Start reading an extract of captivating historical debut The Lotus Shoes by Jane Yang.

Part 1 

Little Flower

I sat shivering on a low stool in our farmhouse kitchen. Thefrosty air stung my cheeks and chilled my hands and feet until they hurt. To warm up, I rubbed my arms and legs. Though it never snowed in southern China, this winter in the sixth year of Emperor Guangxu’s reign felt brutally cold. Normally, I would still be curled beneath our patched quilt, but my aa noeng had woken me at first light.

‘We are going on an adventure today,’ she announced, turning to me with a basin of boiling water. For the first time in months, her thin, pale face broke into a smile. But it wasn’t a proper sparkling smile, like the ones she used to shower on me before my aa de died. This smile looked stiff, and her eyes remained dull.

‘I’m taking you to Canton City,’ she continued. ‘Farmer Tang will give us a ride on his cart.’ She poured cold water into the basin.

I squealed, clapping with delight. I had never been to Canton City, but I had heard all about it from travelling
storytellers. Pedlars prowled the streets, selling sugared plums, sweet buns and roasted chestnuts. My belly grumbled at the thought of them, reminding me that I had not eaten since yesterday’s bowl of watery congee. The storytellers also boasted of travelling acrobats, men who swallowed live snakes, and puppet shows.

‘Is Little Brother coming too?’ I asked.

‘He is too young,’ she said. ‘I’ve sent him to our neighbour for the day. This is a mother- and- daughter trip.’

‘Why are we going?’

‘Little girls should not ask questions,’ she chided. ‘Good girls keep quiet, follow rules and obey grown- ups.’ Her tone was mild, but her face sagged with misery, frightening me into silence.

She knelt in front of me, cradling my golden lilies in her palms.

‘Do you remember why I started binding your feet when you were only four?’ she asked.

‘Because . . . because . . .’ I shook my head.

With a heavy sigh she explained, ‘Other six- year- old girls in our village wouldn’t start foot- binding until now. Some farming families might even wait until their daughter is seven or eight, if they’re desperate for an extra worker around the house. But that is risky. Do you know why?’

I shook my head again.

‘The bones might already be too stiff to be shaped. I love you so much that I bound your feet two years ago, as though you’re a little lady, to make sure you get perfect golden lilies so you can be like Consort Yao Niang. Do you remember her story?’

‘I do!’ Eager to impress her, I merrily recited the bedtime tale she had often told me. ‘Once upon a time, before the Manchu invaded and when China was cut up into lots of little kingdoms, like a patchwork quilt, there lived an emperor called Li Yu. He loved to see new things. One day he asked his many, many wives to surprise him with a new dance. Everyone tried but no one was good enough except Yao Niang. She wrapped her feet into crescents and danced on her toes!’

‘What else?’ she quizzed.

I frowned.

She prompted, ‘The emperor was so impressed that he promoted her to Royal Imperial Consort—’

‘Oh!’ With a bounce I finished her sentence, ‘So no other wife could boss Yao Niang around except the Empress. All the ladies of the court copied her and soon rich girls across the country started to do the same. Now all respectable girls have bound feet. And the most loving mothers make sure their daughters have perfect four- inch golden lilies.’

I expected the rest of my speedy answer would earn praise, especially since I had only stumbled on two characters, but Aa Noeng’s lips trembled. I reached out to hug her, but she shook her head as she straightened her back and smoothed her faded- tunic- blouse, ou.

‘Even the poorest boy might hope to pass the imperial exams and become a mandarin if he is clever and studious,’ she said, ‘but a girl’s only chance for a better life is through her golden lilies. This is my priceless gift to you. No matter what happens, I want you always to remember how much I love you. You’re my precious pearl. Do you understand?’

‘I love you this much too!’ I swung my arms behind my back until my palms touched. But she didn’t return my smile.

‘Why is it important to have perfect four- inch golden lilies?’ she asked.

‘To get a good marriage,’ I chirped. ‘Matchmakers and mothers- in- law like tiny feet. Golden lilies are proof of a girl’s goodness.’

‘Yes,’ she agreed. ‘Only girls with immense endurance and discipline can get perfect golden lilies. This is what mothers- in- law from nice families want for their sons.’ She squeezed my hands and asked, ‘Do you want to marry into a nice family when you grow up?’

‘Yes.’

‘How do you get four- inch golden lilies?’ she asked.

‘I must sit very still when you clean my feet and change my bandages.’

‘What else?’

‘I mustn’t complain when you tighten the bindings.’

‘That’s true,’ she replied slowly. ‘But . . .’ After a long pause she said, ‘You are a big girl now. It’s time you learnt to take care of your golden lilies yourself.’

‘I’m still little!’ I protested, alarmed by her grave tone.

‘Watch carefully,’ she instructed. She unravelled the binding and eased my left foot into the basin of warm water. She massaged away the dead skin on the sole and between my toes. Next she trimmed my toenails and wrapped my foot in a towel before sprinkling alum onto it.

