rage one minute and unbearable shame the next. When he met people on the road, he covered his mouth with his sleeve to keep them from seeing his blood-streaked chin. Not long before he arrived home, he stopped alongside the Masang River to take a look at his reflection; looking back at him was a truly ugly face, striped with wrinkles, frosty gray temples, all in all the face of a doddering old man. With a sigh, he scooped up some water to wash his face, no matter how much it hurt, before heading home.
Sun Bing disbanded the opera troupe. Since he’d already had an intimate relationship with Little Peach, an orphan who sang the female leads, he went ahead and married her. They seemed well suited to one another, despite the substantial difference in age. With the silver given by Magistrate Qian, they bought a compound that faced the street, made some modifications, and opened the Sun Family Teashop. In the spring, Little Peach delivered twins, a boy and a girl, which made him deliriously happy. Magistrate Qian sent a congratulatory gift, a pair of silver necklaces, each weighing an ounce. The news spread like a thunderclap through Northeast Gaomi Township. Congratulations arrived from so many township residents that a banquet consisting of forty tables was necessary as an expression of appreciation. In their private conversations, people began referring to Magistrate Qian as Sun Bing’s semi-son-in-law and to Sun Meiniang as a semi-Magistrate. When this talk reached Sun Bing’s ears, he was, of course, mortified, but as time passed, apathy set in. Now that he had a smooth chin, like a wild horse shorn of its mane and tail, he had lost the air of intimidation and was no longer so easy to anger. A nearly permanent scowl was replaced by a gentle, mellow look. Life was good for the new Sun Bing. His face had regained its color, he was at peace with the world, and he had become a country squire.
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3
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At mid-morning, customers filled the teashop. Sun Bing, who was wearing only a thin jacket with a towel draped over his shoulder, was sweating as he went from table to table with a long-nosed brass teapot to fill people’s glasses. As a one-time singer of old men’s roles in opera, he had a sonorous voice with a tragic air, a talent he put to use in his business, shouting out orders as he worked, rhythmical and cadenced. He moved quickly and poured with great accuracy, his hands and feet in perfect harmony with a distinct tempo. His ears seemed always to echo with the enchanting sounds of Maoqiang drumbeats, the strumming of a Maoqiang zither, a lute, and flutes: Lin Chong Flees at Night. Xu Ce Runs to the City Wall. Three Kingdoms Operas: The Wind and Wave Pavilion, Wang Han Borrows Money at Year’s End, Chang Mao Cries over His Cat . . . As he made his rounds with the teapot, those operas drove out thoughts of his past and concerns for the future, keeping him focused on the joy that his work brought him. A kettle whistled in the yard out back. He ran out to replenish his teapot with boiling water. There his helper, Stone, stood by the fire, ashes in his hair and soot on his face, which made his teeth look snowy white. He reacted to the appearance of the shopkeeper by redoubling his efforts with the bellows beneath a four-burner stove on top of which sat four brass teapots. The fire blazed and crackled as drops of boiling water splashed onto the flames and turned to white, fragrant steam. Little Peach was holding a toddler in each arm, on her way to the Masang Market to take in the sights. The children’s laughing faces were like bright, shiny flowers.
“Bao’er, Yun’er, say hello to Dieh-dieh,” she said to them.
Together they slurred a greeting. Sun Bing set down his teapot, wiped his hands on his sleeves, and picked them up, one in each arm; and as he affectionately touched their tender little faces with his scarred chin, he breathed in their delightful milk smell. They giggled from the tickly feeling, which all but melted his heart, like soft candy, the sweetness reaching a peak before turning slightly sour. Now he moved more quickly and nimbly in the shop; his voice had more of a ring than ever as he responded to his customers. He was all smiles, and even the dullest among