Wun Kim Ming was born in a small village in southern China called Hung Mi Chien in 1869, to a prestigious medicine man and his highborn wife. They had hoped their first-born would be a boy, but her father was a kind man who accepted a daughter with the compassion of a true doctor. He did not abandon his baby daughter in a river, as was customary for the Chinese at the time. Very few wanted a girl that would not carry on the family name.
But no matter. There were other children yet to be born for Wun Kim’s parents. And sure enough, Wun Kim was followed by four brothers.
The village of Hung Mi Chien was bordered by a rocky shoreline backed by picturesque mountains. The rivers that cut steep-sided valleys were short and fast-flowing. The chief areas of settlement in southeastern China, including Hung Mi Chien, were on narrow strips of coastal plain where rice was produced. The fishing industry at the port flourished, and there was a port in Hung Mi Chien where ships came and went. The buildings in the town were stone and some residences were bordered by high stone walls. The climate was tropical, and typhoons occasionally hit southeast China between July and September.
Nevertheless, when the weather was good, young Wun Kim loved to explore the town, scampering around all over the place. Besides reading, it was her favorite pastime. There was no one her age who could run faster than she. The summer she was nine, she ran like the wind. She climbed the rocky coast and watched from afar the ships arriving from far-away places at the wharf from her perch. She scampered through the streets and observed the markets where peasants hawked their wares. She took off her padded cotton-soled shoes with red satin and embroidered butterflies on top and fearlessly dipped her feet in one of the rivers, enjoying the rapid eddies that swirled around her feet.
One day that summer, she was running past a house fenced in by a high stone wall, punctured only by a gate, which was open. Wun Kim paused at its entrance. Unable to suppress her curiosity, she opened the gate wider and peered inside. She could barely believe her eyes. There, in the middle of someone’s garden was the most beautiful cherry tree. It was obviously in the first bloom of the season. She stared, transfixed by the rosy white petals, so graceful and dainty and striking against the greenery of the garden.
She jumped as she heard a gravelly voice behind her. "What are you doing, you little thief? Planning to steal my fruit? Get out of here, you little ragamuffin, before I crush your skull with my spade!" Wun Kim started to run. "Yes, go! Go! Nobody intrudes in my garden! I’ll teach you a lesson so you’ll never come back!"
Wun Kim needed no further incentive. She was already dashing back through the gate and ran all the way home, convinced the owner of the cherry tree was after her. It was late when she got home, and her grandmother frowned on her disheveled appearance. She addressed Wun Kim’s mother. "Why do you allow your daughter to run all over the town like a common peasant’s daughter?"
Wun Kim’s mother had no answer, but her grandmother had an idea. That evening, they bound her feet so she could never run again.
They bent her toes over and under and wrapped a black silk cloth round and round her feet, starting at the toes and finishing at the heel. Silk socks went over, held in place by ribbons tied around the ankle. "There," said her grandmother. "Now you match your ancestry." It was a mark of prestige for girls to have their feet bound.
They had her make shoes for her dowry as much to prove her skill in needlework as for proving her small feet.
Wun Kim’s father wanted her to marry well, so he wouldn’t have to worry about her. However, he was dismayed when, at fifteen, Wun Kim took a liking to the town daredevil, Kam Chong Chang, a young man of eighteen. She would look at no other boys from the moment she laid eyes on him.
In 1867, when Kam was one year old, his father, a peasant farmer nearby the village heard about the opportunities in America. In 1868, the Burlingame-Seward Treaty allowed free immigration between the U.S. and China. That same year, Kam’s father joined a shipload of Chinese men on the next ship sailing for America to work on the first transcontinental railroad and earn money. Kam’s father was never heard from again. He might have been killed laying railroad tracks, as many Chinese laborers were in that dangerous line of work. But Kam’s father had never been well liked in the small Chinese village. He looked slightly different from the other Chinese. He came from mysterious origins. His eyes were bigger than the typical Chinaman, and he was tall for an Asian. Kam’s mother told him a secret about his father. "Be careful," she warned. "The walls have ears." Which meant, of course, not to talk about it. If people got wind of it, there would be no end to the wagging tongues and they would be shut out of normal society.