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It was still early; the dawn light poured over the gray tile roofs like a layer of pearly paint.

The streets were quiet; here and there, a man emerged and vanished, a carriage rattled by, and a squeaking rickshaw raced past. Anyu passed the shops with lattice windows, the balconies with their hanging rattan birdcages, and the pavement damp with midnight rain, and for the first time, she felt at home in this city.

She loved Shanghai even more than Harbin, Shanghai with its juxtaposed shabbiness and sophistication, its vanity and its gaucheness, its nakedness and its pretense.

And she liked the city most at this hour, the moment before awakening, the moment before the world was ripped and redrawn again.

Anyu turned onto the street where the Mandelburgs’ shop was located.

The sun was rising; in the distance, the shop looked just as she had remembered—modest, masked in the pale fog, wedged between two red brick buildings.

When she came in front of the shop, she could see the peeling paint around the store’s elegant sign and the empty cigarette packets littering the ground.

She paused momentarily before reaching out to the door, recalling her arrival more than five years ago.

She had been sixteen then, a girl, scared and lonely, full of doubts, and now she was twenty-one, a woman, scarred and lonely, with no more doubts.

And she was ready to beg, ask for forgiveness, and do anything necessary to be part of the Mandelburg family again.

Anyu pushed the door open.

The showroom was lit; rows of jewelry filled the glass cases. Esther was cleaning the counter with a rag. She looked up, surprise dancing in her eyes, and a wide smile spread across her face. “Anyu!”

Anyu smiled back. “Good morning, Esther. You’re early.”

“I’m always the first in the shop.”

Anyu switched her suitcase to her left hand. “I heard about the burglary. I was worried. So I came.”

“Well, you know you can come anytime.”

Her friend’s words were more precious than gold. “Do you know who robbed you? What did you lose?”

“Some necklaces. Mr. Du claims he’s investigating it. He said it was an insult that someone would undermine his authority and steal from a shop under his protection. We’ll see.” Esther came around the L-shaped counter.

Anyu gasped. “You’re with child!”

Esther smiled and patted at the swell of her stomach under her oversized dress. “I’m seven months in. Soon, very soon, my baby will arrive, but I’ll work until my baby tells me to stop.”

Anyu couldn’t take her eyes off Esther—oh, she looked beautiful. Her gray eyes, which used to be piercing, had softened; her face was glowing; and even her voice sounded melodic, without the sharp edge.

“Father is in the workshop. Should I go get him?”

Anyu switched her suitcase to her right hand, growing nervous.

“Why don’t you go in?” Esther tipped her head to the door to the hallway. “He’ll be delighted to see you.”

Anyu gripped her suitcase with two hands and stepped into the hallway. It was damp, dark, and narrow as before. A sweet aroma wafted in the air. One of the aunts must be cooking rice.

The workshop door was left ajar; she pushed it open. Isaac, Samuel, and Uncle David sat at their jewelers’ workbenches, holding their tools. Isaac was busy with a piece of metal on the jeweler’s saw.

Anyu stepped in. The odor of metal, dust, and chemicals greeted her like an old friend. She put down her suitcase near the door. Her workbench was still there, covered with the metal tape measure, the hammers, the jeweler’s saws, and the pliers.

“Good morning,” she said.

They all turned to her. There was a moment of silence, awkward, as all the whirring and sawing of the tools paused. Then there was noise, chairs scraping the floor, throats clearing, and whispering. She could feel the heat rushing to her face, and her heart pounded.

Isaac was in front of her, and now she could see his right arm was suspended in a cloth sling—it was he, not Uncle David, who was wounded. There was a bandage on his forehead, and his lips were swollen. But his eyes were smiling.

“Why are you just standing there? Are you going to your bench?”

This was better than anything she had hoped for. “Yes,” she said, grateful. “I’m going to my bench.”

“Good. If you want to see the orders, you know where they are.”

Relieved, she went to the wall near the safe and scanned the pouch that contained the sheets of order forms. There were only five. She took one. It was an order for a ring.

“You might wish to know that after the burglary, Father has decided to make changes to the business model. The merchandise in the showroom will be reduced. There are few orders from customers,” Samuel said, holding his ruler.

“I see.” She cleared her throat. “We’ll find new clients.”

She sat on her stool. The order was simple. It wouldn’t take her long to complete.

She reached out for the jeweler’s saw. The oak handle was cool, smooth, fitting snugly in her hand, just as before.

