Basketweaver

380 BC—China

His left hand moved, a brush held awkwardly between his fingers. It paused a moment, hovering over the black ink jar beside the white parchment. Carefully, the hand committed and dipped the brush. It removed some of the excess ink and then hovered above the sheet for a moment. The inspiration was there, in the mind that controlled it—but the hand was uncertain. It wasn’t used to this, it hadn’t been taught how to paint. The brush touched the parchment and the hand began to lead it. Lines turned into wobbly curves, all uncertain and shaken imitations of what they should be. The hand removed the brush for a moment and the eyes took in his work. His left hand, still holding the brush, squeezed it tightly. It then placed the brush beside the sheet and set to crumpling the ruined white canvas. Even this was sloppy and awkward, a single hand angrily trying to twist and fold it. Exasperated, the hand shook and formed into a fist that landed heavily on the table.

Li Jie eased his left hand from a fist and looked out at the scenery before him. Just outside the veranda was a lush mountainside, one that he wanted to capture in words. Elegant words, not blunt descriptions but something that would be just as beautiful as the paintings he could no longer make. He looked back down at his half-finished lines. They were barely recognizable, even to him. He’d been able to paint beautifully once. When he was younger, his right hand had moved fluently and quickly, making art out of everything. But now—

Li Jie refused to look at his right hand, which hung limp from his stiff wrist.

Now he couldn’t do anything, he could hardly even write.

“Brother?” Nuo called as she came through the door. She stopped when she saw him hunched over and gloomily watching the birds and gentle swaying of the trees. Then she laughed and plopped down beside him. “I’ve been looking all over for you!” she said, her youth shining through in her oblivious and carefree approach. “Guess how long?”

“Where did you think I would be?” Li Jie asked quietly, somewhat disoriented by the sudden energy that had entered the once-peaceful atmosphere.

“I thought you would be helping mama.” She observed his crumpled paper and ink brush but thought very little of it. “Now guess how long I was looking for you!”

Li Jie sighed.

“Five minutes?”

“No!” Nuo laughed again and then stood up, already unable to sit any longer. “Much longer!”

Li Jie half-listened as his younger sister chattered on about insects she’d found, something one of the older girls had said, and something that meant very little to her older brother. Li Jie couldn’t help but focus on the crumpled-up papers—the testament of his disability. His mother had always told him that his limp hand didn’t mean he couldn’t do the things he wanted, it just meant he had to do them differently than everyone else. And while this was true for certain things, he knew that it wasn’t for others. He’d wanted to join his father in the war. He’d wanted to train with the other young men, swords at their side and a stern soldier barking orders at them. He wasn’t afraid of dying, he was afraid of being left useless, of being unable to do the things he should. She never told him directly, but his mother took his ailment as a blessing from the gods, claiming it was their will that he should stay and be with his family since her husband was gone so long. She was afraid of losing both of her men. And while Li Jie was glad his safety was a comfort to her, he had given up many of his dreams.

“Your painting,” his mother reminded him once after he had refused to speak to anyone. She always seemed to know what the root of someone’s actions was, and did not hesitate to mention it. “You still have your painting. The war would have taken that from you.”

“I can’t even write, mama!” he shouted in frustration. “And I will never paint again!”

“Yes you can and yes you will,” she answered, matching his tone but still holding her motherly affection. “You just need to work harder than the others.”

Li Jie had left the table that evening, his mother and younger sister watching in silence.

His ailment had developed randomly and without any clue as to why. To make matters worse, it had begun when he was nearing his teenage years. Where many children with such ailments grew up learning to use their limbs differently, Li Jie had to forget everything he knew about using his right hand and focus on his left. Some tasks were done easily, such as carrying plates or baskets. But Li Jie didn’t want to simply move objects from place to place. His dreams had always been bolder and required a careful hand and perfect coordination.

“I want to be a soldier, mama,” he had said after watching his father depart with the men of the village. “Just like papa.”

“There are many other wonderful things you can be my little monkey,” Jiao had answered, rustling his hair and smiling. “As you grow up, maybe you will find something better than a soldier.”

At the time, Li Jie didn’t think there was anything better than marching off to protect the great state of Zhao, but his mother was more perceptive. As he grew he came into contact with the arts, and a new passion was born. At every festival he looked for new pieces and spent the majority of his time studying them. His friends could hardly pull him away and he was quickly considered boring by many his age. But the older men and women around him saw a budding artist. Some even taught him. He showed great promise, and had an eye—as well as a mind—for the details of nature. He spent hours of his teenage life painting or taking in the details of trees and valleys.

“There is no soldier in him,” some of the old retired soldiers would say with a smile, “he’s too soft and quiet.”

Jiao delighted in these comments, they assured her that she would always have one of her men with her. Provided there was no dire need for soldiers, in which men would be drafted into the civil war expanding across China. This time would come, but not before Li Jie’s disability made it’s appearance.

