Qing Mai, and wanted to hear one every night. It didn’t matter if she couldn’t understand the complicated words
that accidentally slipped out sometimes - she loved the stories.
The sound of rain tapping against the windows filled our ears. It was considerably lighter, although the
heavy fall still hadn’t ended. It created a beat, as if waiting for Qing Mai to recite the story that I narrated when
she was younger.
“
Wan Li Chang Cheng was built around 2000 years ago, and many workers sacrificed their whole life
to build the wall,” Qing Mai began. “A dog called Boy belonged to a man called Ah Ping. Ah Ping found Boy
as a young puppy on the streets, and they became inseparable. Boy was an obedient dog. He did what Ah Ping
told him to, as if he could understand what Ah Ping was saying.”
I took over. “One day, Ah Ping was caught talking to the general’s wife. Of course, they thought he
was courting the missus, and sent him to build the Wan Li Chang Cheng as a punishment. He left Boy with his
mother, who lived in a small village at the other end of China. Boy was miserable. He did not want to stay with
a woman he barely knew. But, Ah Ping said he had to stay, so that’s what he did. As Ah Ping worked, Boy
would wait outside the house for his beloved owner to come home. Six years passed. “
Qing Mai continued the story. “Everyday, Boy would wait for Ah Ping. On a stormy evening, someone
delivered news to Ah Ping’s mother. Ah Ping was dead. He worked night and day, wanting to finish his work
early. Little did he know that he would die of fatigue.
Boy was sitting outside the door when the messenger arrived. He curiously followed the messenger
inside the house, wary of the stranger’s presence. Boy watched as the messenger exchanged a few words with
Ah Ping’s mother with a forlorn expression on his face. He watched as Ah Ping’s mother collapsed, tears
streaming down her face.
Boy knew something bad had happened. The messenger left and Boy nudged the weeping figure on the
floor. He whined and whined. Ah Ping’s mother soon ran out of tears to cry. She shakily patted Boy’s back and
said, ‘Ah Ping is dead. Your beloved owner is dead. Oh, my wonderful son is dead.’ Ah Ping’s mother began
shaking uncontrollably and started wailing again. Boy froze.”
Pitter patter, pitter patter. The raindrops chanted on the roof. I continued the story as Qing Mai exited
the room to get a glass of water. “Boy heard Ah Ping’s name and his ears shot up. It was as if he could
understand what the mother was saying. The dog bolted out of the door, into the pouring rain. He ran for miles
and miles, hoping to see his beloved owner. Boy was tired, but he knew that he was almost there. His paws
padded the rocky mountains and he soon arrived where thousands of workers were building the Great Wall of
China.
Boy looked for Ah Ping. He had memorized his owner’s scent years ago. He followed it to a small hut.
Boy found people mourning for his owner.”
Qing Mai entered the room with an empty glass in her hand and took over the story. “The people in the
hut were surprised to see a crying dog. Boy followed them as they buried his body. For the rest of his life, he lay
next to his owners’ tomb. The workers often brought him food, but years later, Boy died. Right next to Ah
Ping’s tomb.”
Both of us looked down at Qing Ling’s sleeping torso, smiling. I let a chuckle escape my lips as she
started snoring lightly. The thundering rain outside slowly came to an end, whispering a quiet ‘goodnight’ to the
sleeping beauty on the bed.
* * *