dragged her sisters into the bushes.
All six younger sisters huddled around her, holding on to each other like stalks of garlic wrapped around the stem. Laidi heard that now familiar hoarse voice shouting at her, but the seething waters of the river swallowed up the sound.
Folding her baby sister into her arms, she felt the searing heat of the little girl’s face. A calmness returned to the river for the moment, giving the layer of smoke a chance to dissipate. More of those hissing black objects flew over the Flood Dragon River, dragging long tails behind them before landing in the village with muffled explosions, followed by faint screams from women and the thud of collapsing structures. Not a soul in sight on the opposite dike, nothing but a solitary locust tree. On the riverbank below stood a line of weeping willows whose branches touched the surface of the water. Where were these strange, scary flying objects coming from? she wondered stubbornly. A shout —
Ai ya ya
— broke her concentration. The sight of the Felicity Manor assistant steward, Sima Ku, riding his bicycle up onto the bridge appeared through the branches. What’s he doing? she wondered. It must be because of the horse. But he was holding a lit torch, so it wasn’t the horse, whose corpse was splattered all over the bridge and whose blood stained the water below.
Sima Ku slammed on the brakes and flung the torch into the liquor-soaked straw, sending blue flames into the sky. Jerking his bicycle around, but too rushed to climb onto it, he ran it down the bridge, the blue flames licking at his heels. The eerie
Ai ya ya
shouts kept spilling from his mouth. When a sudden loud crack sent his wide-brimmed straw hat flying into the river, he let go of his bicycle, bent low at the waist, stumbled, and fell face-first onto the bridge flooring.
Crack, crack, crack
, a string of noises like firecrackers. Sima Ku hugged the bridge flooring and crawled like a lizard. Suddenly he was gone, and the cracking noises stopped. The bridge all but disappeared in blue, smokeless flames, those in the center rising higher than the others and turning the water below blue. Laidi’s chest constricted in the stifling air and waves of heat; her nostrils were hot and dry. The waves of heat changed into gusting, whistling winds. The bushes were wet, sort of sweaty; the leaves of trees curled up and withered. Then she heard the high-pitched voice of Sima Ku emerge from behind the dike:
“Fuck your sisters, you little Nips. You may have crossed Marco Polo Bridge, but you’ll never cross Fiery Dragon Bridge!”
Then he laughed:
“Ah ha ha ha, ah ha ha ha, ah ha ha ha …”
Sima Ku’s laughter seemed endless. On the opposite bank, a line of yellow caps popped up over the top of the dike, followed by the heads of horses and the yellow uniforms of their riders. Dozens of horse soldiers were now perched atop the dike, and though they were still hundreds of meters away, Laidi saw that the horses looked exactly like Third Master Fan’s stud horse. The Japs! The Japs are here! The Japs have come …
Avoiding the stone bridge, which was engulfed in blue flames, the Japanese soldiers eased their horses down the dike sideways, dozens of them bumping clumsily into each other all the way down to the riverbed. She could hear the men’s grunts and shouts and the horses’ snorts as they entered the river. The water quickly swallowed up the horses’ legs, until their bellies rested on the surface. The riders sat their mounts comfortably, sitting straight, heads high, their faces white in the bright sunlight, which blurred their features. With their heads up, the horses appeared to be galloping, which in fact was impossible. The water, like thick syrup, had a sticky, sweet smell. Struggling to move ahead, the massive horses raised blue ripples on the surface; to Laidi, they looked like little tongues of fire singeing the animals’ hides, which was why they were holding their large
All six younger sisters huddled around her, holding on to each other like stalks of garlic wrapped around the stem. Laidi heard that now familiar hoarse voice shouting at her, but the seething waters of the river swallowed up the sound.
Folding her baby sister into her arms, she felt the searing heat of the little girl’s face. A calmness returned to the river for the moment, giving the layer of smoke a chance to dissipate. More of those hissing black objects flew over the Flood Dragon River, dragging long tails behind them before landing in the village with muffled explosions, followed by faint screams from women and the thud of collapsing structures. Not a soul in sight on the opposite dike, nothing but a solitary locust tree. On the riverbank below stood a line of weeping willows whose branches touched the surface of the water. Where were these strange, scary flying objects coming from? she wondered stubbornly. A shout —
Ai ya ya
— broke her concentration. The sight of the Felicity Manor assistant steward, Sima Ku, riding his bicycle up onto the bridge appeared through the branches. What’s he doing? she wondered. It must be because of the horse. But he was holding a lit torch, so it wasn’t the horse, whose corpse was splattered all over the bridge and whose blood stained the water below.
Sima Ku slammed on the brakes and flung the torch into the liquor-soaked straw, sending blue flames into the sky. Jerking his bicycle around, but too rushed to climb onto it, he ran it down the bridge, the blue flames licking at his heels. The eerie
Ai ya ya
shouts kept spilling from his mouth. When a sudden loud crack sent his wide-brimmed straw hat flying into the river, he let go of his bicycle, bent low at the waist, stumbled, and fell face-first onto the bridge flooring.
Crack, crack, crack
, a string of noises like firecrackers. Sima Ku hugged the bridge flooring and crawled like a lizard. Suddenly he was gone, and the cracking noises stopped. The bridge all but disappeared in blue, smokeless flames, those in the center rising higher than the others and turning the water below blue. Laidi’s chest constricted in the stifling air and waves of heat; her nostrils were hot and dry. The waves of heat changed into gusting, whistling winds. The bushes were wet, sort of sweaty; the leaves of trees curled up and withered. Then she heard the high-pitched voice of Sima Ku emerge from behind the dike:
“Fuck your sisters, you little Nips. You may have crossed Marco Polo Bridge, but you’ll never cross Fiery Dragon Bridge!”
Then he laughed:
“Ah ha ha ha, ah ha ha ha, ah ha ha ha …”
Sima Ku’s laughter seemed endless. On the opposite bank, a line of yellow caps popped up over the top of the dike, followed by the heads of horses and the yellow uniforms of their riders. Dozens of horse soldiers were now perched atop the dike, and though they were still hundreds of meters away, Laidi saw that the horses looked exactly like Third Master Fan’s stud horse. The Japs! The Japs are here! The Japs have come …
Avoiding the stone bridge, which was engulfed in blue flames, the Japanese soldiers eased their horses down the dike sideways, dozens of them bumping clumsily into each other all the way down to the riverbed. She could hear the men’s grunts and shouts and the horses’ snorts as they entered the river. The water quickly swallowed up the horses’ legs, until their bellies rested on the surface. The riders sat their mounts comfortably, sitting straight, heads high, their faces white in the bright sunlight, which blurred their features. With their heads up, the horses appeared to be galloping, which in fact was impossible. The water, like thick syrup, had a sticky, sweet smell. Struggling to move ahead, the massive horses raised blue ripples on the surface; to Laidi, they looked like little tongues of fire singeing the animals’ hides, which was why they were holding their large
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