Paper House
In the days when the moon hung low over the Jade River, there lived a widow named Li, in a house of white walls and gray shutters. She was a woman of wealth, her cupboards full, her silks soft as river mist, and her heart heavy with a sorrow no one could name. Beside her, in the center of the main hall, stood a screen of six panels. It was made of paper stretched over a wood frame, painted by a master whose name she had forgotten. On it, in the flowing, dancing script of the Running Hand, were written the ancient words: "Bent, and unable to straighten." The widow Li had read these words all her life. They spoke of the scholar who is crushed by the weight of poverty, the general who cannot raise his sword, and the man whose ambitions are bowed by fate but whose spirit refuses to break. To Li, the screen was not just art; it was the story of her life. For three years, the creditors had come. They were men of loud voices and thick ledgers, claiming that Li’s late husband had bor...