Gold Mountain Blues - Ling Zhang [3]
NOTE ON NAMES
Surnames come first: Fong or Tse or Au or Auyung.
Given names have two parts: a generation name (the same for each member of the same generation of a family) and a personal name, which comes last. People are known familiarly either by their nickname or by a diminutive formed by adding Ah- to the personal part of their given name. So, Kwan Suk Yin (surname Kwan) is known by her nickname, “Six Fingers,” or Ah-Yin (by her husband) or, later in life, Mrs. Kwan.
Cantonese and Mandarin (pinyin romanization)
We have used a Cantonese spelling for all names of people who spoke Cantonese to each other, and local places in South China. For national figures (for instance, Li Hongzhang) and names of provinces, we have used Mandarin pinyin romanization. The exception is the Chinese Revolutionary commonly known in the West as Sun Yat-sen (Mandarin pinyin: Sun Zhongshan).
GOLD
MOUNTAIN
BLUES
PROLOGUE
Guangdong Province, China, in the year 2004
Amy elbowed her way through the bustling throng in the arrivals lounge at Guangzhou Baiyun International Airport and stopped in front of two gentlemen holding a sign which read “Ms Fong Yin Ling.” They stared at her, dumbstruck. What on earth was this foreigner with her chestnut hair and brown eyes doing here?
The Office for Overseas Chinese Affairs had sent two men to pick her up: Ng the young driver, and an older one, the head of the local O.O.C.A., Auyung Wan On. “You, you, you’re.…” Ng began, stuttering in flustered astonishment. He found he was speaking to her in English.
“That’s me,” Amy said in decent Chinese, indicating the sign. It was enough to reassure Ng and Auyung and together they escorted her out to the airport carpark.
Although it was only May, the weather was blisteringly hot. To Amy, accustomed to the lukewarm sunshine of Vancouver, the sun in Canton seemed to be full of tiny hooks which pricked her painfully all over. She got quickly into the black Audi and waited for the chill of the air-conditioning, wiping her sticky forehead with a tissue.
“How far is it?” she asked Auyung.
“Not far. The car can easily do it in a couple of hours.”
“Are all the documents ready? I’ll sign them as soon as we arrive. Can you get me back to Canton this evening?”
“Won’t you stay one night? That way you can check over the antiques you’ve inherited tomorrow morning.”
“I can’t see the point. Get someone else to box them up and ship them to me.”
Auyung looked taken aback for a moment. Then he said: “No one’s been in the building for decades. There’s a lot of stuff which dates from the time it was built. You need to make an inventory because they’re antiques. Apart from what is strictly personal and private, we hope everything will be left for display. Of course, you can take photographs to keep as mementoes—that’s clearly stated in the contract.”
Amy sighed. “Looks like I’ll have to stay one night then. Have you booked me into a hotel?”
“Yes, that’s all fixed,” said Ng from the front seat. “It’s the best one in town. Of course it’s not up to Canton standards, but it’s very clean, there are hot springs and it’s got internet.” Amy said nothing, and just sat fanning her sweaty face with a book.
It was quiet in the car. Auyung broke the silence: “Mr. Wong, our director, has been expecting you since last spring. He had plans to entertain you himself. Then we heard you were ill and the trip was postponed a few times. Now you’ve arrived, but Mr. Wong has just gone to Russia on business. He left a message asking you to wait until he returns. You’re the only one left out of all Fong Tak Fat’s descendants. It wasn’t easy tracking you down.”
Amy gave a laugh. “I’m not the Fong Yin Ling your director was expecting. She’s my mother. She’s