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I nod.
“Because I look for something off the page. I look for resilience. It is the one thing that drives someone to succeed, because they will get up again and again, no matter how many times it takes. And that’s what I saw in Wutai Gold. It’s what I see in you. And I wanted you to see that for yourself. It takes a special gift to see how a struggling company can become successful because of the people behind it.”
A light dawns inside me. So that’s why he wanted me to take Wutai Gold home. “I understand.”
“I know you do. And I’m proud of you. For everything you’ve become.” He touches my cheek and smiles, nodding. “Shall we start cooking?”
“Yes,” I say, wiping the last of my tears away. We stand, me giving my dad’s arm one last squeeze, and make our way into the kitchen, where Ma has taken out the pork, scallions, cabbage, and other ingredients that I’ve brought.
We chat as I chop up the scallions the way I’ve seen Shang do, then mix them into the minced pork. I add ginger, Shaoxing wine, salt, pepper, soy sauce, sesame oil, and oyster sauce before stirring it all up with a pair of chopsticks. Then I take the bowl over to my parents, as well as a pack of premade dumpling skins, and say, “Let’s make jiaozi.”
“My goodness, Mulan, where did you learn to do this?” Ma says, picking up a dumpling skin and placing a dollop of pork filling on it.
My mouth turns into a thin line before I finally say, “Shang.”
“Ah,” Ma says, her expression turning soft. “And how are you two doing? Have you talked?”
I shake my head, keeping my focus on the dumpling I am folding. “He says he needs time.”
“Time heals all wounds,” Ba says. “It’s a Chinese saying.”
“Pretty sure it isn’t, Ba.”
“I’m sure there’s a Chinese version.”
“There is, actually,” Ma says. “In Chinese, we say, ‘Time’s a great healer.’”
“Huh,” I say, crimping my dumpling closed and placing it on a plate. “I like that.”
Despite everything falling apart, I feel a semblance of peace, right here in my parents’ kitchen, making dumplings with them. The physical act of folding dumplings is a great way of channeling the frustration and sadness inside me, and the easy conversation keeps my mind off the bleak mess of my life. And the conversation I had with them has eased such a weight from me. A weight I’ve carried for decades, a weight I probably would’ve carried for the rest of my life if I hadn’t met Shang. I have no idea what will happen between Shang and me, but I hope that I might one day be given the chance to thank him for everything he’s done for me.
With three pairs of hands working, it isn’t long before all the pork is used up and we end up with two big plates of dumplings. I heat up the wok, then place the dumplings in carefully. I splash in some water and close the lid. Halfway through, I pour in a cornstarch slurry, then close the lid once more before getting to work on the dipping sauce. When I turn around, I find my parents gazing at me with wonderment.
“You really learned all that from Shang?” Ma says.
I shrug, my cheeks growing warm.
Ma and Ba exchange a look. “I’ve been trying to get her to learn how to cook basic dishes all these years and all it took was a boy andpoof, she’s a chef,” Ma says.
I groan. “Whatever, Ma.”
They both cheer when I finally announce the jiaozi are done and slide them out onto a plate. I put another plate on top of it and flip it over, revealing a crispy layer on the bottom. My parentsoohandaahat the sight. I step back and admire my handiwork.
“Wow, can’t believe that actually worked.”
“Was that the first time you made this dish by yourself?” Ba says.
“Yeah. I wasn’t sure if I would burn it or not. Anyway, dig in.”
We dip the jiaozi in the homemade sauce and take a bite.
“Mulan!” Ma says, her mouth still full of jiaozi. “This is so good, oh my goodness. I am shocked.”
“Okay, Ma, you don’t have to be, like, so surprised.” I take a bite and my eyes go wide. “Oh wow, these are good. Good job, me.”
“These are delicious. Even better than the ones your mother makes.”
Ma smacks Ba’s arm. “He’s right, though. These are better.”