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Authors: Mingmei Yip
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doubt that she was the lead embroiderer and Purple and Leilei merely her helpers. So my two sisters, besides Along the River, still had to take time to embroider small items to bring in money.
I felt flattered that after only a few months my embroidery was good enough that people would pay for it. However, I wished I could work on the more ambitious scroll and so I practiced very hard. After I was done with the required work for the day, I also practiced painting and calligraphy. I did this in the hope of advancing myself, but also because there was really nothing else to do.
Aunty had some rubbings of the thick-stroked, big character steles of the Northern Wei dynasty. I copied these for enjoyment, but also because Aunty told me that writing big characters would help protect my eyes from the damaging effects of straining them while embroidering. However, no matter how hard I worked, how good my work looked to me, and even though Aunty praised my progress, I was not allowed to contribute so much as one stitch to Along the River.
When I asked my teacher when I would be ready, she’d say, “Not yet, Spring Swallow.”
“May I ask why?”
“Because you were too old when you started.”
“Old?” I couldn’t believe what I’d heard. “But, Aunty Peony, I’m only seventeen and I had lessons before—”
“Your so-called lessons were barely better than nothing. Anyway, I started when I was eight. Seventeen is pretty old to acquire a skill like this.” She looked at me directly. “Have you heard of tongzi gong? ” It meant “begin as a little child,” but before I had a chance to consider this, she was already explaining. “For any skill, it’s best to learn when you are three or four, because children do not know the distractions of the adult world. And they have all the time in the world.”
“But how can a little child concentrate?”
She chuckled. “Simple. If they don’t, their teacher will starve them or beat them till their bottoms blossom. If they are too stupid to learn, they’ll be sent back to their parents or get sold to someone else.”
The corners of her lips seemed to lift a little. “But even I have to admit that you’ve made a good start, Spring Swallow.”
I nodded emphatically.
She leaned close to me, and whispered, “That’s why I don’t spend much time teaching Little Doll; she’s too stupid.”
I was shocked by this cruel remark and could not think of any reply. I wondered how she talked about me behind my back. Although Aunty often said that Little Doll was slow and talentless, she still taught her to embroider simple items such as small purses, handkerchiefs, fan cases.... This way, Little Doll could feel good about herself and bring in pocket money by selling them in our neighboring village.
Aunty cast me a serious look and went on. “Even when I praise you, don’t be full of yourself, you understand?”
I had no choice but to nod.
“Good . . . don’t forget that you are still a beginner. Here’s a story you should listen closely to. Wang Xianzhi, son of the most famous calligrapher Wang Xizhi, thought he could be as good as his father, maybe even better. So Xianzhi practiced very hard, wearing out countless brushes and using so much water to grind ink that he dried up the family’s well. One day, Xianzhi finally finished a piece of calligraphy to his complete satisfaction. Happily he took his work to his father and expected accolades.
“However, after the father looked at the son’s work, instead of exclaiming in praise, he remained uncharacteristically silent. Minutes passed before the father picked up his brush and painted a dot at the edge of Xianzhi’s calligraphy. Then he said, ‘Son, take this to your mother and see what she thinks.’
“The mother, after carefully examining her son’s calligraphy, pointed to the dot, and said, ‘Son, this dot is the only good thing in the whole piece.’ Of course, this was the dot placed by his father.”
I
I felt flattered that after only a few months my embroidery was good enough that people would pay for it. However, I wished I could work on the more ambitious scroll and so I practiced very hard. After I was done with the required work for the day, I also practiced painting and calligraphy. I did this in the hope of advancing myself, but also because there was really nothing else to do.
Aunty had some rubbings of the thick-stroked, big character steles of the Northern Wei dynasty. I copied these for enjoyment, but also because Aunty told me that writing big characters would help protect my eyes from the damaging effects of straining them while embroidering. However, no matter how hard I worked, how good my work looked to me, and even though Aunty praised my progress, I was not allowed to contribute so much as one stitch to Along the River.
When I asked my teacher when I would be ready, she’d say, “Not yet, Spring Swallow.”
“May I ask why?”
“Because you were too old when you started.”
“Old?” I couldn’t believe what I’d heard. “But, Aunty Peony, I’m only seventeen and I had lessons before—”
“Your so-called lessons were barely better than nothing. Anyway, I started when I was eight. Seventeen is pretty old to acquire a skill like this.” She looked at me directly. “Have you heard of tongzi gong? ” It meant “begin as a little child,” but before I had a chance to consider this, she was already explaining. “For any skill, it’s best to learn when you are three or four, because children do not know the distractions of the adult world. And they have all the time in the world.”
“But how can a little child concentrate?”
She chuckled. “Simple. If they don’t, their teacher will starve them or beat them till their bottoms blossom. If they are too stupid to learn, they’ll be sent back to their parents or get sold to someone else.”
The corners of her lips seemed to lift a little. “But even I have to admit that you’ve made a good start, Spring Swallow.”
I nodded emphatically.
She leaned close to me, and whispered, “That’s why I don’t spend much time teaching Little Doll; she’s too stupid.”
I was shocked by this cruel remark and could not think of any reply. I wondered how she talked about me behind my back. Although Aunty often said that Little Doll was slow and talentless, she still taught her to embroider simple items such as small purses, handkerchiefs, fan cases.... This way, Little Doll could feel good about herself and bring in pocket money by selling them in our neighboring village.
Aunty cast me a serious look and went on. “Even when I praise you, don’t be full of yourself, you understand?”
I had no choice but to nod.
“Good . . . don’t forget that you are still a beginner. Here’s a story you should listen closely to. Wang Xianzhi, son of the most famous calligrapher Wang Xizhi, thought he could be as good as his father, maybe even better. So Xianzhi practiced very hard, wearing out countless brushes and using so much water to grind ink that he dried up the family’s well. One day, Xianzhi finally finished a piece of calligraphy to his complete satisfaction. Happily he took his work to his father and expected accolades.
“However, after the father looked at the son’s work, instead of exclaiming in praise, he remained uncharacteristically silent. Minutes passed before the father picked up his brush and painted a dot at the edge of Xianzhi’s calligraphy. Then he said, ‘Son, take this to your mother and see what she thinks.’
“The mother, after carefully examining her son’s calligraphy, pointed to the dot, and said, ‘Son, this dot is the only good thing in the whole piece.’ Of course, this was the dot placed by his father.”
I
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