Change?

As glossy black haired heads make their way out of the sì miao, the Buddhist temple, I notice a young man standing against the wall of the building behind a pillar.

With similar features to the people of our country, this boy seemed to hold himself differently to those of the Buddhists around him.

Watching from three bu away, I examine his usual village boy look of barely nourished and scan over his messy, raven hair. Inky black eyes cast downward, and lips pressed against each other.

How long I stand there, I don’t have the slightest clue, but after a few minutes the boy returns his weight to his feet and strolls away from the building. Giving him a few minutes head start, I step out of the shadows and lightly walk after his silhouette.

For the next couple of weeks, I go out of my way to see the boy. Now, leaning inconspicuously against the peeling, cold clay wall of a house, I notice a small girl, approach the tall figure of the boy. I watch as she greets him, “ni hao.” The young girl at the age of nine, her small feet bound in bandages, offers the teenage boy a small slice of bread.

For the first time since I started watching him, I see him pull on a close lipped smile, and a warm firelight lights up behind his eyes as he looked down at the smiling girl. “I’m sorry young meimei, I’m fasting for my religion. How about you keep the mian bao for yourself?”

The little girl nods, her small black pigtails bouncing up and down. With a glimmering smile, the girl says, “xiexie brother,” and hobbles away into a house nearby.

During the days I watch him while the xia tian tai yang, summer sun, beats down on China, I notice many things about him. Refusing alcohol, honest, ignoring the fei qian that someone dropped on the ground which I later scoop up and tuck into a pocket of my grey skirt.

On one day, clouds rolling over the blue sky threatening rain, I quietly sprint along the side of the village path with the boy’s back in sight. I silently thank my mother for refusing to bind my feet when I was two years old, and my grandma for shouting my father down after he insisted I bound them. While looking up and down the street for passing pedestrians, I hear a smashing sound from up ahead.

A terracotta vase lies in pieces on the road with the boy standing by the ruined pottery in shock. The resident of the house, Tian Ming, rushes out the front door with only half of her hair styled into an elaborate bun, the other half still loose in the wind.

“fa sheng le shen me?” She asks in a frightened voice. What happened here?

Watching from behind the corner of the house, I see the boy glance down at the shattered pieces on the ground and say, “I’m sorry, Tian Ming, I ran my finger over the simple pattern and the vase fell from the table.”

Tian Ming gives the boy a smile and says, “No worries, Shen Hui, it wasn’t that special to me. Just something to catch the yu.” The rain.

If I was in Shen Hui’s shoes, I would probably have said that it happened to fall as I was walking by, but he had admitted what he did.

Suddenly, as my eyes rove over his face, I see his pitch black eyes lock onto mine. As the clouds send small droplets down, I withdraw my head and dash away, my hair flying behind me as I quickly traipse home in the slowly intensifying rain.

The moment I duck through the door of my home, I’m hit by the delicious smells of my mother’s cooking. Steamed rice, roasted fish, and white green cabbage laid on plates and in bowls over the small wooden table inside of the warm abode.

“Ma ma,” I assert, “This smells amazing. Did you have to buy the fish from Pian Le?”

Out from behind the door to the bedrooms, my mother’s eyes are narrowed at the sight of my dripping demeanor. “Zhou An, where have you been all day? I was going to ask you to buy the carp from him, but you weren’t here. What have you been doing?”

Instead of answering her questions, I ask in response, “Is there a religion other than buddhism where you refuse alcohol, don’t lie when you easily could, and ignore the money lying on the ground in a refusal to steal?”

Ma ma nods and takes a seat at the table, picking up her chopsticks, kuai zi. “I think you are describing Dao Jiao. Taoism is similar to Buddhism, a philosophy that makes living in harmony a prime importance. Taoists do things to bring harmony into their lives such as refusing drink, never telling lies, not committing murder, crime, or adultery, or stealing. A couple Taoists go to the si miao with us. Dao means road or path, and Taoists believe that if they bring harmony in their lives, they will be on the right path.”

I nod as I process the new information and am about to ask another question when my mom asks for me to sit down and serve myself.

“Jian Jian,” I holler down the hall leading to mine, my parent’s, and my younger brother’s bedrooms. “Come eat dinner!”

Ma ma frowns as my twelve year old younger brother totters out through a door and trudged onto his wooden stool at the table. “An An, I was sleeping until the hunting cry of hell woke me up from my slumber.” I roll my eyes to my mother’s distaste.

Shades of salmon and tangerine burst over the horizon as I sit in the branches of a tree next to wo de jia, my house. I smile as my face is warmed by the glowing tai yang and a crisp summer breeze combs through my hair.

I rose from bed right before dawn, having been unable to sleep as thoughts bounced around inside of my head. I never knew about Taoism and I wondered if the boy has found the path yet.

Suddenly, my eyes catch movement in front of a house around fifteen bu away. The familiar lanky and thin figure of the boy, Shen Hui, makes it’s way down the street.

Bare feet hitting the dew glazed cao (grass), I leave naturally small, wet footprints on the cobbled street as I silently trot in the shadows of the houses.

For one second, I close my eyes to take in the smells of wood, stone, and food sizzling on stoves inside of houses watched by early rising mothers and wives. When I open my eyes, the figure ahead is missing from the otherwise identical view to the previous seconds. I look around, puzzled as to where he had gone.

I continue walking in the direction he was in, and to look up and down the street for any sign of Shen Hui.

“Zao shang hao Zhou An.” The quiet and silky voice comes from behind, and I reach up to tug my ear from nervousness. Although I only heard that tone once, I already know the extremely tall teenage boy is standing behind me.

“Good morning to you too, Hui.” My voice is a little dry and I swallow. “So you did see me at Tian Ming. How did you find my name?”

I turn to look up at the diamond shaped face of the boy I have been following and watching as he says, “I asked around if anyone knew the name of the girl with the unbound feet and untied hair. Everyone told me about the rule breaker Shen Hui.”