The Naked Wedding: A Short Story

A story about the new China and the real China

My short story collection, ‘The Naked Wedding: and other stories’ is the hardest I worked on any project. Starting in 2014, all the stories were published individually before I finally self-published the collection in 2021.

This, the quietest of the stories, was the first to be accepted. It was run by Cecile’s Writers in 2017, and is no longer online, so I am reproducing here. It is about a female friendship that has been torn apart by the economic miracle.

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As seems to be his only talent, A Lun has ruined Ning’s plan. She hoped to be the best-dressed person in the parlour tomorrow, but now that honour will probably lie with the deceased, who, according to rumour, will be looking resplendent in a red wedding dress.

Another makeshift tradition, Ning and several others who had a place in Yaxin’s life are spending the eve of her funeral at Greek Myth Karaoke Bar. This was A Lun’s idea. Ning’s cousin is certainly the most burdensome member of the family. It is the thought that counts, but his thoughts are entrenched in those of Eternal Edge Village, where she no longer feels at home. This night, with its tinny soundtracks, bottles of Tsingtao, and sweaty gamblers gathered around the bamboo table, has been an ill-judged trip down an already-congested memory lane. And to make things worse, A Lun has spilled red wine diluted with Sprite on the lap of Ning’s white Dior dress while toasting overzealously.

Most attendees play cards or engage in drinking competitions while Ning sits with her legs crossed, watching her cousin with more politeness than is in her nature to muster. He clutches his chest while crooning with agony about the unattainability of uncomplicated love.

Four women, ranging from their early twenties to middle age, wander into the room. “Yaxin’s colleagues from the supermarket,” A Lun announces.

They are still in their black uniforms. Most are forgotten women: old maids, divorcees, those who miscarried. Ning shakes their hands and curtsies but avoids hugging. As disastrous as this night is proving, Ning reminds herself that kind hearts are more important than social skills. She summons her cousin over. He walks with comically good posture, his biceps thrusting at the air as he moves. “I wanna sing next,” she shouts in his ear as he sticks a thumb in the air. She takes one last look at the battered printing paper, which she used to practice the foreign-language lyrics on the plane over.