I sat up straight, took a deep breath and reached for the thread again. I paused, waiting for the “no,” but it didn’t come. I started to use my fingernails to separate the thread into thinner strands.

  “To make a leaf, you must start with the stem, which is very thick and dark. You can make fewer passes if your thread is thicker,” she explained. “As the leaf fans out, you will want thinner strands.”

  By this point, my hands were shaking. “I thought you were only going to observe,” I mumbled.

  Lady Tang laughed. “I can observe and teach at the same time,” she said. “Do not be so sensitive and take criticism so personally. If I did not think you had potential, you wouldn’t be here. But you still have a very long way to go. Many of the things you taught yourself are wrong and you will have to unlearn them.”

  I had never even used a frame before, or such high-quality silk threads. I had only ever embroidered cheap shoes and even the silk threads my father had bought me felt coarse in comparison. My creations were nothing compared to the beautiful flowers of Lady Tang’s flowing robe, undoubtedly embroidered by herself. I had no idea what I was doing.

  I do not know how long I sat there ruminating, but Lady Tang never rushed me. I finally came out of my daze and looked at her.

  “Whenever you are ready,” she said.

  “As long as you show me,” I replied. “From the beginning.”

  Lady Tang nodded and showed me how to sit up straight so I wouldn’t strain my shoulders and neck. She showed me how to hold the frame so my arm would not tire too quickly. She showed me the different needles and what each one was used for. She let me slide the thread through my fingers so I could feel how smooth and fine it was. I do not think I ever got around to making a leaf that day, but when her lesson was over, I took one of those ugly green threads and put it into my pocket alongside the red thread from my first pair of shoes and the thread I stole from the sedan chair. That evening, I tied them together in a bow and put them in the chest at the foot of my bed. I finally had a safe place of my own to store my memories.

  4

  Changsha, Hunan, 1850

  My days at Lady Tang’s were almost leisurely. I worked nearly every day, but the days were not too long; our embroidery work ended when the sun set so we would not strain our eyes. We were inside where the temperature was always comfortable. And we had plenty of food. My life was comfortable, and far more exciting than I could have imagined.

  I didn’t do nearly as much embroidery work that first year as I thought I would because there were just so many other things I had to learn first. I had to learn how to draw and paint because many embroidery images are first painted onto the cloth and then worked over with thread. I had to learn dozens of different stitches – satin stitches, fishbone stitches, shading stitches, shan tao stitches, ping tao stitches, souhe stitches, shunxian stitches, split stitches, back stitches, chain stitches, Peking knots, and so many more. I had to learn specific stitches for butterfly wings, fish scales, and crane feathers. I had to study colors and how the light can change the way an image looks. I had to learn to read and write! Embroidery work often includes characters, similar to how a painting may also contain calligraphy, so I had to know what the characters said. I studied Buddhism and Taoism and what their various symbols meant. Every color, every animal, and every plant has a meaning. Certain combinations of animals, plants, and symbols can have different meanings too. I even had to study the anatomy of humans and animals so that when I embroidered them, they would have lifelike movements. I thought my brain would explode from everything I was learning.

  I couldn’t believe how much was involved in being a good embroiderer. Embroidery work was something that almost all women did, but not all of it could be considered art or sell for much money. What we did at Lady Tang’s school and studio was so far above anything I ever saw in the countryside. Embroidery was opening up a world for me I never thought possible. I wasn’t sure what would happen to me, but I knew my life would be much better than if I had never gone to the school, or if I had insisted on leaving after that first day.

  I dreaded the coming Spring Festival. After living for nearly a year in a warm home with clean clothes to wear and no chores, the idea of having to go back to the countryside filled me with dread. As Spring Festival drew closer and closer, though, my invitation home never came.

  “Aren’t you the least bit excited about seeing your family again?” I asked Wensong as she packed for her trip home.

  “No,” she said, shaking her head and slowly putting her clothes into a small trunk. “I doubt they care to see me either. One more mouth to feed. I can’t help around the house because of my feet. They just think I’m spoiled now.”

  Even among us embroidery girls, Wensong was one of the spoiled ones. She came from a wealthy family that had lots of land and plenty of servants. She had big dreams and loved to tell wild, romantic stories. She was already promised to a local magistrate, but she never stopped thinking that a better offer might come along, one that included love.

  “What will you do with your time?” I asked.

  “Not much,” she said. “They want me to do extra embroidery work to sell or give away as gifts, but I can’t bring myself to do much. I would rather not even look at a piece of string for the whole month!”

  “You are so lucky,” I said, crawling up onto the bed. “Your family must value you very much.”

  “Oh, I don’t know about that,” she said.

  “It’s a good match,” I said. “You aren’t happy about it?”

  “I’ve never met him!” she exclaimed. “And he’s old! At least thirty! If it was up to me I’d run away and never come back!” she said with a laugh.

  “No, you wouldn’t,” I teased. “You couldn’t go a day without a roaring fire, your silk pillow, and your spent cocoons to wash your face.”

