It Was No Sacrifice.

And it's no sacrifice
Just a simple word
It's two hearts living
In two separate worlds
But it's no sacrifice
No sacrifice
It's no sacrifice at all

- Elton John

Though her face was demure and expressionless, the fisherman got the unpleasant feeling that she was also amusing herself throwing him off his feet. There is a streak of cruelty in her nature but he did not feel that she is overall a cruel person. In trying to fathom her, he knitted his brow searching for an answer he knew he would not find in the porcelain face. She remained cool under his gaze and stared back.

MingYu looked at her boyfriend stammering, desperately trying to explain how sad he was, how he had not intended to hurt her, how he had no choice (without explaining why), but did not offer any way out of the mud. Words she had been expecting to hear, there was nothing new. She had heard them all before. As his desperation droned on, a new sorrow settled on her. Not for herself, she had been through that and had emerged from the mist. But this boy, this boy he once loved was still lost in the fog. She wanted to explain that some changes were irreversible. That she was no longer the same person who left town in tears. She could not return to who she was even if she wanted to.

She wanted to stop him. But thought it kinder to let him speak all he wanted. Let him spilled out his guts. So that he will not regret that he did not have a chance to say what he needed to say. But at the same time, she knew that is a lie. For when he is alone again, the words will play in his heads and he will find there are many more things he ought to have said. As if they will make any difference. She wanted to cut through this with “Yes, I know you’re sincere. Yes, I know you’ve no choice. Yes, I know it is not your fault. But is there anything we can we do to solve it?” And somehow, when he had exhausted himself, she managed to put something like that through. That brought about an immediate, confused, embarrassed silence.

Under the weeping willow, the fisherman gazed at that pair of crystal eyes that challenged him to react. Though he could not read anything that the owner did not want him to, he felt sorry for her. He did not know why. The lady with the velvet voice saw the fisherman’s eyes softened and waited curiously to see what he will do next. But when she heard the whisper “I’m sorry”, she turned immediately to face the lake. She felt the weight in her heart and the tide rising to her eyes. Her feelings raced from indignation that an uncouth fisherman should break her composure to anger with herself for losing it. From surprise at his reaction to surprise of her vulnerability. Then they settled on the balm that maybe, finally; there was someone whom she could tell her secrets. That there was someone she wanted to tell her secret to. She knew he had turned away to look the other way pretending to watch the leaves catching the breeze.

“Now I understand” she said without explaining what it was she understood. Then silence. The fisherman waited. He had heard such silence before. The moments before a gigantic storm break; when the very air and all sound seem to have freeze. Every sense heightened for that moment yet every sense dulled in the anticipation. In the rising tension, every movement, every sound faded into the background as all consciousness was diverted to focus on the breaking of the storm.

“I’ve the best father a child could hope for,” Her voice sang with a quiver, at a pitch threatening to break. “A father who tries to anticipate your every need and fulfill them without your asking it. A father who guides you yet knows when to step back and let you grow on your own. A father who loves you more than his own life. I should be the happiest child on earth.”

“My father was also a man to respect. A kind, caring person who loves his friends as much as he loves his family. He is always ready to lend a helping hand and help those less fortunate than him. His generosity and high moral character means that we had hardly enough to eat but that is not important for we were happy. He has a wife who adores him and a beautiful child he adores. And the respects and admirations of his workers. Despite his uncompromising attitude towards management, they tolerated him because his unit was the most productive due to his capable supervision and the support his workers gave him wholeheartedly. Not everyone loved him though. His immediate supervisor, an uncharitable man who felt he did not get enough respect from my father. Things came to a head when he wanted to dismiss a sick man in my father’s unit but my father with the backing of the other workers prevented him from doing so. They covered for the sick man and increased their production in spite of one man down thus saving him. But the supervisor took that as a challenge to his authority and a slap on his face.”

“One day, I was very sick and my family needed money for the doctor. There is a Chinese saying that the poor must not fall sick. With no money kept aside, my father went round begging for help. But the few who had a little to spare wanted to keep it precisely for such a need. Even those he had helped before could not or would not return the favor. They would have gladly marched with my father into danger but they could not give away what little security they had. My father returned that night a broken man. He had been out the whole day but it was not hunger that dragged his feet or hung his head. My mother was beside herself and demanded whether he got the money though she knew he had not. “Have you asked Lao Liu?” My father nodded. “And?” “You can save Lao Chen or you can save your precious child, he said.” “How could you?” my mother wailed and ranted “To sacrifice your child for your friend. What type of father are you?” My father said nothing but sat on the stool with head bowed, the tears dripping to the floor one drop following another. Then he stood up and left the house.”

“When he returned, my mother asked more hopefully “well?” “He wanted me to turn a blind eye to his ‘doing’. He will even give me a cut.” “And you refuse to sacrifice your principle?” my mother asked hysterically. My father lifted his head and stared at my mother coldly with a look she had never seen. “No. After the first one, that was no sacrifice.” Lao Chen was dismissed and his family lost the sole source of income. His friends and workers who would not help him save his child accused him of betrayal. His superiors were delighted for he was now one of them. And my poor father became a person he hated because of me.”

