Excerpt from The Lost Daughter of Happiness by Geling Yan, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

They watched Fusang and whispered like crickets.

Then the waiter came over and said, The two gentlemen want to know if you'd like a little business on your time off.

She looked past his shoulder and greeted them with her eyes.

The waiter winked at the grocers and said to her, Pick up a little business while you're here and you won't have to give the money to your amah. Just slip me some extra change for the tea and we'll call it even. Come on now, lift your head, let them see you. He pointed to the back of the room, which was hidden in shadow, and added, We've got an opium den back there with no customers right now. He got straight to the point: Look, you're not doing anything anyway.

She looked at the two cabbage yellow faces again and gave them a big smile. Torn, she shook her head and said, I'm just taking it easy before I go.

The waiter was just about to try again when another customer walked in, a little white devil in his teens. His riding boots were covered with dust, but his white shirt and pants were spotless. He wore a blue cloak draped over his shoulders and a riding cap, his blond hair visible under the brim. He could have walked right out of an illustration in a book. The dingy Chinese teahouse suddenly formed a most absurd backdrop for him.

He noticed Fusang as he headed toward a table and abruptly turned and approached her.

She drew in her hands and feet. Languor from the sunlight weighed upon her body. She tried to think. Who is this little white devil? She looked at him as if she was struggling to extricate herself from a dream.

He froze at his sudden luck. He'd been looking for her for two years. He'd never stopped looking for her. His memory of her was so intense it had become a void that nothing else could fill. Now he realized she was even stranger than the woman he'd seen at twelve. The peach- pink of her silk blouse bled into the drabness around her.

As she watched him sit down, she tried not to keep thinking, Who is this little white devil?

Do you still remember me? Chris asked her. All the johns asked this; all of them hoped like this.

She said, Mmm.

He stared at her intently as he took off his cap. Now he was almost a head taller than she was, as tall as a grown man. His limbs were long and lanky and all his joints seemed oversized. He had the neck of a child, but the Adam's apple of a man. He put his elbows on the table, noticed the filth, and pulled them back. He was as flustered as a child.

I looked for you, he said. His voice was still changing and cracked with awkwardness.

My name is Chris, he continued.

Chris, she repeated with a smile.

He smiled back and said, You still say my name that same cute way.

Remembering suddenly, Fusang said, You comed with your uncle. She said this twice in a row. Like all Chinese prostitutes, she spoke English like a two-year-old, with cute little syllables at the ends of words.

He winced and shook his head, his hurt laced with the affront of being mistaken for someone he wasn't by a grown-up.

Fusang said, I'm sorry.

Never mind.

I really am sorry, Fusang said again, consoling him with her eyes.

It doesn't matter. He frowned and looked away. He hated the way adults could be so insensitive.

The grocers walked over, carrying their poles and baskets. They looked at him, then at her, and then one of them said, You want us to break his kneecaps for you?

When Chris turned to see what they were saying, they bobbed their heads a couple of times in greeting.

No need today, Fusang said to them with a smile. Thank you, elder brothers.

My shop's just across the street; if the little white devil gives you a hard time, I'll come back with a cleaver, no problem.

From The Lost Daughter of Happiness, copyright (c) 2001, Hyperion Press. Reproduced with permission of the publisher. All rights reserved.