The Nine Fold Heaven Page 6

  “All right, Edward. What do you want me to sing?”

  He pointed to the live orchestra under the sprays of pink blossoms.” I already told them you sing Carmen beautifully, so they’re prepared. After that, I hope you can also sing a few Chinese songs. As you see tonight, most of my guests are British, French, and American. Some are new here like me. I’m sure they’d love to hear something local and authentic.”

  Talking, he led me to stand in front of the orchestra. Before anything could be said to introduce me, the players had sounded the first notes of the aria.

  I half closed my eyes and meditated. Seconds later, I sank my qi to my dantian, then drew it back up to my chest and head before I delicately exhaled the first words. I did my best to make it sound innocent, vulnerable, and heart-melting like a baby’s breath.

  Love is a gypsy’s child,

  It has never, ever, recognized the law.

  If I love you, you’d best beware!

  The bird you hope to catch,

  Will beat its wings and fly away….

  Love stays away, making you wait and wait.

  Then, when least expected, there it is!

  While I continued to sing, before my eyes reeled bitter memories like a flickering silent movie. I remembered Lewinsky’s warning that love might jump out at me from behind a corner, when I least expected it. Once I’d felt so hopeless about life that I attempted suicide, and Jinying rescued me from drowning in the Seine. When my little Jinjin, whom I’d never met, came into my dreams to comfort me. But now only three months later, they had vanished. Were they all hiding in this sleepless city—or were some already residing with the King of Hell?

  Remembering, I sang with such passion and depth that they even surprised me.

  When I finished, enthusiastic applause broke out, and for the first time in months I had the thrill of being the center of attention again. Bowing and scanning the audience, I saw Edward clapping especially loudly, looking like a teenage boy struck by the lightning called “love.” Now I had no doubt that he had fallen for me. A pretty orphan with a beautiful voice.

  At a corner, Emily and little Henry smiled happily as they clapped. I caught tidbits of conversation from the few in the front table.

  “Who is this Chinese girl?”

  “She’s so good; how come we’ve never heard of her?”

  “How did our new Consul General find her to bring her here?”

  But instead of enjoying the attention, I could only hope these rich and privileged foreigners would forget about me soon after the party.

  Edward spoke up. “Now some Chinese songs please, Miss Chen.”

  All the guest ganged up with him. “Yes, we want Chinese songs!”

  Someone shouted, “What about ‘A Wandering Songstress’?”

  I felt a wave of anxiety. Was it coincidence this man asked for my signature song, or had he seen through my disguise?

  I smiled coyly to the audience. “Sorry, ladies and gentlemen, I don’t think the orchestra plays anything Chinese.”

  But I was wrong.

  The young conductor piped up. “We can do a few, at least the ‘Wandering Songstress’ and ‘Nighttime Shanghai.’”

  Someone exclaimed, “Sing it!”

  Since I didn’t have a choice now, I again rooted my qi in my dantian and filled every word with a bittersweet melancholy.

  At the edge of the sky and farthest corner of the sea,

  I search and search…

  My love, I remember you played the fiddle as I sang.

  In the days when we were of one heart and one mind.

  Now I long for my homeland, in the far north.

  Tears streak down my hollow cheeks,

  Thinking of our happier days together….

  Singing, I watched Edward’s mesmerized expression and the happy faces on the others. Then I segued into “Nighttime Shanghai” to bring my performance to a cheerful climax.

  As I was completely immersed in my singing, suddenly a light flashed from the audience, blinding my eyes. Distracted, I made a wrong note. Fortunately, most people turned to see where the flash came from and didn’t seem to notice my mistake.

  Finally, I finished. As I bowed, the audience shouted out for more.

  But Edward stood up and said, “Ladies and gentleman, let’s thank Miss Jasmine Chen for her wonderful performance and now let her rest so we can all eat?”

  A few still called out for an encore, but soon everyone was eating and absorbed in their chatter. Edward came up to me, took my arm, and steered me through the crowd, past a grand living room into another spacious room filled with books.

