Suffering, Strength, and Resilience Theme Analysis

Kai Ying would never forget the sight of her pale little boy lying on the courtyard pavement, his leg twisted beneath him. A broken branch, she thought, a crushed leaf. He wasn’t moving. At that moment, she realized he might never move again and a feeling of terror overwhelmed her, stopping her abruptly and rooting her in place. […] She stood there while her heart raced so fast her whole body shook. He can’t be, she thought, he can’t. And try as she might, Kai Ying couldn’t think of one tea or soup that could bring the dead back to life. Her father-in-law, who was usually calm and in control, turned back to her, his eyes wide and frantic, his hands waving wildly in the air as he yelled for her to get help from Neighbor Lau, who had the only flatbed pedicab in the neighborhood.

It didn’t take long for Kai Ying to realize that they were both prisoners of the past, though each pursued his desires and preoccupations differently. While Wei’s sole interest was in preserving China’s past through its art, Sheng believed that if the Chinese were going to forge a stronger nation with a vibrant future, they would have to move past their history and learn from their mistakes.

Sheng never shied away from […] politics and […] problems. […] Kai Ying had often heard Wei counsel her headstrong husband, “You should always look for the quiet within the storm, and then you’ll find the answers to your questions.” Afterward, she watched Sheng turn away from his father with an almost imperceptible shake of his head. She knew what he was really thinking. No, no, you’ll only find the answers to your questions by walking straight into the storm.

What Tao would never tell anyone, including his father, was what he really felt the day he fell from the kapok, how for just a moment he was flying instead of falling, and how happy it made him feel. Even now, he envisioned soaring through the gates and beyond the Ming garden wall, high above the narrow, crowded alleyways where he used to run and over the wide, tree-lined streets that led to far-off places he’d never seen. Tao felt so certain that if he had just kept on flying, he’d have reached White Cloud Mountain.

Now he sat down at his desk and flipped through the worn pages, the book opening naturally to the poems where the spine was broken. He read the first stanza of a poem aptly titled “Thinking of My Boy,” written for the poet’s favorite son.

Comes spring once more,
Pony Boy, and still we
Cannot be together; I
Comfort myself hoping
You are singing with
The birds in the sunshine…

Wei stopped reading, suddenly angered. He knew Sheng wasn’t where he could be singing with birds in the sunshine […] Two months [after his arrest] they received word that Sheng had been sent to be reeducated in Luoyang in the western Henan province […] more than a thousand miles away by train, another world away.

The beginning of the story always remained the same: Huoyi was commanded by the Emperor Yao to use his archery skills to shoot down nine of the ten suns to keep the earth from burning up. Upon completing the task, the emperor gave the famed archer a pill that granted him eternal life. Knowing its value, Huoyi left the pill at home with Chang’e when he was sent away on another mission for the emperor. From there, they story of why Chang’e swallowed the pill of immortality splintered off into different versions. So far, Tao’s favorite account was Chang’e having to protect the pill from Peng, one of Huoyi’s apprentice archers, who forcefully tried to take the pill from her. Knowing that she was unable to fight him off, her only choice was to swallow the pill herself.

“Do you want to hear the story of Huoyi and Chang’e now?” his grandfather asked.

Tao turned around and shook his head. “There’s no moon,” he answered.

“There’s still the story.”

“It’s not the same without the moon.”

His grandfather stroked his whiskers. “But we know the moon is still up there, beyond the rain and clouds.”

What good was the moon if you couldn’t see it? Tao thought. If it wasn’t there to help his ba ba to find his way home again? But, he nodded and limped back to the table and sat down, no longer caring which version of the myth his grandfather was going to tell him.

This young woman had eased her pain, made her feel human again. Then, for the first time, Song told a perfect stranger about her husband, Old Hing, calling him a violent monster, an angry pig, a festering tumor. Once Song began to talk, she couldn’t stop, even with the pain.

He glanced out to the courtyard and the kapok tree. When he turned back to Tao, he saw Sheng again at the same age, always so formal and closemouthed around him. He remembered all the times he heard Sheng talking to Liang, joking and laughing, but as soon as he entered the room, it was as if the air had changed. He and Sheng hadn’t learned to be friends until late in his life. Now he only wanted his son home again.

“I know…” Wei began, realizing the words that followed would change all of their lives forever. “I know because it was me. I was the one to write the letter, not your ba ba.”

Wei felt as if he’d been falling for the past year and had finally hit the ground. He stared down at the table and couldn’t look at either Kai Ying or Tao.

“I’ve been such a fool,” he said, his voice barely a whisper.

“My father used to say that the only fool is the man who can’t admit he’s one,” Song said. “Can’t you see Sheng knew what he was doing? It was his choice.”

“And my weakness,” Wei said. “I stood by and allowed him to be taken away in my place.”

