The visit to the magistrate’s was, of course, immediately commenced with loudly voiced plaudits for Mei-Yi’s devotion to the ‘common people of China.’ Of course, this would have been a lot better had the magistrate not made his appearance in a somehow even more ostentatious parade. Given the poor appearance of the nearby villages and towns supposedly under his care, the habitat of such a specimen was sure to be very taxing on his treasury. Though his servants and soldiers were supposedly on his payroll and allowed a generous salary, by the time the money actually passed through his ‘inspection,’ it somehow dwindled to less than half the original amount. This was not a one time accounting error, either. When faced with the question of Ao Ling’s spouse, the magistrate’s apparent apathy to his ordered executions angered Mei-Yi greatly. The great fat man had been picking his nose ungracefully and had responded with a bored ‘who’s that?’ and mumbled vaguely about Ling’s spouse going to Beijing. Even though Mei-Yi merited the full confidence and support of the magistrate, the fact that people like this influenced four hundred million people needed to be addressed. She would have very much liked to pop him like a berry, but that would be unwise in the grand scheme of things. To become an enemy of the Great Qing would become quite an issue, so it would be better to take baby steps. Expel the foreigners, then deal with the problems at home. If one thing good came out of it, she was sent back on her way with lots of goodies. There was now an established routine of traveling on Beijing Road: walking along, chatting with villagers, and occasionally stomping out any opposition. Sometimes she met bandits, other times foreign patrols, but it always ended with her strutting away from a horrific venue of bloodshed, glad to have served justice. Of course, she had to satisfy the punctilious moral code of Xue-Yu, and she put up a great show of sparing less courageous enemies. The countryside was essentially a vast expanse of yellowing grass as far as the eye could see, occasionally shaded with clumps of trees, backed by expansive cordilleras, or increasingly common the unnatural growths of telegraph poles.
One experience in particular was very unique. It started with Yong-Liang calling from within Mei-Yi’s pocket, and sticking his head out.
“Hey, hey! You hear that?”
‘That’ was not very descriptive, but what it was referring to was obvious. There was a high mewing wail, like that of a child’s. She glanced about hastily, hoping the source wasn’t falling victim to highwaymen or foreign devils.
“Yeah, where is that coming from?”
Even with the booming resonance of Mei-Yi’s voice there was a mounting shake of concern. The bawling continued.
“Further up the road. Hurry!”
She began walking at a much brisker pace, taking long steps spaced so that she could compromise between skimming the area over efficiently as well as moving as quickly as possible. The road was absolutely empty, just an endless line stretching out into the distance. Eventually, Mei-Yi found that the crying was endemic to inside a bush along the side of the road. She revealed the contents to be a lone child. A greasy head topped by a few plaits of black hair melted into a mess of shrieking gums and dewy eyelids. The absence of a pigtail marked it as a little girl, and no parent or guardian of any sort seemed to be nearby.
“Hey, what’s wrong? Where are your parents?”
In between her irregular and jerky suspiring the girl showed her leg, which had a thin streak of blood. The poor paving of the road was a likely cause. But the lack of a parental presence nearby gave Mei-Yi a mounting sense of unrest.
“Man, that sucks. But where are your parents?”
The kid tried to say something, but everytime she let out a coherent syllable she was immediately choked up by her hyperventilations. Mei-Yi decided to let one of her smaller friends do the talking, as speaking with someone that was several times their size would not be very reassuring. Though she instantly thought of Xue-Yu, she decided against it. Xue-Yu, though of course very wise, possessed a very stern countenance at all times which would probably convey the less than encouraging message of failure and disappointment to the child. Yong-Liang, with his previous concerns about the kid’s safety, seemed like a good option. He seemed like a good candidate for a ‘big brother’ type. She fished him out and placed him next to the child. Yong-Liang quickly set about using a torn rag as a makeshift bandage. As puerile as it all seemed, he worked with patience and interjecting with sympathetic noises every time he was confronted with an expression of pain. A shudder crossed his face, and Mei-Yi was amazed to see the look of real, sincere love and tenderness on that otherwise tough mug of his. When finished, Yong-Liang offered her some of the candies that the magistrate had given them.
“My name is Yong-Liang. This is Sister-Disciple Mei-Yi. We’re part of the Society of Righteous and Harmonious Fists. What’s your name?”
“W-w-en-Wen.”
With a few encouraging pats, Wen-Wen regained her composure.
