Qi Fen graduated from Wellesley College in Massachusetts. Despite all these years of marriage, she still often, intentionally or not, reminds me of how she used to wear evening gowns when going to dinner at school. Especially when she’s in the kitchen washing vegetables, she loves to talk about how much attention she used to get during her time at Wellesley. She says that although her outfits couldn’t compare to Li Tong’s, they were still better than Zhang Jiaxing’s and Lei Zhiling’s. The four of them had been classmates at Shanghai's prestigious Zhongxi Girls’ School. All four came from prominent families, though Li Tong’s was the wealthiest and her father held the highest official rank. When they hosted dance parties in Shanghai, they often went to Li Tong’s villa on Hongqiao Road. The villa was grand and German-style, with two marble fountains in the garden. Dancing under the open sky, with the fountains reflecting the lights, the scene was dazzling. Moreover, Li Tong was an only child, doted on by her parents. At every event, her mother would prepare everything meticulously, ensuring the parties were exceptional.

Hui Fen said that in 1946, when they left for the U.S. together, all four of them coincidentally wore red qipaos, standing there like a bright red cloud lighting up Shanghai’s Longhua Airport. They looked at each other and couldn’t help but laugh. Li Tong declared that they were the “Big Four,” referencing the post-WWII alliance of China, the U.S., Britain, and Russia. Li Tong claimed to represent China because her qipao was the brightest red. No one wanted to represent Russia, associating Russian women with being large and coarse. At that time, Shanghai still had many White Russian women engaged in lowly professions. Li Tong insisted Zhang Jiaxing should be Russia because she was the tallest. Zhang was unhappy about it and continued arguing with Li Tong even after they boarded the plane. The airport was filled with their relatives and friends—at least a hundred people. As they waved goodbye from the plane, the sky was filled with handkerchiefs fluttering like a swarm of butterflies. At the time, they were all just 17 or 18 years old, completely unaware of the sorrow of parting. Li Tong’s mother hugged her daughter, crying uncontrollably, and even her father wiped his eyes. But Li Tong, wearing a playful pair of cat-eye sunglasses, just kept smiling cheerfully. As soon as they boarded the plane, the four of them chattered away in excitement. The foreign passengers smiled and nodded at the sight of the four Chinese girls dressed in red. Hui Fen said they felt so proud, as if they were really representing the Big Four, flying to New York for a world conference.

At the beginning, they made quite a splash at Wellesley. Hui Fen often loved to tell me how many boys asked her out on weekends, especially when I wasn’t very accommodating. She would list all the boys who pursued her, reminding me of her youthful beauty. I didn’t enjoy hearing those stories and sometimes couldn’t help feeling a twinge of jealousy. But when I saw her hands, pale and soft, wrinkling from dishwater, my heart would fill with sympathy. After all, Hui Fen was raised in a wealthy family, so it wasn’t surprising that she had a bit of a delicate temper. But after we got married, she worked tirelessly to manage the household chores, which made me admire her all the more. She said that while they all had their strengths at Wellesley, none could compare to Li Tong. Even the American rich girls couldn’t outshine Li Tong. Wellesley was a place where people were judged by their clothes, and Li Tong had plenty of unique outfits, one for every day, turning heads wherever she went. Some Americans, seeing her in her silks and satins, even asked if she was a Chinese princess. Before long, she became a campus celebrity and was even crowned the “May Queen.” There were countless boys lining up to ask her out. Li Tong thought highly of her own beauty and was very aloof with the boys. There was a top student from Harvard Law School named Wang Jue who was deeply in love with her, but Li Tong always maintained a cool demeanor, so he eventually gave up. Hui Fen said that although Li Tong liked Wang Jue, she had grown too used to her aloof act to humble herself, and that’s why they never got together. Hui Fen was sure that Li Tong regretted it, but she was too proud to admit it.

Not long after, trouble struck Li Tong’s family. Civil war broke out in China, and her family fled Shanghai on the Taiping steamer to Taiwan. The ship met with disaster en route, and her parents perished, along with all their possessions. When Li Tong received the news, she was hospitalized for over a month. She refused to eat, and the doctors had to tie her down and feed her through IV drips. She remained silent for a long time after her release, only recovering her old self by the time they graduated. However, everyone agreed that Li Tong was no longer as likeable as before. By that time, all their families had been affected by the war, so no one was in the mood to be flashy anymore; they had to focus on their studies. When Hui Fen talked about her time at Wellesley, she always prefaced it with, “When I was a sophomore,” but she didn’t say much about the following two years.

I first met Li Tong in person at my wedding to Hui Fen. I had met Hui Fen in Boston while I was studying at MIT, and she was working in New York. She frequently visited Boston to see her family, but she insisted that the wedding take place in New York, making it a condition of our marriage that we live there. She said all her old friends were in New York, and only there would she feel at home. We held our reception at our new home on Long Island, inviting only our closest friends. After changing out of her wedding dress, Hui Fen pulled Li Tong, Zhang Jiaxing, and Lei Zhiling over to formally introduce them to me, though she didn’t need to—she had described them to me from head to toe so many times that they already felt familiar. After meeting them, I found that Zhang and Lei weren’t much different from what Hui Fen had described—Zhang was plump and Lei was slim, both full of confidence. But I felt that Hui Fen had underestimated Li Tong’s appearance. Li Tong wasn’t just someone who thought she was beautiful—she was stunning, like the sun suddenly rising from the ocean, blinding with brilliance. Her tall, striking figure and sharply defined features were hard to miss. Her eyes were piercing, capturing anyone who met her gaze, and her voluminous dark curls swept across her left brow, cascading over her shoulders. On her left side, close to her ear, she wore a large, glittering spider-shaped brooch, its eight legs tightly gripping her hair while its round body perched high. Li Tong wore a silver-white satin qipao adorned with bright red maple leaves the size of one’s palm, each leaf blazing like a small fireball. Women’s judgments about other women’s beauty can sometimes be inaccurate, and I couldn’t help but wonder if Hui Fen hadn’t praised Li Tong’s appearance out of some lingering jealousy. My beautiful bride stood next to Li Tong, yet it was Li Tong’s radiant presence that completely stole the spotlight. It was my wedding day, and with such charming friends around, I felt an extraordinary sense of joy.

