The Crazy Rich Asians Trilogy

“Your grandmother’s pearl earrings. The combination is on them.”

“Oh my God! The earrings! Let me call my wife!” Nick said in astonishment. He quickly called Rachel’s cell phone, and moments later she answered in a sleepy voice.

“Honey, sorry to wake you. Yes, I’m in Chiang Mai now. Remember those earrings I gave you? The pearl earrings from my grandmother?”

Rachel crawled out of bed, went over to the dressing table and opened the drawer where she kept her jewelry.

“What am I looking for exactly?” she asked, still half asleep.

“Do you see any numbers carved on the pearls?”

Rachel held a pearl stud up to the window light. “Nothing, Nick. It’s totally smooth and luminous.”

“Really? Can you look again?”

Rachel closed one eye and squinted at each pearl as closely as she could. “I’m sorry, Nick, I see nothing. Are you sure we’re talking about these earrings? They are so tiny, I can’t imagine where someone would hide any information, unless it’s inside the pearl.”

Nick thought back to what his Ah Ma told him when she had handed them over. My father gave these to me when I escaped Singapore before the war, when the Japanese soldiers had finally reached Johor and we knew all was lost. They are very special. Please look after them carefully. The words took on a whole new significance now. He stared at the safe, wondering what it could possibly hold. Would there be gold bullion bars, stacks of old bonds or some other type of financial documents that would help him secure Tyersall Park? What was in there that was so valuable to his grandmother that she would go to such great lengths to protect it?

“Rachel, I’m sure those are the earrings. Maybe we do need to crack them open. Or maybe the numbers appear if you put them in water? I dunno, try anything,” Nick said in frustration.

“Well, before we destroy these lovely pearls, let me try the water thing.” Rachel went into the bathroom and turned on the tap to fill the sink. She looked at the earrings again—they were simple pearl studs on gold posts, each with a little gold disk as backing. Before dipping one of the earrings into the water, she decided to pry the backing off the stud. Suddenly she gasped. There, on the underside of the backing were tiny Chinese characters carved into the gold. “Nick, I never thought I’d ever get to say these words, but…EUREKA, I’VE FOUND IT! There are Chinese characters carved into the backing of the earrings!”

Rachel quickly deciphered the numbers: “9, 32, 11, 17, 8.” Nick turned the dial to the corresponding numbers, his heart pounding as each of the locks seemed to click into place one by one. When he finally turned the lever to open the safe, he held his breath, wondering what he would find inside.

The safe door creaked open, and when Nick peered inside, all he saw were small red leather-bound books, neatly arranged in stacks. He took one of them out and began flipping through its pages. Every page was written in Chinese, and Nick realized he was looking at his grandmother’s private diaries, beginning from the time she was a child to her adulthood.

“Why are these here?” Nick was completely mystified.

Jirasit gave Nick a serene smile. “Your grandmother was a very private person, and I think she felt that this was the only place she could leave them for safekeeping, without the risk of anyone seeing them or censoring them after she was gone. She never wanted them kept in Singapore, and she never wanted them to leave this compound. You are the historian, from what I’m told, so she wanted you to have access to them. She told me you would one day come.”

“Is this all there is? These diaries?” Nick asked, bending down to peer more closely into the dark safe.

“I believe so. Was there something else you were looking for?”

“I don’t know. I guess I had imagined that she would have some other valuable treasures stored away in here,” Nick said a little disappointedly.

Jirasit frowned. “Well you should read them, Nicholas. You may find a great many unexpected treasures within those pages. I’ll leave you be, and perhaps we can meet up again for lunch at noon?”

Nick nodded, as he took a stack of journals out to the desk. Deciding that the best thing to do was read the journals chronologically, he reached to the bottom of the pile for the oldest journal. As he opened the cover gently, the leather binding cracking after decades of stillness, he began to hear his grandmother’s young voice in her handwritten words.

March 1, 1943

It feels like we have been riding for a week, but Keng tells me it has only been three days. Whenever we reach a new outpost I ask him if we are still on the estate and he sighs frustratedly. Yes, we are. Apparently, my mother’s family is the largest landowner in West Sumatra, and it would take a full week on horseback to traverse the estate. The highlands are glorious—rugged with a strange wildness to everything. On another trip, it might have even seemed romantic. If I had only known we would be spending so many days riding just to get to my brother’s house, I would have brought my own saddle!

March 2, 1943

Finally arrived. They take me upstairs to see Ah Jit, and at first I don’t understand what is going on. My brother lies unconscious, his handsome face so swollen and purple I can hardly recognize him. There is a deep, bloody gash on his right jaw that they are trying to keep from being infected. I asked what was going on? I thought the

cholera was under control? “We didn’t want to tell you till you got here. It’s not cholera. He’s bleeding internally. He was tortured by Japanese agents. They were trying to get him to give up the locations of some key people. They broke his body, but they couldn’t break him.”

March 5, 1943

Ah Jit died yesterday. He was awake for a while, and I know he was happy to see me. He tried to talk, but I stopped him. I held him in my arms and kept whispering into his ear, “I know, I know. Don’t worry. All is well.” But all is not well. My darling brother is gone now and I have no idea what is to be done. This morning I walked outside into the garden and saw that all the rhododendron trees have bloomed overnight. Suddenly they are bursting with flowers, in shades of pink I never knew could exist. Blooms so thick, they brushed against my face as I walked through the garden weeping uncontrollably. Ah Jit knew how much I loved these flowers. He did this for me. I know he did.

Nick stared at the journal, feeling utterly confused. None of this made any sense. His great-uncle Ah Jit was tortured by the Japanese, and his grandmother was there? But wasn’t she supposed to be in India during the war? He leafed through a few more pages, and a loose letter fell out. As Nick glanced over the crisp but yellowing letter, a chill ran down his spine. He couldn’t believe his eyes.

CHAPTER SIX