Page 62 of Silk and Sensibility

What was the point of her efforts? She had tried to fight for happiness, to what avail?

She had been a fool. Not only had she brought shame through her poor sense of judgment, but she had also caused problems for the Jiang family. They had given her so much, and she had given nothing but trouble in return.

From the whispers of servants, she learned her outburst on the boat at West Lake had offended the family of Wei Luobi’s betrothed. Magistrate Gao was using his political power to threaten the Jiangs. Instead of chastising Meilin for causing a mess, however, Grand­mother Jiang and the rest of the family were protecting her. How could she ever repay such a heavy debt of gratitude?

She wished she could disappear like the last note of a song fading in the wind.

Meilin was in bed when Ailin entered her room. When she opened her eyes, orange afternoon light filtered through the papered lattice windows. Less than a day had passed since she’d run out of the family dinner in tears. She wished it was a year.

Ailin sat down by her bed. “I have something to tell you.”

Meilin didn’t have the strength to reply. Ailin was probably calling her to dinner, where she’d have to force herself to sit up and swallow food that tasted like ash.

“It’s good news,” Ailin said in a tone Meilin didn’t believe.

At Meilin’s silence, Ailin explained how she visited Madame Qiu and got an assurance from her that Prefect Yao would work with the Jiangs to expose Magistrate Gao’s corruption. “We won’t have to worry about the magistrate on our own anymore. The prefect is on our side.”

The news was too good to be true. Ailin was probably downplaying the threat to make her feel better. Meilin turned on her side, looking away from the sister who was trying so hard. Ailin was a reminder of everything Meilin should have been but wasn’t.

After several minutes of silence, during which Ailin’s disappointment grew almost palpable, Ailin stood up. Perhaps she was finally giving up. Meilin deserved it.

Tears dripped from her eyes onto her pillow. Her hopelessness had exhausted even her long-suffering sister. She quietly turned to watch Ailin leave.

To her surprise, however, her sister walked over to the wall where Meilin’s zither hung. She took the instrument off its peg and placed it on a desk in the middle of the room. She sat and positioned herself on the right half of the instrument. Father had taught them both how to play years ago, but Ailin had not practiced for years.

Ailin’s face scrunched in concentration as she plucked the strings one at a time, pausing between each note as if measuring her left hand against the mother-of-pearl huī dots every time she moved. Her right hand was shaky, muffling the silk strings of the instrument so much that Meilin could not identify the tune she was playing.

Why was Ailin playing Meilin’s zither in the first place? She had never shown an interest in the instrument before, not even when Father was alive. And why was she playing now, of all times?

Out of curiosity, Meilin walked over to the desk where Ailin sat. Ailin was dressed formally in a lilac ǎo blouse with an embroidered mǎmiàn skirt. Her hair was arranged in neat, interconnected knots held firmly in place with a jī pin. She was dressed much too nicely to be wasting her time with someone like Meilin.

When Meilin stepped behind Ailin to observe her fingering, she stopped her labored plucking.

“What song was that?” Meilin asked.

Ailin frowned as she cocked her head. “Are my skills so bad that you can’t even tell what song I was playing?”

Meilin grimaced. “Yes?”

Ailin sighed. “It was supposed to be ‘Three Stanzas on Plum Blossoms.’”

Recognition swept over Meilin like dawn peeking over a mountain ridge. It was the song she had played for Ailin when she wanted her sister to be strong. Like the plum blossoms that bloom in the depths of winter, be strong.

Ailin laughed, a broken little sound that reminded Meilin of an injured bird. “I’m pretty terrible at music, aren’t I?”

It had been so long since Ailin joked with Meilin that her ability to process Ailin’s humor was as bad as her sister’s zither playing. “At least you’re trying.”

“Thanks.” Ailin smiled softly as she vacated the chair behind the zither. “Would you care to show me how to play better?”

Years of practice made Meilin’s body so used to the musician’s space that she moved toward the empty chair almost automatically. As soon as she sat down, however, negative thoughts flooded back to her.

She hesitated.

How could she enjoy something as beautiful as music when she had brought so much misery to everyone? She didn’t deserve to show Ailin how to do anything, not even how to play the zither.

“I can’t do it.”

“Why not?”