The Nine Fold Heaven Read online

  These rich people’s boats were lavishly decorated with lanterns, ribbons, and latticed windows. In these pleasant surroundings, the honorable guests would engage in sipping aromatic tea, or expensive wine, dancing, doing calligraphy, reciting poetry, and meditating on the ever-changing waves. The boats were given names based on their unique shapes, like Gourd or Banana Leaf, or poetic images, like Swallow’s Garden, Jade Pavilion, Pine Grove….

  I wondered, in a past life, was I a courtesan entertaining on one of these luxurious boats? Had my past karma led me to be gliding over the water with a high official on his beautiful yacht? I inhaled the clean air, imagining myself living in the purity of tall mountains, far away from this dusty world. But sadly, reality always paints a different picture.

  My life was a boat drifting on a limitless expanse of water—when would it land on the shore?

  Miller seemed to be enjoying himself so much that he was oblivious to my sadness. As we ate and drank, he rambled on about the city and the sights we were passing. I mostly listened, fearing the more I talked, the more chance I would reveal more of myself than was prudent. I didn’t want to spoil this seemingly pure, innocent encounter. Or was it? Maybe he had more in mind than simply rescuing a poor orphan girl from her horrible fate.

  But I put this out of my mind for the moment as the rocking of the boat, soothing in its monotonous rhythm, gave me a sense of peace and security. It was a little cooler now, and the setting sun was casting golden highlights on the waves. Feeling mesmerized and nostalgic, a song involuntarily slipped from my mouth.

  Everyone has parents, but I don’t.

  Where are you hiding, dear mama and baba?

  When, if ever, will we meet?

  Would we recognize each other,

  Or merely rub shoulders as we pass?

  To my surprise, after I finished, my host was blinking back tears.

  I asked. “Edward, are you all right?”

  He took a small meditative sip of his wine, then softly put down the glass. “It’s your singing. It makes me sad, for you—and also for myself.”

  “How’s that?”

  He spoke slowly, his tone sad. “I also consider myself an orphan.”

  I was surprised to hear this and quickly put on a sympathetic expression. “What do you mean?”

  “My parents were missionaries in Shanghai years ago. When I was fifteen, our house burned down and they were killed.”

  “What a horrible accident!”

  “It wasn’t an accident; it was murder.”

  “Murder! But who would want to murder harmless missionaries?”

  I was not at all sure that missionaries are absolutely harmless, and didn’t feel much about his parents, since I would never meet them. But I knew I should sound sympathetic.

  He shook his head, his blond hair glistening under the yacht’s yellowish light, rendering him still handsome but now sad, and vulnerable.

  “It was gangsters.”

  My heart skipped a beat. “They were killed by gangsters?”

  What I really wanted to know was whether they’d been killed by the Flying Dragons or the Red Demons.

  He split a bitter smile. “My parents did nothing but preach God’s good deeds. I think this offended the gangsters because they believe only in their own gods, who don’t mind illegal deeds.”

  To my surprise, my hand had already reached to touch his. “Edward, I’m so sorry for what you’ve been through.” I paused, then, “At least now you have a good life.”

  I suddenly realized why this privileged American ambassador took an interest in me. Because he and I shared the same fate, though he’d known his parents, but I hadn’t.

  I was starting to worry. Although I constantly reminded myself to stay emotionless, was I starting to feel more for this man than was safe for me?

  Edward gently lifted my hand and put it to his lips. Not knowing how to react, I left it there for seconds before I tactfully withdrew it.

  He went on. “When I was at school, someone burned down the house.”

  “Then what happened?”

  “I was fifteen when they died. The church brought me back to live with relatives.” He sipped more wine. “It must be more than coincidence that fate brought us together.” He studied me with his penetrating eyes. “Jasmine, let’s heal together.”

  I feigned a smile. “Thank you for your concern, Edward, but I’m fine, really.”

  “You can trust me with the truth. I can tell you’re hiding things from the world, and also from yourself.”

  I might or might not be hiding things from myself, but I was certainly hiding a lot from the world.

  “Edward, not now please, maybe later.”

  “All right, if that’s what you want.”

  Finally realizing that he would not get anything more from me about this, he changed the subject with another startling announcement. “Henry is adopted.”

  I didn’t know what to say, so I decided not to comment on his son’s adopted status, but instead offered, “Henry is so adorable.”

  This time I really meant what I said. Of course the little boy was adorable, but so are many other little boys. I knew well that the main reason I liked Henry was because except in dreams, I could not express my love for my own Jinjin. I longed for someone to give my motherly love.

  Now Edward took a sip of his bitter coffee, then, “Yes, I love him very much. But he is a reason that my wife and I divorced.”

