A few words to know before you start reading:
Popo = maternal grandmother (yes this distinction is important)
Lao Fu = Master Fu (Lao literally means old and is also used as a title to indicate respect. Kind of like mister)
Mei Yi = I don't think Marinette has a canon chinese name so I came up with Mei Yi ^^;;
Mei Mei = means little sister, but also is Marinette's "nickname" derived from Mei Yi
Qipao = Chinese dress
Also there will be some racist language used to reflect the era. This is not a reflection of my own beliefs.
May, 1933
Marinette likes to think she knows the seas better than most.
After all, the sea has only ever brought her happiness.
She sits in a chair on the roof of her home, poised at first with tightly crossed legs and hands clasped together, set demurely on her lap, and back as straight as a board. Her family is by no means rich, but they are doing quite well for themselves and it is her role to appear a presentable young lady..
Yet, as hard as she tried, it did not take long before Marinette was shamelessly leaning over the railing. Her legs were spread in a most definitely unladylike manner as she thrust her upper body as far out as she could, trying to see everything the outside had to offer. Marinette's dark hair hung in a tangled heap down her back. She had not yet brushed it that morning, and the morning wind did nothing to smooth her locks. Like her hair, Marinette's long qipao also fluttered with the light sea breeze, exposing enough of Marinette's legs that her grandmother would have lectured her for weeks about shame and face.
Luckily for Marinette, there was no one else who could see her. It was still early in the day, the first rays of light breaking over the horizon. The soft, rolling waves of the sea flickering as the water met the light, then breaking into flickering ripples.
It was beautiful.
The tranquility of dawn was interrupted by a blaring horn. In a single swoop, seabirds that had been spread out along the rocky coast rose at once to head out to sea, leaving stray feathers and indignant squawks behind in their wake.
The horn signaled the incoming of a new ship. A modern, English style ocean liner pulled into the port of Shanghai. By the looks of it, a passenger ship. As the sun rose higher and higher, rays reflecting off the water like an endless mirror, Marinette stood. Standing gave her an improved vantage point, and Marinette loved the view she had of the harbour.
She loved the sea.
The burning torches that had illuminated the harbour when Marinette first stepped outside were now extinguished, only a few wispy trails of smoke seeping from the ash. She watched the new ship intently, watching the crew leap from the dock, dropping anchors and throwing ropes.
Marinette could have stood there, on the roof of her home, for hours, watching the men work on the ship, watching passengers slowly file out, one by one all at once. Every person lugged along a large suitcase, perhaps a couple, and some women held their children to their hip. Everyone was visibly exhausted from the weeks spent at sea. For every person she could make out from the crowd, Marinette imagined a story for them.
The little girl with sunshine hair who bent down to pick up a rock was from Germany, was a princess with servants to do her every bidding, and was here to get a new, china doll.
The old man with the hunched back and cane was here to spend the rest of his days somewhere new, having no one left to mourn for him at home.
The pair of young men walking briskly, pushing others out of their way, were merchants on their first journey abroad, first journey away from the safety of their homes.
Marinette loved the sea, and loved the endless possibilities the waters could bring.
After breakfast, Marinette stood in the marketplace, a woven basket hanging from her arm and on her other side her grandmother's hand resting in the crook of her elbow.
It was still early, about half past seven in the morning, but the market place was already bustling with people crowding in front of the stands. Everyone was yelling and pushing, fighting for the freshest produce and loudly bargaining with the sellers.
"Mei Yi! Go to Lao Fu and ask for eight pounds of rice." Marinette's grandmother, Popo, said into Marinette's ear. Popo released Marinette's arm and hobbled away towards a date stand, disappearing into the crowd.
With her basket in hand, Marinette tried to push her way through the crowd. It was no small feat - early morning was the prime time for vendors to open, for busy workers to pick up their groceries for the day and for mothers and grandmothers to come out and fight for the juiciest fruits and leafiest vegetables. There was no guarantee of food, and arriving any later often meant returning home empty handed to angry wives and crying children.
