Steeped in Blood | TO BE REWRITTEN

XI. ELIZABETH LEE

"DO YOU WANT TO LEARN HOW TO PLAY?" I asked my future husband as he leaned against a latticed cherrywood screen in the makeshift library, set up to separate it from the rest of the house. Some tenuous connection had wrapped around us after our simple conversation, with its small words heavy with emotion, and I wasn't quite ready to break it yet. So I extended the olive branch.

"I would love to," he said and I stood. William looked alarmed and I wondered why before remembering British etiquette and that gentlemen ought to give their seats up for ladies, not the other way around.

To assuage him, I asked him to bring me a chair and drag it over to the table. He lifted it with ease and set it down beside his own. I sat next to him and quietly explained the rules in English as best as I could. The noise was so great that I had to lean in closely, my face brushing his, and I caught a whiff of his scent: cologne mixed with something fresh, almost minty. I felt heat flush my cheeks at the slight contact. He didn't seem to notice, and that unfurled something in the pit of my stomach. Did women often touch him in this way, so casually, like it didn't matter at all? Was that how British society functioned?

Because I was technically not even supposed to be sitting there with him, when I was unmarried, with no veil to cover my face. Did he expect me to be so loose with my affections?

William nudged me as he picked up a tile and put it out. "Did I do that right?"

I fixed my attention back on the game, still feeling uneasy as I stared at the tile: the character for fortune on it. (1) There were four in total scattered throughout the game, and there were already two discarded in the middle. He could have made a pair with it, or yut duey ahn, but the chances were very slim. (2)

"You're doing fine," I assured him.

He beamed. I watched them play for a bit, and William seemed to have picked up the hang of the game—even if the manzi or number characters were giving him a bit of trouble. (3) I got up from my seat and began wandering the room aimlessly, not sure what or who I was looking for.

"Liz!" My favourite cousin called out.

Laughing I forgot all sense of decorum and flung my arms around Henry Lau—a cousin from my mother's side, also known as my biu go. (4) "Henry!"

We were somewhat black sheep in our family, both having been Western-educated. He had been shipped off to some American school, though, while I had simply attended a Catholic school in Hong Kong. I hugged him tightly, breathing in the scent of cigar smoke and old books. He stood a few inches taller than me, at five-eight, and always wore crisply tailored suits that contrasted with his ways when he was at home: eating street food out of the dai pai dong and working as a barrister at his father's firm. (5)

"It's lovely to see you, Liz," he said cheerily, letting go of me. "Where's your groom? I heard you were getting married."

My stomach soured at the reminder. Even though William and I were now cordial I didn't want to think about how I would soon be tying my life to his, to a foreigner's. "He's over there, no doubt having his money stolen by my aunts."

Henry barked a laugh. "Oh, little cousin, how I've missed you." He checked his watch. "I need to go discuss something with your father but I'm certain we have lots to catch up on."

I meandered back toward the mahjong table where they were beginning a new round and resumed my seat. Facing William, I asked, "How did it go? Did you sik wu?" (6)