“Wen-Wen, where are your parents?”
Tears appeared in her eyes, and it seemed that the mention of her parents was enough of an excuse for her to start bawling again.
“I-I don’t know. I ran away.”
“Where’s your home?”
“I don’t have one.”
Yong-Liang noticed a rectangular strip of paper on her shirt, perhaps a talisman of some sort. Upon closer inspection, it read one hundred wen in misshapen, messy lettering with dots of ink splattered everywhere. Wen was the currency typically used in the countryside. It was a price tag. But for what?
“Is this for you?”
Wen-Wen nodded sadly. There was no doubt about it now, and the tragic conclusion which had been slowly obtruding itself into Mei-Yi’s reluctant mind was now confirmed. Wen-Wen was probably being sold as a slave or worse, and had escaped. One could not fail to notice the sickly build of Wen-Wen. Mei-Yi could not dissociate this from the haunting images of severe opium addicts, desperate beggars, hopeless consumptives, or brutal criminals selling their children. Paintings of famine-struck towns so desperate that they severed even the sacred ties of kindred for a meager bite pressed upon her, and the stories of unscrupulous philanderers unwilling to face the consequences of their unfortunate actions and leaving their progeny in destitution were made even more tragic with their basis in reality. Chinese culture has a strong emphasis on filial piety, and to have a child simply abandoned like this was disheartening.
“Do you want to come with us then?”
“Okay.”
The ascending intonation seemed to be a question, but there really was no other choice for her. Wen-Wen was staring at the stocky sword hanging at Yong-Liang’s sash. Most weapons used for local self-defense were horribly crafted by blacksmiths of dubious quality. Yong-Liang’s sword was spared from such deformities. Its angular shape was crisp and lucid in its molding, and its handle was tailed by a strip of bright red cloth. Such quality weapons were inevitably imbued with romantic power in the eyes of the peasantry. Yong-Liang drew the sword, and swung it around, doing a few tricks. It shone brilliantly in the sun, and when swung about it gave Yong-Liang an almost messianic look. Wen-Wen’s hazel eyes beamed with curiosity, and followed the movement of the blocky sword.
“Here, I’ll let you hold it!”
Apparently forgetting completely about her traumatic past, Wen-Wen stuck her hands out expectantly with a chortle of delight but immediately she sagged downwards when receiving it.
“Wow, brother Yong-Liang is strong!”
Chinese people typically address their elders as either uncle, aunt, brother or sister depending on the disparity of the age difference. Though this did not always imply that there was a quasi-filial bond, Yong-Liang was still happy to hear it. He chuckled and hung the sword back at his hip. He tenderly picked Wen-Wen up, with a gentleness Mei-Yi had rarely seen.
“Right, let’s get a move on.”
Looking around in a last ditch attempt to locate any parents or guardians, Mei-Yi put both of them in her pocket. Reinvigorated by this wholesome experience, she continued walking along the path. It was a perfect summer day. The sky was painted a clear azure blue, the sun mellow, the air sweetened by wood smoke and its culinary products. According to the mapper, there was a river further up the road, and she planned to stay there for a bit to refill all their canteens and perhaps they would even be afforded the luxury of taking a bath.
Zhou Ming hurled out the fishing net with an involuntary grunt. Fluttering through the air like a wisp of fine muslin, it landed in the water unceremoniously, and after bobbing thoughtfully for a few moments sank downwards. Below Zhou’s boat was a vast, teeming school of fish that perhaps stretched for miles and miles. Indeed, the river was alive with a copious stream of squirming fish. They formed a sort of prolonged ophic shape underneath the gently rippling waves, an endless mass of writhing, sliding, jostling. However, the slightly murky water would muddle up its shape somewhat, giving less attentive souls the appearance of a single organism. Zhou’s rudimentary knowledge suggested that it was mating season, but no further analysis was needed to know that it was a veritable gateway to a good catch. They would sometimes leap high into the air and return into the same opening in which they had come out of, arranging beads of water on the side of his rowboat. Zhou felt a subtle tug at the submerged net, and this was quickly followed by several more. With practiced hands he began to pull his web back into his boat, armful by armful. Today’s catch seemed to be quite plentiful judging by the heavy weight of the net’s contents, etching the latticed patterns into his aging palms. It seemed today’s would-be catch developed a collective effort. Their jaws snapped convulsively in haphazard bites of air and the flapping horde’s acrobatics goaded Zhou to tip forward and almost fall overboard, but at the last second he managed to catch himself on the splintery periphery of the boat. Pulling the strain of the net over his shoulders, he heard someone clear their throat apparently right behind him.
