This piece was written for a final in one of my Literature classes. I took the creative approach and tried my best at writing in the style of Arundhati Roy. The story mirrors the relationship of Ammu and Velutha in Roy's novel "The God of Small Things." I took the two characters and put them into a more modern Chinese setting along with changing the gender roles and making it more economically relevant.
Chinese New Year, or more well-known as February in other countries, is a chaotic time of year in Shanghai. Messy red lanterns matched with tattered glossy posters litter the narrow streets (if one could even call the streets alleyways) but only in the ones at Puxi. Pudong is much more refined with wider streets and filled with skyscrapers that look like glittery poles from airplanes. Both regions of Shanghai live under the same sky, with the sun, which desperately tries to shine as bright as the lights in the luxury stores, but is blocked by the stubborn clouds, who are by-products of the pollution that brought the city where it is today. Because of the clouds, the light from the sun is burnt orange and only seems to further reveal the litter on the streets: crushed Coke cans, left over bamboo sticks from midnight skewers, and plastic that sways in the air as if it’s in good cohorts with the birds. Fortunately, the large herds of people substitute for the sun’s lack of energy and the scent of fried buns wafts through the air like a river that replaces the caramel brown Huangpu river. Perhaps a few decades or centuries ago, the river was clear and people could still call it the Mother River. In 2013, sixteen thousand dead pigs were thrown into the Mother River along with chemicals and in 2003, there was an oil spill in her as well. Some children we turned out to be.
The people still seem to prefer the older district of Puxi over Pudong though. The older district holds rich amounts of history in the stone brick streets, fun in the various delicacies that have managed to travel to China, and enough trashy alcohol to make Puxi the center of attention. There’s not much to do in Pudong other than going to work in a cubicle, shop at Hérmes, watch a Bentley stroll by the riverside and catch wealthy cheating husbands. The true beauty of Shanghai is when the sun tires and the moon clocks in. The darkness is not dark in the city, but rather deep pansy blue. Man powered lights illuminate all faces of the land and acts for both function and entertainment.
Biyu’s day starts at night when the LED lights of the club hit her face. The makeup she wears makes it look as if she’s made of glass, while her hair is reminiscent of fine black opium. Even before she enters the club, Biyu is working—tapping along in the WeChat app, sending pouty faces to various businessmen, and taking respectfully promiscuous pictures to entice them into visiting her. Even before she enters the club, Biyu is working—spending hours at nail salons to make her hands seem long and delicate, getting her lashes done for the perfect doe eye, and applying extensions so that her hair shines and flows like midnight oil. They call her 小姐，or xiaojie which translates literally to little sister. Perhaps it’s a bit incestuous to call for a little sister over and then proceed to palm her breast through her tight black dress, but the older Chinese men don’t seem to mind. When they do mind, they just call Biyu 美女instead. Mei nu, beautiful woman. And that is what she is, and all that she will ever be.
For the fourth time this week, a man with crinkled eyes and a wedding ring smashes his face onto hers, making them collide like stars. Without purpose nor control and perhaps a quick death. His Better Judgement sways from the alcohol he ingested and Biyu’s was willingly given up long ago when she signed the contract with the Man in the Black Shirt. She tries her best to ignore reality and slips into her palace of thoughts, where only emptiness and space exist. At this rate, I’ll be able to get a nose job in a few months. I should start asking around for a good surgeon. Tomorrow, I’ll get jianbingguozi from the food cart for breakfast… If I wake up early enough… The man with no time for a proper marriage darts his tongue into her mouth in a manner she hates. As it rudely slipped in, Biyu slipped out of the land of pastel thoughts. The tongue is a muscle, and his is tense and excited—as if winning a wrestling match will ensure possession of all the finer jewels in his life. Biyu does not remember his name, but she knows he will never care to know hers.
