The Tea Set

By Michael ODonnell

Set in 1930s China during the Japanese occupation, The Tea Set is the story of Siu-mui, a young Chinese woman with a powerful and controlling Warlord father. She rejects her father's attempts to marry her off into the proper family. She rejects the idea of marriage as well and ends up instead pursuing her education in Shanghai. Here she falls in love with her young professor who is not only the son of her father’s political adversary but also involved in the early communist uprising. War throws them together, but family and Chinese tradition tear them apart. Their only hope to continue their torrid love is to leave the country. But her father’s reach is far, and Siu-mui is sent away to America with no chance to get word to her lover. This is not a romance novel but a story of love, karma, fate, and paying for one’s self-perceived sins. The story immerses the reader in Chinese culture, the spirit world, and superstitions.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Michael ODonnell
• Release date: Aug 12, 2015
• ISBN: 9781310771477

Michael ODonnell

Michael ODonnell taught English in Minneapolis. He is now retired and living in California with his wife of 32 years, Lydia Lee. He has written one other book, a history of Lydia's grandfather, General Li Che-shen. That book is available at lulu.com. Michael is currently a member of the Fremont chapter of the California Writer's Club.

Book preview

Chapter 1

The ancient Chinese proverb says ‘the Yangtze never runs backward’. It must also be true of the West River. Now Grandmother is gone and I am only beginning my life. Mother says I must have a plan, then she tells me that her and Father are planning my future carefully. How is that my plan?

August heat in southern China can stifle the movements of even the most seasoned native, so Siu-mui was grateful for the cool marble floors and thick walls of the governor’s mansion. It remained relatively pleasant indoors especially when electricity was available to turn the large fans that hung in most of the rooms in this her family’s living quarters. Her attention wandered from needlepoint crane she was stitching on a silk patch, to watching the slow moving West River flow past her window. Her thoughts wandered as well. She thought of school and classmates she would likely not see again soon and a grandmother who was now living many miles away along the same river she observed from her window.

Dai-jeh-jeh, come get the table ready for dinner. Get your head out of your books and help with the chores. Hurry. Father will be home any minute. Did you hear me? Siu-mui’s mother was calling to her.

Yes, mother. Coming, Siu-mui called, putting down her needlepoint. She hadn’t been engrossed in her studies but was attending to womanly things. She wouldn’t have mother know anything different. In truth, only she and her grandmother knew Siu-mui’s skill at needlepoint. It gave her some feeling of power to keep secrets from her mother and to know that her love of books set mother off, kept her in a constant state of anxiety.

The perfect man will walk right in front of you one day, and you will have your nose in a book and never notice, her mother often told her. But Siu-mui felt she would never be noticed no matter what she did. Besides what would she have to say about the matter anyway?

She stopped in front of the hall mirror at the head of the stairs as she would often of late, hoping she’d see a change on this day, that somehow over night her plump figure would become curvaceous, a plain-looking face suddenly taking on character. Maybe magically, she thought, her hair had turned blonde and curly. She’d find herself staring into a Shirley Temple reflection—the wish of nearly every Chinese girl coming of age in the 1930s who had been privileged enough to have seen American movies.

Only Grandmother had ever complimented her on her appearance. You have such lovely, olive skin, Ah Po often said to her. And such delicate features.

It’s the face of a child, Siu-mui’s mother would interject. It’s cute now.

Oh, she will grow to be a beauty, mark my words, Ah Po would say, holding Siu-mui’s face in her aged, rough hands. Siu-mui couldn’t help but remember those words and wonder when they would finally come true.

Upon arriving in the parlor, Siu-mui noticed with some alarm that Mother’s best tea set was sitting on the low table in front of the divan, the main piece of furniture in the forward parlor. The fine China set meant only one thing—Father was bringing home a special guest, and because Siu-mui was called to greet Father, it was obvious to her that this tea party entailed some personal responsibility to be ‘charming and beautiful’ in front of her father’s guest. This was most important, as Father’s guest may have an eligible son and, worse yet, may have brought said eligible son along to spend a nervous and exhausting hour of broken conversation with much staring at one’s feet. She had experienced this before, not a few times. She despised being on display, being thought of as having this need to be introduced to the right man, the man that Father—and Mother, by the shear weight of her husband’s authority—approved of.