  “Jasmine, what can I say? Tonight you conquered everyone’s heart.”

  I smiled but said nothing.

  “Jasmine…” He paused, looking uneasy.

  “Yes?”

  “I would like to know you more.”

  I didn’t respond, and he went on. “I can tell from your singing that you’ve suffered immensely. And I hope you can trust me enough to open up your heart. Of course I don’t mean now since we’ve just gotten to know each other. But I hope we can be friends.”

  Again, I smiled but didn’t respond.

  He lifted my hand and pressed his lips against it. “I can tell you’re exhausted not by your singing, but by the emotions the songs brought back to you. You don’t need to go back to the orphanage tonight; you’re welcome to spend the night here. There are ten guest rooms and I can ask Abigail to prepare one for you. If not, I can take you home. But then you have to wait for a while till all the guests left.”

  But, of course, I was not going to stay. Keeping men in suspense creates mystery and increases desire. This is one of the Thirty-six Stratagems, yuqin guzong, “release in order to capture.” More to the point is the Ming dynasty’s Guide for Whores, which says, “Wives are less tempting than concubines, concubines are less tempting than prostitutes, prostitutes are less tempting than someone else’s wife, but most alluring of all is the woman you failed to seduce.”

  The more doses of mystery you feed a man, the harder he’d fall for you. But why was I even thinking about this? The reason I returned here was to find my true love, Jinying, and our son, Jinjin. Maybe that was my training, or even my nature, that I’d try to seduce any man, or woman, who might be useful to me.

  Can a woman love more than one man at the same time? Well, why not, considering what men do? Chinese history is filled with famous scholars who deemed themselves fengliu caizi, “followers of the wind,” artistic men who bestowed their love on not just one, but a whole entourage of talented, beautiful ladies.

  A good example was the Ming dynasty scholar Qian Qianyi, who, bored with his dull wife, took for his concubine the beautiful and brilliant Liu Rushi, who not only graced his bed but helped him compose his books on Chinese history. Then there was the high official Hong Wenqing, ambassador to four countries, who took the courtesan Sai Jinhua, a politically brilliant woman who once saved the Empress Dowager from an invading army. And many men whose inamorata may not have been particularly talented but brought them happiness anyway. And yet all these men did not entirely lose their affection for their first wives, who, after all, had run their households and borne their children.

  Unlike the first wives selected by the man’s parents, these women were spirited and unconventional. They interacted freely with men, enjoyed wine, traveled on horseback, could entertain by singing, dancing, or playing musical instruments—and excelled in the arts of the bedchamber.

  If a man can love different women, why can’t a woman have more than one love? Not because she doesn’t want to, or cannot, but because society will denounce her. And worse, her own man-poisoned mind will not let her.

  But I was not a proper, decent, or married woman. The rules didn’t apply to a rootless, homeless, relentless skeleton woman like me. So I could follow my heart’s desires wherever they led me.

  But on this occasion, following my heart meant stringing Miller along f
or a while longer. So when the party finished, I politely turned down his offer to stay overnight at the consulate but agreed to let him drive me back. Not all the way to the orphanage, but let off a few blocks away. My reason was the usual—I couldn’t afford to be seen with a foreigner.

  After Miller pulled up at the corner, he leaned over to kiss me. Although his lips merely brushed mine, I could feel the heat of his desire as if he imagined it was my nipples that he kissed. One more man had fallen into my trap. But though I was proud that I had not lost my touch, I felt not so much excited as confused, not knowing if seducing yet another man would be good karma or bad.

  The sensation of the kiss clung to my lips like an insect that could not be brushed away.

  7

  River Cruise

  The next morning, I was jolted when I read Rainbow Chang’s Leisure News gossip column:

  Has the Heavenly Songbird Alighted?

  Yesterday, one of my Pink Skeleton girls reported back to me some exciting news!

