Even while writing the paper with Aston, Qin Siyu continued working and earning money.
It was always the same people going out drinking, and two boxes of condoms could last them a long time. Sales had slowed. So Qin Siyu came up with another idea: repairing shoes for the middle classes.
During the Great Depression, many people couldn’t afford new shoes, but they still had to look for work or go out selling things, which wore their shoes down faster. They stuffed scraps of stiff cardboard inside to make do. No one could bear to replace a pair.
Americans considered shoe repair, like doing laundry, dirty work beneath them. Plenty of white people wanted to take such jobs during the Depression, but they were already behind those who knew the trade.
Shoe repair, tailoring, and similar businesses were run in the Italian neighborhood just across the boundary from Chinatown. Unlike laundry, cobbling required knowledge and craftsmanship passed from master to apprentice.
Several years earlier, Qin Siyu had worked part-time in a shoe-repair shop because he was meticulous and accepted low wages.
With money he’d saved from cutting asparagus, he spent fifteen dollars on a secondhand set of cobbler’s tools, set up a little stand downtown, and went to work.
Business was decent enough.
On his very first day repairing shoes, Qin Siyu encountered an obnoxious man who discriminated against him.
Near the end of the repair, the man apparently wanted to make some request. He looked down at Qin Siyu arrogantly and began, “You little chick – ”
Qin Siyu was driving a nail into the shoe. He held the pointed nail in place, swung his hammer, and knocked it flush with a heavy thud, leaving not the slightest bit of its head exposed. Twirling the hammer handle deftly through his fingers, he looked up and asked, “What was that?”
The man fell silent at once. He stared at Qin Siyu’s eyes and the tear mole beneath one of them. Only after a long pause did he stammer, “N-no… nothing…”
Qin Siyu scoffed and went back to work.
Around this time, Suyu was selling things too.
She sold lipstick, vividly red and shiny, and extremely cheap.
The family didn’t quite understand. “Is there really a market for that, with the economy like this?” they asked.
“There is, there is,” his cousin said. “In an economy like this, making ourselves look nice is terribly important. Precisely because we have nothing, we need to remind ourselves that we haven’t given up. We’re living, breathing people, trying our hardest to go on living.”
Suyu also began selling nail polish.
“I’ve thought about it,” she said. “Nail polish lasts longer, so it might sell even better! And whatever people do, whether they’re feeding their children with the cheapest ingredients they can find, picking cotton on farms, sewing clothes in textile mills, or cleaning rich people’s houses… they can look down at their hands and feel beautiful.”
The family seemed to understand now.
* * *
That day, Qin Siyu finished repairing shoes at eight thirty in the evening.
Near the campus gate, several classmates called after him, sounding urgent. “Sean! Our department’s Columbus Day party is about to start! Hurry! I think we’re the only ones missing!”
“…What?” Qin Siyu was surprised. “Columbus Day? A party? When did they tell us about this?”
It wasn’t even a major holiday, and surely it had already passed.
And that holiday was… difficult to know what to make of, anyway.
“They sent out the notice ages ago,” his classmates said. “Come on, let’s go.”
“Then I should at least change my clothes,” Qin Siyu said.
They were covered in stains.
Dust and shoe polish had gotten everywhere.
And because he’d been mending shoes, he’d worn old, shabby clothes in the first place: trousers frayed at the hems and a shirt worn through at the cuffs.
“There’s no time. Come as you are,” they said. “Actually, what you’re wearing is fine.”
Qin Siyu considered it. Nobody would pay much attention to him anyway. The party was about to begin, and it would seem fussy to leave the others and change now.
Still, something felt a little strange. These classmates had never shown him such enthusiasm before. On the other hand, they usually got along without trouble, so he couldn’t quite decide.
Oh well. He’d go and see.
They walked all the way to a clubhouse, apparently the venue the fraternity used for large events. His classmates stopped outside.
Qin Siyu paused and looked at the main doors. “We’re here! Go on in! Everyone’s waiting for us!” his classmates urged.
Then they ran inside ahead of him.
“…” Qin Siyu walked over and pushed open the doors. Music was indeed playing within. He crossed the corridor and pushed through another door his classmates had left almost closed behind them.
The moment Qin Siyu entered the ballroom, everyone turned to look.
He stood out too starkly.
“Ah!” his classmates cried. “Sean, you finally made it!”
They introduced him to the others. “Sean Chin is our classmate! He wanted to come to the ball, meet everyone, and broaden his horizons! We said we’d bring him! What do you think? Can Sean come in?”
Now Qin Siyu understood that he’d been tricked.
This wasn’t a departmental party at all. It was a gathering for rich people.
The hall was magnificent. Everyone wore splendid clothes and jewels. Their faces were masked. Some wore feathers, some were dressed as butterflies, and others looked like angels.
An intoxicating haze of luxury and extravagance.
Qin Siyu vaguely recognized some people he’d encountered at the café while discussing the paper. Their leader seemed to be called James Something-or-Other.
Qin Siyu was perceptive enough to understand at once that they wanted to humiliate him. They probably thought their intentions were well hidden.
He’d actually seen them again afterward at Professor Brown’s office.