“So you’re the one who broke up our card-playing group, huh? I need to settle the score with you,” Li Tong said with a teasing smile as she sized me up. Li Tong had a peculiar way of smiling—her chin would lift, her left corner of her mouth would rise high, and her eyelids would droop down, as if she were pushing the whole world out of her eyes. Hui Fen had already told me about how, when they worked in New York, the four of them shared a four-bedroom apartment and often played mahjong together. They called themselves the “Big Four Club.” After Hui Fen moved out, the others eventually went their separate ways.

“Why don’t you let me join your Big Four Club and pay some dues?” I joked, slightly bowing to Li Tong and her friends. I had learned both mahjong and poker in the U.S. and had become quite skilled at them, as gatherings with friends always seemed to involve card games. The three girls laughed and said, “Welcome! Welcome! It’s a good thing you know how to play cards. Otherwise, we wouldn’t have let Hui Fen marry you. We had an agreement that any man who didn’t know how to play wasn’t allowed to marry any of us.”

“I’ve already learned all your rules,” I replied. “I even remember your nationalities in the Big Four. Li Tong is ‘China,’ right?”

“Don’t bring that up again!” Li Tong cried out. “Every time I play, I lose. I lose everything! Playing against these small-card players, I don’t stand a chance. You can ask Zhang Jiaxing—I’ve practically handed over half of my salary to her.”

“If you can’t play well, don’t blame others!” Zhang Jiaxing shot back.

“Li Tong has no sportsmanship,” Lei Zhiling added.

“Chen Yin,” Li Tong leaned in, pointing at Zhang and Lei, “let me give you a warning: when playing cards with these people—including your wife—never aim for a big win. They’re all small-card players, and I either go all-in or don’t play at all!”

Hui Fen and the others immediately protested, attacking Li Tong in unison. But Li Tong, with her head held high, smiled stubbornly and refused to back down. Her spider brooch sparkled as she turned her head, and I found it amusing to watch these beautiful women arguing with each other.

“I also prefer playing big hands,” I said, wanting to offer some support for Li Tong, who was now alone against the other three.

“Really? Really?” Li Tong’s face lit up with excitement. She extended her hand across the table and gave me a firm handshake. “I’ve finally found someone who can match me! Let’s have a match sometime soon!”

During the reception, Li Tong’s striking presence was everywhere. Her red maple leaf-patterned qipao seemed to be on fire, attracting attention wherever she went. My single male friends, in particular, appeared a bit uneasy as though they had been swept up by the flames. One of my old college roommates, Zhou Daqing, asked me several times that night about Li Tong.

After our honeymoon, when we returned to New York, Zhou Daqing called me, inviting us to dinner and dancing at Tavern on the Green in Central Park. He specifically asked if I could invite Li Tong as his dance partner. Zhou Daqing had admired several girls during college, but none of his pursuits had ever succeeded. He was a good person and decently handsome, but he lacked the charm to win over women. Each time he fell in love, he did so earnestly, which often led to disappointment. I could tell he had developed a liking for Li Tong. When I discussed it with Hui Fen, she advised me not to get involved with Li Tong’s affairs, saying that Li Tong was too willful. But knowing that Zhou Daqing was sincere, I persuaded Hui Fen to help arrange a meeting with Li Tong.

We picked up Li Tong at Central Park. She wore a flowing cloud-red evening gown, looking as stylish as ever, but her signature spider brooch had somehow shifted to the tip of her hair on her shoulder, swaying back and forth like it was dangling from a thread. When we arrived at Tavern on the Green, Zhou Daqing was already there, looking freshly groomed with his hair neatly trimmed and a stiff smile on his face, clearly nervous, just as he had been when waiting for a date outside the women’s dormitory during college. When we sat down, he presented Li Tong with a glass box wrapped in gold paper, inside which was a large purple orchid. He explained that it was a gift for her. Li Tong smiled, lowered her eyelids, and pinned the orchid to her waist sash. Zhou ordered champagne for the table, but Li Tong waved over the waiter and asked for a Manhattan instead.

“I hate champagne,” she said, “it’s like drinking water.”

“Manhattans are pretty strong,” Zhou Daqing remarked, looking concerned as Li Tong drank half the glass in one gulp.

“That’s why I like it,” Li Tong said, finishing her drink quickly and then using her fingers to fish out the maraschino cherry at the bottom of the glass and pop it into her mouth. A waiter passed by, and she gestured toward her empty glass with her cigarette, “Another Manhattan, please.”

As Li Tong sipped her drink, she animatedly told me stories about gambling on horse races in Yonkers. She mentioned that she couldn’t hold onto money, always winning at first and then losing everything. She asked if I played poker, and I replied that I was quite good at it. Li Tong reached across the table and shook my hand again. Turning to Hui Fen, she joked, “Your husband is adorable! Why don’t you let me have him? We could open a casino together.”