It began with small things, hardly noticed by anyone apart from Li Jie and his mother. The first thing that brought concern was when his hand and wrist grew tired much more quickly. Lie Jie would paint or play for an hour and then complain that his wrist was sore. This surprised Jiao, as he had often spent entire days absorbed in these activities without any sign of weariness.

She grew more concerned when he complained that he could not move his wrist as much as he used to. It began to grow stiff and his paintings began to grow jagged and clumsy. Jiao understood then that something was wrong. She took him to the local physician, who had very little insight on the matter.

“He’s too old for palsy and he has no broken bones.” The man seemed unnerved by the whole thing, and acted more suspicious than anything. This in turn unnerved Jiao, of course, and she frowned at the small man.

“Then what is it?” Jiao asked impatiently.

The man was silent for a moment, casting a wary glance at Li Jie. He pulled Jiao aside then, and spoke in a hushed tone.

“Perhaps you or your son have angered the gods,” he said gravely.

Jiao looked up at him in startled shock.

“Or a demon has crossed your threshold,” he added, seeing that she was offended by the suggestion that she or her son were the reason for the stiffening limb. “Do you keep the talismans of Yu Lei and Shen Tu?”

“Yes,” she whispered angrily, “I know how to protect my house! I have figures of the Menshen on either side of our door!”

“Alright,” the physician answered, trying to calm her down. “But when medicine cannot explain such things, it is often related to the spiritual world.”

“I sacrifice and pray as earnestly as anyone,” Jiao continued, raising her tone now, “more than you or your house!”

“And your son?”

“He has never once shown disrespect toward the gods,” Jiao shook her head and turned to leave, “and he is too pure for any demon to taint.”

They left the physician, Jiao marching back home without saying a word to Li Jie.

Life continued for the small family, their father and husband still far from home serving in the growing conflict between the states. Li Jie continued to decline and eventually—after his wrist was entirely immovable—his hand and fingers began to grow stiff. Jiao assured him that all would be well, and continued to try ointments, herbs, and endless sacrifices and prayers to whatever gods might be generous enough to heal her son. But no help came, and Li Jie slowly began to change. He stayed inside more, and participated much less in games and outings with his friends. He stopped trying to paint and instead stared at the mountains and valleys he had once so vividly captured.

Within a year, he was completely unable to move his arm from the elbow up to his fingertips. By this time he was almost eighteen. His friends had all grown up and were quickly passing him by in every area. Even in school, which he had at one time been eager and adept in. A light had left his eyes and mind, and his mother grieved it continuously.

Jiao did her best to lift him up, and often encouraged him to learn how to paint with his left hand, but he refused. She wondered at times if he had truly been possessed by an evil spirit, if that was the reason he had lost so much life. But she had done everything according to the religious procedure, and no spirit or deity had made itself known. And so she did the things any mother could do. She took care of him, scolded his lack of effort, and tried to comfort him in the ways that had once appealed to him.

Several years later, a mandate was called for the able-bodied men to prepare for war—the draft had come. The civil war had escalated, and soldiers would be needed for whatever battlefront was deemed necessary by the governing powers. The men of the village began to gather their weapons, whether they had been passed down through generations or were newly made, and started to train for combat. They met in the open squares and in courtyards to practice sword and spear techniques and deliver equipment. Many of the young men had never used a weapon apart from the times they had snuck one away and swung it idly about. And while this invoked fear in some, it brought a sense of pride and importance to many. They gripped their swords tightly and their faces became stern as their instructor shouted orders for them and showed them how to hold and swing the tools that meant life and death to themselves and the enemy.

Li Jie, of course, had been deemed unable to fight, and could only watch helplessly as his friends were enlisted in that great privilege and responsibility. But he did what he could to be a part of aiding those who were to go to war. One task he found himself capable of—even skilled—was in repairing and furnishing the armor of the soon-to-be soldiers. He tightened the layers of leather, fastening them tightly with cords before cleaning and strengthening them. Like he had with the art he had once invested so heavily in, he took to these simple tasks with great care. The results impressed not only the soldiers but also those he worked with. These were mainly the women and the elderly, whose company he had grown quite used to over the years since his ailment had begun. The elderly in particular seemed to overlook his ailment, still seeing that he could do much that they could not. Further, they saw his mind, which Jiao noticed. She wished her son could see his mind like they did, for she knew that it was where his ability truly lay. His limp hand could have no power over his mind if he gave it none. But, although he did become comfortable with them, Li Jie did not truly understand the importance of the elderly’s mentality. He worked and served diligently, but still believed himself inferior to the young men wearing the armor he furnished.

Apart from the elderly, two other parties took a special interest in him.

The first was Aiguo, a young man several years older than Li Jie. He had been a peer of his since they were little, and Li Jie’s social circle had always been in awe of Aiguo’s. Being several years older, they could do everything Li Jie and the boys his age couldn’t and were therefore continually impressing them. But, as Li Jie grew up and his art became more and more noticed in the village, Aiguo had become less impressive. His feats of strength were astounding only to the young—those older than him took a greater interest in Li Jie’s careful brushstrokes and merging of colors. Now, as his prowess as a soldier was proven, it seemed that Aiguo was becoming impressive again and Li Jie was fading into the distance. Aiguo took a certain delight in this, as if he was finally being returned to a place that had been stolen from him.

