Most of the elderly in Chaozhou could not speak Mandarin but only Teochew, since teaching was done in the local vernacular in the past. Nor could she or her husband. Like many Chinese old couples, they seemed regretless yet more grateful for just having a son to extend their family root.
By the time half a pot of tea was fi nished, exhausted Mei quietly moved to her bed upstairs. She lay huddled sideways. The gang rape scenes came uninvited to crush her body and mash her memory. This destruction lasted till her phone buzzed. It was a formal invitation to her cousin Guo’s wedding in two weeks before the Spring Festival. The news somewhat stunned her. She presumed he must have a fl ash marriage. She drafted a text saying yes and no, yes and no, but didn’t send anything.