As a young girl Siu-mui had loved the fine china that her mother brought out for special occasions. It signified for the family that they had left their simple farming roots and were now part of the gentry, part of the power class. It was her mother’s first significant purchase after Father had been promoted to Field Commander and had been carefully shipped from the porcelain factory at Dehua, near Foochow in the Fujian Province in the south-east, where China’s most prestigious manufacturers of fine dinnerware and other porcelain had existed since the early Qing Dynasty. Siu-mui was just a small girl when it arrived but she remembered watching with delight as mother unpacked each precious piece and looked intently for the slightest flaw or imperfection.

Nervously Siu-mui looked around the room, hoping for some sign that there was another reason for the fine china. She counted the cups—four. Not a good sign. Her mother would not be taking tea. She never did on these occasions. Her job would be to serve; decisions on a suitor would be left up to the man of the house. So four meant tea for Father, Siu-mui, Father’s guest, and one other. Seeing the table set, she steeled herself to the inevitable and moved into the kitchen to watch as her mother directed the preparations, instructing each maid about what ingredients would best bring out the flavors of the dessert and how each place setting should be laid out in accordance of the importance of each guest.

The special tea set? Siu-mui spoke to her mother.

Yes, your father is bringing home a special guest. He would like you to meet him.

And his son. I saw the four place settings.

Dai-jeh, your father is only thinking of your well-being. He wants only the best for you.

It was difficult for Siu-mui to get her mother’s attention as she moved comfortably around the kitchen, directing the cook and servants. Only a few years earlier, her mother would have done all the cooking and baking and anything else needed to set a presentable table for guests, but she had moved easily into the position of authority. She had even taught herself math and bookkeeping so she could keep track of family expenses. Unlike many of the country wives who were abandoned when their husbands moved up in social ranking, Siu-mui’s mother was determined to keep her place as number one wife, even after her husband was able to take on other wives.

Mother, you know these things never go well…

And who is to blame for that? Young lady, you must control your independent ways. Where is the obedient daughter we watched growing up, the one who always helped around the house and did as she was told?

Maybe I grew up, Siu-mui thought. It is possible I want to choose who I should marry…and when, she emphasized. She knew she could talk to her mother as an equal in these matters, but also knew her mother carried no more power to influence such an outcome than she did. As she watched her mother controlling the kitchen with chef-like efficiency, Siu-mui reached for a fresh peach that sat in the bowl on the counter.

Not those dear, she heard her mother say. Those are for the guest table. There are plenty of peaches in the bin if you want to spoil your appetite.

Two reprimands in one statement. My mother is getting good. But those are beginning to mold, Siu-mui protested.

Cut away the mold. Those peaches are just as sweet. You know the rules, her mother said, and then went back to directing the operations of the kitchen.

Ever since Siu-mui could remember there was half-molding fruit that had to be eaten first, before anyone could touch the fresh. Possibly a residue of his early poverty, her father was always seeking bargains and invariably brought home more slightly over-ripen fruit than the family could eat in a timely manner. There was always extra fruit molding in their crates when new purchases entered the house. Siu-mui was never certain if she remembered ever eating a peach straight from the tree, let alone straight from market. She reluctantly picked out the least damaged looking peach from the crate and began to cut out edible parts for herself.

She noticed that only the finest china was being carried to the dining area and wondered whom her father could possibly be bringing home that evening. This was not the first time an eligible bachelor was guided into the Li sitting room. She had sat uncomfortably at this table on several earlier occasions and loathed the moments until the guests grew weary and finally took their leave. Siu-mui rarely had any interest in the young men that sat at their table, and she sensed that her father also noticed that most of the young men he brought to tea were no great catches themselves.

But her father did his best to introduce the family, especially his daughter, to life in Canton. The General had lived here in his youth, but Siu-mui was not a native. Her family moved from Peking when the newly formed Republic appointed her father, General Li Chi-shen, as Provincial Governor. She had, up until recently, spent all her life in that northern city. She had loved the hustle and excitement of Peking and felt now that her life of great expectations had somehow changed and ground to snail’s pace.

Worst of all, school had ended. She had graduated from upper middle school and, like most Chinese women, had finished what most saw as a women’s formal education. But this was the 1930s. The monarchy had long been deposed, and women were beginning to take their place along side the men as leaders and scholars. Madame Sun Yat-sen had led the way. There were finishing schools for the wealthy, and her father could certainly afford to send her if he was so inclined. But her father, progressive in most things political, was traditional when it came to family matters.