Brown had introduced them: “This is James, my student. And this is Sean, my friend.” He’d called James his student, but Qin Siyu his friend.
They’d said “Hello” in front of the professor. Qin Siyu had ignored them.
Later, Professor Brown had asked Qin Siyu to fetch a book from his shelf. Qin Siyu had walked over, taken it down, and handed it to him, clearly on familiar terms. Before Qin Siyu left, the professor had also mentioned something about his wife, making it obvious Qin Siyu had visited their home.
When Qin Siyu left that day, he’d ignored them again, not even sparing them a glance.
Why were they trying to make a fool of him?
It wasn’t difficult to understand.
In their eyes, he was a fool who didn’t know his place. Just because he was writing a paper with Aston and had become Professor Brown’s “friend,” he’d supposedly started imagining himself transformed into a phoenix.
They wanted him to remember he was still at the bottom of society, to face reality, recognize the distance between them, and be as lowly and humble as his station required.
His classmates, though, had probably been kept in the dark and knew nothing of the full scheme.
“But this is a costume ball!” Several wealthy young men laughed, asking Qin Siyu, “What are you dressed as?” “That’s right, it’s a masquerade.” “What an unusual outfit.”
Quite a few people were snickering behind their hands.
Only two girls from his class, Lucy and Lily, tried to interrupt them. “Don’t – ”
Qin Siyu knew that even if he explained he’d been tricked and simply walked out, he’d remain the butt of the joke.
From then on, he’d be “the pig who got fooled into barging into the rich people’s masquerade.”
And he’d been wearing rags, filthy from head to toe.
Poor and stupid.
Besides… Qin Siyu glanced across the hall. There seemed to be quite a lot of delicious food.
Since he was here anyway.
He might as well eat.
So Qin Siyu walked in. Heading toward the central buffet table, he glanced at the people who’d questioned him and said, “Can’t you tell? I’m dressed as a poor person.”
“…???” They stared.
Qin Siyu looked at them again. “A poor person who attends basic courses, repairs shoes for a living, and gets tricked into wasting an evening at a costume ball.”
He surveyed the room before turning back to them.
“One of the poor people across the country who’ve lost their jobs and pinned their hopes on socialism.”
“A woman working fifty hours a week for two dollars, or a child forced into a factory instead of school.”
“A poor person who uses up a flour sack, then cuts the empty sack into a dress.”
“A mother who feeds her family in shifts, with some eating on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, and the rest on Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday, pretending the stove is lit every day.”
“A father who can afford only one Easter egg. When one child finds it, he tricks the child into giving it back so he can hide it again for the others.”
He walked straight to the buffet, glanced at the people who’d invited him, picked up a delicate porcelain plate, and asked one of the organizers, “Now that I’ve explained myself, may I eat?”
The atmosphere became excruciatingly awkward.
And Qin Siyu began eating.
Well! A rich people’s party certainly lived up to its name.
There was caviar on the crackers.
He’d never tried that. Better have a taste.
Smoked salmon.
He’d never tried that either. Have a taste.
Crab salad.
Another first. Have a taste.
“Er…” Someone who seemed to be organizing the event approached awkwardly. “You see, this is a masquerade. Everyone attending is required to wear a mask over their face, or, um, at least part of their face. Look, everybody here has at least part of their face covered.”
He really wanted Qin Siyu gone so things could return to “normal.”
Qin Siyu considered him, then finally replied, “All right. I understand.”
He’d already eaten quite a lot anyway.
And vented his anger.
Just then, a man at the center of the crowd spoke up. “Let him stay.”
Every eye in the hall turned to him.
No one dared speak.
Qin Siyu looked over too.
The man was masked as well.
Gold, with elaborate patterns. The right half of his face was covered, glimpses of skin showing through the design.
But Qin Siyu recognized him at once.
Somehow, he looked even better than usual.
“But…” The event organizer was mortified. After a long hesitation, he said, “It’s a masked ball. The rule is that you must cover your face. He doesn’t really meet the requirement. Perhaps he could go and prepare something, then come back…”
“Is that so?” Under everyone’s gaze, Aston walked toward them, perfectly unhurried and elegant, as though he were long accustomed to being watched. He looked down at Qin Siyu, then unexpectedly moved to one side. His gaze passed over the decorations. He took down a wreath used to adorn the hall, selected a pretty flower, plucked it off, and inspected it for a few seconds. Apparently dissatisfied, he moved to a vase and took another bloom. He spread its petals with his fingers and brushed them lightly. This one seemed better, so he kept it.
Then he went over to the wall and pulled down a length of white cotton thread suspending one of the decorations. He tore off the ornament and discarded it, made a deft knot, and tied the flower he’d just picked onto the string.
Qin Siyu: “???”
Aston repeated the procedure, fastening five or six flowers along the thread at close intervals.
Qin Siyu was baffled.
Aston returned, paused, raised a hand, and pinched the middle of Qin Siyu’s spectacles, lifting them off.
Qin Siyu: “???” Again.
His farsightedness was only slight and didn’t interfere with everyday life. But repairing shoes was delicate work: he had to lean close, apply pressure, and maintain control. So tonight he’d worn an ordinary pair of spectacles.
