But after Liu Pingwa came that night， Zhaonü felt distracted and listless in her heart， bewildered at her future prospects. When she entered school on her first day carrying bed sheets and a quilt on her shoulders， and in her hand an enamel basin for washing her face and feet， a male teacher saw her and called for the Principal. The Principal reluctantly emerged， explaining the nature of her job， which， since she was not part of the government， involved working for the school with no job security， 50 yuan a month， half from the town budget， half from the village. She could take it in two parts.
"From now on if you want to transfer your status to that of an official teacher， the chances you get will be rare. It's a matter of opportunity."
The Principal's eyes were like two dry wells. He seemed to be making the conditions sound as harsh as possible to intimidate her， so that his son might get the position and she would have to marry him.
Hearing this， Zhaonü felt cold， but did not move.
"I'll do it."
The days passed， and it seemed as if there would be no change in her life. This frightened her. The best man she could imagine marrying was Liu Pingwa， who drank loudly and could hardly talk to her.
Every time the Chief came to school he would usually greet Zhaonü with smiling eyes. One evening he stayed a little longer， but he could not hear any sign of Zhaonü. Unable to wait any longer， he excused himself from the chess board to go to the toilet. To his relief he saw the light in her lodge from the playground， and steadily made his way toward her door. Zhaonü sat at the table， her tender golden hair beneath the light like the twinkling stars， a hot sweat upon the Chief's forehead.
"Reading？" the Chief asked.
"You've come？"
"Just for a bit."
Trying to strike up conversation he entered， flipping through Zhaonü's books idly， his face concentrated. Zhaonü could only smile bitterly.
Without knowing why， Zhaonü blurted out：
"My father came."
"Your father？ Something up？"
Looking straight at the Chief， Zhaonü said： "He brought the tailor Liu Pingwa with him."
The Chief's eyelids moved as he lit a cigarette and smoked sullenly. "Liu Pingwa？ He's a good man."
Zhaonü stared at the Chief and said provocatively， "Yes， he is. He can make more than ten yuan everyday， which is almost half of my salary each month. Madam told me that if I married him， I would live a happy， wealthy and carefree life."
As Zhaonü went on talking aggressively， the cigarette in the Chief's hand burned into a long trace of ash， which fell softly. His face was filled with a helpless emptiness. Zhaonü's heart soured， and love and sadness surged in her heart like an endless tide before becoming warm tears.
The Chief stood up in a trance. He asked Zhaonü a in low voice， "What's wrong？ What's wrong with you， Zhaonü？"
Zhaonü said in a low voice， "It's you … you."
Zhaonü was blushing， a blush that burned the entire room and melted the Chief little by little. He murmured， " … It was all my fault." He approached to wipe away Zhaonü's tears. Her face was as smooth as a piece of jade， which made his hand tremble. He could not help extending out his arms to hold her.
The combined smell of sweat and cigarettes covered Zhaonü. She felt herself dropping away into a warm cloud as she embraced him.
3
The marriage of her older female cousin was very well-regarded. Zhaonü and Yingnü went to accompany the ten sisters， while the lament for the wedding lasted a month. The lament was a necessary task for women of the Tujia ethnicity. They had learnt it since they were young. Their older female cousin was able to sing several hundred poems. At evening， the married girl's family sat round the open fire and sung in turns.
Mother， you gave birth to your daughter
And raised her till the trees grew tall before sending her away
But there is nobody left to take care of you
Women， don't complain that your fate is unfair
There would be no world without women
Women，
Those who are worshiped in the shrine also have Grandmothers and great-Grandmothers …
The young men crowded under the stilted house， listening， until the moon hung high up in the sky， and onward until the rooster crowed. The older cousin was sad and melancholy. The day before the wedding day， she abstained from food and drink. Her waist was so thin that it could be grasped with one hand. Her brother carried her on his back as if he were carrying grass. He took her to her husband's family without her feet ever touching the ground. The Shaman Qin Lao'er had taken a look at her flower tree， which was said to be a cirrus that climbed upon the blue rocks， its purple flowers blooming and releasing a light scent. Before her wedding， the older cousin gave Zhaonü and Yingnü a photo， in which she was standing by the blue sea in a white dress they had never seen her wear. She was smiling awkwardly and her hair was a bit messy. The colours of the photo was rigidly applied. Looking carefully， you could see that the sea was painted on a hard paper board. It was right in the town， in the new photography studio opened by people from Zhejiang Province. Actually the farthest place the older cousin had ever reached was the town.
Two days after she was married， Madam once again gathered Zhaonü and Yingnü and looked at them， anxious and worried.
"Girls！" She said， sighing. She remained silent for a long time.