“I’ll be right with you,” he announced through bared teeth and sharp breaths. He also acted as the de-facto ferryman for this particular river. At last, the sagging bottom of the net bumped into the starboard and he felt the shock of cold water drip onto the floor. After dropping the burden into his boat, his sharp eyes caught a bright color in the water before him. Overlaying the dark shadow of the fish and his own waving depiction, the somewhat distorted reflection was of his next passenger, apparently a young woman in a martial arts uniform. But it seemed way too large to be normal, a distortion caused by the water. But Zhou Ming knew this river better than anyone else, and its mischievous tricks and illusions had no effect on him. His interest piqued, he turned around.
Mei-Yi was getting used to the dazed automatism of surprise when meeting new people. She put on a warm smile to convince him of her friendly intentions. This time, the old man on the boat staggered backwards with such shock that Mei-Yi questioned whether his heart could handle it. But once he recovered, a cheerful and undefeated color materialized in his eyes. The legend of the giant boxer had reached his venerable old ears as well. She gave vent to a quick hello and tried to get the introductions over with.
“Hey. I’m Red Lantern Mei-Yi of the Society of Righteous and Harmonious Fists, and we’re fighting to restore honor to the Middle Kingdom.”
“Greetings. It seems you don’t need me to ferry you across.”
“I didn’t want to disturb you while you were fishing.”
Zhou wiped at the perspiration at his brow. The sun was as round as a full moon, but shining with splendor in its golden crown, the high branches of trees black against its dazzle.
“I see. Well, you are a nice girl, Mei-Yi and niceness is dearly underrated in today’s world. Now, you want anything? I have a bit of wine, tea, and of course fish.”
“Oh, I don’t want to impose or anything. Just wanted to get permission to, uh, cross the river.”
“Please, I insist. Usually people just yell at me while I’m trying to fish.”
There was a little hut on the other side of the river. He began to paddle back, taking great care not to disturb the swathes of fish below him. Mei-Yi easily crossed in one bound. He wore nothing except a pair of heavily patched up trousers, the sewing uneven and crooked. The brown blotches of benign tumors invited by the incessant blazing sun and creased scars like timeworn canyons in a desert were spread all across his body. A few straggling black strands of a mustache shading a sunburned surface made up his only facial hair, and his pigtail was a scraggly collection of individual hairs curled in irregular patches. Though he was for the most part thin and gaunt, there was a certain stoutness to his limbs that indicated some vestige of strength and sagacity in his ancient muscles. His bearing was upright and noble, with dark, piercing eyes. He paddled in great laborious strokes, with each push of the oar eliciting a weary wince. The way he moved conveyed a sense of elderly fragility and great strength at the same time. His solitary, lopsided decrepitude reminded her of the isolated cluster of villages gently burrowed away from urban life that had been her home.
Mei-Yi crouched down, and dipping her fingers into the water gently so as to not create too big a splash, she gently stirred the water towards the bank, sending most of the fish darting away from their previously presented illusion of unity. The scale of such an action was more than adequate, and thanks to the hypnotic ripple of the waves the boat rocked against the shore. Mei-Yi barely knew anything about this man, his family, his education, his loves, his hopes and wishes, but she felt absolutely at ease. Before Zhou could murmur his gratitude, Mei-Yi lifted the full net with two fingers, squashing the little knot Zhou had tied at the top.
“Where do you want it?”
Zhou tried to assert his humility by waving away her proffer of assistance, but finally he gestured at a spot near the hut. Placing the net down at the cost of marking her hand with a distinct fishy smell, she let the contents of her pocket out. Surprised at her retinue, Zhou nonetheless engaged in an exchange of introductory verbal chaff. Zhou did not expect such the bundle of youthful innocence that was Wen-Wen to accompany them. Zhou lifted her up into the air and spun her around, eliciting gurgles of joy from her.