We all laughed, though Zhou Daqing’s laughter seemed a bit forced. He wasn’t much of a gambler, and Li Tong barely acknowledged him all evening. He tried a few times to steer the conversation in a different direction, but each time, Li Tong deflected him.

“Then take him,” Hui Fen said with a playful push to my shoulder, “I don’t mind.”

Li Tong stood up, grabbed my hand, and pulled me onto the dance floor, resting her head on my shoulder as we started to dance. The dance floor was outdoors, illuminated by amber-colored lanterns that cast a warm glow on her hair and gown.

“Zhou Daqing likes you a lot, Li Tong,” I whispered to her as we danced. Zhou and Hui Fen had joined us on the dance floor by then.

“Oh, really?” Li Tong replied with a smile, lifting her head to meet my eyes. “Tell him to learn how to gamble first before he tries to win me.”

“He’s a good guy,” I said.

“A good guy who doesn’t gamble is no use to me,” Li Tong chuckled, resting her head on my shoulder again.

By the end of the night, Li Tong had downed five or six drinks. Every time she ordered another, Zhou Daqing watched her with a worried expression.

“What? You don’t want to buy me another drink?” Li Tong suddenly turned to Zhou, her cheeks flushed from the alcohol, a high smile playing on her lips.

“No, no,” Zhou stammered, clearly flustered, “I just think it’s a strong drink.”

“Well, without enough drinks, I don’t have the energy to dance with you,” Li Tong said, snapping her fingers at the waiter for another Manhattan. After finishing her drink, she stood up and invited Zhou to dance with her. The band was playing a lively cha-cha, and several South Americans were playing with great enthusiasm.

“I’m not very good at the cha-cha,” Zhou hesitated as he stood up.

“I’ll teach you,” Li Tong said, walking straight onto the dance floor. Zhou followed her awkwardly.

Li Tong’s body moved naturally to the fast-paced rhythm of the cha-cha, her movements full of passion and abandon, while Zhou struggled to keep up. At first, Li Tong adjusted her steps to match Zhou’s, but after a while, she got lost in the music, moving more and more wildly. Her body rose and fell with the beat, her steps growing larger and more exaggerated. The wild energy of the cha-cha seemed to possess her, her long hair and sash flying in the air as she spun. The sparkling spider brooch on her hair glinted as it flailed with her movements, and the orchid on her sash fell to the floor, getting crushed underfoot like a purple puffball. Li Tong threw her head back, her eyes half-closed, her brows furrowed as she moved her body in a trance-like dance, like a cobra mesmerized by a snake charmer’s flute, writhing uncontrollably in pain. The musicians, sensing her intensity, played even louder, shouting along with the beat. Other dancers stopped to watch Li Tong, but Zhou Daqing, still trying to keep up, struggled beside her. When the dance ended, the musicians and other dancers applauded Li Tong, and she waved graciously to them before returning to her seat. Her face was covered in sweat, with strands of hair stuck to her face. Zhou, red-faced and sweaty, wiped his forehead with a handkerchief. As soon as Li Tong sat down, she called the waiter for another drink, but Hui Fen lightly patted her hand and said, “Li Tong, if you drink any more, you’ll get drunk.”

Li Tong put her hands around Hui Fen’s neck and laughed, “My dear Hui Fen, my wonderful Hui Fen, just this once, don’t stop me, okay? You have no idea how happy I am tonight! I’ve never felt this happy before!”

She patted her chest as she repeated herself, her eyes burning with an intensity that seemed almost painful. She had two more Manhattans before we finally left. By the time we walked out of the club, her steps were unsteady. A black waiter held the door open for her, and she pulled out a ten-dollar bill, handing it to him as she swayed, saying, “This place makes the best Manhattans in the world!”

When we got home, Hui Fen scolded me, saying, “I told you not to get involved in Li Tong’s affairs. She’s so willful, and I really feel bad for Zhou Daqing.”

During our first couple of years in New York, life was as fast-paced and hectic as Manhattan itself. Both of us worked during the day, and as soon as we got home in the evenings, Hui Fen’s group of friends would whisk us off to some gathering. Weekends were filled with parties, our schedules often booked months in advance. Zhang Jiaxing and Lei Zhiling both had steady boyfriends—Zhang’s was a doctor named Wang, and Lei’s was an engineer named Jiang Teng. Both of their boyfriends enjoyed playing cards, so much of their courtship time was spent at the card table. Li Tong, however, never settled on one partner. She changed boyfriends frequently, but eventually lost interest in mahjong, saying it was too slow-paced for her.

One Saturday, Li Tong suggested we all go horse racing, so eight of us went to the Yonkers Racetrack. Li Tong’s date that day was a middle-aged man named Deng Maochang. Deng was from Hong Kong and owned a high-end Chinese antiques shop on Fifth Avenue. Li Tong said Deng was an expert on horse racing, with a near-perfect betting record. That day, the sun was blazing, and the four women all wore wide-brimmed sun hats. Li Tong looked particularly stunning in a purple-red shorts set with a crisp white shirt.

The racetrack was packed, and aside from Deng, none of us knew much about betting. Deng eagerly ran up and down, gathering tips and authoritatively directing us on which horses to bet on. In the first couple of races, we won $30 or $40 each. But bythe third race, Deng insisted that a horse named Lucky was a sure bet, and urged all of us to place large wagers. However, Li Tong, stubborn as ever, refused to listen and said, “I don’t want Lucky. I’m picking my own horse.”

