Captain Lee had come earlier in the day on the Oolong in pursuit of Ting-Yan, who had borrowed her second cousin Ka-Wan’s motorboat that morning without asking permission. Second Cousin Ka-Wan had won it the week before in a long-odds bet at a Macau casino, and it was the talk of the village.

When Lee saw them, he knew already what it was about. He stepped up onto the dock, beaming.

Tak-Tam blurted out his desire, awkwardly but clearly.

“Only if your daughter is willing,” Cheung said. “I stand by my word.”

“Nothing would make me happier,” Lee said. “But you will have to ask Ting-Yan, of course.”

Cheung said he would stay at the Tai Hang house and take care of what remained to do before the moving van arrived the next day. He wanted to sleep one last night in his adopted village too. Yim-Fong said she would accompany Tak-Tam to Chek Keng. Old Lee offered them tea and a bowl of congee. He laid out the oranges and wife cakes they had brought and sent a messenger boy to buy some dim sum for them to share before the journey. He was very pleased at the prospect of the marriage he had most wanted coming about after all.

When they had eaten and wished one another luck, Cheung left the boat and returned to the Tai Hang house alone. Lee untied the boat, and he, Yim-Fong, and Tak-Tam began the journey up the coast.

At dusk, Ting-Yan was in the chapel at Chek Keng, praying to Mary and begging forgiveness for her sins. The light inside the chapel glowed slightly pink in spite of the fact that outside the sky was deep blue fading to black. The pinkness had no discernable source, not that Ting-Yan noticed as she turned her eyes up to the Mother of God. Actually Ting-Yan believed in Tin Hau, but Lee insisted that she call the goddess Mary, so that was what Ting-Yan did. “Forgive me Mother, for I have sinned.”

Though Tak-Wing and Emily had not yet conceived a child, Ting-Yan knew what she had done was wrong. She hadn’t planned her actions at the wedding. She had gone on Granny Kwok’s prompting, but also out of a feeling of urgent need, a sense that a meeting with fate was inevitable. But she hadn’t known beforehand what that fate was. The curse had gushed out of her as many ancient things do, already lying in wait, unbeknownst even to the person who is the conduit.

“Please forgive me. I meant the child no harm. If you see it in the goodness of your heart to lift the curse I did not mean to pronounce, I will remain forever your servant.”