Once a meager fire had been built and the issue of food had been addressed with the catch of the day and the magistrate’s goodies, Mei-Yi had a much better look at her natural surroundings, that would be her home for a few days. The surface of the river was hardly water. It was so thickly littered with the green palms of fallen leaves and blades of grass that it looked like an extension of the grassland. Within the patches of clear water the reflection of the first stars could be seen like specks of gold in the soil, as the sky cleared to reveal the opaque darkness of night. Sinews of aquatic plants, gnarled branches and mangled twigs sat coated by the mood, like the bones of sunken ships. A majestic swan settled down amongst the weeds. The river was surrounded with trees growing almost to the water’s edge, a vibrant cloth of green, gold, yellow and orange, interrupted only by the grey headstone of the road and the clearing in which Zhou made his residence. A sapling near Zhou’s little hut was patterned with yellowing leaves, its knobbly branches dissolving into the darkness behind it, and there was an impression that the air was flecked with elegant pellets of gold. Though Mei-Yi was just sitting around watching everyone eat, the impact she had on the unyielding ground beneath her was still enormous. Several clumps of sodden dirt were pushed out by her toes as they dug into the ground, and the floor seemed to quiver like a hunk of tofu whenever she adjusted her seat. Zhou busied himself picking the tobacco (thankfully not the opium poppy) he himself had grown, spasmodically interrupted by telling Wen-Wen a joke or ruffling her hair in such a way that it triggered a peculiar sense of pseudo-memory in Mei-Yi, as if the simple gesture solicited some agnatic image from a deep crevice in her mind, the retentive functions of which wholly ancestral and primal. This fatherly emanation was further reinforced with Zhou’s marvelous celerity, pouncing upon and tossing aside the tiniest pieces of unwanted matter that may have become admixed with his precious tobacco, which only a trained eye could discover at all. Mei-Yi’s father used to smoke as well, though she had never known the amount of work required to produce such a luxury. As small as their figures appeared to her, she could still see that Zhou sported his pipe like a marshal’s baton, even jokingly offering it to Wen-Wen. When she accepted immediately, Zhou chuckled and instead added a particularly large chunk of fish to her bowl. Any passerby would not have doubted for an instant that they were legitimate father and daughter. Mei-Yi felt a patch of inexplicable jealousy and sadness at this, but could not determine why.
Von Ketteler was outraged and demoralised. Less by the impending doom many under his command would likely face, less even by his and their inability to prevent it, but by his failure to determine the cause. Curiosity was a pervasive element of his well-trained mind, a subdued pounding in his mind that constantly asked why and how. Years of studying science did not prepare for the magnitude of this humiliating failure. Civilization had been ravaged with diseases, wars, famine, and strife seemingly impossible to solve, many that almost wiped out entire continents before wasting themselves. But in the end, it showed its dominance. They gave names to the black powder, the germs, and the beasts that threatened their very existences. This situation… not much could be deduced from the horrified rambles of the returning soldiers. A mythological deity of Oriental origin, according to the jabber of coolies. It was a personal affront that this creature continued to assail his troops with such impunity, a personal affront to his pride, a major root of chagrin. But how? Science had been his god. But here there was no sort of science, no sort of logic, no reasonable explanation that could be applied. In its variety of power, science preserved humanity when they cooked their first meals above a meager fire and leapt at the shadows dancing upon the walls. Rational thought had been free for them to criticize and sometimes even reject as people have always rejected gods, but-
“Sir?”
He turned from his desk. A military officer stood by the door of his study, numerous campaign banners and medals dangling from his chest. One sleeve of his coat was tucked into his pocket, and upon further inspection in the connexion between pocket and sleeve there was nothing organic present. In his (only surviving) hand he held a small slip of paper.
“I think you should see this.”
Expecting another report of a humiliating defeat at the hands (or feet) of the boxer thugs, he instead received a photograph, apparently of some Oriental girl. The one-armed officer swallowed nervously. As Von Ketteler skimmed over it, an expression of horror worthy of Greek tragedy commandeered his face.