“Li Tong, just trust me this once! Lucky is a guaranteed winner,” Deng pleaded, holding the pile of cash we had given him for bets. But Li Tong, flipping through the race guide, pointed out a different horse.

“I’m betting on Bold Lad,” she said.

“Lucky is the winner, Li Tong,” Deng insisted.

“I’m betting a hundred dollars on Bold Lad. The name sounds more fun,” Li Tong declared, handing Deng the cash.

“That’s a terrible horse!” Deng exclaimed.

“Fine, then make it two hundred!” Li Tong laughed, shoving the money into Deng’s hands. Deng tried to argue, but Zhang Jiaxing interjected, saying, “Let her lose. She makes a lot of money every month anyway.”

“What makes you think I’ll lose?” Li Tong sneered at Zhang. “You all stick to the popular picks. I go for the underdogs!”

As the race started, Lucky surged ahead, quickly leaving the other horses behind. Zhang, Lei, and Hui Fen were ecstatic, jumping up and cheering. Meanwhile, Bold Lad, the horse Li Tong had bet on, was trailing far behind. Li Tong had taken off her hat and was waving it wildly in the air, shouting, “Come on, my boy! Come on!” Her face was flushed, and her voice became hoarse from all the yelling, but her horse never gained ground.

In the end, Lucky won the race, and we all walked away with significant winnings, except for Li Tong, who lost everything. In the following races, she continued betting haphazardly, choosing horses with strange names, and lost even more. After the races, Hui Fen and I ended up with the most winnings, about five hundred dollars in total, while Li Tong lost over four hundred. Hui Fen, in good spirits, suggested we treat everyone to dinner, so we all went to a Chinese restaurant on Broadway for a feast. Throughout dinner, Deng kept sharing his horse-racing stories from Hong Kong, and Zhang and Lei eagerly listened, asking for tips. But Li Tong pointed at Deng and said, “You ruined my day with all your bad advice. That’s why I lost so much.”

“If you had listened to me, you wouldn’t have lost,” Deng replied with a smile.

“Why should I listen to you? Why should I?” Li Tong snapped, her eyes flashing as if she were about to explode.

“Alright, alright, next time we go, I won’t offer any advice,” Deng said, trying to diffuse the tension.

“Who said I’d go with you next time?” Li Tong cut him off coldly. “If I want to go, I’ll go by myself.”

Deng fell silent, awkwardly smiling at her, but the rest of us couldn’t help but feel uncomfortable for the remainder of the meal.

By the third year we lived in New York, Hui Fen developed a severe case of insomnia. The doctor said it was due to stress, but I believed it was because our lifestyle in New York was simply too hectic and unhealthy. Without waiting for Hui Fen’s agreement, I requested a transfer to Buffalo, where I could work as an engineer at the company’s branch there. When we finally moved out of New York, I knew Hui Fen wasn’t happy, though she didn’t say it aloud. Zhang Jiaxing even called to scold me for “taking Hui Fen away” from their group. We lived in Buffalo for six years, only returning to New York twice: once for Lei Zhiling and Jiang Teng’s wedding, and once for Zhang Jiaxing and Dr. Wang’s wedding. Both times, we saw Li Tong. She was the maid of honor at Zhang Jiaxing’s wedding, and though she had lost some weight, she was still striking, standing out in any crowd. The reception was held at Dr. Wang’s large apartment on Central Park West. It was packed with people from his vast social circle, and both the main halls were full. At one point, Li Tong appeared out of the crowd and asked me to go for a walk with her. She approached Hui Fen and joked, “Hui Fen, can I borrow your husband for a moment?”

“Sure, take him. I don’t want him,” Hui Fen teased with a laugh.

“Careful, Li Tong might just steal him from you,” Lei Zhiling chimed in, also laughing.

“That would be fine with me. Then I wouldn’t have to go back to Buffalo,” Hui Fen quipped.

As Li Tong and I strolled into Central Park, she turned to me and said, “It’s so stuffy in there. Honestly, Chen Yin, I brought you out because I need a drink. Zhang only served champagne. Who wants that?”

We made our way to the bar at Tavern on the Green, where I ordered a Manhattan for Li Tong and a whiskey for myself. As we chatted, she mentioned that she had changed jobs again. Her old company had offered to raise her salary to $1,500 a month, but she had quit after a fight with her boss. Now she was the assistant director of a fashion design department, but she didn’t like her new boss and doubted she would stay long. I asked if she still lived in the Village, and she said she had moved three times since then. In between laughs and drinks, Li Tong quickly downed three Manhattans.

“Slow down, Li Tong,” I said, smiling. “Don’t get drunk like the night we danced here.”

“You still remember that?” Li Tong laughed heartily. “I guess I did get a little drunk that night. I must have scared your friend Zhou Daqing.”

“Not really,” I replied. “He always said you were the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.”

“Really?” Li Tong smiled. “I ran into him outside Macy’s a couple of months ago. He was with his wife. He gave me his new address and said I should visit.”

“He’s a good person,” I said.

“Yes, he is,” Li Tong agreed. “He sends me a Christmas card every year with the same message: ‘Wishing you happiness.’ He’s a sweet guy, but too bad he doesn’t gamble.”

I asked if she still went to the racetrack, and Li Tong’s eyes lit up with excitement. She gulped down the rest of her drink and tapped my hand. “Let me tell you something: last Saturday, I went to Yonkers and bet on a horse called Gallant Knight, and it came through as a long shot! I won $450. That’s probably the proudest moment of my life! Do you remember Deng Maochang? That horse-racing expert? He went back to Hong Kong to get married. Without him bothering me, my luck at the track has improved. I win every time!”