“I was too young to know all these. My father was still the loving father I’ve always known. But my mother sometime started to say things I don’t understand like “child, you must never hurt your father. You do not know how much he sacrificed for you.” My father was an intelligent man and now freed from the shackle of morality, he rose quickly up the rank to become a senior manager in the company. Several years later, the same supervisor was caught in a financial scandal and was sacked. That evening when he came to our house, I was behind the screen in the study room and mischievously decided to eavesdrop on the conversation. My father had grown rich in the intervening years and had rebuilt his reputation performing charities. I saw the supervisor made groveling appeals while my father listened kindly and offered some advices. At the end, he took out a bundle of cash and handed them to the supervisor who thanked him with tears in his eyes. Another kind act of my father to an undeserving man, I thought. When the supervisor left and my father settled down in his rosewood chair, I wanted to observe that benevolent look of satisfaction on his face. But what I saw horrified me. The face of the man sitting opposite me was not that of my father. The features were the same but I have never seen that face with the cruel smile. I covered my eyes with both hands but it was too late. The image was burned into my brain. Later that evening, my father was especially attentive and warm towards me but I shrank back until I remembered what my mother said.”

“No wonder you are so good in hiding your feelings”, the fisherman said.

“Comes with practice” she answered cynically.

“My father started his own business and became even more successful, and powerful. He was widely respected as a benevolent business man pouring money into helping the poor, building roads and sponsoring festive celebrations. “A poor man can do no charity” he said. He tried to help all he hurt especially his former group of workers. And they all forgive him except one. Lao Chen died and his wife said she would rather eat sand than took a single cent from him. But my father has his ways. He made sure the family is cared for without them knowing that it came from him. But I could not help but noticed that those few who opposed him sooner or later met with some form of misfortune. And he would then be especially generous to me. Another new toy, another new dress, another lavish dinner which I accepted gleefully. I’ll never hurt him by letting him know that I knew. This is my sacrifice.” Her voice dropped like a pebble into a bottomless well.

The breeze picked up. They lifted the flaccid arms of willow branches and the edge of her skirt. She stood there, a composed figure staring at the ripples of the water surface. You would never have guessed what she did not want you to know, the fisherman thought. She holds more secrets than the sea. She turned round and he was surprised she did not attempt to hide her tears.

“And you wonder what has all this got to do with WenCai, MingYu and me?” echoing his thoughts.

To be continued...

The Lake of Tears of Weeping Willows.

Spring Reflections by JancyLi



The willow's thousand and one leave,
Shimmer and ripple, trembling in sorrow.
She is stripped bare, full of naked unease,
Drunken and swaying outside my window.

J. W. - The Woodlands School

They walked in silence. He tried hard to find something to say but could not find the words to break it. She looked ahead, afraid to look towards his direction. Afraid her face will reveal too much and afraid it will be misread. And with each passing moment, silence seized a stronger hold. Neither the cool morning breeze nor the birds’ chirpy songs could lift their gloom. Like soldiers marching to a certain doom, they dragged their heavy feet forward.

They threaded through the village and they walked through the town. It was a Sunday and there were not that many people around. Those that were, were so caught up in their daily survival quest that they did not pay these early birds any attention. The road led to a winding path at the edge the other side of town. It offered an opportunity for MingYu to cut through the veil of silence.

This piece of land once belonged to a rich man who built a beautiful villa at the edge of a small lake. He loved the weeping willows and had them planted evenly spaced along the bank of the lake and used to joke, “The water of the lake is filled by the tears of the trees I planted”. What he said is true for on a windy day, you can see the trees weeping and the tears rippling the surface. He is a romantic soul and said “I planted them for lovers”. And lovers flocked here, a pair under each tree. He was pleased. But he had tempted the jealous Gods to strike back for intruding into the domain where they reigned. His wife drowned in the lake. And every morning in the balcony, he saw the trees weeping for him reminding him of his sorrow. Now the tears were for real. Afraid he will drown in this lake of tears, he gave this piece of land and the villa to the state authorities as a park with a condition to leave this place without any development in perpetuity. Then he disappeared and no one ever heard of him again. The lake is now called “Tears of Weeping Willows” and it is even more popular with lovers for lovers love a tragic tale.

We walked through the front gate to reach the garden at the back. Though in a state of disrepair, he could see how grand it was in its heyday. Now, the ghost of the rich man’s wife wandered through the lonely corridors searching for her departed lover. The silent mansion echoed with the sounds of helpless sighs and despairing moans. He shivered at the chill. Little Rain stopped at the moon gate leading into the garden. He stopped behind her. Would she turned and leaved this place without meeting him? Or was she bracing herself for the encounter? He knew there would be no resolution, no closing of the chapter if she was to flee now. Yet that is what he hoped for, for he was now afraid that he would lose her. They would meet. They would reconcile. They would say heartfelt sorry to him. And he would return to the sea, alone.

