Prologue 2

"Grandma, the Olympics are over. Why aren’t we going home? Why do you insist on going to Shanghai? And why must we take the train?" The girl shifted from side to side, unable to find a comfortable position, and pulled out her earphones, pouting in complaint.

Her Chinese was awkward, her hair a golden blond, but her features were not as deep-set as those of Westerners; instead, there was a subtle, delicate beauty about her. It was clear she was of mixed heritage.

Beside her sat an elderly woman with a head of silvery hair. Her face was etched with a lifetime of smiles—so much so that even in her rare moments of seriousness, the wrinkles at her lips and brow still seemed to form a smile. "Suri, Shanghai is my home. Don’t you want to sit on the train and take in the scenery on the way to Grandma’s house?" With that, the old woman lifted the immaculate curtain and gazed out the window.

Suri followed her grandmother’s gaze. Outside, cottages, fields, and ponds drifted by in uneven patches. After a long while, she suddenly tugged gently at her grandmother’s sleeve, leaned in close, and whispered, "Grandma, I came to China all by myself and got to see the Olympics. I’m really proud—my blood belongs to this land!"

The high-speed train streaked across the earth, leaving a white line in its wake. Outside, the sky was high and the clouds thin—it was the coolness of autumn.

On the morning of September 8, 2008, Suri sat drowsily in the back seat of a taxi. The driver turned and said softly, "We’re here—the Red Chapel!" The old woman smiled and nudged Suri awake. Suri rubbed her eyes, hoisted her backpack, paid the fare, and helped her grandmother out. She frowned as she gazed up at the imposing red-brick Gothic structure, looking a little lost. Scaffolding crowded the exterior walls, and a handful of workers had just begun their day. Suri reached into her bag for a map, fussed with it for a while, and then announced happily, "Grandma, I found it! It’s not called the Red Chapel but Trinity Church. It even says here, this is the largest church in old Shanghai. But…it looks like it’s being renovated and is closed to visitors!"

Raising her head again, Suri saw her grandmother already stepping up the stairs. The church doors were firmly shut; the old woman stared at a plaque on the door, lost in thought. Suri hurried up and pointed to the writing. "Grandma, how do you read this character?"

"Shan. It says ‘Under Renovation, Awaiting Reopening.’" The old woman sighed as she spoke. Suri put an arm around her grandmother’s shoulders, grinning in reassurance. "It’s okay! There are other churches. We can visit another one, or maybe go to the Bund! I’ve seen the Bund at night, but I don’t know what it looks like by day!"

The old woman gently moved her granddaughter’s arm aside and, without a word, walked down the steps, making her way along the church wall. She stopped before a glass window, raised her hand to shade her eyes, and peered inside. Suri followed, trying to look through the glass as well, but saw nothing. Disappointed, she muttered, "There’s nothing to see."

Suddenly, the old woman lowered her hand and said solemnly, "Do you know what day it is? Eighty years ago today, my father and mother were married here." Suri stared in surprise, then pulled her phone from her jeans pocket and checked the date. "You mean, September 8, 1928?" she asked, her tone questioning. Her grandmother nodded slightly, paying no heed to Suri’s astonishment. Slowly, she drew a golden pocket watch from her bosom.

It was an old-fashioned piece—both case and chain had lost their luster to age, acquiring instead a sense of history. The old woman hesitated, then pressed a small button with trembling fingers, and the watch sprang open. Suri knew it was a keepsake from her great-grandparents, something her grandmother treasured and only brought out on special occasions. But she had never seen the inside of the watch.

The dial was white, the Roman numerals black, and even the hands were finely wrought. Yet what drew Suri’s eye was not the exquisite craftsmanship, but what was on the other side—the inner cover held a tiny black-and-white photograph: a girl in a wide-sleeved, traditional gown, covering her mouth, looking at the camera with a mixture of curiosity and fear. She seemed about fourteen or fifteen, her long, thick braids hanging at her side. Her eyes were clear and bright—so clear it felt as though she could gaze straight into another’s heart.

The old woman gently pushed at the inside of the dial, and to Suri’s astonishment, the dial opened further. On the back and inside the other half of the case, there were two more photographs.

The center photograph was a wedding portrait. A tall, handsome man in a tailcoat stood with his bride, who wore a traditional wedding dress. The photo was small and their faces blurred, but from the large, bright eyes, it was clear the bride was the same girl from the earlier photograph, only a little older now. The third photo was a half-length portrait. A family of three sat on a sofa—the woman in an elegant cheongsam, her hair in soft, fashionable waves, smiling at the camera with a gentle, refined beauty. It was not a stunning beauty, not the kind that would turn heads, but one that seemed to seep quietly into the bones: warm and profound. The man, now in his prime, wore a proper suit, his hair immaculate, his bearing dignified and handsome. He smiled with deep, genuine contentment, one arm around his wife. Leaning against him was a little girl in a Western-style dress, perhaps four or five years old, looking tired and unsmiling.

Suri pointed excitedly at the girl in the photograph, "Grandma, that’s you!" The old woman nodded slightly. "And these two are your parents, right? He’s so handsome, and she’s so beautiful! They look perfect together. They must have been very much in love?" The old woman stroked her parents’ faces in the picture, lost in memory, and did not answer. Suri shook her grandmother’s arm, unwilling to let it go. "Come on, I’m asking you! So, who fell in love first?"

The old woman smiled at her granddaughter, then slowly closed the pocket watch and returned it to her bosom. "Those years were as full of twists and turns as any story. If you’d like to hear it, I’ll tell you."

End of Prologue, "The Jade Ebony Chronicle II."