Rich People Problems-Kwan 2017 (WWT)

The Young sisters nodded politely, as none of them spoke Mandarin and only
understood about thirty percent of what he said. Jack looked at the three frumpily
dressed sisters, thinking to himself, Only women who grew up in a place like this can get
away with looking like that. And they can’t even speak a word of Mandarin. They are like
dodo birds, a useless species. No wonder they are losing their house.
The group proceeded through the arcade into the library.
Jack looked around at all the old books lining the double-height bookcases and the
sleek Indian rosewood desk. “I love this kind of furniture. Art deco, isn’t it?”
“Actually, this was Sir James’s library, and he had all the furniture custom designed by
Pierre Jeanneret in the late 1940s,” Oliver informed him.
“Well, it reminds me a bit of the old Shanghai clubs where my grandfather used to
play,” Jack remarked. Turning to the ladies, he said, “My grandfather worked in a waterboiler
factory, but he was also a trumpet player. Every night for extra money, he would
play in a jazz band that performed in all of the clubs frequented by Westerners. When I
was a little boy, it was my duty to shine his trumpet for him every night. I would spit and
spit at the trumpet to clean it, in order to make the polish go farther.”
Felicity backed away nervously, afraid that he might actually perform one of his spitting
demonstrations near her.
“How much for the furniture?” Jack asked.
“Er…which pieces did you have in mind? Some of them are…things…that we could
never part with,” Victoria said in the rudimentary Mandarin she used with her servants.
“Oliver, how do you say ‘heirloom’ in Mandarin?”
“Ah, that’s ‘chuan jia bao,’ ” Oliver told her.
“Oh, I love the tables, the chairs, this purple-and-blue rug, especially.” Jack pointed at
the floor. Felicity stared down at the purple silk rug and a story her aunt Rosemary T’sien
had once told her suddenly came flooding back…
You know your mother once stared a Japanese general in the eye and dared him to
shoot her? It happened right here in this library, where Su Yi was hosting a card party
for some high-ranking officers. They were always forcing her to do things like this
during the occupation, host these horrible debauched parties for them. My husband—
your uncle Tsai Tay—had just been arrested for some ridiculous offense, and when the
general lost a game of gin rummy to your mother, she demanded that in return he free
Tsai Tay. Of course the general was outraged by her boldness, and immediately took out
his pistol and held it to her temple. I was sitting right next to her, and I thought she was
a gone case.
Su Yi remained completely calm and said in that imperious way of hers, “General, you
are going to ruin Rosemary’s beautiful cheongsam if you shoot me right now. My brains
will be all over it, not to mention this beautiful art deco carpet from Paris. Do you know
how much this carpet is worth? It’s designed by a very famous French artist named
Christian Bérard, and would make such a beautiful present for your wife, if only it
wasn’t stained with my blood. Now, you wouldn’t want to disappoint your wife, would