Chapter 1

My name is Yang Chenxi. I was sixteen by traditional Chinese reckoning, and I had just finished junior high school. My mother was Yang Ling, a… a washed-up singer. Not that she had ever been a huge star. She had once sung a popular song, though: “I Do Love You.” Years later, she still hummed it around the house, whether she had anything to do or not, sometimes deliberately, sometimes without thinking. Perhaps she missed the high point of her career.

“I do love you, but you never know. I do love you; you have to know…”

I eased the front door open with breakfast in my hand. Mom and… a man were still asleep in her room. I had lost count of her boyfriends. All I knew was that I must never wake her. I left two breakfasts on the table, then crept back to my room with my own.

Usually, once I had put their food down, I escaped and ate on my way to school. But it was summer vacation now. I had to stay home, waiting for the scolding that could come at any moment.

At my desk, I enjoyed the quiet of the morning, eating my steamed bun a little at a time and sipping my soy milk until it was gone. There was still no sound from next door. I quietly took the new novel out of its hiding place in the wardrobe and crouched there, absorbed in it.

Sometime after ten, I heard movement in the other room. I pricked up my ears. I would wait until their door opened before putting the book away. A moment later, I heard it, shoved the novel back into the wardrobe, and returned to my desk to pretend I was studying a textbook.

They were arguing again, first thing in the morning. Years of experience told me they would break up soon. The argument grew fierce, and I was afraid I might get caught in the crossfire. At last the man left, slamming the door. He was a makeup artist; they had met in a dressing room. I disliked all Mom’s boyfriends. To me, they were all lechers, lusting after her beauty.

Mom was thirty-seven that year, still young and beautiful. She was a rare, natural beauty: mesmerizing eyes, a curvy figure, and a way with words. Yet she never managed to become a star.

She had started singing at fifteen and entered the entertainment industry at seventeen. Twenty years later, she was still a third-rate performer. She often hit me and shouted at me. I thought she was a sad woman, frustrated all her life. However happily she laughed, I still pitied her. I rarely saw her cry. She was fiercely competitive. But I often saw her lying on the sofa with a gloomy face in the gray dusk, like a corpse with no warmth left in it.

My door flew open.

“Soy milk and steamed buns every single day! Can’t you buy something else?”

She was yelling at me again.

“There wasn’t enough money,” I said quietly.

“Then why didn’t you ask? When have I ever shortchanged you?”

She was shaking with anger. The white bun hit the floor. I sat blankly at my desk, breathing the perfume she had left behind. Before long, I heard her changing clothes. Her heels clicked across the floor, from her room all the way to the front door. The metal door slammed. As the clicking faded into the distance, my heart slowly settled.

If I was lucky, she might not come back until the middle of the night. I could have the house to myself again. I boldly carried my hidden novel to the desk and prayed she would stay away. Come back late. Better still, let someone ask her to stay the night.

But… there were her heels again.

Closer. Closer.

I threw the book into a drawer, sat up straight, and gently turned the pages of my textbook, looking studious. Mom passed my door, went farther inside, then came back out. Perhaps she had forgotten something. I kept my head down and stared at the book, hoping she would hurry up and leave.

Instead, she stopped.

“What are you doing?”

“Reading.”

“Your exams are over. What are you still reading for?”

I had no answer. This was what I had always done: hide obediently in my room with a textbook when she was angry. I stared at her.

“Idiot.”

At last she left.

I had no father. Everyone had a father, so I must have one too. I just didn’t know who he was or where he lived. I had asked Mom.

“Your father? He died ages ago.”

Perhaps he really was dead. Or perhaps… he was still alive somewhere in the world.

Mom didn’t like me. I looked nothing like her and had none of her personality. She didn’t make much, and raising me took the money she worked so hard to earn. If I had been as beautiful as she was, if I could have talked as well as she did, perhaps she would have thought it worthwhile.

But I wasn’t like her. In her words, I was ugly and dull. A daughter like that was a disgrace. She had given birth to me at twenty-one. She said I had held her career back. She had reasons to hate me. I thought she must hate my father too. She never mentioned him, after all. And she hated me.

I wanted to be like her. But the face in the mirror was plain by nature. I wanted to be quick with words too, but around Mom my mind went blank. Almost every time I opened my mouth, she criticized me harshly.

My wish for a day alone came to nothing. Mom returned that afternoon. She tossed her bag onto the sofa, then dropped onto it herself. The house was quiet for a long time before she suddenly called me.