Dai-jeh, he had said to her upon her graduation, you will turn sixteen next month. That is a good age to seek a husband.

Siu-mui hated when her father called her by her familiar name. To her it meant that he was in power and this was his house and she would obey the rules he had ordained. So Siu-mui practiced that summer to assert herself, to become more independent in thought and action, especially towards her father. To do so she sought the company of her grandmother, a fierce, independent woman who had raised her father and his five brothers without the help of a husband, who had died or run off when the youngest was born.

Ah Po, Siu-mui had asked once when they were sitting together, what did happen to Grandpa?

Her grandmother looked at her as if she had asked why the sky is blue. It doesn’t matter. He’s gone. What matters is how to find the right husband and how you take care of your man. More important is how your man takes care of you. Now let’s take care of more practical things.

She wanted to ask her grandmother if she had loved Grandfather, but thought better of it. She knew she would receive a similar response—a diversion, not an answer. So she sat often with her grandmother, practicing more practical matters. She learned to delicately stitch the figure of a crane onto a silk background using multi-colored threads of fine silk. This was an art her grandmother had been teaching her since Siu-mui first arrived in Canton.

A man would be most impressed in a woman who is clever with the needle, her grandmother told her. Plus you can always use the thread to sew his mouth closed when it becomes necessary.

Siu-mui loved her grandmother. Though nobody had ever told her what really happened to her grandfather, she liked to imagine that grandmother had sewn up his mouth after some blasphemy, and he had subsequently starved to death.

Grandmother, like her schooling, taught her of the world outside the protective confines of a famous father and economic privilege. Then suddenly their relationship ended. Ah Po could no longer take the confines, nor the opulence, of the governor’s mansion and one day decided she had had enough.

You are too controlling, Ah Po had admonished her son. You want everyone to live the life you choose for each. Besides, this house is too big and this city too busy and crowded. Have your driver bring me to the boat. I’m leaving.

And she did. Afterward Siu-mui had to smile thinking of how easily her grandmother undertook a voyage of three hundred miles up the West River to its confluence with the Li River where she had raised her father and uncles. When her father tried to accompany her, she had asked, What for? You don’t think I can ride a riverboat by myself?

As summer dragged on Siu-mui continued to practice the stitchery as she stared out the window at the flow of the West River. Remembering how her grandmother had left the mansion and returned to her simple siheyuan in her home village, Siu-mui wondered if she could ever have that same courage to leave when she pleased. She knew she missed Ah Po as much as she missed school and studying.

Her worst fears were realized when father walked in with his Chief Subordinate Officer, Chu Chai-hua, and his number one son, Chu Ch’ing-lan, possibly the most sought after bachelor in Canton, and someone she actually knew, at least in passing. Ch’ing-lan was tall and good-looking, his black hair slightly wavy in a way that made him appear different, even somewhat exotic. He had beautiful brown eyes and long lashes that would be the envy of any woman. Siu-mui always regarded him as nice looking, but now up close she saw him as being more pretty than handsome, and not exactly her idea of a romantic partner but more like a doll she would set on her mantle.

This is my most precious daughter, Siu-mui. The General made introductions and instructed his guests to sit. The intimate party of four sat down at the round table large enough to seat a dozen. Siu-mui could not help noticing how uncomfortable and cold the setting looked with the large spaces between the seated diners.

And how is the Chu family today? asked the General.

Her father was a great field commander, but small talk in social situations was not his forte. Siu-mui cringed at his awkwardness, but her father was undeterred.

And what are your aspirations, young man? He was asking young Ch’ing-lan, possibly hoping he would demonstrate to his daughter a levelheaded strategy of a man with a bright future.

Oh, I’ve given it much thought and have decided to follow my father’s lead and join the military, was the young Chu’s response. I hope to rise to the rank of general someday, like yourself, sir.

Very ambitious. Her father smiled at Siu-mui as if seeking her approval. She ignored his glance and instead watched the young man, noting that he made every attempt to impress her father while paying little, if any, attention to her.

I have read many of your battle strategies, General. I was quite impressed, Ch’ing-lan continued, glancing at Siu-mui as if he had just scored points. Was he aware of the purpose of this tea party as well? Siu-mui wondered.