‘Be sure to use a generous amount of alum,’ she said. ‘It wards off sweat and itch.’

She wound a length of clean, dark- blue cotton around and around my foot. The pressure increased with each layer until my foot throbbed and my eyes ached with unshed tears. I had to use all my willpower not to groan. She continued to wrap the bindings, much more tightly than usual. I tried to pull my foot away. She gripped it harder. ‘Stay still,’ she ordered.

‘Aa Noeng,’ I cried. ‘It hurts too much.’

‘Hush,’ she said. ‘One day these golden lilies will bring you a good marriage. You will wear silk and live in a house with tiled floors. Best of all, you will never go hungry again.’

My whimpering faded as she continued to talk about the tasty food that would fill my belly when I become a bride in a well- to- do family. Finally, she eased my foot into my best pair of indigo cotton shoes. She pushed the basin towards me.

‘Now you must do the same for your right foot,’ she said.

The journey from our village to Canton City took a day on foot. Since Aa Noeng and I could not have walked that distance on our bound feet, Farmer Tang took us on his cart. The wheels churned up hail and mud into a dirty mix. Gusts of cruel wind whipped our faces raw, and though Aa Noeng held me tight against her side, I shivered. At noon, we stopped and the farmer shared his meal with us. The pork bun stung my wind- chapped lips but delighted my stomach. It wasn’t until I’d finished my share that I noticed Aa Noeng had barely touched hers, even though we hadn’t eaten meat since my father died. The farmer urged her to eat, his gaze full of pity. To be polite, she swallowed fragments of bun, but she looked haggard with sorrow, the way she’d looked in the days after Aa De’s death. That, with her strange behaviour this morning, turned the pork bun to stone in my belly.

The grey afternoon sky had darkened further by the time we arrived in Canton City. I had slept fitfully during the journey. Teeth chattering in the deepening chill, I couldn’t pay attention to the strange sights around me.

My mother had been silent since our midday meal, but now she roused herself and spoke to me in an urgent voice. ‘You’re a good girl. I must do this because there is no other way.’

The farmer cleared his throat. ‘Must you tell her now?’

‘Yes,’ Aa Noeng said resolutely. ‘She must be told.’ She said to me, ‘From now on, you will be living in a pretty brick house with the Fongs. They are a nice, rich family.’

I struggled to understand what she was telling me. ‘When will I come home?’ I asked. ‘Tomorrow?’

‘I have sold you to the Fong family, as a muizai,’ she said, her face crumpling. ‘The housekeeper has promised you won’t be a common slave girl. Lady Fong wants you as a personal maid to her daughter, like Little Green who looks after our village headman’s wife and daughters. You won’t have to do any heavy work.’

I reached up and pulled her face down to meet my eyes, but she squeezed hers shut. ‘Little Green is an orphan,’ I said, ‘but you will visit me, won’t you?’

Opening her eyes, she slowly shook her head.

‘When will I come home?’ I asked again. My voice cracked and I began to sob.

‘You will never come home again. A muizai is not like a hired servant. You will belong to your mistress, just like Little Green – even if her parents were still alive, she couldn’t leave. You can’t leave either.’ She heaved a sigh and then another, as if something was trapped inside her chest and she was trying to free it. ‘I have to do this. We’ll be evicted soon. We need money to pay for Little Brother’s carpentry apprenticeship. It’s the only way he will get a chance at a decent life.’

I could not imagine never seeing my home again, never seeing my mother or Little Brother. ‘Never’ was so big it was beyond my imagination. ‘But I can’t live with strangers,’ I said. ‘I belong with you.’

She talked on as if convincing herself as much as me. ‘Without the money we will all starve. Then who will carry on the Yung name? I need to do the right thing by your father’s spirit and our ancestors. You understand what’s happened to our family, don’t you?’

I shook my head. What did Aa De’s death have to do with this Fong family? I did not understand. But I remembered what had happened five months ago. Aa De had returned home from tending the fishponds and taken to his bed, complaining of cramps in his guts. Nothing tempted his appetite, and the little rice porridge he ate came straight back up. He changed from a man with the strength and endurance of a water buffalo to a gaunt invalid. The village daai fu prescribed herbs, which my mother boiled into a bitter tea and gave to him by the spoonful, but he couldn’t keep it down. He burnt with fever and shivered with chills. This went on for fourteen days until he died. Aa Noeng used our savings to give him a decent funeral.

After that, our lives had crumbled like a crushed biscuit. My mother couldn’t manage the farm by herself. We ran behind on the rent, the fishponds became neglected, and no one harvested the mulberry leaves so our silkworms died of starvation. We went hungry, too, despite Aa Noeng’s efforts to stretch our rice supply by watering down our congee.