“You know,” Aiguo began one day as Li Jie finished a shoulder pad. “If you hunched over a little, I wouldn’t be able to tell you apart from the other grandmas you work with.”

A small snicker escaped the men around Aiguo, and he grinned wide.

Li Jie kept his head down and moved to the next piece of armor on his table. Aiguo soon left, but Li Jie couldn’t forget the sneer and cruel words he’d spoken. He glanced up at all of the women and old ladies working diligently on armor and gear for the war. His right hand seemed to feel heavier then, as if it was again preventing him from being something he should be. But then, someone stepped beside him, and the second party made herself known.

“He’s still jealous of the attention you stole from him when you were younger,” Hien said.

Li Jie glanced at her, only now realizing that she had been at the table beside him the whole time. Most days he didn’t take his eyes from his work, and as such he took little notice of the people around him unless they spoke first.

“Don’t let him get to you,” she continued, giving him a quick smile. “Aiguo’s always been simple-minded.”

Li Jie hadn’t noticed it before, but Hien had very kind eyes. They were simple to the point that one could easily miss them, but when connected with they gave off a very complex and meaningful impression. Hien looked away after they had held eye contact for a moment. Li Jie looked back to his work as well, somewhat embarrassed.

The day soon ended—although both Li Jie and Hien felt that it stretched on long and quietly—and Li Jie returned home with his mother.

“Gho told me what that brute Aiguo said,” Jiao said as they walked. Li Jie had received many comments as his ailment developed, and his mother never missed the opportunity to talk about them when they came to her attention. At times, she had even gone directly to whoever had spoken and given them a lengthy exhortation on base kindness and the childishness of mean comments. This, of course, embarrassed Li Jie, so Jiao always made sure to talk to him before doing anything. Unless someone did something truly despicable. When that happened she could hardly be expected to control herself.

“He was born with a pigeon-brain,” she said bluntly. She quickly stopped and added, “and I am not the only one who’s said that.”

While Li Jie had been distracted after Hien had spoken to him, he hadn’t entirely forgotten Aiguo’s comment.

“Your work is just as important as his,” she continued. “After all, if you didn’t prepare his armor he would dance his monkey-rump into battle and be skewered like a boar.”

Li Jie appreciated her attempt to brush off Aiguo’s comments, but felt guilt gradually insert itself. Every time he thought about the work he was doing, he could only imagine the men that would wear his armor into battle. They were leaving and might not return. And here he was, the certainty of safety wrapped around him as he watched them grow uneasy. Even though they put on a brave face, Li Jie could see that many of the young men were terrified. It was only more visible as they grew closer to leaving. Their faces grew paler and they spoke less. They focused on their training and spent long periods of time sitting with their eyes on the ground. Some expressed it differently, however. Aiguo, for example, increased his comments.

“You have too much baby still in you to fight,” he would quip, “that’s why they want you to stay home. Can’t send babies to war.”

Li Jie never responded, he simply lowered his head and worked more diligently. He understood that Aiguo was anxious, but he also felt that there was some truth to the comments. He felt that the opportunity to prove himself had been stolen from him. He often questioned what it had left him with. If he could not prove himself, he would forever be stuck being half of something—never fully anything. Hien offered kind follow-ups when she could, but even these began to irritate Li Jie. Not only was he being compared to the women and elderly surrounding him, he was being defended by them as if he couldn’t do it himself.

One day Hien again moved in to comfort Li Jie after a particularly distasteful comment from Aiguo.

“Many times people who push others down do it because they—”

“Stop,” Li Jie said, not harshly, but bitterly.

Hien was silent. Li Jie could feel her gentle eyes on him, but didn’t turn to look at her. He kept his eyes on the leather breastplate he was threading.

That simple interaction seemed to change something. Aiguo made no attempts to decrease the rate or cruelty of his comments but Hien made no more attempts to comfort Li Jie. At first he was grateful. He didn’t feel the guilt of comfort and instead felt the full reminder of what might be true. But after several weeks he started to feel that he had hurt the woman working beside him. She said nothing to him, and even seemed to talk to the other women differently. It was as if she lost some of her care and optimism. Li Jie still refused to look at her, but now because he was afraid of the look he might see in the gentle eyes he had at one time been struck by.

“Perhaps you would rather walk home with Hien,” Jiao said once after noticing how sullen he had become.

“Why?” Li Jie immediately asked, surprised and startled by his mother’s comment.

“Don’t be foolish,” she scoffed, “a mother knows all.”

There was a long silence between them then. Li Jie wondered what his mother thought, and what he himself thought. Even when they were younger, he’d hardly spoken to Hien. She was a year younger than him and boys rarely spent time with girls. But now Li Jie spent practically all his time with women. But what did he actually think—or feel? He couldn’t really decide, and wondered instead what Hien thought. Was it abnormal for someone to try and comfort someone else? Was that alone reason enough to have to sort through these confusing questions?