In every culture, there is this peculiar need for domination. The domination of the poor, the domination of land, the domination of women. It’s as if life’s only purpose is to dominate another, whether it’s through brute force or success. Someone must be better than others and shove it in their face. A pitiful way to live, but it’s the way that the world works, just as capitalism does. These rules are not set as strongly in youth, for when Biyu was in a simpler time with a longer skirt and shorter hair, friends came with ease under the false pretense of sincerity while they fail to stay for loyalty. She met him during the winter. Tall for his age and a good student, Wang Jia Shen wasn’t the most popular student but he was most definitely one of the most handsome and wealthiest. Girls would gossip and chatter whenever he was around the corner in the hallway about how nice it would be to sit in the car that drops him off for school and how Jia would definitely feed you hairy crab weekly rather than take you to some cheap crawfish parlor. Biyu and Jia started off as friends, just as any two students would be in the same class. Similar taste in music, helping each other out with studies—there was nothing more between the two than a simple friendship. When Biyu couldn’t afford to buy the latest mechanical pencil and word went around that she was at the school with a scholarship spread, Jia was the one who bought her a new set of stationery and even offered to buy her lunch. She didn’t like that. Biyu’s studies were what brought her where she is now, but was there any merit in rejecting his kindness? And so, they were known as Jia and his poor girlfriend (who was not his girlfriend.) His parents eventually found out about his sponsorship of the girl and they did not care. He’s young, his mother said, there’s nothing wrong with being kind. That is until Biyu’s mother found out. Out of both embarrassment and pity, her poor single mother forced Biyu to return the precious supplies that were gifted to her and begged Biyu to not be distracted by the boy for the 高考. If she failed the 高考，then both of their lives would’ve been wasted and she’d just end up like any other washed-up Chinese girl at some factory in the countryside. At least prove you’re smart, her mother would say, prove it to the world and we’ll work from there. And so, to focus on the upcoming test that would determine her opportunities and fate, Biyu returned the expensive notebook half-filled with her notes and gave Jia two slips of pink paper, a 200RMB that was less than pocket change to him, but it was all her mother could afford to give in apology for her daughter taking the things that were given to her. As Biyu’s shaky hands returned the gifts, she could only repeat the words she rehearsed with her mother.
“We’re not beggars, Wang Jia Shen. Thank you for your kindness but I don’t need it. I’m going to study in the library now and if you’re right in your mind you should do the same for the 高考.” Although deep down, Biyu already knew that Jia could fail the test and still somehow go to some nice fancy university in a big city like New York or Los Angeles, places she could not afford to even dream about. A cubicle in some company in Pudong is far more reasonable and attainable. In that cubicle, she’ll walk to the water dispenser next to the window and dream about flying and then remember she needs to contact HR about sexual harassment but decides not to; she knows the higher up will get his way and she will not get what she wants despite following through with the actions that she should take. Jia did not take her comment personally, it was almost as if he could see through her bangs and glasses, through her dress shirt, and see the vulnerable child inside. Or at least that’s what his eyes supposedly think they see.
After the test finished, Jia expected to be welcomed back into Biyu’s life quite simply, and so he waited outside the testing center with milk tea. The pearls had a brown hue while the center was coal-black, and they swayed inside their caramel milk tea galaxy waiting for Biyu to run out stress-free and into his arms. She would thank him for wanting and they’ll walk to a nearby restaurant together pretending nothing happened. Instead, Biyu just walked past him and he was picked up by his driver (as if his parents would ever pick him up, they hire cheap people for a cheap cost to do menial tasks for them) and then put on a plane to Sydney to continue his studies. Taking the 高考was essentially a waste of Jia’s time, but to make everyone else (and perhaps himself) feel like he lives fairly, he took the test like any other local Chinese high schooler. Why waste perfectly fine milk tea? And so he sipped the tea as he sat in his parent’s black Mercedes en route to the Pudong International Airport. Biyu, on the other hand, simply just walked out of the testing center like everyone else and then went home.
From there on, the difference between their lives became more and more obvious. Jia surrounded himself with fellow 富二代, children of wealthy descent, whereas Biyu studied at a mediocre school with some mediocre people. Soon after, the memory of each other dissolved like sweet cotton candy dropped into a puddle. And then they met again.
Jia did not know what to expect when he returned to the burnt orange skies of Shanghai. Perhaps he expected friends to welcome him home, with lazily written letters saying, “Welcome back Jia!” Or perhaps even his parents, his mother in her Chanel coat with big camera lens sized sunglasses clutching onto his father’s arm while their matching diamond Rolex’s wink at him. Instead, all the airport had to offer were bustling people who had somewhere to go. Of course, flying First Class meant that he was one of the first few people to enter the Arrivals Lobby at the airport, but the walkway out felt more like a red carpet as beaded eyes from people of all status darted towards him full of excitement, in case he was their loved one. Once glancing at the boy dressed in scarves walking like a king, they look away in disappointment as their beloved isn’t him. It didn’t bother Jia too much though, the airport in Shanghai is much more refined and cleaner than the other ones he’s been to, although it can’t compare to the Narita International Airport in Tokyo. There’s something about the hardworking and well-mannered Japanese that makes public spaces so coldly comforting. As his feet clicked on the white floors amongst the chatter of the crowd, he found his name typed out onto a blank sheet of crisp A4 paper a few feet away from the crowd. He did not know the Driver that picked him up this time. The man stood tall with a dress shirt that had one single coffee splash on the chest area tucked inside some belt most likely purchased at the fake market. His skin was what struck Jia the most, for it was leathery, like an elephant that’s been sunbathing for too long and there was a scar on his chin that stretched to his neck. His skin was also a bit tanner than most Chinese locals, but Jia was used to that since all Australian media had were tanned models and celebrities. Upon stepping closer to the Driver, the man smelled like cigarettes masked by the stinging scent of the famous herb and alcohol mosquito repellent water sold on the shelves of every convenience store. There was nothing outrightly unpleasant about the man, yet he emitted such an unpleasant aura. Yet once the Driver recognized Jia, he gave a curt nod and spread a smile upon his dry lips, revealing his pearly white teeth and blackened gums (most likely from smoking and bad dentistry,) and then Jia felt an overwhelming tide of Pity for the man. Here is the Driver, twenty or so years older than Jia, picking Jia up at the airport while his own children probably eat congee and plain rice on most days wishing their dad is home.