But it was cruel. Everything seemed to take longer, including sawing, making a bezel setting, and even polishing.

She was clumsy, her fingers stiff, and the metal pieces were slippery.

When she put the chasing hammer down to flex her fingers, she saw hours had passed and Uncle David and Samuel had gone for lunch.

Isaac came to her side.

Her heart raced faster; she couldn’t help it, how she had missed him. But she composed herself. She could not afford to live in the old fancies and heartaches again. From now on, she’d bury her love and focus on her work. “I’ll finish this in a few hours. I’m rather rusty.”

“It’ll come back to you.”

“Thank you.”

“I can’t tell you how happy I am to have you back.”

Anyu smiled. “I want to start over.”

“I see.” He went to his workbench, opened a drawer, and gave her a gold ring, the ring with the moonstone, the signet ring with the double-headed eagle emblem. “Then you’ll need this.”

She held it in her palm, trembling.

“The egg is yours. It’s been waiting for your return.”

She didn’t know what to say, choked with tears.

He slid the ring on her finger. “You’re my only successor, and I love you more than you can ever imagine. But life doesn’t always give us what we want, does it? Maybe in good times, you might realize that some love is silent, some love is eternal, some love might not be seen, but it’ll be felt.”

Anyu wanted to cry. She would not speak of love in front of him again, but she would not stop loving him. “I want to create something new, something unique. But I have no inspiration. I can’t draw.”

“Draw whatever is in your heart. Draw what life has shown you along your path. Above all, draw the good things in life—you have your freedom.”

Freedom.

That evening, Anyu lay on the bed Esther had prepared for her in the attic and listened to the aunts’ soft snoring.

Esther, who lived with Mr. Dearborn in their apartment, no longer stayed here at night; it was just the aunts and her.

Anyu felt the smooth moonstone of the signet ring and unlocked the double-headed eagle beneath.

She traced her finger over the heads, the wings, the talons.

She could feel the egg close by, waiting for her—yes, she would visit it soon, very soon.

It was hers, Isaac had said, or did she belong to the egg?

She felt a flow of energy at the thought of the ornament with its superior artistry and beauty, revitalized by the stream of inspiration that had once nurtured her.

She thought of Isaac’s words again. You have your freedom. Maybe freedom was knowing she had made mistakes in the past but she could do right in the future; freedom was living the life she desired, loving the man in the way she needed, and crafting jewelry as she envisioned.

She sprang from the bed and raced downstairs to the workshop. It was locked. She ran up to the attic, took out the sketchbook Isaac had returned to her, and sat at the breakfast table. By lamplight, she began to draw a butterfly brooch.

In the morning, when Isaac, Samuel, and Uncle David opened the workshop, she had already finished the drawing and was ready to saw.

Isaac studied her drawing, counted the number of the gemstones she needed, and got in touch with Mr. Walters.

Then she worked, using twenty-four karat gold instead of platinum, stretching it thin for the butterfly’s veins, then one 1.

5-carat pear-shaped yellow diamond for each forewing and hind wing, and two marquise-cut yellow diamonds for the thorax and abdomen.

For twenty straight hours, she didn’t talk, didn’t sleep; when her eyelids threatened to close, she went out of the workshop and chain-smoked in the kitchen and then returned, energized. When her stomach ached with hunger, she devoured a hard-boiled egg and a bowl of porridge.

Fifteen days later, using the lost-wax casting technique, she completed a set: a necklace, a ring, a brooch, a bracelet, and a pair of earrings.

Isaac held the brooch, his eyes filled with wonder. “Butterfly.”

“There is a Chinese legend called ‘Butterfly Lovers.’ It tells the tragic story of a girl from the Zhu family and a boy from the Liang family. Zhu met Liang at school and fell in love. They swore an oath to each other, pledging their everlasting devotion. But Zhu’s father arranged for her to marry another man.

When Liang heard that, he died of grief.

Zhu’s wedding was interrupted by a storm, which brought the procession to Liang’s grave, where Zhu wept and vowed that they’d never be apart again.

At her words, a clap of thunder struck, opening the grave and engulfing Zhu.

When it opened again, the couple had disappeared and out flew a pair of butterflies.

So you see, the butterfly symbolizes eternal love in Chinese culture. ”

Isaac nodded. “A touching story. What will you call this set?”

“Eternal Love.”