  At the American Consul General’s garden reception, a young Chinese singer surprised the partygoers with her beautiful voice. My source said that this singer looked a lot like our beloved, but disappeared, Heavenly Songbird Camilla. But how could it be her?

  If Camilla, the ultimate cunning skeleton woman, flew away from Shanghai, why would she come back?

  Curious, isn’t it, that she disappeared right after her patron Master Lung’s Flying Dragons shoot some still-unidentified victims? Can this be the strategy of mantian guohai, “crossing the sea to fool heaven”? Did her departure for places unknown have something to do with the shoot-out that left many of Shanghai’s eminent gangsters in pools of their own blood?

  Police speculate that Lung’s safe was opened and some valuables taken. If the police are right, then who took Lung’s valuables? Can it be that someone is now living in newfound luxury somewhere? If yes, then why would this person return to the scene of the crime?

  One of my sources says that the singer Jasmine Chen looks very much like Camilla, but another says her hair is too straight and her chin too pointed. We’d all know if the photo of Jasmine Chen taken by my Pink Skeleton girl had not been confiscated by the consulate’s guard.

  But I have my sources, so more to follow….

  Rainbow Chang

  This was most alarming. Why would Rainbow Chang send her girls to spy at the ambassador’s party in the first place? Did she get wind of my return? If so, from whom?

  There were no answers for now, so I went on to read the other newspapers. I felt relieved that besides Rainbow’s column, there was no mention of me in the other papers. But, of course, that didn’t mean I could let my guard down. Rainbow was on to me, even if she didn’t quite come out and say it. No secret was safe from her and her girls—they’d even infiltrated the American Consul’s garden party!

  But then my attention was caught by a small headline in the Shen News:

  Gangster to Be Executed

  Hong Bin, a gangster and spy, will be publicly executed outside Shanghai—a mile from the Xu Jiahui Station—this Sunday at noon. After a thorough investigation by the police and a trial, the gangster confessed that he has been spying and gathering information for the Communist party.

  I suddenly realized this execution must be the same one brought up by one of Miller’s guests at the garden party. I wondered who this Hong Bin was and what gang he belonged to. There were so many gangsters and spies in Shanghai, including me!

  Faced with death, a gangster would likely make a deal to betray his own gang and take refuge with another one. But relationships in Shanghai’s underworld were even more complicated than the fate-determining, crisscrossing lines of our palms. So I wondered what was happening between this Hong Bin and his gang that his boss didn’t just spread some bribes around to set him free.

  I decided to go see the execution. I was curious to know who this ill-fated man was and I hoped that, like me so far, he would somehow escape the hopeless situation.

  But in the meantime a more pleasant event awaited me. After the garden party, Emily told me that her boss would like me to join him for a day on his yacht down the Huangpu River. As I set out for the harbor, the day was pleasant with clouds crossing in the afternoon sky like fishes swimming leisurely in a gigantic tank.

  I arrived at the pier right on time, punctuality being one of my “virtues” as a spy. Edward was already waiting, leaning on a piling on the dock. He waved as he saw me approach, planted a kiss on my cheek, and took my hand. Then he led me to his yacht nestled at the dock among several others floating on the sparkling turquoise river.

  “Welcome aboard!” He enthused, looking very charming in whites—shirt, shorts, shoes.

  He took my arm and helped me on board. Two Chinese in crisp white uniforms stood on either side as we stepped onto the deck, undulating slightly in the gentle swell. After introducing me to the two sailors, he gave me a tour. I didn’t have much experience of boats, but this one seemed to be a cozy little paradise with almost everything. There were deck chairs near the bow and a comfortable cockpit aft with cushions along the benches. Down below was a cozy salon with a small but well-equipped galley including a bar. A door led to a curtained bedroom with a broad bunk. Though I liked his boat and was sure it had cost a lot, it did not seem so impressive compared to the rich men’s mansions I had visited.

  But I said excitedly, “Oh, heaven! It’s so beautiful. I’ve never been in a sea palace like this!”

