by Michelle L. Brown –
The handsome prince signaled his companion to stop. “Creaking Knees, what is the source of that song?”
Creaking Knees craned his neck. “Ah, Your Majesty, it seems to be coming from over here. Are you certain she is the one?”
“Yes,” said the prince, “this is the song I have heard each night in the palace. Come along, Old One. I must see the singer.”
Creaking Knees shook his head hard, popping himself with his ponytail. “Ah, young prince, you amaze me.”
“How so?”
“You have been offered the most exquisite ladies in the land, yet find none worthy of your hand–”
“That parade of powdered peacocks? Ha!”
“–then you drag me about the city in search of a song. If your father discovers–”
“He will not. Our disguises serve us well. Sshh! Listen, this must be the stall.” Rising Sun closed his eyes and stood still, listening.
“Weep, oh weep for me willow
I am so sad and alone
Alas, my tears make my pillow
Come love, and make me a home.”
“Stop that crying!” someone shouted within. “No one wants their curd salted with tears.”
The singing stopped. Rising Sun parted the curtain and peered inside. Two very ugly girls rushed at him.
“Doufo?” asked one.
“Doufo?” echoed the other.
The tall one bowed like bamboo in a breeze. The short one bounced like a dumpling frying in fat. Was one of these his sweet singer? The prince winced.
In the back of the stall towered a fierce-looking lady. Her hair was pulled tight and her face was as white as the moon.
“Perhaps some curd?” she purred, offering the prince a dish of shimmering doufu. A delicious aroma wafted through the bamboo curtain. It was mingled with soft weeping.
“Might I have some hot from the pot?” he asked, pushing aside the partition.
A girl wiped her tears with the hair that ran in rivers of black down her back. She wore a shabby jade brocade. Perched upon her shoulder was a big black bird.
“Forgive me,” the prince said gently. “That doufu smells wonderful. I could not resist.”
Bowing, she handed a bowl to the handsome stranger.
“Lovely,” he murmured.
“The best in all of China,” she said softly.
“Silence, girl!” screeched the fierce woman. “You are to stir, not speak!”
“Your mother?” whispered Rising Sun.
“Step-mother,” squawked the crow.
The prince deferred to the bird. “Pray, what is her name?”
“Willow,” the crow replied.
“Willow.” Rising Sun tasted the name on his tongue. “Why?”
“Because I am always weeping,” said the girl. “But my father called me ‘Xishi’.”
“I said silence!” the woman screamed.
Rising Sun handed the bowl back to Xishi and bowed. Creaking Knees pulled at the prince’s sleeve. “You will be missed,” he hissed. “We must go!”
Outside, Rising Sun sighed. “Xishi–it means ‘pretty’. But I would call her perfect.”
Creaking Knees nodded. “Yes, Doufo-xishi–‘bean curd beauty’. A pity she is merely a common merchant’s daughter. Forget her my lord.”
Rising Sun shook his head. “You are wrong. There is nothing common about her.”
When Xishi was alone, she slid a tiny bamboo cage from her sleeve. A little black cricket blinked in the bright light. “Quickly! Friend Cricket, Friend Crow, go!” she whispered. “Follow him and learn where he lives.”
Cricket and Crow returned when the moon was high in the sky. They found Xishi curled up on her cot. She smiled in her sleep.
“We dare not tell her he is the emperor’s son,” advised Crow. He fluffed his feathers. “So sad,” he yawned. “It can never be.”
Cricket twitched his antennae thoughtfully. “We shall see, my friend. We shall see.”
Early the next morning an invitation was issued from the royal citadel. The merchant’s widow gathered her girls and read: “His Excellency, the emperor, desires you to attend a grand banquet in honor of the twentieth birthday of his son. All maidens of the province are invited.”
“When, Mother, when?” chorused Ming and Ling.
“This very afternoon, my daughters.”
Ming swayed and nearly swooned. Ling bounced around the stall like a little ball.
“Girls!” The widow clapped her hands. “Your future depends on your deportment. Surely the prince is browsing for a bride.”
“Look, Mother,” said Ling shaking the scroll with excitement, “‘fireworks to follow the festivities!'”
“Fireworks!” exclaimed Xishi.
“Willow,” Ming said menacingly, “you will see fireworks if you do not attend to mending my gown!”
“And my hair!” cried Ling, patting the two tiny knots atop her head.
Xishi bowed to her step-sisters. “Yes, then I must make myself ready. For it did say all are to attend.”
The widow gave Xishi a cold grin. “But my dear, I fear you have no gown. What a pity, for you are so pretty.”
Ming and Ling found this funny.
All morning Xishi waited on her never satisfied step-sisters. Finally, she found a few minutes for herself. She did so want to go! Now, what to wear?
Xishi went through Ming and Ling’s cast-off things. A snip here, a sash there . . . The front bell jingled. There was a messenger from the palace! Xishi read the message and wept. It said: “The prince has requested unsalted doufu for his banquet. It has reached the citadel that yours is the best in all of China.”
“Now I will never be ready in time!”
“Do not cry,” cawed Crow. “Cricket and I will call on some friends and finish your gown.”
Xishi sniffed and stirred the curd.
“No tears. Remember, the prince ordered his birthday curd unsalted!” quipped Cricket.
“Crow,” said Xishi, “I fear all your wit and all Cricket’s luck is not enough to help me now. There simply is not time.”
“We shall see,” Cricket said as he hopped atop Crow. “We shall see.”
