The Last View of Taipei

Lin Yi-yun (林怡云) pressed her forehead against the cool window until a faint imprint formed on the glass.

Even after the car had long since left the outer districts of Taipei City behind, after the road grew rougher and the vegetation denser, she kept staring through the rear window at the shrinking skyline.

“You don’t have to look like you’re seeing the city for the last time,” her mother said from the driver’s seat.

Yi-yun pulled a face and turned forward.

“But I am being sent away!”

Her mother sighed, eyes still on the road. “It’s only four weeks.”

“Four weeks with some stranger…”

“She’s your grandmother.”

“But I don’t even know her,” Yi-yun muttered.

The words hung in the air for a moment.

A familiar pop song was playing on the radio when her mother turned the volume down.

“Hey! I was listening to that!” Yi-yun snapped.

“You can listen to your music on your CD player later, as much as you want.”

Yi-yun shot a quick glance at the player lying on the seat beside her, next to a plush panda.

“…But I wanted to hear that song.”

Her mother only shook her head in irritation as she took the Shiding exit and followed the road toward the mountains.

Yi-yun pulled her knees up and hugged her pink backpack, a fist-sized ByeByeKitty charm dangling from the zipper.

The thought of spending weeks without her friends, without TV, without the familiar sounds of the city made a dull ache form in her stomach.

“Why doesn’t she just move to Taipei?” Yi-yun asked. “Isn't she too old to live out there all by herself?”

Her mother’s hands tightened around the steering wheel.

“She doesn’t want to.”

Yi-yun snorted and crossed her arms. “Well, and I don’t want to stay at her place!”

“Lin Yi-yun!” Her mother’s voice sharpened. “You know perfectly well that I can’t take you on my business trip. Your grandma is the only relative who has the time to look after you when I'm not around.”

That only made Yi-yun angrier.

“But I'm not a little kid anymore.” She stopped herself, blinking hard. “I’m almost eleven! Why can’t I stay home by myself? I can cook on my own, and besides...”

“That’s enough! I don’t want to hear another word.”

Yi-yun’s lips trembled, tears stinging her eyes, but the look her mother gave her in the rearview mirror made it clear that talking back was pointless.

Without a word, Yi-yun clutched her plush panda and buried her flushed face in its soft belly, sobbing quietly.

They drove on for what felt like an eternity until the road began to wind through the hills in long curves.

Terraces appeared, step after step, like green waves.

Yi-yun slowly straightened up.

Low, neatly trimmed bushes covered the hills in careful rows.

“So many tea plants…” she whispered without realizing it.

“This is where she spent her whole life,” her mother said softly, almost like a peace offering. “She helped build this place. That’s why she can’t leave it.”

“That’s silly,” Yi-yun muttered, still sulking. “A place is just a place.”

Her mother didn’t answer right away.

“Some places are more than that,” she said at last, her voice tired.

The car turned onto a narrower path. 

Gravel crunched beneath the tires, and the vehicle began to jolt.

Mist hung between the hills, and the shrill cries of birds grew louder.

Yi-yun had the strange feeling that they had crossed an invisible boundary.

Then she saw the estate.

It stood slightly apart, half hidden by old trees.

The roof was dark and heavy, as if it had sagged under the weight of years.

Cracks ran through the walls, the shutters were faded, and a wrought-iron gate hung crooked on its hinges.

“It’s completely run-down…” Yi-yun murmured in disbelief.

The car came to a stop and for a moment, no one spoke.

Then a door opened, and a small, slender woman stepped outside.

Her hair was entirely gray, braided into a long plait.

She wore simple clothes and an old rice hat, yet she moved with a strange dignity.

Yi-yun’s mother turned around and lowered her voice.

“You’re going to behave and be nice to your grandmother. And you are never to leave the property by yourself. Do you understand?”

Yi-yun crossed her arms and stared out the window.

“Hm.”

The grandmother studied the car, then her daughter, then Yi-yun.

Her gaze was sharp and distant at the same time, as if she saw more than she let on.

“You’re late,” she said finally, without any greeting.

“The traffic...” Yi-yun’s mother began.

“Yes, yes,” the old woman interrupted. “Always traffic in the big metropolis.”

Then she turned to Yi-yun and smiled broadly. “Well, would you look at that. You’ve grown so tall.”

Yi-yun didn’t know what to say.

So she said nothing.

“There are a few things we still need to discuss,” her mother said quickly.

The grandmother nodded curtly. “I know how much you like to discuss things, Mei-Ling (美玲).”

Then she looked back at Yi-yun.

“You can take a look around for now.”

“But don’t go too far,” Mei-Ling added anxiously.

“Where would I even go?” Yi-yun grumbled as she turned away. “There’s nothing here anyway. Not even a 24-Eleven...”

With a sigh, she walked along the narrow path that ran past the house.

With every step, she felt more uneasy.

Something rustled in the undergrowth. 

Yi-yun quickened her steps without looking back.

“Gross…” she muttered when she spotted a huge spiderweb stretched between two trees.

Shuddering, she entered the residential building of the old tea plantation.

Inside, it smelled of old wood and dried tea leaves.

The floor creaked beneath her feet with every step.

Furniture stood everywhere, pieces Yi-yun had never seen before: tall cabinets, a table with deeply notched edges, faded pictures on the walls.

She followed a broad wooden staircase upstairs and walked down the corridor until she reached a room at the very end, its door slightly ajar.

Curious, she pushed it open.

Boxes and old junk were piled inside.

The air was cool and dim and only a single beam of sunlight shone through a narrow window, making dust motes dance in the air.

Somewhere below, she could hear footsteps and muffled voices, but she couldn’t make out the words.

Then she saw a glint.

Yi-yun knelt down.

On an old corner table lay a small object.

She picked it up.

A delicate chain, with a strangely shaped jade pendant at the end.

It was old, lightly scratched, but carefully crafted.

“What is this…?” she murmured.

“So you already found it.”

Yi-yun spun around.

Her grandmother stood in the doorway, her gaze fixed on the pendant in Yi-yun’s hand.

“Is that… yours?” Yi-yun asked quickly.

The old woman stepped closer, her movements slow but steady.

She didn’t take the pendant from her, only studied it for a moment.

“I received that from someone I love very much,” she said quietly. “Your grandfather.”

Yi-yun looked at the pendant, then back at her.

“What was he like?” she asked hesitantly. “Grandpa, I mean.”

For a heartbeat, the old woman froze, then her smile softened.

“Come,” she said at last. “Let’s go downstairs. I’ll tell you.”

Yi-yun closed her fingers around the pendant and followed her.