Free Spilled Water by Sally Grindley Page A

time. I didn’t care about money.
     We had never had money – not much, anyway. I remembered one of my father’s favourite sayings: ‘If you realise that you have
     enough, you are truly rich.’ The Chens had more than enough money, but were they truly rich, Mr Chen with his empty eyes,
     Mrs Chen with her heart of stone?
    I could see it all now. I was being trained to look after Yimou, to take over from Mrs Chen, and, as his wife, it would be
     much more difficult for me to leave him than if I were simply a paid servant.
    I was in trouble again at lunchtime. I forgot the soup. The scolding missed its target this time though. I was too busy wondering
     if Yimou knew that I was to marry him. I caught him gazing at me adoringly, as small children sometimes do, and wished that
     I could just be friends with him.
    By the evening, I was so tired that I could hardly keep my eyes open. Disaster struck when I managed to ladle soup into Mrs
     Hong’s lap. Yimou burst out laughing, then clamped his hand over his mouth when he saw his father’s face. Mrs Chen leapt to
     her feet, called me a stupid, clumsy child, and said that perhaps she was mistaken in thinking she could turn a sow’s ear
     into a silk purse. Mrs Hong patted me on the back and told me not to worry, that it had been a long day.
    ‘The poor child’s exhausted,’ she declared to Mr Chen. ‘Let her have a bowl of food, then send her to her room. We can sort
     ourselves out here for once.’
    Mr Chen nodded, but I knew from the look on Mrs Chen’s face that she was furious again with her mother-in-law for interfering.
    ‘The poor child’s exhausted,’ I heard Yimou repeat as I left the room.
    ‘The poor child is being spoiled,’ I heard Mrs Chen retort.

Chapter Seventeen
    You Have Made Your
Own Bed
    The following week, Xiong Fei was dismissed. It was my fault. I told him nothing at first about what had happened on Sunday,
     except that my cooking had failed the test and that I had missed Mrs Hong’s bowl and put her soup in her lap instead, which
     amused him greatly.
    ‘Pity it wasn’t Mrs Chen’s lap,’ he grinned. ‘You need to improve your aim, Lu Si-yan.’
    ‘If it had been Mrs Chen’s lap, I might not have survived to tell the story. At least Mrs Hong was nice about it.’
    ‘So what was the husband-to-be like?’ Xiong Fei gazed at me searchingly.
    ‘Very handsome,’ I managed, after a pause, refusing to meet his eye.
    ‘Very handsome, but –?’
    ‘Beautifully dressed.’
    ‘Beautifully dressed, but –? Come on, Lu Si-yan, tell me. I’m your friend. All you’ve told me so far is that he’s nicely packaged.’
    I couldn’t tell him. I feared that if I did, he would confront Mrs Chen. I didn’t want that to happen. It was my problem,
     not Xiong Fei’s.
    ‘I can’t really say,’ I answered finally. ‘I didn’t see much of him. He didn’t speak very much. He seemed – harmless enough.’
    At the end of the week, though, I couldn’t help blurting out how I felt. I had been woken very early that morning by my door
     opening and a figure standing there. It was Yimou, I could see from the spill of light from the hall. I heard him whispering,
     ‘The poor child’s exhausted. Kiss it better. Have to kiss it better.’ I was petrified that he was going to come in and kiss
     my hand. I lay still, not daring to move in case it encouraged him to enter. Mr Chen came to my rescue again. As soon as Yimou
     heard his voice, he closed the door and went away.
    Mrs Chen was particularly demanding that day. In the evening, Xiong Fei arrived to find me close to tears. When he asked me
     what was wrong, I told him of my fears that Yimou would come into my room. He was horrified.
    ‘You said he was harmless, Lu Si-yan. How can you be so sure? He might be dangerous, for all you know.’
    I tried to explain. ‘He seems harmless because he’s like a small child. He’s never grown up, Xiong Fei. I think his brain
     is not quite right.