Word spread through Cricket and Crow about the kindness of Xishi. Many creatures were anxious to assist. An army of silkworms spun a gorgeous gown. Moths flew to the moon and borrowed its beams. The silkworms wove them into the fabric, while sparrows spangled the dress with dewdrops.
When they presented their work to Xishi, she was so overjoyed she almost wept.
“No time for that,” commanded Cricket. “You must make haste!”
Xishi wrapped herself in the wonderful gown. It fitted her form to perfection. Each movement sent out showers of light, as if the dress were alive.
Xishi stopped smiling. “Cricket and Crow, you have been too kind. But I cannot go, for I have no ride!”
Crow’s onyx eyes twinkled. “Does not the widow own an ox?”
“An ox!” exclaimed Xishi. “In this dress?”
Suddenly thunder rumbled in the sky over the stall. The air was black–thick with a cloud of crows.
“Allow me to introduce you,” Crow said with a bow, “to a few of my friends.”
Cricket climbed inside Xishi’s sleeve. Gently, she sat down upon a carpet of crows. They rose as one bird, winging their way through the afternoon air.
Soon she stood outside the citadel.
Cricket peeked out of her sleeve. “Xishi, when the sun sets you must be outside these gates. The beams will return to the moon, the dew to the earth and your dress to rags.”
“I understand,” she said.
“And the crows, you know,” Cricket chuckled, “must return early to roost.”
“I will remember.”
“Good. I will tickle your wrist when it is time.”
She turned to face the palace. The golden peaks gleamed in the sunlight.
“Oh!” whispered Xishi, “it was never this grand, even in my dreams.” She stared, soaking up the celestial beauty.
“Move along,” Cricket called from within her sleeve.
“Remember: Sunset!”
Xishi walked past the guards and followed the ever-increasing roar of voices to the great hall. At her entrance, all was still. Somewhere a platter clattered to the floor. Then a tidal wave of whispers began.
“Who is she?” “Have you ever seen such a gown?” “Such elegance?” “Is she a princess?”
Xishi looked down at the floor. She looked up to see the handsome stranger from the stall standing before her.
“My father wishes to meet you,” he said as he offered his arm. “And so do I.”
The prince seated Xishi between his father and himself. “Do taste the doufu,” he said. “It is the best in all of China.”
Xishi pulled a pair of chopsticks from a small pouch in her sleeve. They were made of jade and glowed a deep sea green.
The chopsticks caught the emperor’s eye. “Magnificent,” he muttered. “Where did you get such a gift?”
“From my father,” said Xishi.
“I should like to meet your father,” said the emperor.
“Alas, my lord, he has dwelt with his ancestors these three years.”
The emperor patted Xishi’s hand. “He must have been a great man. I am sorry.”
“Was he a noble?” asked the prince. “I am certain I have beheld your beauty somewhere before.”
Before Xishi could answer, Cricket tickled her wrist.
Already? She had just sat down! Xishi looked out the window to see the orange sun setting.
She rose and bowed. “Forgive me your majesties, but I must go.”
“But you only just arrived!” protested the prince.
Xishi bowed again and ran from the great hall. Rising Sun ran after her. As she fled down the palace steps, a jade chopstick slid from her sleeve.
Xishi ascended into the air on the backs of the birds.
“Wait!” called the prince. “What is your name?”
Rising Sun stood on the steps, watching her disappear. The sun shone on her dress sending out bright shafts of light. He picked up the chopstick.
“You are my Evening Star,” he said. “And I will find you, wherever you are.”
The next morning, the merchant’s daughter sang a new song as she stirred her curd:
“Shine, shine on me starlight
Moon, send down your beams
Let the loving voice of this maiden
Sing in all of his dreams”
“Stop that singing!” moaned Ming. “My head hurts.”
Ling yawned. “My head hurts, too.”
The service bell jingled at the front of the stall.
“Hurry, girls!” ordered the widow. “The emperor’s son is here!”
Ming and Ling bowed and bounced their way to where Rising Sun stood with his steward.
“Ah, Your Grace. I am certain you remember my daughters?”
The girls giggled.
“They are truly unforgettable,” replied Rising Sun. “But do you not have another daughter?”
“No!” shouted all three.
Creaking Knees produced the chopstick. “We were looking for the maid who owns this jade.”
“She alone will be my bride,” added the prince.
“Oh, that is mine!” cried Ming.
“No! It is mine!” Ling leapt at the steward; her mother pulled her back.
“Girls! Where are your manners? That chopstick is an old family heirloom,” she said. “I will retrieve the other.”
Before she could move, Crow pulled back the partition to reveal Xishi holding out the other chopstick.
Rising Sun knelt before her. “Will you be my bride?”
Xishi handed him the other chopstick. “With all my honor, devotion and pride.”
Creaking Knees bowed low. “Welcome to the family, Princess–what shall we call you?”
“She is my Evening Star,” said Rising Sun.
Ming and Ling shrieked. Cricket chirped and Crow cackled. The widow actually swooned.
For many years the marriage of Rising Sun and Evening Star was discussed over steaming bowls of doufu. People remembered the beauty of the bride and the glory of the groom. They remembered the chorus of crickets that serenaded the wedding processional. They remembered the crows that circled overhead, raining down apple blossoms from their beaks. But most of all they remembered the doufu served that day. Many declared it the best in all of China.
the end.
Question Time:
1. Why did the Prince stop at Xishi’s tent?
2. How did Xishi get to the Prince’s grand banquet birthday party?
3. What did she leave behind as she rushed away from the banquet?
4. After she agreed to become the Prince’s bride, what was Xishi’s new name?
5. Why was the story named ‘The Bean Curd Beauty’?