Separated from the Beijing foreign compound in which Ketteler and his fellows resided, a discussion with the same topic was about to begin. A large delegation of horsemen dressed in traditional Manchu armor pointing their spears and triangular flags directly upright like a holt of pine trees preceded a saraband of Manchu infantry, their large lanterns on sticks swinging cheerily above them like ripening fruit on a branch. After this came a cyclopean palanquin of stupendous size, covered with golden brachiate engravings. The various pictures on the palanquin exhibited rich and luxurious expression, and the exaggerated, color-coded embroidery was arranged so that it formed a visual story of sorts. The palanquin bearers were also nothing to scoff at. With each synchronous step, each confident swing of the arms, there was a sense of supple charm and there was no doubt they had trained for hours and hours for the simple action of walking. Every other footstep a rumble of drums, gongs, and chimes rang out, startling nestled birds away from the slanted roofs of buildings. Their clothing consisted of a spectacular album of symbolic colors: symbols of longevity in virtuous green, belts of courageous cerulean and lined piping in stalwart red. Behind this was a gaggle of mandarins, eunuchs, aides, servants, magistrates, and officials, their hands hidden inside their long sleeves. The whole procession stopped, and General Guwalgiya Rong-Lu, second rank of the Plain White Banner, exited. Upon his smooth silk manchu hat was an opaque coral, attached with several mesmerizing peacock feathers. The spiraling turning of the gleaming lion on his mandarin square presented an all too obvious corollary to the rest of his escort. A cord of iridescent beads hung from his neck, and his robes stretched down to the ends of his knees, giving him the impression of wearing a dress of sorts. They approached a gargantuan red door, and with a low-pitched groan it opened, its impetus a formation of lavishly dressed bannermen.
Rong-Lu strolled in, and amidst the thick smoke of fragrant incense sat the ruler of one third of humanity, the Empress Dowager Cixi of the Aisin Gioro clan. Delicate, alert eyes studied Rong-Lu’s entrance, and the many furrows and creases on her face accentuated as the door slammed shut. Her elaborate coiffure was assiduously strewn a la Manchu, in the style of liangbatou. The tall ivory headpiece was adorned with a novel scaffolding of flowers, tassels, and jewels, perhaps invoking the horns of an ox, as if to enable her to fend off political rivals violently. Around her were columns and columns of various buddhas, arhats, spirits, and gods, a blank expression etched into their stony visages. Living attendants were present as well, be it the unassuming eunuchs bent in an eternal kowtow near her throne, or the concubines (of the emperor in name only) fanning themselves incessantly. Rong-Lu performed an elaborate bow, a complicated ritual involving swinging the arms around, flapping the sleeves about. Bolstering the already extremely unwieldy robes and ludicrously long sleeves, this was meant to expose and rid officials of any means of assassination. He ended it with a submissive kowtow, which was waved away by the Empress’ ring encrusted hand.Though thoroughly Chinese by sympathy and education, Rong-Lu had an immense admiration for Western sciences, and for the inventive faculties displayed by them. Much to his chagrin, he was also ever ready to admit the superiority of Western arts and appliances, and eager to advocate their introduction into China.
“Your illustrious majesty, I regret that I must bring black tidings to you today. It is with a heavy heart that I appear before you today. The German minister to Beijing has sent a diplomatic letter of unsavory character, a threat if you will.”
“And I presume this concerns the boxers?”
“Your highness is correct as usual. The German minister has requested that we intervene and stop these terrorists, as well as another scandalous concession, a small island near Qingdao.”
A cold, calculating look of dignified contempt entered the Empress’ face. She scoffed sumptuously, letting the plumes on her headpiece swing about, before letting her anger rise.
“Germany? GERMANY? How dare they?! That is pitiful. Our population is eight times theirs. It is not even worthy to be a province of the Great Qing Empire! We are the most ancient, most honorable, most royal of peoples that have walked on this earth. We have our destiny to accomplish, set by our forefathers centuries ago. What do we care that it does not tally with the destiny of Germany?”
“We must show that the Great Qing Dynasty is not in any way associated with these boxer bandits. If we do not act, they will turn upon us. I trust I do not need to remind Her Majesty of the military prowess of the foreigners? The foreigners’ warships can run even faster than our horses on land. Their cannons harness the power of a thunderbolt when they fire. ”
“And I trust I do not need to remind you of their many crimes. Thirteen of eighteen of our provinces are under foreign control. Foreign armies patrol our roads, foreign warships occupy our harbors. Foreign narcotics poison the masses, foreign machines blemish the sky with smoke. Foreign weapons destroy our land, and foreign gods disturb the spirits of our ancestors. I personally do not believe in the magic of the boxers, but their cause is noble and just.”
Rong-Lu bowed several times meekly, before the door opened again. As Rong-Lu saw who it was, he scowled. It was Prince Aisin Gioro Zai-Yi, second rank of the Bordered White Banner. Dressed in similar pomp and circumstance as Rong-Lu, Zai-Yi essentially acted as a counterweight to the comparatively pro-Western Rong-Lu. Having studied Chinese classics, law, literature and history extensively, Zai-Yi had mastered the art of bribery and extortion. Endowed with a profound contempt for all the barbarians who dwelled in the pale of Chinese civilization, his first action was to immediately announce something instead of kowtowing.