“Sir Wang Jia Shen! Please, allow me to hold your luggage.” The smile from the Driver now looked sickening.
“It’s okay. I can hold it myself. Thank you for picking me up.” While Jia and the Driver went up the escalator from the Arrivals lobby to the main entrance and exit of the airport, he stopped in his tracks and lost the Driver for a moment. From the corner of his eye, he saw an ethereal girl with the midnight river as her hair and pale moonlight bright skin. She wore cheap clothes, a baseball cap that he wanted to rip off, and a puffer jacket most likely bought online from Taobao. When she waved to the girl she was waiting for, her slender arm looked more like a fragile noodle shaking in the air. Comically thin. When she turned around, he realized it’s Biyu. That’s Biyu, and there was not a single doubt in his mind, for although he might’ve suppressed the memory of the vulnerable child when he was abroad, the memory of her was not erased. Stationary, he thinks to himself, she could not even afford simple stationery.
“Li Biyu!” What was he thinking shouting her name in the middle of a large airport?
What was he thinking shouting her name in a large airport? To gather so much attention to himself when everyone around him could already tell that Wang Jia Shen breathes a different type of air and experiences a different type of life than everyone else around him…? Yet there stood the idiot of Biyu’s past, Wang Jia Shen. She did not spend days trying to forget him or nights curled up in her bed crying about what they could’ve been—instead, she spent her time remembering her place and remembering that working hard does not always ensure a good harvest, contrary to the famous Chinese proverb. When Biyu turned around to look at the baritone voice that called her name, she was both pleasantly and bitterly surprised. Jia stood tall, like a mountain that could sit through any storm while his was face was far more chiseled out than before, like a strong wooden statue. There was an indescribable softness to his face that Biyu couldn’t quite place her finger on, but that’s what made her know it was Jia. She whispers his name under her breath as he walks closer to her. The Louis Vuitton scarf he wears outshines any of the scarves she’s seen on her clients, while his Berluti leather shoes clicked obnoxiously on the floor. People tend to dress comfy for the airport, but Jia dressed the only way he knows how to: wealthy. But the man was only ever kind to Biyu, and so Biyu smiled back.
“Is that you Jia-Jia?”
“Yeah, it is, it is. I... I’m sorry I never told you, but I went abroad for university. You know, parents and all that…”
No, I don’t know, she wanted to say. However, Jia always liked Biyu and she wouldn’t mind eating hairy crab with him.
“No problem, it’s such a coincidence we ran into each other here though.”
“Yeah it is, isn’t it? I just came back to Shanghai and the first person I see is you… I see you’re still wearing that old Jade bracelet from your mother.” An uncomfortable silence followed. Was this Jia trying to reinsert himself into Biyu’s life? Some things seem to never change. “So what have you been up to?” Is Biyu supposed to tell Jia about how she works as an escort now? Or that she never went to university because despite her grades, she simply just wasn’t enough for the world?
“Oh, not much… Hey, I’m here to pick up a friend but I’d love to catch up with you over lunch or something. Add me on WeChat?” Unexpectedly, Jia took out his phone quickly and had his WeChat opened to the scan QR code function. Had Biyu hesitated or found her code any slower, he would’ve seen all the notifications from men along with recent transaction notifications in her WeChat wallet. Thankfully, she was used to sharing her code and so the exchange of contact information went swiftly without any issue.
“You don’t understand, I love you Biyu. Please. You won’t have to meet the other men or continue buying fake things online. I’m here. I’m here for you.”