‘This is a chance for you,’ she said. ‘You will be a slave girl but you’ll have food to eat and a roof over your head. You’ll live better than we do.’ Her lips trembled as if she did not quite believe that. ‘Be good, grateful and patient,’ she said. ‘Follow orders and always remember your place. A muizai is her mistress’s shadow. You are there to do her bidding. Don’t ever forget that. You must never argue or disobey orders. Life is easier for those who can swallow bitterness and accept their lot.’

‘I’m a very good girl,’ I protested. ‘Don’t send me away.’

She pulled me to her chest, squeezing me tight. ‘Can we go home now?’ I asked hopefully. She did not reply as she continued to hold me close until we arrived at a big house, the biggest I had ever seen. A huge black plaque with two gold characters hung above the main entrance: a set of red gates, the height of more than two adults, each door guarded by a dragon head. Their red- painted eyes glared at me as our cart rolled past, and they looked as though they’d attack any visitor who dared knock with the thick bronze rings between their fangs.

It seemed an age before our cart rounded the mansion and Farmer Tang pulled the horse to a stop in front of a pair of regular- sized doors, like the ones back home where I used to reach up and touch the lintel when I sat on Aa De’s shoulders. Father Tang helped Aa Noeng down from the cart and set me beside her. I clung to her sleeve as she knocked. A lady in a fine quilted coat greeted Aa Noeng and hurried us into a courtyard furnished with a stone table.

‘I am Cerise, the housekeeper and Lady Fong’s personal maid,’ the lady with a fleshy mole on her chin told my mother. ‘Dip your thumb lightly into the ink and press it here.’ She pointed to a red paper.

‘Wait!’ Aa Noeng said. ‘What does it say?’

‘It’s just the standard terms of indenture.’

‘Please tell me.’

With a gusty sigh, Cerise told her, ‘It says you agree to sell your girl to Lady Phoenix Fong, the First Fong taai taai. Your daughter will be Miss Linjing’s maid unless Lady Fong tells her to serve another. Lady Fong also has the right to sell your daughter to another household.’

‘Does it say whether I can buy back my daughter’s freedom?’

‘I don’t know why you ask,’ Cerise complained. ‘I’ve worked here for over ten years and no parent has ever come back for their girl. This isn’t a pawnbroker.’

‘Please,’ she begged. ‘I just want to know.’

‘It states that you can buy back her freedom if you return the sale price with twenty per cent interest for every year the Fongs have had to feed and clothe her. Now, are you ready to give me your thumbprint?’

I looked up at Aa Noeng expectantly, hoping she’d changed her mind. Instead, her face sagged. Tears spilled over her lashes before she quickly mopped them with her sleeve. I tightened my grip on her forearm.

Cerise’s tone softened. ‘Lady Fong is kind and fair. Your daughter will be fine.’

‘But she will be allowed to marry eventually?’ my mother asked, voice urgent yet doubtful.

‘If a muizai was lucky enough to secure a marriage offer, then she might be released from bondage. I dare say Lady Fong will find her a good husband when she is around eighteen, if she’s hardworking and obedient. Mind you, many muizai choose to stay rather than be wedded to a putrid night- soil collector or a cripple. But with bound feet, your daughter might hope for a decent farmer.’

‘Is marriage a guarantee?’ Aa Noeng pressed.

‘There’s no certainty in life. But Lady Fong is honourable and kind. Now sign.’

Mother’s trembling hand hovered over the contract for a long time before she finally dipped her thumb into the ink and pressed it on the paper. Tears flowed down her cheeks. Two splotches hit the paper, smudging the thick, black characters. But once the agreement was sealed, she dried her face with her sleeve and knelt in front of me with an expression of determination.

‘Remember my words,’ she said. ‘Be patient and obey. Things could be a lot worse.’

Since I would never see her again, I didn’t know how things could be worse. Flinging my arms around her neck, I cried, ‘Don’t leave me here to be a slave!’

My mother wrenched my arms apart, holding me by the shoulders. I tried to wriggle forth, desperate to latch on to her, but her firm grip kept me in place.

‘Listen to me,’ she said coaxingly. ‘To see me again, you must be extra obedient. Most important of all, you must look after your golden lilies so you can marry one day. Can you promise me that?’ She tried to smile but it looked like a lopsided scribble.

‘Please, Aa Noeng. I’m scared.’

‘If your feet are ruined, you’ll never see me again. Do you understand?’

‘I need another cuddle,’ I cried, stumbling forward, arms outstretched. ‘Just one more . . .’

But Aa Noeng turned her back on me and strode off faster than I had ever seen her move.

At the gate, she fixed me with a final glance, before she straightened her back and disappeared down the laneway. I tried to run after her, but Cerise’s fierce clutch kept me in place. ‘Let your mother go,’ she said. ‘You belong to the Fong family now. Be good and you might see her again.’

I bit her arm. Shocked, she yelped and released me. I bolted off, but teetered on my golden lilies and fell long before I reached the gate. The pain of my fall was far less than the sting of her slap.

‘Wipe that insolent look off your face,’ she ordered. ‘You’re a muizai now.’