Keeping her head ducked down, Marinette followed whichever direction the crowd pushed her in. She kept her eyes fixed on the ground, carefully watching each step so that she would not accidentally step on anyone's toes.
Marinette's legs took her in whichever direction the crowd of busy shoppers jostled her in. She couldn't tell where she had started, or how far she had gone, or if she was even going in the right direction. Any of other time of day, when the market was nowhere near as crowded, the path Marinette was taking would have been ridiculous.
But Marinette loved seeing all the people around her, busying themselves with lives of their own.
There was something about meeting people you'd never see again that was fascinating, magical. Marinette could have stood in the middle of the market all day, just letting others guide her.
Eventually, some time later, Marinette caught glimpse of Lao Fu's funny little turtle banner and began fighting the crowd to make her way towards Lao Fu.
Squeezing through a small space between a young couple, Marinette threw herself at Lao Fu's rickety cart.
"Oof," the impact with the cart knocked the air out of Marinette, and she stayed there with her upper body dangling rather ungracefully into the heap of rice in Lao Fu's cart.
"Good morning, Mei Yi," Marinette heard from above her. A hand placed itself on her shoulder and helped pull her upright, out of the rice.
Lao Fu stood beside her, wearing his signature bemused expression. Marinette never figured out if his natural expression was bemusement, or if he was secretly laughing at her. She'd wondered for her entire life, and it seemed she would go to her deathbed still wondering.
Shaking the grains of rice off her shoulders, Marinette grinned sheepishly with flushed cheeks. "Hello Lao Fu," she said, bowing at 90 degrees. "How are you today?"
Nodding in acknowledgment, Lao Fu said, "Business as usual, Mei Mei. Eight pounds of rice?"
"Yup!" Marinette chirped, handing her basket to Lao Fu. She watched him hobble over a few steps before Lao Fu set her basket on the cart.
As he scooped rice into Marinette's basket, Lao Fu said, offhandedly. "Mei Mei, there is still rice in your hair."
"Oh!" Marinette gasped, her hands immediately flew to her long, twin braids. Grains of rice flew in every direction as Marinette shook her hair out, messing up her previously smooth braids.
As Marinette finished shaking the rice grains out of her hair, she turned and stepped to where Lao Fu was scooping the last of her eight pounds of rice. Lao Fu handed her the basket, now filled with grains of white rice. Marinette opened her mouth, about to thank Lao Fu, when something suddenly bumped into her back, hard, throwing Marinette off balance.
Marinette fell to the ground, her basket of rice tipping over and spilling everywhere. With dismay, Marinette stared at the fallen rice. Reaching over on her knees, Marinette was about to scoop some grains that had fallen in a pile and salvage what little she could. Before Marinette was able to recover her rice, a lady in heeled boots walked by, scattering the remaining rice and nearly taking Marinette's fingers off.
For a few seconds, Marinette didn't move, frozen in disbelief. Then, she felt Lao Fu's course hand on her arm, gently guiding her back onto her feet.
"Don't worry," he said, "I will give you a new basket. Free of charge." Once Marinette was back on her feet, Lao Fu picked Marinette's basket up from the ground and turned to scoop more rice from his cart.
Brushing the dust and gravel off her coat and qipao, Marinette pushed herself back on her feet. As she did so, Marinette noticed another figure standing by Lao Fu's cart. Looking up, she realized the person was a foreigner. A beautiful foreigner.
A beautiful foreigner with perfect, pale skin and fancy (and expensive!) clothing and angelic hair that Marinette swore sparkled in the sun and big eyes the most beautiful shade of green.
A beautiful foreigner with outstretched hands, as if he had just pushed Marinette.
Angry tears filled Marinette's eyes. With flushed cheeks and damp eyes, Marinette whirled on the foreigner, glaring, having forgotten about the concessions and the consequences. All she knew at that moment was fury, fury that these foreigners had the audacity to come into her country and her home and push her over and spill her rice that she was purchasing with her parents' hard earned money.