  “That’s true,” she said with a nod. “Oh well. Happiness isn’t in the sticks for us. We just end up where we are told to go.”

  That was true enough. On this day, she was being told to go home; I was being told to stay where I was. It was such a strange feeling. I didn’t want to go home, but as the New Year drew closer and most of the other girls left one by one, I was sad that my family didn’t send for me. Didn’t they miss me? Didn’t they want to see what I was doing and how I had grown?

  Eventually, only three of us remained at the school with Lady Tang. Sun-li was an orphan. After she had come to the school, her parents were killed in some rebellion down south. Lingling’s family lived far away because her father was a court official. Even all of the women who worked in the silk houses out back were gone. Lady Tang paid a couple of maids and cooks double their wages to stay on so we wouldn’t be completely on our own. I was angry and hurt that my family lived so close yet they did not invite me home. I wondered if I should just go, but Lady Tang advised against it.

  “The best thing you can do is show them your worth, show them what you have become. Then they will send for you,” she said.

  So even though we were on holiday, I spent my days embroidering by the fire. I made several pairs of shoes, handkerchiefs, belts, fan cases, and baby clothes. Lady Tang bundled them up for me – along with a bit of money I had earned from selling a few pieces – and sent it all to my family. I never received a reply.

  After that first year, I stopped embroidering special pieces for them. Every year, Lady Tang would select a few embroidery pieces I had completed and send them – and more money – to my family. After a couple of years without a single world from my family, even Lady Tang was worried that something had happened to them, so she sent a man to investigate. He returned and said that they were fine and had received her packages, but they didn’t send any message to me. Lady Tang sighed and patted my shoulder. She and I spent every holiday together over the next few years. I suppose she had no family either, but she never told me what happened to them. I didn’t like talking about my family either, so I just began to think of her as my family. I think she felt the same way about me, but she kept all of her thoughts and feelings rather close to herself. But I could tell from the way she treated me, that I was more than just a student to her.

  Whenever she had good news to share, she always told me first. She and I shared all our meals together. She pushed me to be a better embroiderer. Anytime I started to feel sad or my mind would start to wander, I would focus on my embroidery or my studies.

  I was soon the best embroidery girl at the school.

  5

  Changsha, Hunan, 1854

  After I had been at the school for four years, Lady Tang called me to her office for a chat.

  “Yaqian, you are immensely talented,” she said. “I knew it from the first shoe I saw.”

  I blushed a little, but I knew it was true. There were no other students who came close to possessing my skill. My pieces were almost perfect copies of Lady Tang’s. Only a master would be able to tell the difference.

  “But you have stopped growing,” she said. I could feel my face fall. “Your work is mere imitation. There is no originality, no soul, no…art in your pieces.”

  “I don’t understand,” I said. “My pieces look exactly like yours. If mine have no soul, then neither do yours.”

  “Mine have my soul,” she said. “You can’t copy that.”

  “But if they look the same,” I said, “I don’t see what difference it makes.”

  “That is why you are still the student and I am the teacher,” she explained.

  I snorted and crossed my arms. “So, teach me,” I demanded. “Teach me how to fix it.”

  “Why did you start doing embroidery?” she asked.

  “I thought all the embroidery I saw was ugly,” I said. “My mother’s embroidery, my auntie’s. I thought I could do better.”

  “And now?” she asked. “Do you still think embroidery is ugly?”

  I looked at the embroidered scene of a waterfall hanging behind Lady Tang’s desk. The blue and white water cascaded down the side of a mountain and disappeared into a cloud of white mist. If you didn’t know any better, you would swear the piece was a painting. You could even see the brushstrokes of the original artist.

  “No,” I said, “it is not ugly.”

  “Then why don’t you enjoy your work?” she asked.

  I wondered for a moment how she knew that I didn’t enjoy embroidery work. I did enjoy my life. My bed was comfortable, the food was good, I was surrounded by smart and talented young ladies, my work days were easy, and I earned good money. I guess because I loved my life I didn’t realize that I didn’t enjoy my work. I might even go so far as to say that I hated it. It was so boring! Embroidery work, even on seemingly complicated pieces, was so easy I didn’t even have to think about it anymore. I sat at my frame each morning, and by the time lunch rolled around, a tiger, a flower, or a butterfly appeared looking exactly the same as a hundred I had made before. I suddenly felt almost sick. My life felt like a waste. I couldn’t imagine spending the next sixty years in such a horrid profession. But what was the alternative?

  “I don’t enjoy it,” I finally admitted out loud. “I hate it.”

  “Do you remember the first pair of shoes you made?” she asked.

  “Yes!” I answered quickly. “They were the most beautiful shoes I ever saw when I was done with them. I think they might be the most beautiful shoes I ever made in my life even though I had no idea what I was doing. I still remember every stitch I made, every thread that passed through my fingers. They were peacock feathers, but I didn’t even know what a peacock feather was back then. They faded from green to blue to black eyes. Around the top edge was a decorative trim as delicate as lace. After Mama and the fortune teller forced me to sell them, I made hundreds of pairs of shoes, but none were ever as magnificent as that first pair.”

