Shanghai Immortal, page 13
‘They can have my title. I don’t want it.’
‘Mmmgh.’ It’s that noise Big Wang makes at the back of his throat that’s half grunt half exasperated sigh. ‘And yet,’ he continues, ‘it is your title. It is who you are whether you like it or not, and that is not something anyone can take away from you.’
‘Mmmgh,’ I grunt in return, dismissing the spiel I’ve heard too many times before. ‘What does the dragon pearl have anything to do with it, anyways? Why don’t you just sell it back to her and be done with it?’
‘When will you get it through that stubborn head of yours, the dragon pearl is not for sale. It is worth more than you know. I can never, will never, sell it. I made some enquiries and it seems your grandmother is worried my banking project will make yin silver redundant. She overheard Lord Black discussing the powers of the dragon pearl and believes it will give her the power to protect her court.’
‘Can the dragon pearl do that?’ I ask.
Big Wang huffs, amused. ‘Who knows what the dragon pearl can or can’t do. Lord Black is always so cryptic, you know what he’s like. Though, with the dragon pearl in our possession, any further challenge to your birthright would be considered a grave insult, not only to the Ministry of Hell but also to the dragons themselves.’
I drop my head to the table and speak with my face pressed into the wood. ‘Why don’t you listen to me? I don’t want that title. I will not be a minister, not for you, not for her.’
The room is quiet though I can almost hear the burning sizzle of Big Wang’s gaze.
Mr Lee breaks the silence. ‘Who is Lady Jing’s grandmother?’
Big Wang picks up a piece of dried cuttlefish. ‘Niang Niang, the matriarch of the Hulijing Court. I don’t think she’s ever forgiven me for taking such a treasure from her.’ He chews the cuttlefish and eyes me, waiting for my reaction.
I pluck a few peanuts from the bowl. With practiced nonchalance I toss them into my mouth one by one as I eye him right back, refusing to let him see how much his words sting. I give good mahjong face too.
Mr Lee breaks the mahjong face face-off with a panic-riddled, ‘Lady Jing is hulijing?’
‘Only half. The other half is vampire,’ I say.
‘Vam-pire?’ From the look on his face, he doesn’t know the term. The dough-knot he’s holding dusts his black changpao with powdered sugar.
‘Surely you’ve read Dracula? Or Varney the Vampire?’
He shakes his head; the dough-knot lays forgotten on his lap.
‘And you call yourself Mr Columbia-Yale? Pish! Dracula is fascinating! You really must read it – it’s all about this vampire, Dracula, an immortal from Transylvania who drinks mortal blood to live. He—’
Big Wang interrupts me. ‘Surely you haven’t read any of the banned books on vampires, Little Jing?’ His expression is genial, but I know better. ‘It was one of Niang Niang’s conditions for the truce between the Ministry of Hell and the Hulijing Court. The truce I was forced into after you set fire to one of Niang Niang’s handmaids.’
I channel every single lesson Horsey has ever given me on propriety: to signal my virtue, I fold my hands at my waist like the ladies of yore; I give him my gravest expression, full of duty and obedience – I’ve practiced in the mirror enough, even that long-dead stick in the mud Confucius would approve; finally I make my voice silky soft so it oozes meek deference and recite my favourite poem about the futility of resistance. ‘Though I slice the water with my sword, it still flows. Though I raise a cup to drown my sorrows, they only grow.’
Big Wang coughs into his fist. I’m pretty sure there was a laugh in there, because he knows the resistance I mean is not mine, but his in accepting me for who I am. I allow myself a smug smile. Mr Lee is still staring at me. I give him a quizzical look, but he doesn’t react.
‘Vampires do not exist in the realms of Tian,’ Big Wang explains to Mr Lee. ‘They are a foreign creation. Transylvania, I believe? Lady Jing is unique in all the Middle Kingdom, both yin and yang realms. She prefers mortal blood, though, like all spirits of Tian, yang energy can also sustain her.’
‘Half-hulijing. I see.’ Mr Lee looks a little green.
Stupid. I should have expected this. Mortals, especially mortal men, know the tales of hulijing. Beautiful women with pale, plump ta-tas practically spilling from their robes. They seduce unsuspecting men and then suck them dry of yang life force. I lack the ta-tas and the inclination to get romantic with idiot men. Breaking their necks is much more straightforward. And besides, I do have self-control, much as Horsey would deny it.
