By Yi-jung Chen
She sprinted through the neon-drenched humidity of Yixin Road, her heavy boots clattering against the pavement. Ahead of her, a slender man darted through the crowd, frantically glancing back as if pursued by a phantom. Yixin—the street of “One Heart”—seemed to mock them. She pursued him with absolute, unwavering devotion; he fled as if his life depended on it.
Neither of them knew that their absurdity was a cosmic debt, overdue by a hundred years.
In their past life during the war, their souls had been bound by the flicker of oil lamps and the coarse hide of shadow puppets. He had been a wealthy heir; she, a destitute puppeteer’s apprentice. Amidst the ashes of conflict, they found solace behind the illuminated screen, maneuvering leather figures to sing of ancient lovers while the world fell apart. When death finally claimed them, their souls stood before the bridge of reincarnation, weeping.
He prayed for strength—wishing to be fierce enough to protect her in the next life. She prayed for freedom—wishing to be unburdened by delicate womanhood.
The universe, possessing a wry sense of humor, granted both wishes to the letter.
Thus, in this life, they returned with their genders swapped and personalities inverted. She was born with a towering frame, a fierce countenance, and an unbreakable willpower, yet her love life remained a string of tragic rejections. He was born with delicate, captivating features and effortless charm, yet was perpetually broke, fragile, and prone to trouble.
They crossed paths again at the dilapidated shadow puppet theater on Jiuru Road, a place facing immediate demolition. He was hiding from creditors; she was searching for the ghosts of her childhood.
“Stop running!” her booming voice echoed through the dusty auditorium.
Cornered against the stage, he raised his hands in surrender, trembling. But as she stepped closer, her eyes drifted past him toward the back of the theater—to the rusted, ancient brick stove where her grandmother used to cook.
In that moment, the noise of the modern world receded. Memories flooded her senses: the aroma of sizzled pork and garlic, the quiet clink of a teapot as her grandmother swiftly poured hot tea for her grandfather, and the silhouette of her grandmother’s hands moving rhythmically before the evening window—a puppeteer even in her everyday chores.
The man watched her expression soften, an unexplainable ache blossoming in his chest. A strange, familiar warmth rippled through his veins, as if his soul recognised her before his mind could comprehend it.
She walked to the backstage crate, reached inside, and pulled out two leather puppets—a warrior and a maiden. Without a word, she handed the maiden to him and switched on the yellow backstage light.
Behind the translucent screen, two shadows stood side by side. As their hands maneuvered the delicate rods, their movements synchronized instantly, effortlessly, across a century of silence. On Yixin Road, they had chased a shadow; on Jiuru Road, amidst the scent of memory and tea, they finally found the screen where two hearts belonged as one.
Yi-jung Chen is a writer from Taiwan whose work explores local cultural memory, traditional folk arts, and human connections across generations.
.
PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL
Click here to access the Borderless anthology, Monalisa No Longer Smiles
Click here to access Monalisa No Longer Smiles on Kindle Amazon International