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Anyu started to draw the moment she arrived at the shop.

Crouching at the kitchen counter, she sketched an image of a rising phoenix clutching a fireball and marked it with the exact measurements for its head, body, wings, tail, and talons.

She would use three specially cut spinels for the body, gold granules in various sizes for the head, rose-cut diamonds mounted on platinum for the eyes, red enameling on the tail, and filigree to create openwork gold wings for the feathers.

When she finished, it was well past midnight.

The next day, she presented the design to Isaac and Uncle David, who had learned of the competition and appeared energized.

But with one look at the design, Uncle David’s jaw dropped.

Isaac responded, “Bold design. Well done. However, the granulation on the head will require you to make a large number of granules, which will take hours of placing and fusing them.”

“I can do that.”

“The openwork of the wings is quite a challenge since the torch’s heat might not be strong enough to melt the metal, but it can be achieved through chiseling and shaping.”

“I can get it started now.”

“You only have four months,” Uncle David said. “There’s not enough time. You won’t be able to complete a design like this.”

“I can do it.”

Isaac nodded. “I’ll request a loan of the diamonds from Mr. Walters. Uncle, given that she has four months to complete the design, would you free her from her duty at the counter to allow her to work in the workshop during the day?”

Uncle David declined initially, but at Isaac’s insistence, he gave in. Isaac even moved a dresser from his bedroom and turned it into a workbench for her.

Anyu hardly had time to eat or sleep; all she could think of was the bird.

When she was in the workshop, she worked on the design, washing the metal sheet with a scrub pad, forging the gold sheet, and shaping gold into beads, balls, delicate swirls, curls, and wires.

Then, weeks later, she began fusing, enameling, and engraving.

Halfway through crafting, she put down her chisel, scrutinizing her work.

She took a chasing hammer and smashed the whole piece.

“What’s the matter?” Isaac asked from his desk. He was working on an elaborate Edwardian design for the competition.

“It’s not good enough.”

She started over.

Measuring. Cutting out the design. Forging.

Fusing the granules. Pickling. Polishing.

Finally, the beads were set on the round head, precisely as she had drawn.

But the openwork of the wings was indeed most demanding to execute.

Her eyes burned from intense concentration; the skin on her fingers was rubbed raw and then bled from polishing.

She wrapped a clean cloth around her hand and fell asleep at the table after finishing one wing, and when she awoke, she began to bend and form the metal wires again.

When the two wings were finally forged, she scrutinized them.

Again, she picked up the hammer and struck the creation.

“What’s the matter now?” Isaac asked.

“I don’t know what is wrong with it. It doesn’t have movement.” She was going to fail; she could never be a master jeweler.

“It’s not easy, is it?” Samuel grumbled from his desk.

“Take a break,” Isaac said.

“No.” She sniffed, holding back the tears that threatened to escape, and gathered up the smashed piece. She would not stop or rest until the filigree openwork of the wings and the entire piece looked exactly like the drawing.

Only one month left before the deadline for submission.

She started anew with the bird. Then granules. Pickling. Polishing. Filigrees. Then claw-setting the diamonds and spinels. Tirelessly, she worked.

She ate two hard-boiled eggs for her meals and slept in the workshop. The moment she awoke, she continued. She worked for twenty-two hours a day and rested only for two hours.

Eight days before the competition, she completed her brooch, a soaring en tremblant bird.

She watched Isaac hold the brooch, studying it. His face looked like a stretched sheet of metal, untainted, smooth without a frown or smile, his gaze intense.

“How much should we price it?” Isaac asked.

“One thousand dollars.”

He took the pricing chart she had filled out, reviewed the metal types, the gemstones’ cut and color, their corresponding prices per carat, labor costs, designing costs, and the markup percentage, then jotted down the price.

“Which one should we use for the competition?” Uncle David asked. Isaac’s design was a round medallion with thousands of fine filigrees that resembled a nest, fourteen-karat gold, chased. Five hundred dollars.

Anyu bit her lip. Her mentor’s design was more sophisticated and stylish. If she were him, she would choose his. But Isaac picked up the bird, laid it inside a box lined with velvet, and said he’d bring it to Mrs. Brown.

“You’re making a mistake, Isaac,” Uncle David said with a heavy sigh.

For the first time, Anyu agreed with the old man.

The days after the submission of the phoenix were agonizingly slow; the hours dragged, the shop’s door opened and closed, and she stood at the counter, her mind elsewhere. There was still one week left before the award ceremony, during which the winner would be announced.

“Look, Anyu.” Esther waved a stack of newspapers at her.

It was the North China Daily News , published in English.

The newspaper printed an enthusiastic article about the ceremony and the accompanying exhibition and described in detail Miss Soong’s reputation for her visionary jewelry style.

The competition had attracted sixty-two entries of brooches, the article said.

Sixty-two.

Then, two days later, the newspaper printed: “A preliminary review was set up and ten entries were chosen as the finalists.”

This was followed by an in-depth discussion of the jewelers in Shanghai, all but the House of Mandelburg. It predicted a winner—the House of Bellefeuille, the perennial winner of the award.

Then: “The top three most impressive brooches are now under consideration for the future Madame Chiang Kai-shek!”

Then, the day before the ceremony: “The winner has been chosen!”

Anyu felt sick. No one had mentioned her phoenix.

The day of the ceremony arrived. In the morning, Isaac, Uncle David, and Samuel went to the exhibition hall to set up their stand with a selection of wares from their shop. Anyu didn’t go, making the excuse to mind the shop.

When it was time to leave for the ceremony in the late afternoon, Anyu told Esther she had decided to stay home.

“Why?” Esther asked.

“I don’t have a decent dress,” Anyu said.

“Do you want to wear mine?” Esther said.

“I can’t.”

“Come on, before I change my mind.” Esther pulled her to the attic.

She unfolded a white muslin dress with an empire waist, helped her put it on, buttoning up her back and tucking the folds around her hips—she had been sewing this at night, and she had hoped this would be her wedding dress, she said.

“Your wedding dress?”

“It looks good on you.” They were seven years apart, but Esther had only a few more pounds than she had.

Anyu looked into the mirror Esther held up. A woman stared back at her—how much her body had changed. Her bosom was full and her hips had widened. She was almost as tall as Esther, a grown woman. She had turned eighteen, she realized.

“You’re a pretty girl,” Esther said.

“Are you sure?” She thought of what her neighbors had said: You have peach blossom–shaped eyes. You’ll grow up like your mother, seducing other men and ruining their families.

“Are you trying to be modest?”

Modest?

“Now, don’t forget this. A jeweler must wear something that glitters.” Esther looped a gold Edwardian necklace around her neck. That had been her mother’s, she said.

Anyu burst into tears. The stress and anxiety from the past few months had taken a toll on her, and she felt she was going to fall apart. She had been naive. She was only a novice jeweler. She shouldn’t have asked to compete; she would be publicly humiliated.

“What’s wrong, Anyu?”

“Esther, I’m not going to win.”

“How do you know?”

“Have you read the predictions in the newspaper?”

Esther took out her handkerchief and dabbed at Anyu’s face. “They’re just predictions. No one knows the result yet except the judges.”

“Will you go to the ceremony with me?”

“I can’t, Anyu, I have to keep an eye on the shop. But go. No matter what happens, you’re a fine, fine jeweler.”

“If I win, I’ll buy you a new dress.”

“You promise! I want a new dress.”

Anyu pulled on a long white glove that conveniently concealed her missing finger. She felt better.