Li Tong burst into laughter, leaning forward and nearly doubling over. She called out for another drink, but by then, it was already getting dark outside. Li Tong stood up and smiled, saying, “Let’s head back before Hui Fen thinks I’ve really stolen her husband.”

In our second year in Buffalo, we had our daughter, Lily. When Lily turned five and started kindergarten, Hui Fen warned me that if I stayed in Buffalo any longer, she would move back to New York with Lily and resume working. She said she would rather return to New York and deal with insomnia than stay in Buffalo. I realized that although life in Buffalo was more regular and stable, it was also stifling and unhealthy for both of us. So, we moved back to New York and bought a new house on Long Island. To celebrate moving into our new home, Hui Fen planned a big party for the weekend, inviting all our old friends. Zhang Jiaxing and Lei Zhiling came with their husbands, and Li Tong arrived alone. A few of Dr. Wang’s friends also attended. Hui Fen spent three days preparing for the party, cooking over a dozen Chinese dishes. After dinner, when everyone settled down to play cards, Hui Fen suggested that she, Zhang, Lei, and Li Tong play mahjong, reminiscing about their days as the “Big Four Club.” However, after four rounds, Li Tong swapped with one of the male guests at the poker table, claiming she had forgotten how to play mahjong after so many years.

To ensure Hui Fen could focus on her game, I didn’t join the card tables. Instead, I wandered between groups, making sure everyone was taken care of. At one point, I noticed Li Tong was missing. I searched the house, and when I opened the door to the sunroom attached to the living room, I found her there, asleep in a wicker rocking chair.

The sunroom was dimly lit, with only a single yellowish light hanging from the ceiling. Li Tong was half-reclined in the chair, her head tilted almost entirely to the right, resting on her shoulder. Her hands hung limply from the armrests, her long fingers draped in a way that looked utterly exhausted. She was wearing a deep red gown, which pooled on the floor like a faded, old velvet blanket. Her hair had grown much longer, covering her left cheek in thick locks that spilled down her chest. The large silver spider brooch glittered dully, now perched on her cheek. I had never seen Li Tong look so tired. No matter the occasion, she had always seemed so lively and untamable, as if she would never succumb to sleep. My footsteps must have woken her, for she suddenly sat up, brushing her hair back and yawning.

“Oh,it’s you, Chen Yin?” she asked, her voice still heavy with sleep.

“You fell asleep, Li Tong,” I said.

“Yeah, I was a bit tired at the card table, so I came here to rest for a bit. I didn’t mean to fall asleep,” she said, stretching. “You came at just the right time. Could you get me a drink?”

I went to the kitchen and poured her a whiskey soda, then brought it back to the sunroom. Li Tong took a large gulp and sighed, “Ah, this is refreshing. I was having terrible luck at the card table earlier. I didn’t get a single good hand all night. You know how frustrating that is when you’re playing poker. My patience is getting worse, and even poker isn’t fun for me anymore.”

Inside the living room, I could hear Hui Fen, Zhang Jiaxing, and Lei Zhiling chatting and laughing loudly. Zhang Jiaxing’s voice boomed above the others, her laughter breaking through the noise of the poker chips clattering on the tables.

“Zhang must be winning again,” Li Tong smiled and shook her head. She looked even thinner than before, her cheeks slightly hollowed out, but her eyes were still as sharp and vibrant as ever.

“Could you get me another drink?” Li Tong asked, handing me her empty glass.

I went back to the kitchen and mixed another whiskey soda for her. As we were chatting in the sunroom, my five-year-old daughter, Lily, came running in. She was dressed in a white fleece nightgown, her hair tied up with a sky-blue ribbon. Her round, chubby face was flushed, a mix of pink and white, making her look irresistibly adorable. Lily was my little darling, and every night, she insisted on giving me a kiss before going to bed. I bent down, and Lily stood on tiptoe to plant a big kiss on my cheek.

“Don’t you want to give your auntie a kiss too?” Li Tong smiled and asked. Lily ran over to Li Tong, pulling her down by the neck to kiss her on the forehead. Li Tong laughed and pulled Lily onto her lap, saying to me, “She looks just like Hui Fen. She’ll be a real beauty when she grows up.”

“What’s this, Auntie?” Lily asked, playing with the large diamond ring on Li Tong’s finger.

“That’s a stone,” Li Tong laughed.

“I want it,” Lily said in her cute voice.

“Then take it,” Li Tong said with a smile and slipped the ring off her finger, placing it on Lily’s little thumb. Lily raised her pudgy hand, waving the diamond ring around, its sparkle catching the light.

“That’s too valuable. Don’t let her lose it,” I said, trying to stop Li Tong.

“I’m really giving it to her,” Li Tong said seriously, looking me in the eyes. Then, she leaned down and kissed Lily on the cheek, saying, “Good girl, keep this for your dowry when you grow up and marry a good husband. Now go show it to your daddy to keep it safe for you.”

Lily giggled and handed me the ring before skipping off to bed. Li Tong looked at me with a serious expression and said, “That was part of my dowry, a gift from my mother when I left China.”

“You care so much for Lily. Why don’t you make her your goddaughter?” I suggested.

“No, no,” Li Tong waved her hand and stood up, her usual sly smile creeping back onto her face. “Lily already has a great mother in Hui Fen. What does she need me for? Come on, let’s go back inside. I’ve already lost too many chips tonight, and I need to win some back.”