‘Those xiao long bao with the “herbs” you didn’t want me to eat, they weren’t really filled with pig’s blood were they?’
I hesitate, about to say of course they were, but even though a part of me doesn’t want to, I shake my head. Mr Lee shifts further in his chair, as if trying to put more distance between us. A flicker of annoyance runs through me. I saved his yang butt three times already from hungry spirits. Four if I include the second lot of jiangshi. And he hasn’t even been here twenty-four hours. Ingrate.
Big Wang turns to me. ‘There are two more days of Council; I need to convince a few more key ministers to back my banking project. It is better if you are not here to cause trouble, or attract it, so I’m sending you to mortal Shanghai. Your temper is your downfall, Little Jing. The Hulijing Court will use that to their advantage. I cannot afford another Flaming Bitch incident. Besides, the dragons would pull out my insides and make a lantern of my skin if I ever allowed the dragon pearl to be bartered for political gain.’
‘You want to send me to mortal Shanghai?’ It’s the first time I’ve ever been allowed out of Hell. I’ll be able to see a sunset and a sunrise. And even stars in a mortal night sky. I swallow my excitement, tug my mahjong face tight. ‘Will Bullhead and Horsey come too?’
‘Lord Nioh and Lord Ma,’ Big Wang says, his words slow and deliberate.
‘That’s right. Them,’ I say brightly, ignoring his warning. I pick up a clump of dried cuttlefish and shred it into long strips. I know Big Wang’s gaze is on me; a cool, heavy burden. I also know he’ll let it go in san, er, yi—
‘No, they will not,’ he says, right on cue. ‘I need them to keep an eye on Lady Soo and her handmaids. Mr Lee will accompany you.’
‘What—?’ Mr Lee and I say in unison.
Big Wang continues calmly. ‘Mr Lee will chaperone you in the mortal world. You do not know the streets of mortal Shanghai. It is different there. In the mortal realm, war rages outside Shanghai, and inside a power struggle between foreign nations. Mr Lee will guide you and ensure you are fed with food and blood’ – Mr Lee makes a garbled noise – ‘during your stay in mortal Shanghai.’
‘No!’ I say. ‘I don’t need a chaperone. And definitely not him.’
Mr Lee’s complexion has gone waxy. ‘Blood? Wh-wh-who’s blood?’ He pushes on the arms of his chair as if he could meld into the wood, his eyes wide, darting between Big Wang and me.
‘Are you serious?’ I say to the coward. I wish I still had Mafan to add some extra to my glare. ‘I just spent the entire morning with you, watching your back. Now you’re afraid that I’ll drain you dry? I could’ve done that a thousand times over by now. Starting on the dock when you arrived in Hell without a proper Lei talisman to protect you!’
I chomp on my cuttlefish, stewing with indignation. I can’t even look at him, I’m so insulted. And if I’m honest, hurt. We sit in silence. Big Wang finishes three dough-knots before Mr Lee clears his throat.
‘Ten thousand apologies, Lady Jing. I should never have impugned your honour. You have saved me twice—’
‘FOUR times.’
Mr Lee frowns, counting on his fingers. ‘The two jiangshi, and the lady ghost, that’s only two.’
‘And the other jiangshi and Lady Gi?’
Mr Lee looks suitably chastised. He bows. ‘Ten thousand apologies. I had forgotten those incidents. Though you did try to abandon me when the guards showed up.’
I scoff. ‘You had the safest yaojing in Hell at your side.’
‘You should have told me what you are,’ he counters.
‘You never asked. It’s not like being a mongrel is something one announces at first acquaintance.’
‘Little Jing, do not use that term.’ Big Wang uses his serious voice on me.
‘Yeah, yeah,’ I say, waving his words away like he did mine.
Mr Lee pulls a frown worthy of Horsey and runs a hand through his hair. He catches my gaze. His eyes are no longer frightened. They’ve gone steely. Hells no. Turd-for-brains is going to apologise, again.
He stands, slaps his fist into his hand, and bows low. ‘You’re right, Lady Jing—’
‘Contain this worthless one’s outburst,’ I pitch my voice low and slow, mimicking Mr Lee’s courtly dog-fart. I wave his words away too. ‘May sherrr.’ No problem, you rotted turd-egg.