  Lady Tang smiled and nodded. “Do you hear the passion in your own voice?” she asked. “That is what you have to do. You have to find the love, the beauty, the challenge in your work again.”

  “How?” I asked. “I’m already the best. How can I challenge myself and do better?”

  “The fat pig gets slaughtered,” she said.

  “Bah!” I said. “Why shouldn’t I give voice to the truth?”

  “If you were the best,” she said, “we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

  I sighed. “So, what do I do, teacher?”

  “Forget it,” she said. ”Forget everything I have taught you, everything you have learned. Go to your embroidery table anew and find your own way. Do you think the fluffy hair stitch or the scale stitch have always existed? No! Some woman somewhere said, ‘I want to make a lion, but none of the stitches I know can make a mane. I will make a new stitch and make a beautiful mane’. Find a new way to make your embroidery better. Make it more beautiful. Make it unique. Make it surprising. Give it your own soul.”

  I nodded and stood up to leave.

  “Yaqian,” she said, stopping me. “Water cannot stay stagnant. It must flow or it will dry up and all the fish die.”

  She didn’t say it, but her meaning was clear: if my work didn’t improve, my days at the school were numbered. This had not been merely an encouraging chat, but a warning.

  * * *

  I was given leave from my normal work for several days to focus on honing my skills and figuring out what I wanted to do. At first, I simply sat and stared at the white piece of silk in front of me. Is there anything worse than having a blank palate and not knowing what to create upon it?

  I looked around the room, but all I could see were the backs of the pieces being worked on by the other girls. Lady Tang and Wensong were standing on one side of the room, examining a piece Wensong was working on. I couldn’t tell what it was because the back was such a disheveled mess. I thought about how marvelous it would be if a piece of embroidery could be beautiful on both sides. If that were possible, then a silk fan could weigh much less because it wouldn’t need a wooden back to hide the mess on the opposite side. Silk panels could be used to separate rooms or cover doors instead of just hang on a wall to hide their backs. Clothes could be beautiful inside and out.

  I started to get very excited about the possibilities if embroidery pieces could be double-sided. Of course, I had no way of knowing how to go about it since I had never seen such a thing done before. But I remembered that every piece of embroidery work starts with the first stitch. I decided to start with something simple – a leaf. I started with a piece of dark green thread to make the stem. I pushed the thread through the gauze in a small round frame, but instead of bringing the thread back through where I normally would, I turned the frame over and did my first stitch on that side. When I flipped the frame back to the first side, though, the needle had not come out where it needed to be for me to continue where I had started the first stitch. I could tell this was going to be very difficult, if not impossible.

  I experimented with various techniques for several hours. I tried just going back and forth between the two sides, doubling back where necessary. Sometimes it worked, but overall I made a mess of both sides and wasted too much thread. I tried working on one side for a while, then switching to the other and hiding the strings under each other. Again, this worked in some places, but much of the image appeared lumpy instead of smooth. I finally started working on making the stitches on the opposite side invisible. By using threads as thin as possible, only one or two strands thick, and trying to go back and forth through the fabric with the stitches close together, I was almost able to eliminate any visible stitches on one side of the gauze in some areas.

  It was grueling work. My fingers and eyes were strained after only a couple of hours. But I did it. At the end of the day, a leaf was beginning to emerge. It wasn’t the most beautiful leaf. It looked like something I would have made back when I was a beginner, but, in a way, I was a beginner again. I was both learning and creating an entirely new way of embroidering.

  I was both exhausted and exhilarated at the same time. I had to stop working with my hands, but my mind kept stitching. All during dinner and our evening free time, I barely spoke to anyone. I was too focused on my new project. I was imaging how my next stitches would look. If I used a directional stitch, how would it look on the other side? Even if I mastered eliminating the stitches on one side, how would I then create the image on the reverse? How could I stitch on the reverse side and not ruin the image I had created on the original side? I thought about how I could double back in some places, use invisible stitches in others, how I could use single layer shading instead of multiple layer shading and focus on different areas at a time.

  My mind wandered so, planning my next stitches and working out problems before I sat back down to work again. When we went to bed, I laid with my eyes closed for hours but didn’t sleep. I was embroidering in my mind, and every piece came out glorious.

  * * *

  When I woke up the next day, I was so excited to work I skipped breakfast and went straight into the studio. I had spent all night dreaming and planning and working out problems. I was confident today’s work would go much smoother.

  I was so wrong. Nothing worked out the way I imagined. Every stitch, every color, every needle was wrong. By noon, I had made no more progress on my masterpiece.

  After everyone else had gone to lunch, I threw my frame against the wall and sulked. Lady Tang returned to the room just in time to see a flutter of cloth fly past her face. She walked over and picked up the frame.

  “I know you have been diligently working on something,” she said, looking at the piece. “Why is this little leaf giving you so much trouble?”