After we moved back to New York, we didn’t see Li Tong very often. She stopped attending card games, and when she did, she wasn’t very engaged. Rumors spread that she was dating an American, while others said she was involved with a South American businessman. One day, Hui Fen and I were driving downtown, and as we turned onto the riverside highway, a large gold Lincoln convertible sped past us. A voice from inside shouted, “Huang Hui Fen!”

Hui Fen quickly stuck her head out the window and sighed, “Li Tong looks like a complete mess now!”

Li Tong was sitting in the passenger seat of the convertible, waving both arms wildly at us. She wore a large black scarf on her head, billowing high in the wind. The car sped away like a comet, and in a blink, Li Tong’s figure was gone. The man driving the car was a huge, foreign-looking fellow. That was the last time we saw Li Tong.

Four years after Lei Zhiling’s wedding, she finally had her first child, a son. Lei and her husband were overjoyed and threw a large celebration at their home in Riverdale. After dinner, we all sat down to play poker. Zhang Jiaxing and her husband arrived late, and as soon as she walked in the door, Zhang Jiaxing waved a telegram in the air and shouted, “Li Tong is dead! Li Tong is dead!”

“Which Li Tong?” Lei Zhiling asked, rushing over.

“Who else? Our Li Tong!” Zhang Jiaxing replied impatiently.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Lei Zhiling retorted, “Li Tong just left for a trip to Europe a couple of weeks ago.”

“You’re the one being ridiculous!” Zhang Jiaxing shot back, handing the telegram to Lei. “Read it yourself. The Chinese consulate in Venice sent this to me. Li Tong jumped into the canal and committed suicide. She didn’t leave a note, and there’s no family to claim her. The police found my address in her purse and contacted the consulate, who then sent me this telegram. I’ve already been to her apartment and met with the police. She left behind a closet full of clothes—I don’t even know what to do with it all!”

Zhang and Lei stood there, both shouting at each other, trying to understand why Li Tong had taken her own life. They were arguing so passionately that it almost seemed as if Li Tong had personally deceived them by dying. Hui Fen quietly took the telegram and read it, not saying a word.

“She had no reason to kill herself!” Zhang shouted, “She made more money than any of us. What was she so unhappy about?”

“I told her so many times to just settle down and marry someone, but she always brushed me off, joking and laughing. She never took my advice seriously,” Lei said, her voice rising.

“So many men chased her, and she didn’t want any of them. Who can she blame but herself?” Zhang Jiaxing added.

Lei went into the bedroom and came back with a photograph, handing it to everyone.

“I had forgotten to show you all. Li Tong sent me this from Italy just last week—who would have guessed she’d be gone so soon?”

It was a color photo of Li Tong standing with one hand on her waist, holding open a large black coat. Her other hand, gloved in white, was raised in a waving gesture. Her chin was held high, her eyelids slightly drooping, her smile just as stubborn and proud as ever. Behind her stood a large leaning tower, almost seeming to press down on her. Hui Fen examined the photo in silence. I leaned over her shoulder and saw that she was reading a few lines scrawled on the back.

To dear Yingmei and Su,
This is the Leaning Tower of Pisa.
October 1960, China.

Zhang and Lei continued their argument over why Li Tong had killed herself. Zhang speculated that it was because the American man had dumped her, while Lei believed her nerves had simply gotten the better of her. But in the end, they both agreed that Li Tong’s death was senseless.

“I figured it out!” Zhang Jiaxing suddenly slapped her palm on the table. “Li Tong never should have gone to Europe! Chinese people shouldn’t copy Americans by running off to Europe alone. Now she’s really become a wandering ghost over there! She should’ve stayed in New York, where at least we could’ve kept her company, played cards, and kept her too busy to kill herself.”

Lei seemed to finally agree with Zhang’s conclusion, and they stopped arguing. The room fell into a somber silence. Zhang and Lei sat staring into space, while Hui Fen kept turning the photograph over in her hands, looking at it again and again. The men at the poker table sat quietly, some fiddling with their chips, others smoking in silence. After the heated argument between Zhang and Lei, the sudden quietness felt heavy and oppressive, as if the air in the room had doubled in weight.

Just then, Lei’s baby started crying from the cradle in the next room, breaking the thick silence with a loud wail. Lei jumped up and shouted, “Let’s keep playing! Today is my baby’s special day, and we shouldn’t talk about these things anymore.”

She pulled everyone back to the poker table, and the game resumed. But for some reason, the atmosphere had changed. The stakes grew higher, and the pace of the game became more intense. Zhang Jiaxing rolled up her sleeves, shouting, “Showhand! Showhand!” as she pushed a large pile of chips into the pot. Lei, too, began placing large, reckless bets. Normally, Hui Fen was a cautious poker player, but this time, even she was caught up in the frenzy, throwing all her chips into the pot in one move. The male players, though more composed, were soon swept up by the wild betting as well. The colorful chips piled high on the table, like waves crashing back and forth, sometimes sweeping toward one player, sometimes toward another. Zhang and Lei’s husbands tried to calm them down, but thetwo women were like roosters in a fight, their eyes red with determination, brushing their husbands aside. Whenever they won a hand, they would gleefully throw themselves onto the table, scooping up the chips with their arms, laughing so hard that tears rolled down their faces. Zhang Jiaxing’s voice became hoarse from all the shouting. Lei Zhiling, though small and soft-spoken, seemed to be competing with Zhang, raising her voice to a shrill pitch that was almost painful to the ears. The stakes grew larger with each round, and soon everyone was caught up in the whirlwind of high bets. The table overflowed with chips, shifting from one side to the other like waves in a storm. No one noticed the time passing, and it wasn’t until Jiang Teng, Lei’s husband, pulled open the curtains that we realized it was morning. The sun had risen, and the window was flooded with bright light. Everyone squinted against the glare, momentarily blinded by the morning sun. Zhang Jiaxing covered her face with her hands, while Jiang called for Lei to make some coffee, signaling the end of the game. When the chips were counted, Hui Fen and I had lost the most.