She stared back at him and asked, Are you also aware of my father’s strategies on governing? It is much in line with the preaching’s of the late Sun Yat-sen. It’s very enlightening.

I’m sure it is, he managed to say after a short, uncomfortable silence. Ch’ing-lan looked somewhat flustered, as if he was not used to women, much less a girl, asking him a serious question. I will have to read it, he said, looking at the General.

Nonsense. My daughter is only baiting you. He shot her a glance that warned her to say nothing. Then to his young guest he said, I haven’t said anything about what government should do except what Mr. Sun had taught us all. Read Sun Yat-sen, not me.

This was a lie. Her father had gone well beyond the policies of Sun and written much about democratic ideas and free elections. Siu-mui looked at her father but said nothing, only shaking her head slowly. For the moment she would keep his confidence and thus keep the peace.

Although not opposed to meeting the young Ch’ing-lan, she wished it were under different circumstances, and not here where she was being presented like some commodity to be appraised and evaluated as if she were a piece of silk that the buyer needed to hold between his fingers to determine its value. She was well aware her physical features would not easily catch the eye of even the discerning merchant. She knew the glances, the eyes in a crowd that would light on her and quickly move on, searching for creatures more appealing. Few looked into her eyes to see her intelligent, thoughtful gaze, or listened to her depth of understanding exemplified in poignant remarks.

And, as the conversation turned to talk of military training, she was well aware that Chu Ch’ing-lan was doing just what other suitors had always done. His eyes were everywhere but on hers. She watched as he immediately looked past her, around the room, taking in its entire splendor, at the General, taking in all his power. She watched him as he stared into his own teacup. Not shyness, she thought. He’s counting the rings of gold inlay around the rim.

She had always had a fantasy that given enough time with any man—even a man as coveted as Chu Ch’ing-lan—he would succumb to her infinite charms. It would happen after some shipwreck, or an escape from pirates. They would find themselves—just the two of them—washed up on some deserted island, thrown together and completely dependent on each other for their very survival. He would see how clever she was and how her inner beauty would make her ordinary features sparkle like the waters on their blue lagoon sanctuary. He would love her for her mind, he would love her for her who she was, and he would love madly, forsaking all previous loves. This is what she most wished. This was how her true love would know her.

Sometimes it wasn’t an island, but instead they’d be lost inside some forgotten cavern under the mountains of Guilin or be the last survivors of some terrible natural disaster. In any event he would learn the true depth of her beauty, and any other relationship, with some other mere mortal, would be rendered inconsequential.

Here and now, over the bitter tea and the clicking of fine porcelain she felt the young man at the table could only see the plain looking girl across from her. In truth he can see nothing at all, if he does not at least look at me. Talk turned to the unusually hot weather, the increasingly congested streets, and the General’s apologies for the strength of the tea. These trite comments thrown about the room scratched the surface of meaning, just enough to irritate Siu-mui’s skin. She knew she had no interest in adding to the conversation. Her unease in her own home felt unnatural and that made her blush and bow her head in awkward silence.

And when she heard, What are your plans? she was uncertain who the question was directed to. She looked up to see Officer Chu had asked her the question. Before she could speak she noticed her father’s eyes glaring at her in his ‘do not embarrass me’ look. Be civil, was his hope. Too late for that. He had instigated this engagement without her consent, he had made her the uncomfortable object of scrutiny, and he had embarrassed her on more than a few previous occasions. And so she stood as she spoke.

What are my plans? I plan to discover why Mr. Chu Ch’ing-lan was so gracious to accompany his father to this gathering. Is his interest in the General’s many medals that he seems to examine with such care, or is he interest in the fine porcelain? Maybe he just wants to pocket the profits and strut about the town as if he had stolen nothing.

This last remark was clearly her intention to point out how many a rich family sold their daughters with generous dowries to young gentlemen who, after the obligatory ceremonies, returned to their old friends and old ways, leaving the new wives to stay at home like some live-in maid. She would have no part of that! Of course she knew to the simpler minds at the table it could have been taken as an accusation likened to that of stealing the silver.

With that she quickly left the table and the room. The tea party had ended. She left it to her father to make the apologies to his guests.

