I made it to Yangcheng, the town where Mrs. Lawson resides. I cannot tell you my elation at seeing Chinese shores from the ship. As I saw the masses of Asians scurrying about, I realized how much I looked like each one of them with my dark hair and 4 feet, 10 inches height. Something was resolved in my heart that I am exactly as I should be and that I do belong here.
I arrived, bone weary, to Mrs. Lawson’s old, decrepit house that I soon learned was rented out cheaply because it was believe to be haunted. The first night, I awoke to find many faces peering into my glassless window. I was glad that Mrs. Lawson had instructed me to sleep with all my belonging on otherwise they would have been stolen.
Mrs. Lawson intends to use this large house as an inn. My job is a peculiar one, but I am told that it is a common Chinese practice. When I see a mule train coming, I take a hold of the lead mule’s head and drag him inside. The travelers cannot refuse to take lodging with us because they are too weary to argue with us. We provide clean accommodations, good food, and wonderful stories that sooth the soul. Our inn is gaining a good reputation now, largely because of the stories we tell.
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