As we left Lei’s house, we noticed that it had snowed the night before. The streets were covered in patches of dirty, slushy snow, with a thin layer of white frost clinging to the grime. The snow wasn’t thick enough to cover the filth, and black stains seeped through here and there. Riverdale was full of old, brown apartment buildings, all uniform in appearance. It was a Sunday, and the streets were deserted. Every window was covered with yellow curtains, giving the buildings a lifeless, blank stare, like rows of empty, hollow eyes. Each building had a fire escape, jagged and rusty, slicing across the façade like a maze. The fire escapes were coated with snow, making it look as if black iron had suddenly sprouted white fur. The sun had risen above the rooftops, flooding the street with light, but the air was still freezing. The bright sunlight offered no warmth.

Hui Fen walked ahead of me, her coat wrapped tightly around her, her head down, carefully stepping around the dirty patches of snow. Her hair had come loose, falling messily onto her collar. I had forgotten my gloves, so I stuffed my hands into my coat pockets, but even then, they felt stiff with cold. The morning wind stung my eyes, making them water. I had drunk too much coffee the night before, and my throat felt dry and scratchy. Our car had frozen over, and it took several attempts to get the engine started. As we drove down Broadway, Hui Fen rolled down her window, letting the cold air rush into the car.

“Close the window, Hui Fen,” I said.

“It’s stuffy in here. I need some fresh air,” she replied.

“Please, just close the window,” I repeated, my hands aching from the cold as I gripped the steering wheel. Hui Fen turned her back to me, resting her chin on the window ledge, staring out in silence.

“Close the window!” I suddenly snapped, my voice harsher than I intended. A wave of irritation swelled in my chest, pushed to the surface by the biting wind. Hui Fen slowly turned around without a word and rolled up the window. As we drove through Times Square, I noticed that Hui Fen was quietly crying. She sat stiffly beside me, her face turned forward, not moving, her eyes wide open, staring blankly ahead. Tears streamed down her cheeks, falling onto her chest. I had never seen her like this before—so pale, so utterly drained. Hui Fen was always so strong-willed, never one to show vulnerability. Even when things didn’t go her way, she would never let it show. But sitting beside me in that moment, I felt a deep, hollow sadness emanating from her, seeping into me. Her shoulders shook every few moments, and each time, a low, muffled sob would escape her throat. It was all so subdued, so monotonous, with no outburst or climax, just a steady rhythm of quiet sorrow.

For a moment, I felt as though I truly understood the depth of Hui Fen’s grief, a grief that words could never comfort. What she needed now was solitude and respect. I turned my head away, deciding not to watch her, and pressed down on the gas, driving faster through the empty streets of Times Square. The neon signs along 42nd Street were still lit, but their glow was dim in the daylight. There were few cars on the road, and the sidewalks were nearly deserted. I hadn’t expected New York’s busiest street to feel so empty, so desolate, on a Sunday morning.

two women were like roosters in a fight, their eyes red with determination, brushing their husbands aside. Whenever they won a hand, they would gleefully throw themselves onto the table, scooping up the chips with their arms, laughing so hard that tears rolled down their faces. Zhang Jiaxing’s voice became hoarse from all the shouting. Lei Zhiling, though small and soft-spoken, seemed to be competing with Zhang, raising her voice to a shrill pitch that was almost painful to the ears. The stakes grew larger with each round, and soon everyone was caught up in the whirlwind of high bets. The table overflowed with chips, shifting from one side to the other like waves in a storm. No one noticed the time passing, and it wasn’t until Jiang Teng, Lei’s husband, pulled open the curtains that we realized it was morning. The sun had risen, and the window was flooded with bright light. Everyone squinted against the glare, momentarily blinded by the morning sun. Zhang Jiaxing covered her face with her hands, while Jiang called for Lei to make some coffee, signaling the end of the game. When the chips were counted, Hui Fen and I had lost the most.

As we left Lei’s house, we noticed that it had snowed the night before. The streets were covered in patches of dirty, slushy snow, with a thin layer of white frost clinging to the grime. The snow wasn’t thick enough to cover the filth, and black stains seeped through here and there. Riverdale was full of old, brown apartment buildings, all uniform in appearance. It was a Sunday, and the streets were deserted. Every window was covered with yellow curtains, giving the buildings a lifeless, blank stare, like rows of empty, hollow eyes. Each building had a fire escape, jagged and rusty, slicing across the façade like a maze. The fire escapes were coated with snow, making it look as if black iron had suddenly sprouted white fur. The sun had risen above the rooftops, flooding the street with light, but the air was still freezing. The bright sunlight offered no warmth.

Hui Fen walked ahead of me, her coat wrapped tightly around her, her head down, carefully stepping around the dirty patches of snow. Her hair had come loose, falling messily onto her collar. I had forgotten my gloves, so I stuffed my hands into my coat pockets, but even then, they felt stiff with cold. The morning wind stung my eyes, making them water. I had drunk too much coffee the night before, and my throat felt dry and scratchy. Our car had frozen over, and it took several attempts to get the engine started. As we drove down Broadway, Hui Fen rolled down her window, letting the cold air rush into the car.

