgown she had borrowed from Sa-chan was completely spotless. Intuiting that something was off, Yukiko looked directly into Kiyoko-san’s eyes.

            “Yukinaga-san was right,” Kiyoko-san said, formal as ever. “It is because Yukiko-san is so considerate and so clever that many people are heartbroken over Yukiko-san’s plight.” There was a trace of apology in her eyes. “But Yukiko-san—as a mother, there are many difficult considerations that make it impossible to grant Sakiko’s request. If Yukiko-san could forgive us on this account . . .”

            “Sorry—I do not mean to be rude—but I do not know what Kiyoko-san is referring to.”

            “Hm? Does Yukiko-san not know?” Kiyoko-san’s expression was one of utter surprise. Moments later, she had restored her previous calm and was looking at Yukiko thoughtfully. “Sakiko demanded that Yukinaga-san make Taisanrō9 ask for Yukiko-san’s hand in marriage.”

            “Wh—what? How is that possible?”

            Compared to Kiyoko-san’s momentary surprise, Yukiko’s shock almost made her lose her composure entirely.

            Kiyoko-san shook her head, smiling sadly. “After Yukinaga-san declined, Sakiko asked to continue her education on the island instead of in Kyoto. Of course, Yukinaga-san denied this as well. He was hard on her—‘Was all your talk about your future ambitions just a joke?’ To be honest, Yukiko-san, we were both extremely disappointed in her.”

            Yukiko tried her best to control her own face. She pinched her own fingers, attempting to summon up some phrases that would be appropriate for the moment. Yet she was biting her lip too firmly to utter a single word.

            “. . . Yukiko-san, it is now clear to me that we were wrong to blame Sakiko’s behavior on you. She has acted like a stubborn fool purely because of the foolish blood she inherited from her own father and mother! But seeing as you share such a sisterly affection with her, surely Yukiko-san can also see what the right path for Sakiko is.” 

            Kiyoko-san exhaled a quiet sigh.

            The two of them walked back to Sakiko’s bedroom. Kiyoko-san said, “Please rest well tonight, Yukiko-san.”

            The room was dark; Yukiko could make out two sets of pillows and blankets on the tatami. She felt her way to the empty set.

            Sa-chan’s voice: “That took a while. Did you end up changing clothes?”

            Yukiko shook her head, then remembered that Sa-chan could not see her in the dark. “No, Kiyoko-san made a mistake. The gown was clean, but we had a little chat.”

            Sa-chan chuckled. “That’s because Mother is also fond of you.”

            Yukiko’s heart twinged. She turned toward Sa-chan and leaned forward and forward until her forehead touched Sa-chan’s shoulder. Sa-chan responded by stroking her hair.

            “Are you not feeling well, Yuki?”

            Yukiko could not bring herself to speak. She shook her head gently under Sa-chan’s palm, gritting her teeth so that she would not call out Sa-chan’s name.

            Sa-chan had never said anything to suggest that she had been chastised by her parents for making impossible demands on Yukiko’s behalf.

            What had Sa-chan been thinking?

            Because of the things that had befallen Keika-nīsan, Yukiko could no longer go to the mainland. Did Sa-chan believe that she could give Yukiko a better deal? Was that why she had made such brash requests of her parents? 

            Within their limited circumstances, Sa-chan alone had tried to free Yukiko from her predicament.

            This was no “foolish blood” of the Matsuzakis. This had been Sa-chan’s best effort at illuminating a way forward for Yukiko. 

            Sa-chan, doing her utmost to carve out a path for Yukiko, was the brightest, most incandescent star in that cloudless, moonless night. Yukiko knew this better than anyone. Yet, with the light that Sa-chan shed, Yukiko saw that the path before her was one of impenetrable mud. She could not see how to proceed; she felt so depleted that she could no longer fathom taking any action at all. She also knew, without a doubt, that from this day on, there would always be a fissure between the Matsugasaki and Yang families.

            The world continued to run itself, to move forward.

            One week later, on the day of the Dragon Boat Festival, Father brought Keika-nīsan home to Ti Ju Teng. Uncle’s fiftieth birthday banquet was in a few days, and the family had just purchased a new, streamlined Ford from America.

            One month later, the newspapers announced the “China Incident” at Luguo Bridge. It was the seventh of July, 1937. At around that same time, the Wu family of Lugang10 sent word that they wished to to postpone Keika-nīsan’s wedding to the following summer.

            For the next six months, they heard and read all kinds of news from the Battle of Nanking, until the Imperial Japanese Army eventually conquered the city.

            Two months after that, Taihoku was bombed by fighter jets from Soviet Russia and the Republic of China11. Meanwhile, the Imperial Army was reporting victory after victory against China. Despite the air strike, the war seemed to be progressing well for Japan.

            The year was 1938. Spring flowers blossomed once more.

            When the epiphyllum buds reached peak bloom, petals everywhere began to fall. They began to fall like rain.

1 This translation uses Taiwanese Hokkien romanization. Though the novel is written in Mandarin Chinese, most of the conversations are in Japanese or Taiwanese Hokkien.
2 Yukiko’s nickname for Sakiko, which she only uses in private. This translation uses Japanese honorifics: -chan for a familiar address, -san for a respectful address, -nīsan for an older-brother figure, -nēsan for an older-sister figure, and -sensei for teacher.
3 Under Japanese colonization, “the mainland” refers to Japan, while “the island” refers to Taiwan.
4 As part of the Japanese aristocracy, Sakiko’s family would have been more restricted on the mainland.
5 A traditional form of marriage known as “zhao zhui:”A husband takes his wife’s family name, and their children likewise take the maternal name. This usually occurs only when a prominent family does not have a son to continue the family name.
6 A historically important commercial district in Taipei. Datōtei is the Japanese name; the Mandarin is Dadaocheng.
7 The Japanese colonial name for Taipei.
8 Yukiko’s older cousin, the eldest son of her father’s younger sister, who now acts as Ti Ju Teng’s manager.
9 Sakiko’s older brother.
10 A prosperous family whose daughter is engaged to Keika.
11 Known in English as the Taihoku Air Strike and in Mandarin as the Songshan Air Strike.