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Finally. A necklace with a horseshoe-crab pendant—a whimsical piece that evoked childhood dreams and longing.

It shined brilliantly, showcasing a hexagonal body composed of six cabochon rubies mounted on a twenty-four karat pure gold shell etched with sleek chevrons.

The triangular spines were encrusted with pearls, and the marquise-shaped eyes were intricately carved from rare emerald-green jade.

A delicate whiplike telson, crafted from rose-colored amethyst, swept upward to convey movement, while ten enameled legs, all in primrose pink, complemented the sweet pastel color scheme, highlighting the pendant’s playfulness and innocent charm.

The necklace had taken Anyu eleven years to craft.

It was the most time-consuming piece she had ever made.

And how slowly the needle of time had moved.

On Lantau Island, people were either too poor to buy jewelry or too busy to wear it.

For eleven years, Anyu had lived in a stilt house above mudflats near a canal, selling salted fish and woven ropes to the fishermen.

Every coin she earned she saved so she could buy tools and solvents and degreaser.

Then, on days when she was spared from dizzy spells, she took sampans covered with a canvas, traveled as far as her feeble legs would carry her, to bargain with families selling antiques at the roadside.

It always energized her when her hand held a rare find such as a moonstone snuff bottle, or a jade tiger, or an old picture frame decorated with pearls.

She bought them, took them apart, reshaped them, and used the gemstones for her necklace.

“I hope you’ll win, Miss Anyu,” Rain said, packing the necklace for the international jewelry competition that had attracted jewelers from around the world.

It was one of the most influential international competitions in Hong Kong, and many renowned jewelers from Paris, New York, and London had flocked to the city, vying for the top prize.

Newspapers, television, and radio had gone wild over the event, advertising the competition and eagerly promoting the participating jewelry pieces, an opportunity Anyu had anticipated.

She smiled. She was forty-seven years old. These days, she felt, in her gut, that the horseshoe necklace would be the last jewelry she would make. “I might win, I might not.”

“Then how will you find the boy of yours?”

“We’ll be lucky,” she said.

A few days later, while Anyu was melting gold in the ring mold, she felt again the stabbing pain in her eyes.

She took off the headlamp and dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief.

Her eyes were bleeding. She blinked. Through the window, the boats and houses blended together in a haze of gray, and the distant mountains looked pale like water.

A draft swept through the stilt house, shaking it; the door squeaked.

But someone was at the door; she could make out ... a tall shadow. She cocked her head. “Rain?”

“I’m here.” Rain’s voice came from near her. “Miss Anyu, are you taking a break? This man wants to see you.”

“Who is it?” Rain knew too well that she didn’t have customers, nor did she receive visitors.

Rain explained slowly. The man said he was an American artisan jeweler who had traveled to Hong Kong for the jewelry convention.

He had seen the segment about her horseshoe crab jewelry on TV by chance.

He wanted to congratulate her on her design and ask why she carved IMAM on the necklace, along with a double-headed eagle.

“From America?” Anyu asked.

The figure walked toward her, the floorboards cracking in rhythm. The stilt house swayed.

Anyu reached out. A hand, big, dry, firm, held hers. She swallowed, and she felt him, the shape of his face, the jawline, the nose, the eyelids, and the soft hair.

“It’s you, isn’t it?” she whispered.

The shadow in front of her trembled. “It’s me.”

The voice of eternity, the voice of the past and the future, the voice of love. But it couldn’t be. Still, she asked, “Isaac?”

A chuckle, or was it a sob? “It’s me, Matthew. Matthew Dearborn, Auntie.”

“Of course, of course.” She smiled, happiness swelling in her heart.

At last. As she had dreamed. She had found him.

Only he would know who made a necklace with his favorite creature.

Only he would know the meaning of the maker’s marks and the double-headed eagle.

“I’m so glad. You’re here. How wonderful! How old are you now, Matthew?”

“Twenty-five years and two months.”

She chuckled. How she wished she could see his face, his golden hair, his mischievous eyes. But this was good enough, holding his hand, feeling his skin and the strength of his fingers.

“I looked for you during the war, Auntie. I couldn’t find you. Then, after the war, I heard many people were sent to Lamma Island, and I went to search for you. It was flattened by fire, and there was a mass grave. People said many prisoners died during the fire. I thought you were gone.”

“Ah. Tell me what happened to you during the war.”

“After you left, many children were caught by the Japanese soldiers and slaughtered, but the soldier who captured me gave me a piece of candy and told me to run away. Many people grew sick and starved in the hospital, but not me. Even when the Americans bombed the city, I was unscathed.”

She had always known he would survive.

“It is true, isn’t it? What you said about the stone?”

She patted his hand. “You must believe.”

He was touching her face—wiping her tears. “Now I’m an artisan jeweler of my own house in New York, the House of Dearborn, Auntie. I make jewelry, I create memories, I evaluate gemstones and treasures.”

“Your mother would be so proud. You remember her, do you?”

“Of course. I have two mothers.”

“Ah, didn’t I tell you? You’re the most precious treasure of all.”

And her boy, the boy she had been waiting for these fourteen years, the boy she had protected, the boy who had the Diamond of Life, laughed. “How can I forget? I remember everything you told me.”

“So did you pay your respects to Confucius?”

“I did, and guess what I found.”

He guided her hands around something smooth, something oval, and then, as she’d expected, it opened.

Anyu smiled. She couldn’t see the delicately carved eggshells, the diamond-threaded rivulets, the rock-crystal base, the fine features of the priceless ornament that had captivated her when she was fifteen years old, the ornament that had changed her life, the ornament that had beguiled a mad princess, but she always did believe her boy would find it.