“A token of sincerity,” she says. “It was the first thing he bought her. Do with it as you please. I would guess that you’d want to bury it, but don’t be ashamed to sell it. Others in your position would do the same. Besides, you know what happens to buried treasure around here—especially something like this.” She is leaning towards the ring, and for a moment it seems as if she is about to pick it up again. However, she sits back. “He did very well for himself,” she says, giving the ring a long, thoughtful look.

She doesn’t notice Sing’s reaction to her last remark, preoccupied as she is with considering her cousin’s former suitor, his wealth and cunning, and how she, unlike her cousin, may have been able to overlook his cruelty. She takes another sip from her cup. Pleasantly hot. When she speaks again, there is some kindness in her expression.

“There’s no shame in being practical.” She smooths the wrinskles from her lap. “I’ll be on my way. Thank you for the tea. No, don’t get up. I’ll see myself out.”

II.

Wai Lan is bored at her cousin Fong’s in the countryside, where she is to stay until her mother sends for her. She’s been told all her life that she needs a firmer hand than her mother can give her. She’s been called a devil running from fire—can’t sit, can’t wait, can’t hear no.

Fong treats her well enough, but is twenty years her senior and full of seriousness, so Wai Lan feels they have little to talk about. Fong’s husband is a neat, chubby man whom Wai Lan has caught staring at her on several occasions. His surname is Lam, and Wai Lan secretly calls him Lam Bek Bek—Softie Softie. Since injuring his back, he spends much of his time at home, so Wai Lan makes sure she does her chores quickly and is out of the house until her cousin returns from her secretarial job at the transport department. Most days, she wanders around the village looking for someone to chat with, or goes off on her own into the hills with a sun hat and a book. Sometimes she sits at a table outside the Brother Store, sipping on a soda or writing letters to her classmate Ga Ling, who lives on the same housing estate in the city as Wai Lan and her mother.

Wai Lan is writing to Ga Ling about the sunburn on her neck when she sees her elderly neighbour walk by with a large cardboard box.

“Can I help you with that box, grandmother?” she asks.

“Ha ha, didn’t think you’d miss this,” says the old woman, winking at her from under the brim of her wide bamboo hat. “Here, help me with the gate.”