"You! How dare you!" Marinette shrieked, pointing at the foreigner with an accusatory finger. The foreigner looked taken aback, raising his hands between them. Evidently he had never faced an angry Shanghainese girl before.
Marinette continued, "Who do you think you are? You selfish whites! No honour whatsoever! You come here and can't even face us on even ground. No, you need to come here and treat us like slaves, like lesser people, to satisfy your own desperate egos. You are despicable. You are nothing. We are a people with a long and rich culture, and we have no room for dirty whites on our land." She emphasized each sentence by jabbing her finger, as if she were digging her nails into the foreigner's chest.
The bustling people who passed them by turned at Marinette's outburst, looking on with mild interest, but continued on their way without even slowing their pace.
At the back of Marinette's mind, the realization that the foreigner wouldn't understand Shanghainese hit her. Abruptly, she switched into French, the only foreign language she could speak.
"You disgust me, I hope you know that. You whites aren't as powerful as you think you are. Get out. There's no place for whites here."
The foreigner's mouth opened in shock, opening and closing wordlessly, clearly not expecting Marinette to know another language. He reached out, and tried to stammer something out, but his voice was stuck in his throat and Marinette didn't care enough for whatever he had to say.
Huffing angrily, Marinette turned on her heel and stormed away, off into the crowd, leaving her basket behind on Lao Fu`s cart.
"And he just pushed me! Just shoved into me and made me spill at the rice! No word of apology, no anything! Those whites, thinking they can do whatever they want just because they're white." Marinette pounded her fists into her bread, kneading the dough with unnecessary force to vent her anger.
Behind Marinette, Alya sat against the wall with her back hunched over, writing furiously onto a sheet of paper. There was no table where Alya sat, so she made do with her lap.
"Girl, don't over knead that dough. Your grandmother will skin you alive if anything else goes wrong today," Alya said, without looking up from her lap.
"Ugh," Marinette smashed her fist into the dough one last time before walking off to retrieve a baking pan. Her steps were heavier than usual, her slippered feet loudly smacking against the wooden floorboards. "It's always my fault. Why can't the whites ever take responsibility for their actions?"
"Because they have been taught falsehoods of their superiority and think they're some master race and the world is their playground for their delusions." Knowing Marinette was unlikely to release her anger anytime soon, Alya abruptly changed the topic. "Have you seen the paper today? Some very important businessmen arrived this morning! I hear that a French nobleman even arrived! Word is that he's looking for a pretty mistress," Alya winked.
Shaping the dough into smaller spherical mounds, Marinette wrinkled her nose. Her entire body visibly shuddered. "That's disgusting. I suppose he's claiming youth at seventy years?"
Alya hummed nonchalantly, "Who knows? Better beware of those fishy Frenchmen, though. I think Grandmother Cheng would rip your hair out with her bare hands if her descendents become any more foreign." Alya then folded up the paper in her lap and smoothed out her long skirt.
"As if that could happen. We barely even see foreigners anymore. The only whites who didn't lose everything in the depression are the nobles and they wouldn't be caught dead in a place like this," Marinette said flippantly. Setting the last bun on the pan, Marinette lifted the pan and pushed it inside the oven.
Alya stood. "But imagine!" she waved her arms around excitedly. "You could be a Madame Chine!"
"More like Madame Chienne," Marinette snorted. She looked down at the flour and dried flakes of dough coating her hands, then brushed her palms together to scrape the flakes onto the wooden counter. "Though shouldn't you be more concerned about Nino, than me? Think you'll become Madame Lahiffe soon?"
Alya gaped, face pursed in an exaggerated scandalous expression. "We're only fifteen! Too young for marriage!"
"But not too young for courting!" With her apron, Marinette wiped the last of the doughy flakes from her hands as she winked at Alya. Marinette continued talking, ignoring Alya's face of feigned disgust. "I'm sure Papa would bake you the most exquisite cake! And Popo and I would make you the most beautiful dress!"
"Why, you!"
Marinette laughed as Alya chased her around the kitchen.
"Just for that I'm going to set you up with the Agrestes myself!" Alya screamed, waving a rolling pin at Marinette's back.