“Hien is a nice girl,” Jiao commented as they neared their house. “She comes from a good family, too. That’s all I will say.” She quickly added, “unless you’d like me to say more.”

Although he didn’t say it, Li Jie did want her to say more. He wanted her to ask him all the questions he was asking himself. And then he wanted her to tell him what the answers were. He didn’t trust himself to answer honestly. But he stayed quiet.

The next day, the questions and thoughts continued to spiral. They took over his concentration so heavily that he practically ignored Aiguo. His peripheral focus took over, and all his thoughts leaned toward what Li Jie might be thinking.

But then he stopped. He suddenly looked up at the young men standing or sitting nearby. They looked sick or made cruel jokes to cover up the fear invoking their pale expressions. He thought of them. Why didn’t Hien think of them? Maybe it was because she knew they might not return. Li Jie wondered if he was therefore the safe option. After all, he was sure to stay away from danger for the rest of his life.

Li Jie couldn’t find the solution to his questions, but felt that it all revolved around the hand hanging limp from his forearm.

One night he sat awake, a candle lighting his sparse room. It had once been decorated with paintings and scraps of sketches waiting to be completed. Now it was empty, void of everything that had once given it life. Li Jie remembered the words his mother had spoken time and time again when his ailment had started developing.

“You can do anything, you just have to do it differently.”

Li Jie thought about his mother, who was likely finishing up the last of her chores and preparing for bed. Hours after he and his sister had retired, she was still laboring away. And for what, to do it all again the next day? Li Jie puzzled over the stubborn and persistent woman. Her husband, his father, had been gone for years, stopping in every now and then before leaving to fight someone else’s battle. Every time he left, he said he loved each of them and promised to return, but Li Jie wondered then if he did love them. If he did, why hadn’t he ever come back for the New Year’s celebration? Or any other holiday for that matter. A new memory unfurled, and Li Jie lost himself in a memory.

—

“When did you know you wanted to be a soldier?” a young Li Jie had asked his father as the experienced soldier removed his armor. The young boy studied the marks left by both the enemy’s weapons and his armor. They were history, the tales of his father’s escapades across China.

“When I was a little boy, my father was a soldier,” he began, his eyes still on the armor that had protected him through many battles. “He was a fierce spear-man, he was called The Viper because of how quick he could stab and repel.” He paused to make a stabbing motion.

Li Jie was silent, watching his father as if he had suddenly transformed into his grandfather and was performing the same motions that had laid waste to many men.

“One day, when I was a little older than you, he gave me a sword.” His father paused, and a contemplative look crossed over him. “He said, ‘this is what will keep your family safe.’” He looked at Li Jie then, and his eyes were serious. “Only with courage and blood will you prove yourself a man.”

The words struck Li Jie and set a flame in his soul. From that point forward he had imagined himself as a soldier, stabbing with a spear or slashing with a sword as his father did. He saw a conquering hero, one who crashed down on armies like lightning, destroying any who would harm his mother and sister.

Li Jie had set to practicing then. While his right was unusable, he could still slash and stab his wooden stick with his left hand, albeit sloppily. But he had still believed he could make it if he only believed and wanted it enough. But one day Nuo, his younger sister, came out during one of his practicing sessions. She watched him for a moment before picking up her own stick. She swung it with both hands, joining in what she thought was a game. Soon enough, she was standing across from him, her stick poised for combat. Li Jie humored her and prepared himself for a bit of swordplay.

Nuo initiated, swinging overhead with both hands. Li Jie lifted his stick to block her attack but stumbled back as her blow nearly broke through his defense. He paused, his left arm trembling. Nuo, thrilled that she was beating her brother at a game, advanced and launched a second strike. This one did blow through Li Jie’s defense, brushing aside his stick as if it were a blade of grass and striking his right hand.

He had sworn angrily at his sister and run off, holding his limp hand and fuming.

It wasn’t that her blow had hurt him all that much—his hand didn’t have much feeling by that time. But the fact that his ten-year-old sister had beaten him in combat assured him that he could never be a soldier. Not with his limp hand.

—

Li Jie wondered at the memory. He wondered at both his failure and his grandfather’s statement. If it was true, he would never prove himself a man. He wondered if that was why his father hardly returned; it could not have been easy to return to an overgrown child.

The sound of his mother’s door opening and closing shifted his thoughts.

If defending his family was the way his father proved his manhood, was that why his mother worked so diligently day after day? To prove her womanhood?

If these were both true, Li Jie wondered what it meant for him. He wasn’t a woman, and he couldn’t prove his manhood like his father had. What he could he prove?

Li Jie retreated to his bed, thinking a moment longer before blowing the candle out. But the darkness didn’t bring sleep, only the sound of his mother’s exhausted snoring.

Life became a little easier after the soldiers left, although Li Jie still felt at times that he was in some way a coward—as if he had shirked his responsibility to his state and family. He knew this wasn’t true, that he had been refused as a soldier. But the way the teenagers too young to leave looked at him suggested that he was. But they were young, he concluded, they only knew the same aspirations of bravery he had when he was their age.

