I took a picture, wanting to remember them like this, relaxed and content. I was about to send it to Louise because I knew she would like it, then I deleted the message and put my phone away. I decided to keep the picture as a memory just for myself, at least for now.

Chapter 16

From the Reforged pencil of Wong Yun

A year after the Japanese left, my father finally made it home. Mother was chipper, spending less time in her workshop, and even my grandmother left her room to enjoy the company of her only son. Mr. Gao came as often as usual, though now, instead of whisking your mother away for the night, he would stay, laughing with my father. The four of them would be up late, playing mahjong, our mothers getting dressed up to go out, this time with their men, enjoying the jazz clubs, the swing dancing, all the entertainment Shanghai had to offer. For a brief period, the world seemed bright. The city was finally under Chinese control, there were grand plans to fix its port, improve transportation, maybe even build a transit system. To develop the outer regions to create more space for the crowds. Mr. Gao wanted to publicize what the Phoenix Pencil Company had done for the war, to advertise our part in helping China. Our mothers refused. They did not want our powers known. And my father agreed, adding:

“After all, we may need those powers again soon.”

The first sign of the civil war was inflation. I remember the day your mother gave you money to buy rice while you were out with your boy. But you returned empty-handed. The amount she had given you wasn’t enough.

“That should have been more than enough for a bag of rice,” my father said. “I passed the stand last night.”

“That was last night,” you said evenly. “It changed by this afternoon. It’s over a million yuan now.”

“This afternoon?” my father countered. There was something so militant about him. I did not know if that was how he always was, or if the war had made him this way. “Then you should have gone first thing.”

“I couldn’t,” you said, voice clipped. “The stalls were closed. They close in the middle of the day now because they know prices will be higher in a few hours.”

My father was ready to retaliate, to at least scold you for talking back to him. You were saved by Ah-shin, who returned with a limp bag of food scraps, complaining the stalls had changed their prices right in front of her, that they were setting themselves up outside the banks so that customers could use their money as soon as possible, before it devalued even more.