“Chenxi! Chenxi!”

“Coming.”

I stood before her uneasily.

She was acting strangely. She looked me up and down, from every angle.

“Sing something for me.”

“Huh? Oh.”

After a pause, I said, “Mom, I can’t sing.”

It wasn’t that I couldn’t. I didn’t dare sing in front of her. I had never had professional training. If I sang for her, she would surely criticize me. She had tried teaching me when I was little; ever since, she had said I sounded like a duck. Besides, I had no idea what to sing.

“What do you mean, you can’t? Just sing a couple of lines.”

“Of what?”

“What do you know?”

“I don’t sing much.”

“Then sing something they taught you at school.”

I thought for a moment.

“No fragrance like the flowers, no height like the trees,
I’m a little blade of grass that nobody sees…”

After a few lines, I stopped to look at her.

“Why did you stop?”

“Oh.”

I went on.

“Never lonely, never troubled,
My friends are everywhere.
Spring breeze, spring breeze, you turn me green;
Sunshine, sunshine, you shine on me.
Rivers and mountains, you nourish me;
Mother earth holds me close…”

As I sang, I watched her face. She didn’t tell me to stop, so I finished the whole song.

“Again.”

“Oh.”

I was puzzled, but I didn’t dare ask why. I raised my voice and sang again. Just then, I was happy. She so rarely took an interest in me, and she hadn’t even scolded me.

“Something else.”

My brain came alive. I immediately thought of a song I liked, one I thought would please her too.

“In the garden late at night, all is still;
Even the leaves have ceased their rustling.
How lovely the night, how it draws my heart,
On this enchanting evening…”

I sang seriously, and Mom listened just as seriously.

Then came the astonishing part: she said she would teach me to sing.

She was not a patient person, yet she was willing to spend time teaching me. I was deeply touched.

Her young boyfriend returned five days later. Seeing her give me a singing lesson, he sneered.

“Yang Ling, don’t tell me you want your daughter to audition for Angel Girls?”

“What’s it to you?”

“Your daughter? Come on. Stop dreaming.”

“Get out!”

Her glare could have killed him.

“Yang Ling… you’re serious?”

He seemed unable to believe it. Perhaps he thought his youth gave him the right to dump her, while she had no right to dump him.

“Out!”

Her long forefinger, its nail painted bright red, pointed straight toward the door. Her eyes were wide.

“You… you…”

It had happened too suddenly. He didn’t know what to do. Mom meant it.

“I… I’ll get my things.”

I kept singing, thinking about what he had said. Angel Girls? Mom wanted me to become a singer?

“I love you so much, it hurts to the heart, my darling…”

The lyrics made me feel sick and awkward. All that love, love, love. I was embarrassed to sing them. But Mom told me to, and I didn’t dare refuse. She was more stern than usual. I knew she was hurting.

That night, I lay in bed staring at the ceiling. Mom had gone out, and I didn’t know when she would return.

Angel Girls. She must want me to go out and sing.

“Singing…” I murmured. “I don’t want to sing.”

I didn’t want to be like Mom. I didn’t want that flashy life. I didn’t want to bring a man home to sleep with me in the middle of the night. I didn’t want to smoke or drink. I didn’t want a chaotic, dissolute life. I wanted an ordinary one, like my deskmate Huang Lili. She had a normal family. Her parents were office workers who went to work at eight and came home at six.

I called Lili. She said everyone in our class was going on to high school. I thought I must go too. I wanted to be like them. I would become an ordinary city office worker someday, a normal, ordinary person.

I gathered my courage.

“Mom, I want to go to high school.”

“Sure!”

She answered so readily that I finally relaxed.

“What’s so great about studying? You still have to make money when you finish. And more schooling doesn’t necessarily mean more money.”

Her half-smile was mocking.

“Chenxi, I’m going to have you audition for Angel Girls. Huahaoyueyuan is putting together a girl group to compete with Lai’erte’s Smile. If you’re lucky, you might actually become famous.”

“I don’t want to sing. I want to study.”

“You want to study?”

I nodded.

“Then you have to sing.”

She spread her hands.

“I don’t have money for your schooling anymore. Want to study? Earn it yourself.”

“I want to finish school before I start earning.”

“What’s wrong with your brain? What’s school for? To make more money! Do you have any idea what it would mean if you got into Angel Girls and the company made the group a hit? Your life would be completely different.”