  “How’s that?”

  “Miranda never wanted to adopt. She thinks it’s because of me that we could not have children of our own. I was the one who insisted on the adoption, and she always resented Henry.

  “Henry was in an orphanage. A couple almost adopted him but at the last minute they changed their mind, so I was lucky.“

  I was very tempted to ask why Henry’s parents gave him up, but suppressed the urge. I didn’t want the ambassador to ask me the same question.

  But he asked another equally unwelcome one. “What is your orphanage?”

  “Edward, it’s Compassionate Light. But please, you cannot come there asking for me.”

  I knew the easiest way to take his mind off this subject. I placed my hand on his arm and stroked it gently.

  “Edward, I am sure you have more important things to think about than a poor girl’s troubles.”

  Anyway, my best strategy for now was to keep him interested in me so that someday, if it became necessary, he’d turn my savior.

  He cast me a piercing look. “You know, Jasmine, you’re a talented, beautiful, mysterious woman. And your fragrance…”

  So he had noticed that. But what man wouldn’t? Women pay a lot for perfume, but I had no need for it, because I was endowed with this natural fragrance. Actually, it was not “natural” because I hadn’t been born with it. Big Brother Wang had made me drink an expensive concoction from an imperial recipe. The esoteric formula consisted of honey mixed with morning dew to which were added chrysanthemum, lily, and ground pearl powder, plus some secret roots from a famous herbalist.

  Once in a while there was a little white arsenic in the mixture. Although white arsenic is used as a poison, a small dose keeps one’s skin tight and wrinkle free. It also gets rid of excess liquid so you don’t look fat, and it warms your blood.

  I’d been forced to drink the concoction by Big Brother Wang so I could bewitch and kill his rival Master Lung. Since I’d escaped to Hong Kong, I’d stopped taking it, because the rumor goes that a woman’s life will be shortened if she drinks this concoction for too long. However, I knew that the “natural” fragrance would still linger.

  Of course, I was not going to divulge the secret of my irresistible body fragrance. Let him think that I was like the famous Emperor Qianlong’s concubine Xiang Xiang, or Fragrance, who bathed only in milk, flowers, and herbs.

  Miller’s cheeks glowed with a pinkish flush, matching the twilight visible through the porthole. Was it the wine, or did he feel suddenly shy in front of
a woman he was so strongly attracted to?

  He moved next to me, gently pulled me to him, and pressed his lips against mine.

  I found this man likable and attractive, but not irresistible. He seemed too reserved and decent. How many men, or women, made names for themselves for being decent? History tells us that it is the bad who get the fame and the women, and the good usually get killed for their efforts.

  Then I realized my top had slipped down, and the ambassador was kissing my bare shoulder, then my breasts, so that my nipples swelled like the rising tide. Now my pants, as if having a plan of their own, kept slipping lower to reveal my narrow waist and my navel, below which lay the dense vegetation surrounding my mysterious fertility.

  Outside the porthole, the rising moon seemed to wink at me, encouraging me to reveal even more. Hmm, I thought… why not? Though I didn’t think I felt anything like love for this foreigner. However, I did enjoy the chance to play my game of seduction, which had been out of practice lately.

  As his hands caressed, he murmured, “Jasmine, you smell wonderful… so wonderful…”

  But when he tried to slide my pants all the way down, suddenly Jinying’s loving face flashed vividly, but sadly, across my mind.

  I gently removed his urgent hand. “Please don’t…”

  The American looked shocked and puzzled. “Jasmine, did I offend you?”

  I shook my head, buried it in my hands, and quietly sobbed.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry. Tell me what’s wrong, please.”

  “I am sorry, Edward. I… I… never had any experience with men.”

  He gently pulled me against his broad chest and rested his head on mine. “Jasmine, I’m sorry, I should have thought of that. Please forgive me.”

  PART THREE

  8

  The Execution

  Three days after the cruise, the execution was to take place. I hated to think what it would be like, but I felt I had no choice as it was a chance to find out what was happening with the Shanghai gangs. Since executions are popular as free entertainment in Shanghai, I had to arrive an hour early to have any chance of finding a place.

  To make it as easy as possible for myself, after I got off the train at Xu Jiahui Station, I took a taxi to take me all the way to the unhappy site—a deserted area a mile from the train station. On the way, I slumped down so as to lessen the chance I would be seen.

  Again, I had disguised myself as a man, wearing the ubiquitous common worker’s outfit of gray cotton jacket and pants. After I paid and got out of the taxi, I slipped cautiously through the crowd toward the execution ground. I took the precaution of concealing a pair of knives under my jacket, in case I suddenly needed my skill in knife-throwing. Crowds at these bloody events could turn bloodthirsty themselves.