Chapter 2

Siu-mui had made a hasty retreat to her father’s garden, a sanctuary she often sought when unhappy or confused. The house partly surrounded a large garden, and the General took great pride in growing an assortment of exotic flowers, vegetables and fruits, sometimes importing seeds from as far away as the Horn of Africa or Argentina. The sun was ready to drop below the far pagoda wall as she sat on a small bench near the Juniper tree. It had been planted generations ago by the first gardener of their large home in Canton’s most desirable neighborhood.

The tree, old and gnarled, spoke to the many families who had occupied the mansion before the General and his family. Someone years before had carved its bark, proclaiming eternal love for his sweetheart—‘Chew loves Lyn’. Often she had fantasized about the lovers, believing it was a love so strong that nature itself had embraced it and had left a permanent reminder sculpted on this tree for all time.

That was a love she desired, one that would transcend today’s infatuation and remain intense and sweet even through tomorrows mundane routines of daily living. And that love would be showered on all their children, for she would have many. She imagined Chew to be thoughtful and wise, well read and eager to share ideas with his wife, and equally eager to listen to hers. He was, of course, tall and ruggedly handsome. If you frequently conjured up imaginary lovers, why not imagine them perfect?

Siu-mui sighed as she sat on the bench in the shade of the Juniper. She noticed the large bushes of the sweet potatoes that her father had planted nearby. The tubers were brought from America by a French ambassador, a recent visitor to the General’s home. She hadn’t seen many western diplomats since her own father had declared marshal law. Only the Russian advisors still came to dinners. But she never had to attend dinners with foreign diplomats. Daughters were not introduced to ‘barbarians’.

As she gazed at nothing specific, Siu-mui began to think of the sweet flavor in the buried potato just out of reach. It would have been a pleasant contrast to the evening’s happenings, for things had not gone well. She could not hear her father’s voice but she could feel his anger inside their kitchen.

How can she continue to defy me like this! the General nearly shouted as he paced the floor near his wife. What should I do, lock her in a tower until she is twenty and too old to find a suitable husband?

Siu-mui’s mother Chou Yue-ching went about tidying up the kitchen, content to wait until her husband calmed enough to discuss the problem without blame or incrimination. She was not the prototype first wife of a successful warlord. Yue-ching did not move to the background when the General gained his commission and found the need to take a more prominent, educated woman into to his household as his second wife, his showcase wife. Yue-ching was strong willed as well as wise, and she did not return to her home village to live out her life on a small stipend, out of the eyes of the public and out of the hair of her now powerful husband. Instead she had taught herself to read and figure and she took over the family finances and watched the business ledgers. The General appeared to genuinely love her and often sought her advice, especially on family matters. If he ever forgot the enormity of his wife’s strength and resolve, he could recall her words when—not for the first time—Yue-ching had come upon him in a compromising position with one of the chambermaids. How can you run a country when you cannot properly run your own family?

So after much pacing he calmed and raised a question and not a demand. She insists on being such a burden to me. What are we to do?

You want to blame me for her shortcomings? Did I not raise a proper daughter? I think you know better. Have you ever asked her what she wants? she asked her husband.

What she wants? Since when does a daughter, a woman, make such decisions for herself?

Yue-ching took a favorite photo from the mantel and held it out to her husband. It was a picture from many years ago when the family was living in Peking and Father was a young lieutenant just out of military school. He was holding Siu-mui on his shoulders, laughing up at her as if she were the most precious possession on earth. You always let her decide, from the very beginning.

This is true, Li Chi-shen admitted. I could never deny anything my children wanted, especially her. I was proud of her when she was a little girl; always so smart, reading and telling me about all the things she learned in school. Do you know she even told me once what she wanted most of all? She said she wanted some day to go to college and be a famous scholar like Madame Sun Yat-sen.

So what are you thinking? she asked her husband, leading him toward the conclusion she knew was best for their daughter.

Maybe she needs to get away, further her studies. At least for a while until she outgrows this stubborn streak.

What do you have in mind? She’s still too young for college.

I’m not sending her to college. That’s a waste of money on a woman. No, but a finishing school could work. My associate runs a private woman’s school in Shanghai.

Ling-gen? she asked. You mean the school owned by Wu Chih-hui? You know you do not trust that man. Yue-ching was hoping to keep her daughter closer to home, closer to her. Other than the General’s second wife, Siu-mui was the only woman family member in the household, and the one she felt closest to.