“I don’t want to enter the entertainment industry.”

“You’re so stubborn!”

Her sharp forefinger jabbed my head.

“All you think about is studying. What good is a perfect score? Will it grow money? Turn into rice? Without money, you starve. You’ve had it too easy. You don’t know what it’s like to be poor. Do you think raising you all these years was easy? Once you finish high school, will you tell me you want to go to university too? I don’t have that kind of money. I’m nearly forty. It’s getting harder and harder to survive in this business.”

“I’m sure I won’t do well in it either.”

“Useless! How did I, Yang Ling, give birth to someone so useless? After all those years I spent raising you!”

“Mom, I can get a job and earn money later.”

“Hah. How much will you make in some job? How much will I have spent by the time you finish university? How long would it take to get my money back?”

She looked at me for a moment.

“If you really want to study, fine. But you have to get into Angel Girls. If you don’t, there’s nothing more to discuss.”

“How can I study if I’m in Angel Girls?”

“Child stars manage it. Why can’t you? Idiot.”

“What will I do if I don’t get in?”

“Listen, Chenxi. I want a good life. I want money. I don’t want people looking down on me forever. Whether you can do it or not, you have to. You have to make me proud.”

You couldn’t do it yourself, I thought. How am I supposed to?

Still, I practiced seriously. For one thing, I didn’t dare refuse. For another, I wanted to stay in school. And if I could, I really did want to make her proud.

Besides singing, she taught me how to dress and how to make people like me. She had rarely bothered with me before.

One thing she said moved me especially.

“Chenxi, you’re all I’ll have from now on. You’re much more reliable than those men.”

A little over a month later, Mom took me to Huahaoyueyuan. I froze as soon as we arrived. The place was packed with pretty young girls. Pick any one of them, and she would be prettier than me, livelier, more quick-witted.

So much for high school.

Mom would find some way to force me into the industry. As a newcomer, I might get my face on television once or twice. Then my life would turn into hers: fighting tooth and nail for appearances, advertisements, a television part with a scene or two.

Perhaps I was overestimating myself. I might not even be qualified to compete.

After a few years, Mom would be thoroughly disappointed in me. I would find a low-paid job with my junior high diploma, marry a man who didn’t earn much either, and live on a tight budget. Mom would look down on me for the rest of my life.

She said men couldn’t be trusted. Perhaps I would divorce. Then I wouldn’t be able to support my child and Mom on my own.

“Xiaodan’s here!”

A stir ran through the applicants.

“Ma Xiaodan! Wow, she looks so young!”

“She’s beautiful!”

“I’m a fan!”

“Me too! I love her songs!”

I often heard Mom mention Ma Xiaodan, her sworn enemy, the woman who had taken away her one chance to release an album. Mom’s career had just begun to rise, then plummeted.

She was indeed beautiful, and still young-looking. I thought Mom was prettier, but she didn’t have Ma Xiaodan’s elegance. I had always thought Mom’s clothes were luxurious and expensive. Beside Ma Xiaodan, they suddenly seemed inferior. Her jewelry glittered. I was sure the diamond necklace around her neck was real. All Mom’s diamond necklaces were fake.

At that moment, I suddenly wanted to become someone like Ma Xiaodan: a successful, wealthy woman whom people loved.

Every applicant had to sing first. Afterward, the judges asked questions. Some were stopped before they finished their songs. Others finished and were sent away without a single question.

The line ahead of me grew shorter and shorter. I was terribly nervous and kept taking deep breaths.

“Yang Chenxi.”

“Here.”

I stepped forward anxiously. In the crowd, Mom’s gaze was sharp.

Yang Chenxi, I told myself, you cannot fail. You have to succeed.

I began to sing. I had always been a calm child. The more nervous I was, the better I tended to perform. I thought I had done extremely well.

“You’re Yang Ling’s daughter?”

“Yes.”

“Your singing is all right, but there’s no feeling in it.”

I had never been in love. Where was the feeling supposed to come from?

“Why is your face completely expressionless when you sing?”

Only then did I realize that it had been blank the whole time. Mom had told me to smile at the judges. I quickly gave a small smile.

“I was too nervous.”

“Next…”

I walked away in a daze, my heart unsettled. I had no idea whether I would pass. Mom pulled me aside.

“Didn’t I tell you to sing with feeling? Feeling! Do you understand?”

“I was too nervous… I forgot.”