Work stopped at the armory, and the elderly, women, and Li Jie had to find other ways to occupy themselves. Many of the women, Jiao included, were busy enough as it was and enjoyed the spare time. The elderly returned to peaceful games and hours spent reading or with their grandchildren. But Li Jie didn’t know what to do. He sat idly at home sometimes, waiting for something to happen, some need to arise. He felt that there had to be a purpose where he was, something he could do that meant something. He helped his mother in the garden and with the cooking, but these were not the sort of things Li Jie was looking for. His father had soldiering and his mother’s purpose was mothering—Li Jie needed something of his own.

One day, while he sat watching children play in the street, Jiao came to Li Jie with a broken basket. It had been weaved by a relative and was used heavily through the years, finally wearing out and spilling beans across the kitchen floor. She was attached to it, as the relative had passed away several years ago, and seemed upset that it had decided to quit.

“See if you can mend this,” she said, handing him the basket. “I tried but can’t get it right.”

“What makes you think I can?”

“Your work with the soldiers’ armor was much more detailed than mine. I think you have a finer hand, right or left, for these things.”

Li Jie took the basket and looked it over.

“When you finish, I’ll be in the kitchen,” she sighed as Nuo’s cries that a pot was overflowing echoed through the house.

After leaving the extra bamboo fibers, Jiao left him.

Li Jie placed the basket between his legs, pressing them together lightly so that it held when he moved his hand. He looked over the spot where it had come undone, feeling the strands of thin bamboo. They were frayed and soft, worn from years of tireless service. Li Jie’s eyes narrowed, and he began to work.

The world faded away for a moment as the basket was turned slowly through the grip of his legs, his left hand working the bamboo intricately through loops and around the basket. His right watched idly as it hung limp from his wrist, supported by the sling around his neck.

Gho, having come to bring Jiao some produce from her garden, stopped a moment as she observed Li Jie working. She watched his left hand move nimbly and skillfully, while his eyes expressed the art traveling through his mind.

By the time he finished, the basket looked much better than when Jiao’s now-deceased relative had given it to her. Not only that, but it was stronger now. Jiao turned it over and around, surveying his handiwork with lowered brows. She was surprised—not that Li Jie could do it, but that he hadn’t done anything like it until now.

“Li Jie,” she murmured, clicking her tongue several times. “You’ve been holding out on me,” she chuckled.

“It’s just a basket,” Li Jie said, although he couldn’t deny that he was proud of his work.

“Bah!” Jiao scoffed. “What my cousin made was just a basket.” She glanced at his work. “It was a very mediocre basket she made, but I kept it in her memory. Now…” She smiled at her son. “I should display this on a shelf somewhere.” She nodded and concluded, “this is art, Li Jie.”

“It’s not art, mama,” Li Jie scoffed. He remembered the paintings he’d made. That was art, not a basket waiting to be dirtied with ingredients or various household items. “It’s just a basket.”

“Well, I think it’s art,” she argued, “and so did Gho. If anyone needs a basket repaired, I’m going to send them to you.”

And she did—whether Li Jie wanted her to or not. Having witnessed his artistry firsthand, Gho was the first to bring a basket by. He obliged the first requests out of politeness and a willingness to help, but the more he worked with them, the more skill he developed in basket weaving. And the more skill he developed, the more artistic his baskets became.

“This is too nice to put my onions in,” one old woman said, gesturing toward the basket he had handed her. “I want it, of course, but can you make me a simpler one as well?”

And so Li Jie made both the sturdiest and most beautiful baskets the village had ever seen. Not a single complaint was made, and no baskets were ever returned. Li Jie felt a sense of pride return to him. It reminded him of when he had painted. It was different, of course, in that he was not recreating scenery or expressing his heart in paint, but it too slowly became a passion.

One day, as he sat outside at his usual spot with a basket in between his legs, he received a request that caught him quite off guard.

“Would you mend my basket?” Hien asked, holding a basket that had been busted near the lip. Their eyes connected a moment and she quickly turned hers back toward her basket. “It is an old basket, I’ve used it for a long time.” She seemed to be trying to think of things to say, and quickly added, “I dropped it while walking down the mountain.”

Li Jie held out his left hand, and Hien placed the basket in it. His right hand watched as Li Jie looked it over and Hien stood waiting a moment, waiting for a diagnosis.

“You should be careful walking down the mountain,” Li Jie said, surveying the coarse tear. “There are many sharp stones near the road.”

Hien said nothing, and Li Jie suddenly felt stupid for what he had said. He wasn’t her father, why should he tell her what to do?

“It’s a small tear, I will have it fixed quickly,” he said, glancing up at her.

“Thank you,” she said, a quick smile flashing across her face before she turned and left.

This basket seemed more important than all of the others. It was as if it was one of his paintings, and he was creating it in the knowledge that it would be brought before an art critic. He worked quietly and with complete focus, becoming agitated when Nuo chatted or played noisily nearby.

