One

Little Flower

I sat shivering on a low stool in our farmhouse kitchen. The frosty air stung my cheeks and chilled my hands and feet until they hurt. To warm up, I rubbed my arms and legs. Though it never snowed in southern China, this winter in the sixth year of Emperor Guangxu’s reign felt brutally cold. Normally, I would still be curled beneath our patched quilt, but my aa noeng had woken me at first light. 

“We are going on an adventure today,” she announced, turning to me with a basin of boiling water. For the first time in months, her thin, pale face broke into a smile. But it wasn’t a proper sparkling smile, like the ones she used to shower on me before my aa de died. This smile looked stiff, and her eyes remained dull. 

“I’m taking you to Canton City,” she continued. “Farmer Tang will give us a ride on his cart.” She poured cold water into the basin. I squealed, clapping with delight. I had never been to Canton City, but I had heard all about it from traveling storytellers. Peddlers prowled the streets, selling sugared plums, sweet buns and roasted chestnuts. My belly grumbled at the thought of them, reminding me that I had not eaten since yesterday’s bowl of watery congee. The storytellers also boasted of traveling acrobats, men who swallowed live snakes, and puppet shows. 

“Is Little Brother coming too?” I asked. 

“He is too young,” she said. “I’ve sent him to our neighbor for the day. This is a mother-and-daughter trip.” 

“Why are we going?” “Little girls should not ask questions,” she chided. “Good girls keep quiet, follow rules and obey grown-ups.” Her tone was mild, but her face sagged with misery, frightening me into silence. 

She knelt in front of me, cradling my golden lilies in her palms. “Do you remember why I started binding your feet when you were only four?” she asked. 

“Because…because…” I shook my head. With a heavy sigh she explained, “Other six-year-old girls in our village wouldn’t start foot-binding until now. Some farming families might even wait until their daughter is seven or eight, if they’re desperate for an extra worker around the house. But that is risky. Do you know why?” 

I shook my head again. “The bones might already be too stiff to be shaped. I love you so much that I bound your feet two years ago, as though you’re a little lady, to make sure you get perfect golden lilies so you can be like Consort Yao Niang. Do you remember her story?” 

“I do!” Eager to impress her, I merrily recited the bedtime tale she had often told me. “Once upon a time, before the Manchu invaded and when China was cut up into lots of little kingdoms, like a patchwork quilt, there lived an emperor called Li Yu. He loved to see new things. One day he asked his many, many wives to surprise him with a new dance. Everyone tried but no one was good enough except Yao Niang. She wrapped her feet into crescents and danced on her toes!” 

“What else?” she quizzed. 

I frowned. 

She prompted, “The emperor was so impressed that he promoted her to Royal Imperial Consort—” 

“Oh!” With a bounce I finished her sentence, “So no other wife could boss Yao Niang around except the empress. All the ladies of the court copied her and soon rich girls across the country started to do the same. Now all re-respectable girls have bound feet. And the most loving mothers make sure their daughters have perfect four-inch golden lilies.” 

I expected the rest of my speedy answer would earn praise, especially since I had only stumbled on two characters, but Aa Noeng’s lips trembled. I reached out to hug her, but she shook her head as she straightened her back and smoothed her faded tunic-blouse, ou. 

“Even the poorest boy might hope to pass the imperial exams and become a mandarin if he is clever and studious,” she said, “but a girl’s only chance for a better life is through her golden lilies. This is my priceless gift to you. No matter what happens, I want you always to remember how much I love you. You’re my precious pearl. Do you understand?” 

“I love you this much too!” I swung my arms behind my back until my palms touched. But she didn’t return my smile. 

“Why is it important to have perfect four-inch golden lilies?” she asked. 

“To get a good marriage,” I chirped. “Matchmakers and mothers-in-law like tiny feet. Golden lilies are proof of a girl’s goodness.” 

“Yes,” she agreed. “Only girls with immense endurance and discipline can get perfect golden lilies. This is what mothersin-law from nice families want for their sons.” She squeezed my hands and asked, “Do you want to marry into a nice family when you grow up?” 

“Yes.” 

“How do you get four-inch golden lilies?” she asked. 

“I must sit very still when you clean my feet and change my bandages.” 

“What else?” 

“I mustn’t complain when you tighten the bindings.” 

“That’s true,” she replied slowly. “But…” After a long pause she said, “You are a big girl now. It’s time you learned to take care of your golden lilies yourself.” 

“I’m still little!” I protested, alarmed by her grave tone. 

“Watch carefully,” she instructed. She unraveled the binding and eased my left foot into the basin of warm water. She massaged away the dead skin on the sole and between my toes. Next she trimmed my toenails and wrapped my foot in a towel before sprinkling alum onto it. 

“Be sure to use a generous amount of alum,” she said. “It wards off sweat and itch.” 

She wound a length of clean, dark blue cotton around and around my foot. The pressure increased with each layer until my foot throbbed and my eyes ached with unshed tears. I had to use all my willpower not to groan. She continued to wrap the bindings, much more tightly than usual. I tried to pull my foot away. She gripped it harder. “Stay still,” she ordered. 

“Aa Noeng,” I cried. “It hurts too much.” 

“Hush,” she said. “One day these golden lilies will bring you a good marriage. You will wear silk and live in a house with tiled floors. Best of all, you will never go hungry again.” 

My whimpering faded as she continued to talk about the tasty food that would fill my belly when I become a bride in a wellto-do family. Finally, she eased my foot into my best pair of indigo cotton shoes. She pushed the basin toward me. 

“Now you must do the same for your right foot,” she said. 

Excerpt from The Lotus Shoes by Jane Yang. Copyright © 2025 by Jane Yang. Published by Park Row Books.

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