She turned and strode away angrily. I hurried after her. We took the elevator to the twelfth floor, where she walked into an impressive office. Three middle-aged men were inside. I didn’t dare enter without being invited, so I waited at the door.

“Busy, Mr. Zhao?”

“How did your daughter do?”

“It was her first time performing. Of course she was nervous. Talent has to be shaped. You don’t make a genius overnight. Chenxi!”

I went in when she called. One glance told me the man in the middle was in charge. The other two treated him with great respect.

“Hello, sir,” I said timidly.

I greeted the other two in turn as well. Mom had told me that no one could fault you for being too polite.

“She doesn’t look much like you.”

“Our Chenxi’s looks grow on you. She may not knock you over at first glance, but she has the makings of a beauty. Her tone is good. With training, she’ll achieve something. And she’s no delicate little thing—she can work hard. You know what they say: endure the hardest hardships if you want to rise above the rest.”

It was the first time I had heard Mom praise my looks or my voice. I was happy and embarrassed.

“Let’s talk after the auditions. I have work to do.”

“Then we won’t disturb you. Perhaps you’ll let me buy you a coffee sometime, Mr. Zhao.”

Mom was lovely, and even lovelier when she smiled. I couldn’t understand why she hadn’t become famous.

She had once been under contract to Huahaoyueyuan and still had old contacts there. She took me around to greet everyone. We didn’t go downstairs until almost noon.

I made it through to the second audition. After I sang, Mom took me straight home. Then I made it to the third, the final round.

Lili invited me out. We walked our bicycles along and talked.

“Being a singer would be great! I want to be one too, but I’m not cut out for it. And I don’t know anyone who could help me get in. All I can do is keep studying.”

“You really think being a singer is good?”

She nodded hard.

“It would be wonderful! You’d get to dress up every day, and so many people would like you.”

“No one’s going to like me.”

“Don’t be so down on yourself! You look pretty when you dress up too. Chenxi, don’t forget me when you’re famous.”

“Don’t worry. I would never forget you.”

After we parted, I slowly wheeled my bicycle home. Suddenly I heard a guitar. The music was desolate, sorrowfully beautiful, gripping. I stopped to find where it was coming from. It sounded close, but I couldn’t see anyone.

I listened quietly and slowly raised my head.

The guitarist was above me.

He was sitting in a tree, lost in his playing. I looked up from below. He finished and was about to jump down when he noticed me.

“You play really well,” I said with a smile.

“What’s your name?”

He jumped out of the tree.

“Chenxi.”

He was very good-looking.

“Do you know who I am?”

“No.”

He seemed a little disappointed.

“You really think I play well?”

“Yes!”

“Do you know anything about the guitar?”

I shook my head.

“No. But you don’t have to be able to sing to know whether someone sounds good.”

“Would you like to hear another song?”

“Sure!”

“I have to go up in the tree to play.”

“I want to climb up too.”

“Can you?”

He glanced at my skirt.

“Give me a hand.”

“All right.”

He jumped back into the tree and reached down. I took his hand and scrambled up.

“You’re pretty agile!”

“It feels wonderful up here,” I said. “Even the view is different.”

He smiled, then grew serious and began to play.

“I’m a kite from far away,
Soaring beneath a free blue sky.
Don’t ask me to stop;
I want to fly farther still.
No string can hold me;
The open sky is my home…”

He sang softly. I looked up at the sky, and it was as though a kite from far away really was flying there. Sunlight shone on it, flashing brilliantly. It flew and flew. Where was it going?

When he finished, I turned to him. Suddenly I saw it.

He was that kite.

“You’re the kite from far away.”

He looked startled, as though he was afraid I had seen into his heart.

“Don’t talk nonsense.”

“Did you like it?” he asked.

“Yes.”

He gave a reserved smile, like a bright ray of sunlight.

“Play it again. I want to hear it.”

He played and sang once more, and once more I saw a kite in the sky. A lonely kite. A free-spirited kite.

“What’s your name?” I asked.

He looked at me, a little displeased.

“I’m not telling you. One day, you’ll know my name.”

“How will I know if you don’t tell me?”

Then it hit me.

“Oh! You want to be a singer? But it’s really hard, you know. By the time you become famous, I’ll have forgotten you.”

“I’ll be a big star very soon.”

Suddenly I didn’t like him anymore.

He wanted to enter Mom’s world. And I disliked everyone in that world.