“Is that Hien’s basket?” Jiao asked after he had ignored the call to supper.

“Yes,” he answered without taking his eyes from it.

Jiao surveyed his work for a moment, glancing from it to him occasionally.

“It seems that you save your best work for special clients,” she quipped with a smile.

“Mama...” he murmured, slightly embarrassed by her comment. But he couldn’t deny the fact that he was putting much more effort into Hien’s simple basket than he had into anyone else’s.

Jiao smiled and patted his shoulder.

“Come and eat,” she said, but quickly added, “unless Hien is such a special client that you have to miss supper to finish her basket.”

Li Jie didn’t answer. In that moment he decided that she was too special a client to put off. Her basket came before supper, before the setting sun, and before his right hand. He didn’t know how he knew, only that he did.

In the morning, Jiao woke to find Hien’s basket sitting on the table. Li Jie had finished it before bed and left it there. It was without a doubt the best basket he had ever made. Simply by holding it Jiao could tell that it would last forever and was designed to both carry burdens and serve as an ornament. She smiled and clicked her tongue.

“Li Jie,” she murmured and then sighed. “My little soldier is becoming a man.”

—

Li Jie decided to take the basket to Hien rather than wait for her to come and pick it up. He thought it was the better thing to do—his mother assured him it was. He also had things he wanted to tell Hien. When he thought of her, most often he remembered the times she had defended him against Aiguo’s comments. One particular instance stood out in his memory, the time he had rebuked her for trying to comfort him. It had been several months ago but to him it still felt fresh, his shame at repaying her kindness with anger very vocal in his conscience. He wanted to apologize for that, to let her know it was only a moment of thoughtlessness.

When he arrived at her home he saw her working in the garden. She was a petite woman and not the sort one would expect to find digging in the dirt for weeds. But there she was, and there she seemed at ease.

“Hien?” Li Jie called from the gate.

She looked up, an embarrassed expression quickly flashing over her dirty face.

“Come in,” she said, recovering her demeanor and standing up.

Li Jie set the basket down, opened the gate, picked up the basket, and then walked toward her, basket clutched carefully in his left hand.

Hien had been working likely since early in the morning, her hands stained with dirt and her clothes smeared with it. Her forehead shimmered with perspiration and several strands of hair hung damp along the sides of her face.

“Um—” he looked from her to the basket, “I finished your basket.” He held it out quickly, suddenly finding it difficult to think of things to say.

“Thank you,” she answered, stopping after she had begun to reach for it. “Can you set it on the ground? I don’t want to get it dirty,” she then said, displaying her dirt-stained hands.

“Of course,” Li Jie nodded and then placed the basket on the ground between them.

An awkward silence set in as Li Jie tried to think of a way to start conversation.

“It is a beautiful basket,” Hien said, both of their eyes fixed on the object. “It must have been difficult to make.”

“Not so difficult,” Li Jie said, and quickly added, “I enjoy basket-weaving.”

“I can see that,” Hien said, glancing up at him. “You make a lot of baskets.”

“Yes,” he answered.

Another silence began to set in and Li Jie realized he had to say something—anything. If he didn’t, she would excuse herself and return to the garden, leaving him with the same questions he had the day before.

“Hien,” he began, looking at her now.

She looked at him patiently, those gentle eyes waiting—maybe even hoping—for something.

“I need to apologize,” he continued, his ears turning red as he recalled the incident at the armory, “for the way I treated you that day when Aiguo made one of his comments.”

She seemed to know the incident he was referencing but waited for him to finish.

“It was not right of me to snap at you,” he concluded. “I’m sorry.”

There was a moment of silence between them again, and Li Jie half thought she would dismiss him.

“You do believe Aiguo was wrong, don’t you?” she asked, her brow slightly lowered.

His expression changed into confusion and then uncertainty. That day had been on his mind for a long time, but he had never thought about the other half of it, the side that didn’t pertain to Hien’s emotions. It seemed strange that she would be thinking on that half rather than what he had said to her. But for some reason, he wasn’t sure he could answer. A piece of him wanted to say that he didn’t believe Aiguo, that all of his comments had simply bounced off him. But a part of him knew he would be lying to Hien, and that was something he didn’t want to do.

“I think these baskets are even better than the paintings you used to make,” Hien said suddenly.

He wasn’t sure how the interaction had ended, but Li Jie soon found himself walking home. He was confused, and not entirely sure whether his visit to Hien had been successful. On the one hand, he was certain she still thought about him. On the other, he felt that she wasn’t as impressed by his basket-weaving as the other villagers. The thought perplexed him, as he’d put so much more work into hers than any other basket. If he did mean something to her, why wouldn’t his gift be more impactful?

“How was Hien?” Jiao asked as he entered the house. She had been anxiously waiting for his return but tried not to appear overeager.

“Good,” Li Jie answered, uncertain what to tell her.

“Good?” Jiao nodded, trying to understand what her son meant. His expression wasn’t as joyful as she had expected, but it wasn’t depressed either. “Just good?”