Big Wang pats the air in a gesture meant to calm. ‘Where were we? Ah yes. You thought I was asking you to feed Little Jing your blood. That is unnecessary. She can drink from the dead.’
I remember the smell of the corpses in the river. The decaying stench – my stomach clenches and I gag. ‘Ew. No. Can’t Old Zao make me blood dumplings? You get the mortal papers delivered every day. Surely your couriers can bring dumplings back for me? I don’t want to drink from a rotting body.’ The thought makes me gag again. I point at Mr Lee. ‘If he has to come, he can put the blood in a nice clean glass.’
Big Wang laughs, actually laughs at me. I give him my meanest stink-eye, which just makes him laugh harder. I cross my arms, torn between disgust at having to feed off corpses and an almost painful yearning to see a real sunrise.
‘You are an adult. It is time you figure out how to feed yourself,’ Big Wang says, looking between me and Mr Lee who now wears a look of earnest endeavour which makes me feel even more nauseous. I hold a hand up to block his face from view. ‘Little Jing has blood twice a day, once with breakfast and then a second time as a midnight snack. She has lunch, dinner and a bowl of noodles or dumplings around 4 p.m. Be sure she is fed or you will have to contend with a cranky Little Jing, and no one wants that.’
‘Hey,’ I say, not liking this assessment of my character. ‘You’re cranky too when you’re hungry.’
Big Wang makes a sound that’s half grunt, half huff – not a denial but not an agreement either.
Since the dragon pearl seems to be somewhere safer than the Treasury, there isn’t a lot I can do to get back at Lady Soo, unless . . . I lean forward. ‘Do you think the hulijing are behind the fake talisman? The Hulijing Court mines yin silver after all. Maybe they wanted to sabotage your plans by getting rid of Mr Lee.’
Big Wang considers my words then nods slowly. ‘It is possible, though we have no evidence. It doesn’t matter though; Mr Lee brought the information I needed, and he will be here to consult on the project.’ He plucks a few peanuts from the bowl and pops them in his mouth.
I know the Hulijing Court makes the talismans and Brother Zhu picks them up for the Ministry of Thunder and brings them to the mortal realm. He’s rarely in Hell, but I’ve heard he’s often in yang Shanghai. Maybe I can talk to him, find out if the switch happened in the Hulijing Court, or after.
As if he can read my mind, Big Wang says, ‘If you want me to fix those roosters for you, then stay away from the hulijing, even in mortal Shanghai. They are bound by our laws to not bring dishonour on Tian, but I fear the chaos that may occur if you cross paths. You are not to draw attention to yourself. I don’t believe the two are connected, but even if they are, I want to keep you well away from Niang Niang’s machinations – which is the whole point of sending you to mortal Shanghai.’
I keep my expression placid, as if approaching the hulijing is the furthest thing from my mind.
Big Wang presses his lips together, then finally turns to Mr Lee. ‘In exchange for making sure Little Jing is safe in mortal Shanghai’ – Mr Lee raises an eyebrow at the word safe – ‘I will waive the requirement for you to work as an indentured servant after your death.’
I give them both a quizzical stare. ‘What kind of deal is this? I thought Mr Lee was here to help set up the Central Bank of Hell? Why would he need to be an indentured servant?’
Big Wang looks to Mr Lee, giving him the chance to speak. But Mr Lee doesn’t let his mahjong face slip. Turd-eggs. I cross my arms. Fine.
Big Wang takes something from his silwar pocket. ‘Wear this while you are in yang Shanghai.’ He hands me a curved white jade pendant on a red silk cord. ‘This belongs to the Jade Emperor himself. It has the Queen Mother of the West’s qi embedded in the jade. If you are wounded or hurt in any way, break the jade, release the qi. It will protect you.’
The carved jade phoenix is cool in my hand, the white crisp and luminous. Three bold strokes of colour swirl across the bottom – black, red, and green – each colour expertly carved into a sweeping tail feather. Big Wang does not give or ask for favours lightly; to borrow a personal item from the Jade Emperor for my sake is a huge deal.
I get to my feet and bow low. ‘By your fortune, this unworthy one offers an ocean of gratitude.’
Big Wang laughs, a hearty rolling thunder that fills the room. ‘Lord Ma will be so proud to hear of your proficiency in courtly piss-fart.’ He rises and pats my back. ‘You will stay at the mortal Cathay Hotel under the name Miss Wang. Willie Leung will meet you at the jetty. He represents my interests in mortal Shanghai and will arrange anything you need. If you’re ready, my guards will accompany you to the docks.’