Of course I don’t trust him. One can never know what way he will run or who he will befriend. As a politician he is one who changes his coat whenever the wind shifts. That is exactly why I keep him close. I will have my secretary put together a letter of introduction for Dai-jeh, urging Mr. Wu to accept her for the fall term. I don’t trust his politics, but in personal matters I can rely on his integrity.

With that the General was out of the room. Yue-ching had no time to protest or endorse her husband’s idea. She knew once the General made a decision the military man in him carried out its plan quickly and efficiently. He was used to having things taken care of with the ease of brush strokes on parchment. Yue-ching was left to inform her now distraught daughter of her impending matriculation.

Like most events in her life, Siu-mui approached her upcoming schooling in a faraway city with cautious ambivalence, unsure this was what she wanted but somewhat confident she needed to gain some independence from her family, at least for the period of time needed to grow into womanhood and to make personal decisions about her own future. But it was not as if she were embarking on an adventure completely detached from home and family. Shanghai was not a strange and distant place to her. On the contrary, the family had traveled there several times and her great grandfather was born there.

Besides, the venerable old man, Wu Chih-hui, who was one of Father’s advisors during the early days of the revolution, operated Ling-gen School. From Father’s perspective Siu-mui would be well looked after, though she saw it as ‘carefully watched’. However, the prospect seemed intriguing. It would certainly be preferable to living out the next several years dreading a succession of tea settings and young men. So, although there was no real choice, she willingly agreed to further her education.

As Siu-mui was packing the two trunks of belongings she would take with her to Shanghai, her mother approached with a small box. Dai-jeh, I think you should have this as well, now that you are moving away from you home for the first time. I was going to wait until you became a bride, but…well, this seems as good a time as any.

Siu-mui liked presents and opened her mother’s gift anxiously. What is it? Then noticing the rare china said, Oh, my.

The box contained a tea set of exquisite porcelain. The hand painted design showed the weathered mountains of Guilin in a blue tone from dies extracted from wild indigo and fired hard into the clay body. Like the set her mother owned, the cups were inlayed with gold bands. However the teapot itself was taller and slender, more like those more popular in Western Europe.

It’s beautiful, Siu-mui said.

Your father had it made to complement our family set. It was to be your grandmother’s, but she never wanted it. She said it was too extravagant and useless for a simple countrywoman. So it’s been in that box for nearly ten years, just waiting for you to take possession, I guess.

Oh, mother. It is really different. I love it.

Father bought it because he thought it to be the modern style, very popular in England I hear. The style never quite caught on here. Chinese women prefer the shorter, more rounded styles of their own family’s past. Traditions seem to trump desires for new ideas here in China. I guess you could say you now have a one of a kind, her mother added cheerfully.

But…taking them all the way to Shanghai. Can I keep them safe? What if I break a cup?

You will do fine. You’re an adult now, and adults take care of things—even the most special of things.

There are eight cups.

Eight is a good number, her mother replied, as if to remind her own daughter of the significance of that fact.

Yes, but I am moving to a very small apartment. I doubt eight guests could fit into my place. I’ll leave half of the cups here for safe keeping.

Four is a bad number, her mother replied.

Fine. I will take three cups. Those were packed carefully with the majority of Siu-mui’s clothes and personal belongings. The porters were called, and with her brothers and mother in attendance, Siu-mui was accompanied to the train for her journey north. The General was conspicuous by his absence, leaving Siu-mui to say, Give my good-byes to father.

Chapter 3

Much like Canton, Shanghai was hot and humid that fall of 1931 when Siu-mui moved into her small apartment in the French quarter not far from Ling-gen School. Arrangements were made by Wu Chih-hui himself, telling General Li that the dormitories were not a suitable arrangement for a girl of Li Siu-mui’s status. He assuaged the General’s worries by reassuring him that he would keep a special eye on his oldest daughter. The General knew he could and would rely on the old man’s integrity. What choice did he have? His young daughter was on her own in a city run by bandits, political hacks, and the relentless economic forces that were governed not by China, but by international greed and opportunists from all walks of life. She needed supervision, even if it came from one of his adversaries.

Classes would begin on Monday following her arrival, leaving her only a few days to gather her books and materials and set up a study