“Good,” Li Jie nodded before going to the back of the house, toward the back porch.

Jiao watched him go, her brows lowering with each step he took. After the door shut and he was gone, she sighed to herself.

—

Soon, Li Jie developed a reputation as a basketweaver. Eventually, people from other villages even sent their baskets or requested new ones be made for them. His name became synonymous with artful weaving, and he began to receive new compliments and praise. Visitors marveled as they watched him work quickly and skillfully, weaving baskets nimbly and without any hindrance from his right hand. But, despite this newfound fame, Li Jie found something continue to eat at his mind. The question Hien had asked him, whether or not he believed Aiguo, seemed more important than the compliments he received on his trade. And, as he studied his thoughts more, he found that the question bore more importance than the fact that it had come from Hien. As he dug, he found that it was a question she had resurfaced, not one that had never been brought before him. Even before Aiguo’s comments, ever since his ailment had developed, he had been asking it. The question was weaved into his memories of his father’s statements as well. It was as if Aiguo had merely voiced his own thoughts. This kept Li Jie from truly taking part in the things around him. And even though he and Hien began to form an understanding, it hindered his focus on her as well.

The shadow cast by his limp right hand seemed larger than before. It stretched in the candlelight and crept behind him as he walked in the streets. It was more captivating than his left hand, even though one weaved baskets and the other wasted away in its sling. Basket-weaving became less satisfying, and some even noticed errors in his work.

“What’s wrong with you?” Jiao asked one day after Li Jie had made a simple mistake several times on the same basket. “That’s an amateur mistake.”

“If I had both my hands maybe I wouldn’t make it,” he replied somewhat shortly.

“You never made the mistake before,” she argued, sorting through a basket of bok choy, her eyes carefully scanning them for insects. “What is it?”

Li Jie sighed angrily for a moment. He’d never been able to hide anything from his mother, but it didn’t mean it was any easier to express himself.

“Who am I, mama?”

Jiao stopped scanning a head of bok choy to glance at him. She thought carefully for a moment, trying to gauge what he needed to hear.

“I know what you aren’t,” she said cautiously. She set aside the piece she had been cleaning and continued. “You aren’t a limp hand. You aren’t a one-handed basketweaver either.”

He took the words carefully, eyes still on the torn basket.

Jiao glanced at him, hoping her answer had been what he’d needed.

“What you are,” she paused and clicked her tongue once, “I think that is up to you, Li Jie.”

“Is it?”

Jiao looked away from her work, catching his rise in volume.

“What if I wanted to be a soldier?” he continued, his brows lowered in frustration, “that is something that I can’t be.”

“I don’t think so,” Jiao continued calmly.

Li Jie watched her as she resumed her cleaning. He was surprised by her contradiction as well as her lack of concern.

“I think you could be a soldier,” Jiao nodded, “but I don’t think you would last very long. I think, in most ways, you would make a very good soldier. But I think you would be killed in battle.” She looked up at him. “If you want to be a soldier, join your father the next time he comes. I’m sure he could get you a position.”

Li Jie was not expecting that response and looked back to his basket.

“You know what I wanted to be when I was a little girl?” Jiao asked, her eyes still on her bok choy.

“No,” Li Jie answered. His mother rarely talked about her youth, and it wasn’t something he had ever had the opportunity to ask his father about.

“I wanted to be a puppet master,” she said with a smile. “To perform shadow plays before royalty was my dream.”

“Could you have done it?”

“Maybe,” Jiao shrugged. “I practiced and did some local shows, but eventually I didn’t try anymore.”

“You gave up?”

“No,” Jiao gave her son a determined look. “I didn’t give up, I found something else I wanted to do, something I wanted to do more than shadow plays.”

“You met papa,” Li Jie concluded with some disappointment. He had already met Hien, and he still asked these questions.

“No,” Jiao answered, shaking her head. “I had already been married for several years.”

“Then, you had—”

“No, you were already born,” she added.

“Then,” Li Jie lowered his brows a moment. “You were married and already a mother, what else could it be?”

Jiao turned to him and took a serious yet kind expression.

“For several years after I married your father, even after you were born, I was unhappy with my life.” She turned back to her bok choy with lowered brows. “I still thought I should be at the capital, putting on shadow plays.” She clicked her tongue as if she was embarrassed by the memory. “I saw what I wasn’t.” She then smiled and turned her head up to the street, where several children were running past. “Eventually I realized I had to make a decision. If I wanted to be a puppet master so badly, all I had to do was run away.”

The comment startled Li Jie. He couldn’t picture his mother up and leaving so heartlessly. The fact that the thought had at one time crossed her mind seemed impossible.

“The alternative was to set my heart on being a wife and mother and put aside becoming a puppet master.” She smiled then, a true and peaceful smile. “It took effort and patience, but that is the choice I’ve made.” She turned to her son and winked, “and I haven’t regretted it.”