‘Docks? Isn’t there another way into mortal Shanghai?’
Big Wang looks at me, clearly perplexed. ‘It’s the usual way – through the veil over the Whangpoo.’
Mr Lee stands suddenly. I narrow my eyes at him. If he gives away my weakness, I’ll have his brains for porridge.
He bows. ‘This worthless one is deathly afraid of water. Is there another way through?’
Wait— What?
Big Wang gives Mr Lee a funny look. ‘Normally yes, but it takes time to prepare. It is impossible at this short notice.’ Big Wang tilts his head to the side, scrutinising the mortal. ‘You made it through fine the first time.’
Mr Lee nods vigorously. ‘Yes, you are right. But I was inside a bag. That made it bearable.’
‘We could put you in a bag again.’
Mr Lee’s mouth opens and closes like a carp. ‘They put me in a bag to keep me from seeing who was bringing me over.’ His gaze darts to me, then back to Big Wang. I’m enjoying this too much to help him. He licks his lips. ‘Well, perhaps since it helped the first time, being inside a bag will help again.’
Big Wang nods. ‘Consider it done.’
He turns to leave, but Mr Lee says, ‘Though – perhaps since I will be with Lady Jing, then her company will help distract me from my fear. So, perhaps, the bag won’t be necessary after all, if Lady Jing would be willing to offer this worthless one some of her venerable attention.’
He turns those rotted doe eyes on me. I suck my teeth. How can someone so big remind me so much of a helpless child?
I sigh dramatically, like it’s a huge imposition. ‘It’s okay, Big Wang, I’ll make sure he’s fine. No need for the bag.’
Big Wang gazes between us as if trying to decipher some secret code, then shrugs. ‘May your path be smoothed by winds of favour. Spend three days in the mortal realm, Little Jing. Come back on the full moon.’
Twelve
Piercing the Veil
I stand at the edge of the Bund, facing the jetty. Attached to it is a gangway which connects to the floating pontoon where Fisherman Lo waits in his sampan. Below us stream the dark currents of the Whangpoo River, rising with the tide. My feet don’t want to move, and I definitely don’t want to be stuck on a few planks of wood in the middle of the river. I remind myself that on the other side of the veil is the sun. Which means, there’ll be a sunset. And then stars followed by sunrise. I just have to make it across the river. I close my eyes and try to picture a sunrise. A rainbow of colour sparkling in the sky? Or reverse ink wash – the colour seeping into the sky and chasing away the dark? I was so little when I left the Celestial realms for Hell, I only have my childhood impressions, murky and blurred.
I grip the handle of a small suitcase in which I’ve packed a couple qipao, matching slippers, and two hair pins. Mr Lee stands at my side.
I can do this. I will do this.
Mr Lee holds his arm out. ‘Ready?’ His smile is tentative. He’s still trying to make up for earlier.
I give him a hard glare. I’m not ready to forgive him yet. Even so, I lift my chin and link my arm through his. I pray to every deity I know to keep me from embarrassing myself. Together we step onto the jetty. The structure is solid, thick planks of wood supported by great metal pilings driven deep into the riverbed. It’s just like the zigzag bridge to the Lake Heart Pavilion. Solid, unmoving. We make it across without mishap. Now the gangway. I hesitate, but Mr Lee pats my hand and pulls me along.
The gangway is made of metal, but it’s thin. It clanks and bounces with our every step. I feel myself slowing, the cold creeping up my body, but Mr Lee keeps to a fast clip; he doesn’t let us dawdle.
Fisherman Lo stands at the stern of his sampan, watching us approach. He leans on the yuloh oar, one weathered end anchored by a long thick rope attached to a brass ring on the side of the sampan, the other end of the oar disappearing into the black waters. My teeth chatter. Only when Mr Lee tugs me gently forward off the gangway, do I realise I’ve stopped moving. The pontoon isn’t large, there’s only enough room for the one sampan; it’s but five steps from here to the boat. Even so, the distance stretches impossibly far. The feel of cold water wraps around my throat. My legs aren’t working right. Mr Lee tugs again, a little harder, forcing me onto the pontoon. The whole thing sways. My breath hitches.
