"Hi, the paintings in this area are all 50 percent off. Let me know if you have any questions. I'll be around," the gallerist said politely. Ying smiled back to the gallerist who was about her age and had an Asian face but spoke fluent English. "Should I just leave?" she thought. Attracted by the painting in front of her, she decided to stay for a while, hoping to find some peace through art and as a way to forget the fact that she was just fired from an apparel design startup.

Ying wandered between different exhibition spaces each devoted to a different subject – wild birds, ocean creatures, ballerinas, and portraits. While she was reveling in the beauty of the art, one oil painting on the corner lit dimply caught her attention. The name of the painting was "A Woman in Qipao. 1950." Different from other paintings at the gallery, this one didn't have any description. "Did the gallerist forget to display the painting with a label? Who is the woman in this elegant white body-hugging dress?" Tons of questions suddenly surged in her mind.

Slowly, her jumpy mind quieted. It's so quiet that she could almost hear the whispers from the woman with staring eyes in the painting. "Hey, what's your name?" a sound appeared from the woman. Ying was startled and took a step back, unable to fathom if this was just her hallucination or not. While she was still at a loss, the gallerist approached her. "The woman in the painting is my grandma. Isn't she beautiful?" the gallerist asked proudly, "This piece of art was painted by my grandpa a long time ago. Many customers are willing to pay a high price for it, but it isn't for sale," said the gallerist, smiling and heading toward a lady in a black dress who had just come in.

Feeling intrigued, Ying stepped forward and studied the painting again carefully. The woman was sitting on a reddish-brown sandalwood chair, with her hands leaning on the arm of the chair. Her mouth slightly open, and her delicate facial features stood out from her qipao patterned with big red plum blossoms. Her white qipao was so shimmery that the flowers were swaying from different angles, as if they were alive. On the table, a blue-and-white Chinese porcelain teapot and a cup stood on a richly embroidered lace table runner. "She must come from a rich family," Ying mumbled. Immersed in the woman's beauty, Ying heard the voice again.

"Hi There!" Ying was wide-eyed and speechless, "Please don't be panicked. I just wanted to chat with you. My name is Jiazhi. I have been hung on this wall for more than two years, and no one seemed to be able to hear me except you. Not even my own grandson who runs this place." She looked down to the floor with a desolate countenance, "Sometimes I hope he could add more Oriental paintings to this gallery so that I won't be too lonely, but he seems to be obsessed with Western pieces only. Perhaps being born in the U.S. has made him forget his roots and culture. Anyway, what I want to tell you is that when you first walked in, I noticed that you sighed several times. Is anything bothering you?" she leaned her body forward, waiting for an answer. Ying nodded, as if the woman were a fortune teller who could easily see through people.

"Well, I don't know what you've gone through, but you just remind me of the time when I first arrived here," the woman chuckled and sat back, "I was born to a wealthy family in China, as you guessed, but my family didn't support me with a penny after I eloped with the man who painted this portrait of me, out of desire for love and for freedom. He was a poor college student back then, but he was so talented and handsome," she smiled shyly. "After we got married, I followed him to New York. Life was tough then, but it was also unforgettable. We were so naïve, yet so bold," the woman said with utter dignity with her head held up.

"When he was pursuing his degree, I was not idle. I found a job at a tailor shop in Chinatown out of my interest in design. At that time, our standards for clothing materials and specifications were quite high, which isn't true today. Can you imagine a person who had never done housework and then suddenly she found herself sitting in front of a sewing machine from morning to night? Well, that's me. I started working as an assistant and worked my way up to a designer. If you go look up the fashion magazines 40 years ago, maybe you still could find the dresses I designed," the woman said, taking up her tea cup from the table.

"Immigration is always hard. It was hard in my time, and I imagine in yours. If this is your choice, then go for it; if you have anything you want to do, then you must have the courage to pursue it. Life is worthwhile if you dare to pursue your dreams. But no matter what, just try to remember – haste makes waste. Don't rush in your immigrant journey. You may feel excited in the beginning, followed by moments of struggle, and expect to feel tired, restless, and sometimes furious, but all of these feelings are essential parts of your journey. Not one more, and not one less. Before you give up, just give yourself a little more time. Time will give you wisdom and strength. Remember that. Just remember." The sound stopped. While Ying was still wondering about the sudden disappearance of the voice she was hearing, the gallerist appeared again.
"You said this is your grandma. Where is she now?" Ying asked anxiously.

"She passed away before I was born. I wish I could have met her in person," the gallerist paused for a moment, "Have I mentioned that my grandma was a designer of qipao? My father used to show me the patterns she designed, but no one wears qipao anymore."

Shocked by the fact of the woman's death, Ying mulled over again what she had experienced. Pondering if this was a sign or just her inner voice, Ying decided to listen to the woman's advice and gave herself another chance. "Qipao will be my next line of clothing." she thought firmly. Just as she was about to step out of the gallery, a voice came from behind her.

"Hey, we will have an exhibition with self-portraits by contemporary artists next month. If you are available, you are very welcome to visit. My name is Kent by the way. This is my business card and exhibition information. Hope to see you again," he said with a charming smile.

"Sure, I'd love to," Ying answered bashfully. She attempted to smile sweetly while biting back the words that the woman just told her. As their eyes met, she decided to say something, "You know what? If your grandma were still alive, she would have been very proud of you. If you don't mind, I'd like to learn more about your grandma's designs. I'm actually a cloth designer. Maybe I can do something to bring her fashion back."

Kent thought for a moment and suddenly felt a burst of excitement. He wasn't sure where this pleasure came from – was it the proposal that attracted him or the girl herself?

"Sounds like a great idea. Maybe we can even hold a qipao exhibition together here in the future. I can accent it with some Chinese paintings hanging on the wall as decoration, and you can put your qipao in the front window," he said enthusiastically with gestures.

"How about your grandma's portrait?" she reminded him with a cheerful sound.

"Oh, you're right. Grandma's portrait should be moved to the front."

The laughter of the two filled the room, while the woman in qipao smiled and looked at her Masterpiece right in front of her.