"What's an Agreste?"
"Only the most important family in France! Full of snobs and the like!"
"You would never!" Marinette slowed her pace, as Alya set the rolling pin back on the counter. The pin rolled away the moment Alya let go, not stopping until it rolled into a cup of chopsticks and knocking it over. Alya simply laughed and rested her elbow on Marinette's head.
"We'll see about that."
That evening, Marinette stood outside her family bakery, silver tray of pastries in hand. Her back was rigid, perfectly straight, and Marinette wore a peony pinned behind her ear. She smiled as brightly as she could, though after standing in the humid, thirty degree heat for the better part of the day her expression was rather strained.
When no one was around, Marinette discretely let her shoulders slouch. She slipped a foot out of her heeled pumps, rubbing her sore sole against her other foot. She could feel a blister beginning to form on her toe, not to mention several other tender areas. As she stroked her sore feet against each other, she lost her balance and stumbled. Her tray of pastries tipped, the egg tarts rapidly skidding towards the ground.
A pair of hands reached out to steady her tray. White hands.
Wide eyed and stunned, Marinette looked up and met the brilliant green eyes of the white boy who knocked her to the ground that morning.
He smiled shyly, setting Marinette's tray straight.
"Er, hi? Master Fu said I would find you at a bakery. I'm glad he didn't lead me into a brothel or something." He rubbed the back of his neck and studied Marinette`s egg tarts, unable to meet her eyes.
Unsurprising, given the ferociousness of Marinette's glare.
An uncomfortable silence settled between them. The white boy waited for Marinette to respond. Marinette refused to give him that satisfaction.
While the white boy rung his fingers out as he waited for a response, Marinette slipped her foot back into her shoe. She gritted her teeth as her blisters scraped against the hard leather of her pumps.
"I'm sorry," the white boy said, accepting that Marinette wasn't about to respond, "about earlier? You got the wrong idea, I swear. I was just going to help you up because my friend knocked you over and it looked like a hard landing."
Though Marinette's gaze softened as the boy spoke, she still did not respond.
"I've never really had many friends because my father always insisted on private tutors. I was really hoping that I'd be able to make some here, without father watching my every move, but I guess it's not as easy as I thought it'd be," the boy smiled ruefully. "I'm very sorry for disturbing you, mademoiselle. Please accept this as a token of my apology." He set a basket of rice on the ground next of Marinette's feet.
It was Marinette's basket.
Just as the boy turned to leave, Marinette called out, "Egg tart?"
He froze.
Slowly, he turned back - confusion and disbelief and hope written on his face - to see Marinette with a small smile, offering her tray of egg tarts to him. Tentatively, he reached out and when Marinette lifted the tray to meet his hand, he smiled as his fingers closed around a tart.
"Thank you, my lady." He was beaming now, and Marinette couldn't help but feel uplifted at this boy's elation over such a trivial thing.
"Marinette," she said. "That's my name," she continued after he gave her a confused look, "Marinette."
In an exaggerated, sweeping bow, the boy bent over to kiss Marinette's hand. "Adrien Agreste. A pleasure to meet you, Miss Marinette."
This 1930s China au has been begging to be written okay I had to do it
Also I want to talk about Marinette's name. So I chose to name her 程美艺 (Cheng Mei Yi)。美 (mei) means beautiful and 艺 (yi) means art which is super pretty so I had to ^^;;
Also there are several characters I could have used for her surname, but the one I chose means journey.
By the way, I mention Shanghainese briefly when Marinette is yelling at Adrien because there are diffrent dialects in China and Shanghainese is native to Shanghai. Also, it's very different from standard mandarin so the rest of China can't understand it.
And in China we buy groceries everyday. Even now, fridges are tiny and the humidity makes it hard for food to stay fresh so we buy groceries everyday. In the morning.
Also egg tarts are from Hong Kong, not Shanghai, but I'm using egg tarts because I think everyone knows what egg tarts are. (And because I don't know what any other pastries are called in English ^^;;)