Li Jie watched his mother with newfound respect. For some reason, he had never thought she had any aspirations other than being a mother. She had always seemed content—more than content—and fulfilled in what she did. The idea that it took years of effort to reach that point seemed strange.

“Like I said, what you are is up to you,” Jiao concluded. “But not everything will make you happy. I know I would have felt guilty forever—no matter what praise my shadow plays might have received—if I had left you and your father.”

Li Jie thought over what his mother said accompanied by what she had lived. How large he had made his right hand, how heavily he had carried it and given it power. He was amazed now, to look down and see it hanging beside him. It was insignificant next to the rest of him. It couldn’t do half the things his other hand could do. It couldn’t weave baskets, it couldn’t repair armor, it couldn’t even shake hands.

“You’re a very wise woman,” he said, looking back at his mother.

“Of course I am,” Jiao said with a smile, “why do you think you’re father married me? It wasn’t because I was good with puppets.”

Li Jie smiled, realizing then what he needed to do—what he could do. He could be a soldier, he could die on the battlefield beside his father if he wanted to. Or he could weave baskets. He could apply the same artistic passion he had used to paint to providing a resource that the village needed and wanted. He could talk to Hien, maybe even marry her someday. He could be a man regardless of where he was or what he was doing, and he could do it with his left hand.

—

Two years later many of the soldiers returned from war. They came back weary, wounded, and eager to see those they had left. Aiguo was one of these men, and he had earned awards and recognition for his valor and skill. He returned proud and confident that his personal victories would be carried ahead of him.

The villagers congratulated him and expressed pride in his accomplishments, and Aiguo was satisfied for a moment. But then he saw a man in the crowd. He had one arm in a sling, a limp hand hanging from his propped wrist. He was greeted lovingly by all those who crossed him, and he was unmistakably happy. Aiguo saw him and his spirit began to twist. Beside him was Hien, her arm tucked in his left.

“Coward,” Aiguo muttered to himself when he was alone. “He’s a coward, and he ran from war.”

A plan formed in his heart, and the next day he went to Li Jie.

He found him sitting on the porch of a small house, weaving a bamboo basket. Hien was beside him, sorting through freshly-picked mung beans. The side made him sick—or jealous.

“Li Jie,” he said, a slight tone of aggression seeping through.

Li Jie looked up from his basket and Hien from her mung beans.

Aiguo tossed a sheathed sword to the ground near his feet. He then rested his right hand on the hilt of the sword hanging from his belt. He lowered his brow.

“Are you a man yet?” he asked, and then glanced at Hien. “Or will your wife pick up the sword and take your place?”

Hien lowered her brows at Aiguo before looking to Li Jie.

Li Jie looked at the sword a moment, contemplation filling his expression for a moment. He then set down his half-finished basket. Hien looked at him worriedly as he rose from his chair. He gave her a confident glance and stepped toward the sword. Aiguo watched as he picked it up and tucked the sheathed portion between his right arm and his side. Li Jie glanced at Aiguo for a moment before removing it from the sheath.

Hien watched anxiously but said nothing.

Aiguo began to breathe heavily. He hadn’t thought Li Jie would actually be bold enough to fight. He wasn’t sure if he himself was ready for a fight with an untrained one-armed man. He watched as Li Jie studied the sword, waiting for the trace of cowardice he knew was there.

“This sheathe,” Li Jie slid the sword back into its leather protection. “It’s a bit loose, do you need it tightened?”

Hien smiled and breathed easily, but Aiguo lowered his brows in frustration.

“You are a coward, Li Jie!”

“No,” Li Jie answered calmly. “I am not a coward, Aiguo.”

“You chose to run from battle, you stayed behind with the women and elderly!”

“I chose a different battle, Aiguo,” Li Jie answered. “I would have lost the battle you fought. But,” he glanced at his right hand. “I have won this one.”

Aiguo shook his head and scoffed.

“Killing the enemy, watching your friends die beside you,” he said, gritting his teeth, “that is a battle.”

Li Jie looked him over carefully before answering.

“I am grateful for your service, Aiguo,” he said sincerely, “because of men like you, Hien and I can live safely. I cannot serve in the way that you can,” he paused and smiled as a woman with one of his baskets passed by. “But I have found other ways to serve. I can do much more good as a basketweaver than I can as a soldier.” Li Jie then turned back to his house. “I will have this sheathe mended and returned to you as soon as I can,” he added.

Aiguo could think of no rebuttal and watched for a moment as Li Jie returned to his place beside Hien. He then turned and left, still gripping the hilt of his sword.

He was a soldier, he knew that. But if he wasn’t, if he hadn’t gone to war, what would he be? He thought of Li Jie, the life he now enjoyed. As he marched angrily through the streets, he had a sudden realization.

The village was peaceful. No bloodied corpses were scattered everywhere the eye turned. Arrows did not whistle through the air and rain down on everything that moved. No screams of pain and shrill cries of dying horses were heard—instead, children laughed and played. If he was a soldier, he wondered what place he had in the village. As he watched the village slowly retire toward evening, Aiguo hoped another conflict would arise and he would be called back to the battlefield.