“No, you’re not.” Jia looks down, disappointed. What wrong has he done? From the day they met again, it felt as if the gods put Biyu in his life for the specific purpose of loving her—so that he can give her all that she needs and throw her meaningless worries away. What wrong has he done? “That’s the thing, you say you’re here for me but what about me are you really here for? The bags—the clothes, the makeup… You don’t know why I buy them, do you? I can tell you I could care less about crocodile skin and cashmere. You-- Your own parents don’t even want me for you. Say this all goes well and then your parents cut you off. Then what?”
“That’ll never happen, I’ll make money for us.”
“That’s the problem, you idiot.”
What exactly made Biyu hate Jia? She knew that his parents didn’t approve of her, the first time she met them they laughed and asked her if she knew how to properly eat caviar. Then, she saw Jia interact with a family friend’s daughter. The daughter was so… Typical. Calling him brother and leaving lingering touches on him. Biyu herself had repeated the very same actions onto other men as well, but for some reason, this woman did not affect Jia the same way Biyu did. Upon careful inspection, she realizes that the Cartier Love bracelet (most likely bought by the woman’s parents) is the reason why Jia didn’t succumb to the woman’s long lashes and milky skin. However, that wasn’t what infuriated Biyu the most. No, it was when he ignored the homeless man on the streets. Shanghai is scattered with cockroaches and rats and amongst the communities of vile pests, they are the garbage of the people (or so deemed by those who wear black suits and are members of the supposed Communist Party.) The homeless: scattered across the streets of Puxi and very rarely seen in downtown Pudong since they know they have no place where the skyrises go beyond the skies and oversee the people. Biyu and Jia were going for morning tea at a famous cheap noodle shop and his eyes didn’t even lower to acknowledge the Homeless Man. A rat, she thinks to herself, he probably thinks of the Homeless Man as a rat who scurries the streets and lives life pathetically off of scraps from the higher beings. Sorry, he said while holding Biyu’s body closer to his, this area is rather rough. Yet the area looked nothing different from where she grew up. The green trees swaying, cicadas singing songs taught from nature, and the streets littered with people that had grapefruit red rosy cheeks and chestnut tan skin, who wore plaid rags and smiled without all their teeth in their gums. Not only did Jia struggle to even admit the existence of the lower class, but he’s also holding a woman who belongs to the lower class in his Hermes blazer and kissing the lips of a woman who cannot afford to eat caviar as his parents do. She didn’t say anything back to him but snuggled closer to his body to make him feel important. For a moment, she felt bad for hating his reaction and hating him, for this is a simple exchange she’s partaken multiple times with multiple men. For the money, you make them feel important and bigger than what they really are. But isn’t Jia big enough? His actions can affect stock market prices and his frowns go on local tabloid magazines. And then she realized, as they arrived at the restaurant with the cicadas singing their songs and the pollution danced in her lungs. It’s because he says he loves her, with his entire heart and his deep black-brown eyes sparkling. It’s because he says he loves her for her wit, her smarts, her smile, and how she’s not like other women. In fact, Biyu is like every other woman but she just managed to meet Jia before the others did. In fact, Jia loves Biyu because Biyu needs Jia. He does not love the Driver nor does he love the Homeless Man or the Poor, yet he loves Biyu.
How pathetic. Here is the smallest and most disgusting man Biyu has ever met, holding her hands and smiling at her through his Saint Laurent sunglasses.
After a long night of work, Biyu wakes up at the sound of her alarm. At 10 o’clock, she is scheduled to continue working and see another man who needs her to fulfill his desires. This man wishes for a date, and so a date she will give him. She remembers that he likes the smell of strawberries and fresh cream, and so she finds a perfume that matches it. The man thinks he won’t pay her and that this is her sincerely wanting to spend time with him, but he will find himself going to their WeChat conversation with Biyu tonight and send her some spending money. The two meet at a mall and from the corner of her eye, Biyu sees a man standing tall like a mountain laughing with a woman wearing diamond-crusted Roger Vivier heels and a subtle knit sweater from Loro Piana. They converse like they’re actors in a play about sophisticated people, and a child the size of a young bamboo sapling grips onto Jia’s hands with a smile. Props to the woman who is okay with needing him, she thinks to herself, as Biyu talks to the man as if they are also actors of the same play Jia and the woman are in. Turning down Jia meant going back to her old lifestyle but being with Jia meant admitting defeat to a fate she was born into.
Perhaps Jia saw her from the corner of his eyes, but he did not spare a glance at Biyu. Here before Biyu is the life she could’ve lived, but for some reason, she is far more content with the man beside her, who is replaced every day and every night. Jia till this day, does not know what he did wrong, and that in itself, is wrong.
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