She turned and saw the look on his face. But she did not say anything to assuage him. He could see that she was trembling. She waited for him to say something. But he had no words for her either. “Come, let me introduce you.” And with that she walked through the ominous moon gate.

They first came across a lotus pond, the broad leaves proudly opening out high above the water surface. It has been a long time since he had eaten lotus seeds. He hurried up to walk besides her, as close as he could without touching. They walked under the covered corridors till they came out into the open again. Huge white clouds billowed above and swallows were sweeping across the sky. They walked beyond the stone steps, out another moon gate into an earthen path that was lined with trembling willows and resonate with a thousand insect calls. There ahead was a small stone bridge that led to a pavilion built into the lake. Inside the pavilion was a round marble table and four round stone stools. He could see a figure standing in the center of the arched bridge pacing about.

She looked down as she walked – through familiar ground. It was not apparent she saw the figure at the bridge but he knew she did. Every tree they passed temporarily blocked the sight of the bridge but also brought her closer to him. The closest he had to this feeling was when he was racing against the wind to reach the shore before the storm hit. Except now he was racing into the storm. Her steps picked up the paces. Was it anxiousness to meet him? If he had said, “Please don’t go”, would that have stopped her? But his thoughts had no time to wander further for she was standing in front of the figure now and him a couple of steps behind.

He was a handsome young man, tall with delicate fair skin like a woman, His thick but soft hair parted in the middle just above eyes that dreamed too much. He carried himself with the poise of the confident mellowed by the gentleness of a scholar. The fisherman hated him already. He called “MingYu” with a voice strangled with emotions and stepped forward to hold both her hands before he could react. She pulled them away abruptly and turned quickly to look at the fisherman with concern. He will never forget that look. He knew then even if she did not love him yet, she cared enough to be deeply concerned about his feelings and hurting him. He will always cherish that look. And whenever he wanted to remember her, it is that look of genuine concern that he will recall.

She turned back and said to the boyfriend in a steady and slightly harsh tone “This is my husband.”

The boyfriend gave such a miserable expression that he felt like drowning him and put him out of his misery. Instead, without addressing him; he spoke to MingYu “I’ll wait for you.”

MingYu gave him a look of gratitude and added “Don’t wander far.”

He walked back to the end of the stone bridge giving them space and privacy. When he looked back, he saw deep in hushed conversation. He noted that there was no more attempt to try to hold her hands again. They stood apart engaging in agitated conversation. Then he decided that it was awkward for him to be standing there and that his still nearby presence may make it uncomfortable for them. So he walked down the path and under a weeping willow which branches did not obscure his view of the bridge. He stood there and looked across the water at the two figures facing each other on the bridge. For anyone chancing on them, they would think that this was a couple of lovers having a romantic conversation on the stone bridge. And indeed in ways they were.

He was so engrossed in the scene and lost in his own thoughts that he did not sense her presence until he was shocked by a mellifluous voice asking “Don’t they make a lovely couple?’’

It was spoken by a slender lady with a round face and a tiny mouth given life by thin but sensuous red lips. Two pencil thin lines formed a gentle arch over small slanted captivating eyes that seemed to observe without looking. And a small round nose provided contrast without taking center stage. By itself, none of the features were singularly outstanding but put together with her lily white skin; what he saw was a classical Chinese beauty. Put her in a cheongsam and she would look like an old time Chinese painted model. But this girl was dressed in conservative Western clothing. It was a face masked in neutrality; he could not read any emotion in it.

“Yes, they do” he replied without thinking wondering who she was.

“They were made for each other, you know.” Did he detect an edge in the velvety voice? “Everyone said so. The rest of us could only watch with envy. How is it they could have found each other so early in life? To be so completely happy. Their happiness made us all unhappy. For it showed how inadequate our lives were. It set us on our own fruitless quests to seek our perfect companion. And we held them up as example of who our partner and how our relationship should be. But they were an anomaly. It made our quests impossible. They broke a lot of hearts and were totally ignorant about it.” This time, there was no mistaking the bitterness in her voice. “So we were secretly happy at their misfortune.” And she smiled. But it was not a smile that took pleasure in another’s misfortune. It was a beautiful sad smile that mock at life’s irony. That smile told the fisherman that her bitterness was directed at fate and not at the couple.

“And we suffer from the guilt for feeling so. For they have meant us no harm. All they did was to love each other. And they are genuinely nice people. How can we hate people like that? But we do.” The fisherman suddenly felt very sorry for her. She did not hate them; life would be simpler fro her if she could. “At the same time, many of us would love one of them if they will love back.” She continued as if speaking her own thoughts.

“And would you love him?” The fisherman asked.


He was shocked by her reply “I love him even though he does not love back. I am his fiancée.”

To be continued...