“He knew what he was doing,” she repeated.

“I should never have put him in that position!”

“You know nothing about your own son […] and that should be your biggest regret. You’ve lived in the past for so long you can’t see what’s right in front of you. You make a mistake, an unintentional mistake. Who in this life hasn’t crossed that bridge? […] Sheng would never have allowed them to take you. He’s young and strong, he’ll survive.”

When Wei came to the darkened walkway under a bridge, he stopped to watch a lone middle-aged woman practicing some sort of dance. Unlike everyone else, who was dressed in the drab gray or green tunics of the Party, she wore a bright red flowing outfit, lifting her leg high into the air and sharply snapping a red fan open in perfect unison […] Still, Wei was intrigued with her precise movements, her total concentration; the effectiveness of the red fan as it opened and closed in unison [with her legs]. She paused once and glanced in his direction before she began the next set. Wei watched with admiration and wondered what it must feel like to be that agile, to move with such ease and grace through life, unafraid to perform a dance she loved, a remnant of bourgeoise decadence.

For as long as he could remember, his ma ma had always been the one to teach him about what was right and wrong […] Even when he was a very little boy, she reminded him it was important that he always be able to take care of himself. Tao had wondered why, when she and ba ba and ye ye were there to take care of him. “Because there will be a time when we aren’t […] Not now […] “but a very, very long time from now.”

[…] Tao wanted to tell her that he wasn’t ready to take care of himself yet. Instead, he pressed his lips together and held the words in […]—I’m still a little boy and it hasn’t been a very long time like you promised, so why are both ba ba and ye ye gone?

He was secretly happy Suyin was waiting for him after school. She wasn’t so sickly-looking anymore and her skin had cleared. Walking next to her, he realized she was almost as tall as his mother and thin all over. […] She usually wore a dark cotton tunic and pants and he recognized one of his mother’s sweaters that she was wearing.

Tao liked walking home with Suyin; it made him feel older. He liked the way she nodded at him without saying a word, without making a fuss the way Auntie Song did trying to help him with his books or forcing him to put on his jacket as the days grew cooler. Suyin kept things simple and to the point. If he didn’t feel like talking to her, she never pushed.

“Ready to go?” she said.

Tao nodded that he was.

Dongshan appeared different now that she was actually living there, the villas behind the tall walls no longer a mystery. They were filled with families and problems just like in Old Guangzhou. But instead of the multitude of voices screaming all at once from the crowded apartments, there was a quiet seething just below the surface in Dongshan. Upon closer scrutiny, she saw the cracks in the stone walls, the big houses crumbling slowly behind them in need of repair or paint or new tiles. All Suyin’s illusions of grandeur had suddenly disappeared. She would never be the same wide-eyed schoolgirl walking down the street for the very first time, and the thought brought both a sigh of relief and a moment of sorrow.

But rather than remain antagonistic, Wei decided to change his tactics and thanked the clerk politely. “Yes, of course, I understand,” he said, almost cordial.

“I see you’re learning,” Tian had said, leaning in close and teasing him.

It surprised Wei how easy it was to talk to Tian, who had been a stranger to him less than a week ago.

Wei cleared his throat and said, “Have you heard the saying, ‘The wise adapt themselves to circumstances, as water molds itself to the pitcher’? It seems I’ve been the pitcher most of my life. I’ve forgotten how to be fluid. It feels as if I’m finally learning now,” he said.

Tian smiled. “You remind me of my own father,” he said, “although I’m afraid he never did learn.”

Tao thought about it. Little Shan had betrayed him to be one of Lai Hing’s stray dogs, and now he wanted to be friends again. Mao would have sent him away for less, just like he did his ba ba. He looked up and studied Little Shan’s face, trying to understand what had happened during the past few months, how his entire life had been turned upside down ever since he he’d fallen from the kapok tree. Yet, here he was, standing upright. Little Shan hadn’t totally abandoned him, having saved him from being pummeled by Lai Hing and his gang. Best friends are hard to come by, his grandfather had said. His ye ye was hard to come by. There would never be anyone else like his grandfather, and Tao wanted him back, but until then, Little Shan stood bundled up and waiting in front of him.

“Truce,” Tao said.

Do you remember, he heard Liang’s voice ask him, when Sheng was a little boy and he was determined to fly his dragon kite even when there was no wind? He nodded at the memory, at the calm, cool watery sound of Liang’s voice, and how she had finally returned to him after so many weeks. Yes, he said. Wei could see her smile. Remember how he ran up and down the street trying to get enough wind until he finally gave up, she reminded him. And how you were the one who told him the wind would return again in no time, but he had to be patient. The wind will return again, Liang said. You’ve come this far, just listen to your own words.

Wei wanted to reach out for Liang, but was afraid she would disappear if he did, and remained content to feel her there beside him again.