Aston wound the cotton thread once around the spectacle frame.
He wrapped the middle of the thread around the bridge, arranging an equal number of flowers on either side. After judging the distance, he knotted each end to the corresponding temple arm.
Now little clusters of flowers hung gently beneath both lenses.
Aston set the glasses back on Qin Siyu’s nose.
He made a few final adjustments, so the flowers obscured just a portion of each cheek beneath Qin Siyu’s eyes.
A cotton thread passed twice around the bridge and draped along the frame, holding just a few flowers in place.
Qin Siyu: “…?”
“Truly Beautiful.” Aston admired the effect for a moment, then addressed the people who’d first asked about Qin Siyu’s costume. “Doesn’t it suit him?”
“…” Understanding at last, Qin Siyu glanced toward them too. The others opened their mouths, cast off every trace of their earlier arrogance, and exclaimed with exaggerated servility, “Fantastic!” “Extraordinarily great!”
Aston seemed rather pleased himself. He turned to the organizer. “Can he stay now?”
“Ah.” Staring at the flowers beneath Qin Siyu’s eyes, the organizer stammered, “Y-yes. He can stay.”
Qin Siyu looked toward Aston’s one exposed eye. “Thank you.”
“It’s nothing.” Aston adjusted the flowers once more. “There are lobsters over there.”
“All right. But can we take any of the lobster home?” Qin Siyu asked, looking toward the buffet. “If there’s some left at the end, I could bring a little back for Suyu.”
This time, Aston said nothing.
He really didn’t want to hear about that.
* * *
Qin Siyu ate quite a lot, lobster included.
He thought it was delicious and couldn’t imagine what Aston had meant about being sick of it.
The lobster was brushed with garlic butter. It smelled incredible.
Aston spotted him on the other side of the room.
Qin Siyu held a plate and speared a piece of lobster with his fork. He studied it carefully for a while before slowly raising it to his face. He took a tiny, lingering bite and lowered his eyes, savoring every mouthful so carefully that he might chew a single bite dozens of times.
The grand hall blazed with light. Elegant men and women in fine clothes chatted and mingled all around him, surrounded by perfume and glittering jewels, paying the food no attention at all.
Yet there Qin Siyu stood, eyes lowered, dressed in rags, occasionally tasting a bite with the utmost care.
The buffet occupied the center of the outer hall, directly beneath a crystal chandelier. Standing under it, Qin Siyu seemed almost the focus of the room.
But Aston found it strange. Apparently nobody except him noticed that the person under the central chandelier had become the focal point.
Perhaps he was full. After getting the lobster, Qin Siyu didn’t move to another dish or eat anything more.
He simply stood beside the buffet, directly in front of the lobster platter, staring at the few pieces left without touching them.
After a while, two young women approached, smiled at him, and walked up to the platter. Each took two pieces, emptying it completely.
Aston watched Qin Siyu’s eyes follow their movements. He stared fixedly at the lobsters, tracking them from the serving platter to the women’s plates: one, two, three, four. His head turned back and forth. The whole process repeated four times.
When they took the final garlic-butter lobster, a complicated, almost despairing look crossed Qin Siyu’s eyes. He watched the last piece disappear onto their plates, utterly crushed.
Aston: “???”
Qin Siyu moved away, and Aston finally understood. He’d been guarding the lobster!
He was dressed in rags, knew the others cared about social standing, and had hoped they’d steer clear of him. Since everyone here was supposedly “sick of” lobster, he could then take a few home to his girlfriend.
He hadn’t expected that not everyone would avoid him.
…Hmph.
Nearby, Qin Siyu caught an event organizer and asked whether any more lobster would be brought out.
When he received an affirmative answer, his happiness visibly returned.
Guessing what Qin Siyu had asked, Aston glanced at him, then looked away. His long pale-gold lashes flickered over his eyes, barely concealing his reaction.
What was a poor person’s love worth? Why bother analyzing it? he told himself.
At that moment the masquerade moved into its next phase.
The centerpiece of any ball: dancing.
“Er…” The organizer froze upon opening the envelope. This part of the evening had been arranged before the ball began, and now it was obvious they still intended to target the Chinese guest. They must have planned to leave him until last. But the young man had, in fact, been allowed to stay by Aston himself.
His mind went blank for a moment. At last he read out the rules. “Since this is a masquerade, anyone who doesn’t already have a partner will be matched by drawing lots, letting fate decide.”
After a pause, the organizer continued. “But there are two more gentlemen than ladies present. So the last gentleman to arrive will stand with the ladies and enter the drawing with them. That way everyone can have a partner tonight. After all, it’s a masquerade, so our real identities don’t matter. Naturally, anyone who doesn’t wish to accept a partner may refuse! Watching from the side of the dance floor is perfectly fine too, ha ha…”
They were going after him again. Qin Siyu kept his expression blank.
The “last gentleman to arrive” was him.
He could refuse and stand by the dance floor watching everyone else, or be refused and wait for his “partner” to exclaim theatrically, “Spare me!” or “I’m not doing that!”
Either way, they wanted to humiliate him.