“Your omnipotence, one of our magistrates has openly declared his support for the boxer patriots, along with thousands of the common folk! The voice of the people has spoken. With their magic, we can expel the foreign devils from China once and for all!”
“If we are to support the boxers, a dozen foreign armies will descend upon us. Simple magic tricks cannot destroy their armies.” Rong-Lu growled through gritted teeth.
“Let them come! Even if their magic cannot be relied on, surely the hearts and minds of the people can be! We are hundreds of millions strong. Let their navies come. We will not notice them. Send their punitive expeditions. To land even a thousand soldiers on our shores would strain their resources, and our millions will swallow them down in a mouthful. Send a million, five million, and China will swallow them down just as readily. Poof! A mere morsel.”
Rong-Lu rolled his eyes as if being confronted with a petulant child, and turned to the Empress herself.
“Does Her Illustrious Majesty really believe where the guns and cannons of the Imperial Army have failed, the swords of the boxers will prevail?”
“The Imperial Army is tainted with the stench of the foreigners!”
“We must fight fire with fire! Our armies are not prepared yet for war. We should suppress the boxer terrorists first, and give the foreign devils the head of the magistrate. This way, they will not have any excuse to resort to arms. We can slowly build up our arms.”
“Another concession, as if we do not already have enough?! To treat these guilty devils as honored guests in our lands is ludicrous. If we simply fold our arms and yield, we would have no face to greet our ancestors after death.
“Have we not learned enough from the failures of history? China is frail, to make even more enemies than we already have is guaranteed extinction of our great dynasty! There is no proof of their foolish magic! The accounts of opium addicts do not count. The boxers have risen like a great storm, but like a storm they shall disappear as quickly as they have arrived.”
“We must never surrender to such humiliating terms again! We will be traitors to our Celestial Empire! China is a prostrate cow. No longer satisfied with her milk now the foreigners are butchering her for her meat. If we must perish, why not fight to the death? If our Great Qing suffers yet another great humiliation, I’ll kill myself in front of you!”
The Dowager Empress raised her eyebrows and cleared her throat condescendingly, at this motion both officials kowtowed several more times. Her face was twisted into a visage of majestic irritation. She spoke slowly, her diction icy.
“The voice of the nightingale is silent. I hear only the sound of crows.”
Both officials swallowed their pride, as it would be much better for their necks if they did so. However, they simultaneously gave each other murderous stares. The Empress continued speaking.
“The foreign devils are barbaric and ignorant. But I shall exhaust every option before war first. I will see to it that the boxers are put down, and the magistrate dismissed. The island is but a drop of water. The boxers will be dealt with, violently if necessary, but the hearts and minds of the people cannot be so easily quieted. If the foreign devils’ insatiable greed continues, we shall have no choice but to support them. That is all.”
Zai-Yi ruefully shook his head in sorrow and disgust, but Rong-Lu had a similar reaction. He derived little pleasure from further humiliation of his country, but what other choice did they have? A bunch of country bumpkins claiming to have ‘magical’ powers could not be trusted. He would personally have his contacts in the Banners to deal with this threat to peace. Zai-Yi trembled with indignation.The Empress was certainly mad! Destroy the boxers and then support them after the foreigners inevitably err? She was senile! As he stormed out of the Empress’ throne room, a eunuch bowed to him, lifting a small slip of paper above his head. Zai-Yi returned the courtesy, and took it. It was a photograph, of the foreign kind. He stared at it like it was a liquid he had found on a toilet seat, but once the initial hatred of the barbaric foreigners and their demonic technology passed he marveled at it. It was of a young woman in a martial arts uniform. Even in the fuzzy black and white mire of the photo, the redness of her cheeks and the raven black of her hair was clearly visible. Sure, not really anything special, but in her hands she held… ...what appeared to be another boxer. Perhaps an optical illusion, or some well-crafted doll. Zai-Yi squinted closer. No, no, the camera seemed very far away from the girl. The perspective seemed impossibly real, and the tiny boxer in her hand was far too realistic to be a doll. The position of the camera also bolstered the impression of the boxer’s size. At the bottom, it read “Red Lantern Mei-Yi.”