  Edward gave me an appreciative once-over, his eyes lingering on my breasts and slim waist conspicuous under my simple, crocheted top and blue slacks. Then he took my hand and led me back onto the deck. We leaned on the railing, silently inhaling the fresh air while appreciating our expansive view of the river with its scattered junks, boats, and ships weaving back and forth in front of the city’s skyline.

  “Jasmine, I’m glad you like it. I use this for both business and pleasure. People feel more relaxed out on the water and thus speak their minds more freely. Sometimes I also come here by myself to think or meditate on the flowing river.”

  “How interesting,” I said, calmed by the rhythmically undulating waves, “I also used to come here to sing to the rising sun and its reflection on the water.”

  “Did you?” he cast me a curious look, “When? You mean you could just leave the orphanage and come here?”

  Damn. I’d forgotten Confucius’s famous precept, “A refined person is careful in speech.”

  Fortunately, I had to learn early in life to make up answers quickly.

  “Of course not, they’d never let me do that when I was in the orphanage. It was after I left.”

  The crew already cast us off from the dock and we were now under way, the engine throbbing quietly, making it easy to change the subject.

  “So today there’ll be only the two of us?”

  “Just us, and, of course, my captain and his mate. I like to steer the boat myself, but this way I can enjoy your company.”

  “It’s fine with me, Edward.” I smiled mysteriously. “No one from the orphanage is going to see me here with you.”

  “Jasmine, I’ll be right back.” He returned with two flutes of champagne. “To our wonderful cruise,” he said, smiling handsomely while tapping my flute with his.

  I returned his toast with a coyly flirtatious smile. “To our cruise, Edward.”

  My diplomat friend went on enthusiastically. “We will be passing some of Shanghai’s most scenic spots: the Bund’s Western-style skyscrapers, the Customs House with its bell tower, Shasun Mansion with its pyramid top, the Garden bridge at Suzhou Creek, and many more. I’m sure we’ll have a good time.”

  From behind his back, Edward produced an orange orchid and put it above my ear.

  Staring at a few sea gulls gliding above the waves, I thought of a poem and began to recite it for Edward:

  Last year the plum blossom failed to bloom,

  This year it bloomed aplenty.

 
; Every year the petals unfurl to welcome Spring,

  How many times to appreciate a flower,

  even if you live to a hundred?

  Why busy oneself rushing in all directions?

  After I finished, he exclaimed, “What a lovely poem! And how well you recite it!”

  “You flatter me too much, Mr. Ambassador. Poetry is just a hobby for me. And, Edward, you know so much about Chinese culture!”

  “Jasmine, from the first time I met you I knew you were different from the others. As the Chinese say, ‘After one look at the loftiest mountain, all the other hills look flat.’”

  What a naive foreigner, and a Consul General at that! If only he knew how different I was: That I could throw knives with deadly accuracy. That I was skilled in having sex in the most contorted positions possible. That I was indeed an orphan but rescued from the orphanage, not because of anyone’s compassion, but, on the contrary, to be trained as an assassin.

  After more compliments bouncing back and forth between us like Ping-Pong balls, Edward suggested we go down into the salon for a late lunch. From the galley he took a platter of cold snacks, placed them on the center table, and we began to eat. When he was busy consuming his shrimp, chicken, beef, or whatnot, I took the chance to look around.

  The room was decorated with old charts and paintings of Chinese junks. A wooden shelf was filled with books, held in by an elastic cord. On one wall was mounted a miniature Chinese dragon boat.

  The dragon boat reminded me of what I had read about the Chinese luxury boats of the past. The wealthy would invite a select few to enjoy their aquatic paradise. The guest list might include close friends, celebrities, high monks, talented scholars, beauties, and honest merchants. The last category always amused me. If there are “honest” merchants, are there also “sincere” spies like me, “on the house,” or on the boat, courtesans, “compassionate” gangsters? What about “spiritual” monks, who ate meat, drank wine, and seduced women?