Gale Sears - Letters in the Jade Dragon Box

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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Sears, Gale, author.

Letters in the jade dragon box / Gale Sears.

pages cm

Includes bibliographical references.

ISBN 978-1-60641-248-0 (hardbound : alk. paper)

1. MormonsChinaHong KongFiction. 2. Hong Kong (China)Fiction.

I. Title.

PS3619.E256L48 2011

813'.6dc22 2011025960

Printed in the United States of AmericaPublishers Printing, Salt Lake City, UT

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

To Grant and Luana Heaton, for their love of Chinaindeed, for all the people of the Southern Far East Mission.

And to Shawn, whose mission called him home.

Acknowledgments

I extend my deep gratitude to the many people who helped bring about this book.

To Grant and Luana Heaton for inviting me into their home and sharing stories and insights about the wonderful people of Hong Kong as well as the genesis of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in China.

Thanks to Matt Christensen, Chris Hughes, and Daisy and Gary Ma, for their help with the Chinese characters and calligraphy.

To Sandy Brown (Hu Yao-hwa), for her extensive perusal of the manuscript, concise suggestions for improvement, and help with the pronunciation for the audio book.

To Levi Sim, Ma Khe-ni, and Richard Turley Jr. for offering gems of information about the remarkable country of China with its rich history, and good people.

To Shaunna Chymboryk and Sandy Brown for being my first readers.

To my husband, George, for supporting me in many ways during a difficult time.

And finally, to the amazing team at Deseret Book, who make me believe that all things are possible.

Chapter 1

September 9, 1976

It begins with a death. Thousands of people mourn. Thousands of people celebrate. Hundreds of thousands of people precede him to the gravea grave he dug for them in Chinas sacred soil.

For Chen Wen-shan, the day began normally with a breakfast of cornflakes and a scowl from her great-uncle. But at school, things changed. Her friend Song Li-ying was absent, which had never happened in their school years together, and her teacher Mrs. Yang broke one of her own classroom rules by looking at the clock every five minutes. And at three oclock, the schools intercom system came screeching to life, interrupting the physics lesson. The principals voice, normally brusque and strong, hesitated. Wordword has reached Hong Kong that just after midnight last night, the Chairman of China, Mao Tse-tungdied.

Snap. The intercom went off.

Wen-shan sat very still, her hand pressed flat on her work papers. No one moved or made a sound. All eyes were on Mrs. Yang as though she would explain everything.

Mao Tse-tung is dead? What does that mean?

Someones pencil rolled off their desk and clinked onto the linoleum floor. The teachers mouth opened, but no words came out. The intercom scratched to life again and everyone jumpedeven Mrs. Yang.

School will close early today. Classes cancelled.

Snap. The intercom went off.

One young man stood abruptly and left the classroom, forgetting his books and his jacket.

Wen-shan looked around and saw mass movement as her classmates stood. She stood with them. She gathered her books and papers into her schoolbag. Mrs. Yang stared at her watch and Wen-shan could see her jaw working to control her emotions. No one spoke to the teacher as they exited.

Wen-shan reached the outside of the school and ran. Eight blocks to her house and she ran all the way. As she neared home, she saw Song Li-ying framed by the half-moon arch of the courtyard wall. She stood by the front gate, waving a paper. She didnt talk or call out, only waved her paper.

Li Li, what is it?

The paper waved again.

Wen-shan stopped to open the gate, but Li-ying shoved the note forwarda section ripped from the paper. Wen-shan read it.

Yes, I know. Chairman Mao is dead. They told us at school.

Her friend blinked as though the sun was too bright. The Stone Boy is dead, she whispered.

Wen-shans heart beat faster. The Stone Boy is dead.

Where were you today? Wen-shan asked as she shoved open the gate. The girls moved into the courtyard.

Father found out the news early this morning. He thought it safer if I stayed home.

Wen-shan glanced to the bungalows on the left and right of the yard, but none of her neighbors seemed to be home. She continued down the curving path to the bungalow she shared with her great-uncle. She knew he wouldnt be home. He was at the furniture store taking care of things for the British owner.

Wen-shan moved up the steps to the small porch and unlocked the front door. Li-ying hesitated on the landing. Come in, Li Li. Hes not here to frighten you.

The girls removed their shoes and entered the cool interior of the house. It was dim and smelled lightly of sandalwood incense. Wen-shan put her schoolbag in her room and went to the kitchen for a snack. She found almond cookies, took a handful, and gave three to Li-ying.

I think we should go down to the main street and see whats happening.

Li-ying agreed and the two girls ran several blocks to the main street. They saw many people talking excitedly togethersome were crying, some pressing hands to their heads in prayer and looking at the sky. There were firecrackers everywhere. Long red ropes of firecrackers hung from third-story balconies, popping and cracking, the fire climbing the bundles like a ladder. The noise was terrible and wonderful. The smoke rose, explosions shredding the delicate red paper. The friends tried to catch the paper as it floated lazily through the air, landing on the heads of the celebrators, the taxi cycles, and the rough street. So much paper. The little children kicked it into great piles.

Wen-shan, look at that!

Wen-shan followed her friends gaze. Mrs. Wong, from the Golden Door Bakery, was handing out good-fortune buns. The two raced to stand in line.

All Hong Kong is full of joy today! Mrs. Wong cried as she held out the steaming basket. Take one! No charge.

Li-ying and Wen-shan looked at each other with wide eyes. This must be a spectacular day. Mrs. Wong had never given away any of her bakery goods for free. Wen-shan remembered that her friend Jun-jai always called Mrs. Wong the crafty businesswoman. Ah, that Mrs. Wongshe could sell fish to the mermaids. That was what he always said.

Wen-shan shoved the soft steamed bun into her mouth and hummed with delight as she tasted the sweet filling. Just as she was reaching for another bun, she saw the tall, lanky body of her friend Wei Jun-jai moving down the street. He held his transistor radio to his ear.