“Close the window, Hui Fen,” I said.

“It’s stuffy in here. I need some fresh air,” she replied.

“Please, just close the window,” I repeated, my hands aching from the cold as I gripped the steering wheel. Hui Fen turned her back to me, resting her chin on the window ledge, staring out in silence.

“Close the window!” I suddenly snapped, my voice harsher than I intended. A wave of irritation swelled in my chest, pushed to the surface by the biting wind. Hui Fen slowly turned around without a word and rolled up the window. As we drove through Times Square, I noticed that Hui Fen was quietly crying. She sat stiffly beside me, her face turned forward, not moving, her eyes wide open, staring blankly ahead. Tears streamed down her cheeks, falling onto her chest. I had never seen her like this before—so pale, so utterly drained. Hui Fen was always so strong-willed, never one to show vulnerability. Even when things didn’t go her way, she would never let it show. But sitting beside me in that moment, I felt a deep, hollow sadness emanating from her, seeping into me. Her shoulders shook every few moments, and each time, a low, muffled sob would escape her throat. It was all so subdued, so monotonous, with no outburst or climax, just a steady rhythm of quiet sorrow.

For a moment, I felt as though I truly understood the depth of Hui Fen’s grief, a grief that words could never comfort. What she needed now was solitude and respect. I turned my head away, deciding not to watch her, and pressed down on the gas, driving faster through the empty streets of Times Square. The neon signs along 42nd Street were still lit, but their glow was dim in the daylight. There were few cars on the road, and the sidewalks were nearly deserted. I hadn’t expected New York’s busiest street to feel so empty, so desolate, on a Sunday morning.I accelerated the car, speeding through the empty streets, feeling the cold wind seep through the cracks in the windows. The once-vibrant energy of Times Square had faded into a strange, surreal stillness, a quietness that amplified Hui Fen's subdued sobs beside me. The massive billboards and flashing neon lights seemed out of place in the early morning light, their garish colors muted by the harsh sun. It was hard to reconcile this deserted version of Times Square with the bustling, chaotic place it usually was. I drove without saying a word, letting Hui Fen have her space, knowing that there was nothing I could say to ease the weight of her sorrow.

Eventually, we turned off from the main roads and made our way home. The drive felt longer than usual, as if time had slowed down in response to the heaviness in the car. Hui Fen remained silent the entire ride, her face turned toward the window, watching the city pass by without really seeing it. Her tears had stopped, but the air between us was thick with the unspoken tension of her sadness.

When we finally arrived home, Hui Fen got out of the car without a word and walked inside. I followed her, unsure of what to say or do. Once inside, she went straight to the bedroom and shut the door behind her. I stood there for a moment, feeling the weight of the day settle on me. The memories of the night before, of the frantic card game and the news of Li Tong’s death, swirled in my mind, leaving me with a sense of unease.

I sat down on the couch, staring at the clock on the wall, the ticking sound loud in the stillness of the house. I thought about Li Tong—her larger-than-life personality, her fiery energy, the way she had always seemed invincible, untouchable, even in her wildest moments. The news of her death felt surreal, like a bad dream I hadn’t fully woken up from. It was hard to believe that someone as vibrant as Li Tong could be gone, that her light had been extinguished so suddenly and so tragically.

The image of her standing in that photograph, bold and defiant, with the Leaning Tower of Pisa behind her, flashed through my mind. Even in her final days, she had maintained that same aura of strength and independence, but now it seemed like a mask, a façade she had worn to hide the pain she had been carrying. The news of her death had shaken all of us, but for Hui Fen, it seemed to have hit the hardest.

After what felt like hours, the bedroom door creaked open, and Hui Fen emerged. Her face was pale, her eyes red and swollen from crying, but she had composed herself. Without saying a word, she walked over to the couch and sat down next to me. For a long time, we sat there in silence, the only sound the ticking of the clock and the faint hum of the city outside.

Finally, Hui Fen spoke, her voice quiet and strained. "I can't believe she's gone."

I nodded, not knowing what to say. There was nothing to say, really. Li Tong was gone, and no amount of words could change that.

"I always thought she was so strong," Hui Fen continued, her voice barely above a whisper. "She was always so full of life, so fearless. But maybe... maybe she was hiding how much she was really struggling. Maybe we just didn't see it."

I reached out and took her hand, squeezing it gently. "Maybe," I said softly. "But we can’t blame ourselves for not seeing it. Li Tong was... Li Tong. She never let anyone see the parts of her she didn’t want to share."

Hui Fen nodded, wiping away the last of her tears. "I just... I wish I could have been there for her more. I wish I had known."

"We all wish that," I said. "But she made her choices, and... sometimes, there's nothing we can do."

Hui Fen sighed, leaning her head against my shoulder. "I miss her already."

"I know," I said quietly. "I do too."

We sat there for a long time, the weight of Li Tong’s absence hanging between us. There was nothing we could do but accept it, even though it felt impossible to do so. Li Tong had been a force of nature, and now that she was gone, the world felt a little dimmer, a little emptier.

Eventually, Hui Fen stood up, her movements slow and tired. "I'm going to make some tea," she said. "Do you want any?"

I shook my head. "No, thanks."

She disappeared into the kitchen, and I sat there alone, staring at the clock once more. The ticking seemed louder now, more insistent, as if time was trying to remind me that life goes on, even in the face of loss. But at that moment, it didn’t feel like it. It felt like everything had come to a standstill, like the world was holding its breath, waiting for something—anything—to make sense again.