Such a tiny and precious abacus isn’t really an abacus – it is a piece of jewellery. You can look at it but you can’t use it. The beads were so tiny, the size of mung beans, so that an ordinary person couldn’t use it, and if they tried, they would have to move the beads really carefully with the tip of a fingernail. But Huang Yiyi could use that abacus at a speed comparable to any expert abacist; for the first few years to move the beads she used her own fingernails, all ten of which had been trimmed to a point. Later on she switched to using false nails like pipa players do, moving her hands with complete confidence. The tiny beads would then be set in motion with the speed of the wind or the rain, with a sound like flying sand or walking on pebbles, and it gave you the same feeling as watching an acrobat walking quickly along a high wire. This was her greatest skill and she was very proud of it. Wherever she went, she always carried her beautiful abacus with her, and whether happy or sad, whether she needed it or not, she would take it out and play with it. Sometimes she would show off with it – to strut her stuff, and let people know what she could do. Mostly though she used it because she was accustomed to having it with her; it was unintentional – she wasn’t really aware of what she was doing. But with a skill like that, wherever she went people noticed her, and they remembered her.