Chapter 1

After watching that old-money family drama ninety-nine times, Grandpa became convinced he was the grand patriarch himself, the Old Master, and that his rules stood higher than heaven.

He demanded the whole family line up at six every morning, the daughter-in-law kneeling with the cup raised to her brow to serve him his eyesight tea.

I thought my girlfriend would fight it. Instead, to my shock, she knelt down meek as anything and lifted the teacup above her head.

Grandpa stroked his goatee, pleased. "This new bride knows the rules."

Then, in the same breath, she flipped her hand over and produced a scroll: the household code of an old-money Master.

"Grandpa, if we're going to have proper order, then we do the whole thing by the book."

"By the rules, the Master isn't allowed to watch television, isn't allowed to eat meat, and after supper he must shut his door and reflect on his own faults."

One phone call from her, and a few workmen carried in a wooden virtue plaque.

"This is the honor monument I had made for you. From today on, you'll keep watch beneath it."

……

Grandpa shot up from his grand armchair, his goatee trembling with rage.

"What do you think you're doing? This is open rebellion!"

My father's face had gone ugly too. He pointed at the plaque, stammering.

"Janice Henson, don't make trouble. Who erects an honor monument for a living man? Isn't that the same as cursing your grandfather?"

Janice rose to her feet, unhurried, brushed the dust from her knees, and turned a bright smile on my father.

"Uncle, have you ever watched that old-money drama?"

"In the show, the ancestors of the great house had their monument erected. That's what it means to set an example for future generations."

"Since Grandpa is the Old Master himself, he ought to enjoy the highest honors there are."

She flicked her wrist, and the scroll snapped open across the floor, a good two meters of it.

"Grandpa, I studied that whole drama again just for this, and I looked into how the great families of the old days ran their households."

"Since you're the Old Master of this family, then the rules go up in full. All of them."

Janice pointed at the dense little characters crowding the scroll and read them out, crisp and clear.

"For the great patriarch past the age of eighty: he must cleanse his heart and curb his desires, fast to nurture his spirit, and abstain from all meat and greasy food."

Grandpa slammed his hand down on the arm of the chair.

"Nonsense. I'm the head of this family. Eating meat and drinking tea are my privileges, and everyone here answers to me."

Janice didn't even look at him. She turned instead toward the kitchen and called out.

"Auntie, throw out that braised pork in the kitchen. From today on, Grandpa eats only plain porridge and simple sides."

I stood off to the side watching them go at it, my chest tight, a sour ache underneath it.

The way I heard it, after Grandpa retired from the instrument factory, he'd gotten hooked on that old-money drama when it first aired.

And by pure chance he shared a name with the lead, both of them named Oscar Bishop, and from then on he carried himself as the Old Master.

He was a firm believer that tea sharpened the eyes, and he made my mother serve him a cup every morning at dawn.

A minute late, and he'd needle her with snide remarks the whole day.

And the moment my mother let slip so much as a complaint, my father would sidle up in that pushover tone of his to smooth it over.

"The old man's got no other joys left. Just think of it as playing along with him, humoring him a little."

That one word, humoring, ground my mother down to a nervous wreck, terrified every night that she'd oversleep.

Her hair came out in handfuls, and her knees were worn out of shape from kneeling, so bad she walked with a limp.

This morning she'd started up out of habit again, fighting through the pain in her legs to go boil the water, and it was Janice who pressed her back down.

"Mom, sleep a while longer. The new bride serves the tea today."

My mother's tears came right then, and she clung to Janice's hand and wouldn't let go.

At the time I didn't understand any of it. I only saw Janice turn around and wink at me.

And it clicked all at once. This clever little devil had it all planned from the start.

Now my father came sidling up again with that pushover look, dropping his voice.

"Janice, Grandpa can't stand a meal without meat. He'll never last without it. Let's just humor him a bit."

But Janice turned and cut him off, cold.

"Uncle, what real old master of a great house sits there gnawing on a pork hock every single day?"

"Word gets out, and won't people laugh at the Bishops? Say Grandpa's a fraud, not the real Old Master at all?"

While my father stood there choking on his answer, Janice waved decisively at the workmen.

Two young men came forward with chains, and with a snap they locked down the living room television and the old transistor radio.

Janice explained it with a sunny smile.

"These foreign contraptions and clever little trinkets have to go too. The Old Master reads only the books of the sages."

"These vulgar worldly things aren't worthy of you. Wouldn't you agree?"

The words left Grandpa so stopped up he couldn't find a single thing to argue back, and all he could squeeze out was one line.

"Hmph. Cleanse the heart and curb desire, then. Fine."

He batted away my father's hand when he moved to help him up, dropped back into the grand armchair, and held the pose, jaw clenched, propping up his dignity by sheer will.

"Back when I was sent down to the countryside, I got through it on husks and weeds. What's a little thing like this?"

Janice nodded, her smile all sweet obedience.

"Grandpa really is the Old Master through and through. That bearing, that backbone. The reputation's well earned."

With that she slowly rolled the scroll back up, glanced over her shoulder at me, and gave me a small smile, her eyes steady with certainty.

That was when I understood. This war had only just begun.