In addition to functioning as a place of worship, the chapel at Chek Keng served as a sort of community centre and inn. The priest had his quarters there—a small room where he stayed when he was in town—but there was another small room that contained a couple of beds, a few dishes, a water jug, and some blankets. People from other villages coming to Chek Keng to visit friends or relatives stayed there sometimes. Ting-Yan helped Tak-Tam and Yim-Fong dust off two of the wooden plank beds. She found them each a blanket and a ceramic pillow. Captain Lee invited them around the corner to his modest village house for the supper that Siu-Wai had begun to prepare the minute she’d seen them disembark from the Oolong. At dinner, they talked about the abundant rice crop that year and the relative dearth of fish in the ocean. They speculated on the likelihood of the Kuomintang retaining its alliance with the Communists in order to drive out the Japanese over the border in China. Idly, they wondered whether the Japanese would invade Hong Kong. They did not discuss Tak-Tam’s suit or Ting-Yan’s ambivalent response.

That night was the longest night of Tak-Tam’s life. While Yim-Fong snored in her plank bed by the far wall, Tak-Tam lay wide awake in his. He thought of past trips to Chek Keng, which were actually not that many, because everyone was working most of the time. He thought of the way Ting-Yan’s eyes followed his brother. He thought of his own eyes, following her as she set crab traps or laid nets, cleaned fish, and bargained with customers on the dock at the Causeway Bay Typhoon Shelter. If she said no, how would he live? If she said yes, would he be able to make her happy? Or would she continue to pine for his golden brother and make him miserable with her pining? If he were to live at Chek Keng, he could make a life for himself here. Himself, Ting-Yan, and their children. He could get out from under Tak-Wing’s shadow and be his own person instead of Tak-Wing’s skinny brother. He would fish. He would farm. He would love Ting-Yan. He would raise a huge family with many children. Surely everything would be well. But then again, maybe it wouldn’t be. Maybe she would hate him for all the ways he reminded her of Tak-Wing, and all the ways he wasn’t Tak-Wing. Maybe they would argue and fight. Maybe they wouldn’t be able to have children. Maybe his life would pass him by in bitterness and grief in this little backwater village instead of big city Hong Kong where he belonged. It was impossible to see the future—one just couldn’t know. In short, Tak-Tam did not sleep a wink.