  However, the weapons, though cruel, were also beautiful, inscribed with a Chinese saying in elegant calligraphy: A sword worthy of a hero, for a hero worthy of a beauty.

  I carried the knife and possessed the beauty, but my heroes were gone.

  Approaching the ominous area, I saw thick ropes holding back the raucous crowd, from which wafted a pungent odor composed of sweat, rotten vegetation, and other less mentionable substances. To my surprise, some men even carried their children on their shoulders to enjoy an unobstructed view. Free entertainment for the poor and the perverse. To add to their enjoyment of this special outing, working their way through the crowd, were vendors selling food and drink.

  “Aromatic tea-soaked eggs, get two and the third one for free!”

  “Sweet soy milk, good for health and longevity!”

  “Fresh crispy doughnut; if not crispy, get your money back!”

  Inside the ropes a few yards in front of me, muscular and fierce-looking men in uniform were standing guard. Next to them was a wooden cage inside which knelt a man. Who was he? I quietly squeezed, pushed, and meandered my way to the front. Because of my delicate frame, no one seemed to notice me or react to my maneuvering.

  Finally, I was right next to the rope, but the guards, the executioner, and the criminal on the other side were still some distance away. I leaned forward and craned my neck, trying to take a better look at this ill-fated gangster Hong Bin. He seemed too big to be my former boss Big Brother Wang. Anyway, only a few days ago, Wang was enjoying himself at the Bright Moon Nightclub.

  The crowd was growing restless, finding it excruciating to have to wait to see someone die an excruciating death. The executioner, dress in black and with his head covered by a black mask, was a towering man filled with shaqi, “murderous energy.” Like the audience, he also seemed to be eager for the about-to-come, blood-squirting thrill. To my surprise, he was not holding a gun, but an ax. Obviously, he was about to chop off the criminal’s head, a barbaric act I thought had been eliminated a few decades ago. But obviously not. Or maybe the one who’d ordered the execution was especially vengeful and spiteful. So his victim would meet the King of Hell as a headless ghost.

  Finally, fifteen minutes before two in the afternoon, a hush came over the onlookers as a shiny black car materialized like a huge, ghostly cat. A guard dashed to open the door. A uniformed man alighted, and all the guards raised their hands to their foreheads and clicked their heels. It was Police Chief Li, the very same man who had also been hunting for me! I instinctively averted my face.

  Li waved away the guards and approached the execution space, which was marked by a big circle. I supposed the big wooden basin placed in the middle was to receive the squirting blood and the criminal’s head. Nearby, a long, narrow pit had been dug. It must be the burial site for Hong Bin’s body, once it had parted ways with his head. Even though the sun was hot, the sight sent a shiver down my spine.

  Around me people were craning necks and straining eyes, some whispering heatedly, others watching intensely with almost protruding eyes. A woman put her hand across her eyes—I supposed instead of having a full view, she’d see only the splattered blood and rolling head through the cracks of her fingers, thus minimizing her guilt at her act of voyeurism. However, like a married man on his way to the prostitution house, guilt does not win over the anticipation of a “good” time.

  On my left, a child was clapping on his father’s shoulders with a happy expression. Maybe he thought he was about to see a circus act. Good, because everyone was so focused on what was about to happen that no one was paying me any attention.

  Now, one attendant handed Police Chief Li a piece of paper. Li took it, cast murderous, bullet-like glances at the onlookers, and cleared his throat.

  “Good day, ladies and gentleman!”

  I almost burst out laughing. Good day? What a joke! But it was a good day for Li, since he’d scored another conviction and was that much closer to another promotion.

  He went on with a pompous expression. “Today we finally bring an evil man to justice and send an important message to all criminals in Shanghai!”

  The onlookers clapped enthusiastically.

  “Yes, kill him!”

  “The evil always get their evil end; if he doesn’t, sooner or later their time will arrive!”

  Li paused to cast us another blood-curdling look, then said, “This man did nothing but evil. He is a spy, a traitor, a murderer!”

  This time I had to bit my lip hard. Who could be more evil than this police chief himself, the biggest criminal of all?!

  Criminal Li smiled an evil smile. “Don’t worry, he’ll meet his end, in five minutes, I promise!”

  People burst into loud laughing and clapping.

  Two young people nearby were already laying down their bets.

  The skinny one said, “Twenty on his death, anyone want to take my bet?”

  His friend said in a harsh whisper, “I’ll bet a hundred for his escape.”

  The whole group laughed. “Then you’re a sure loser!”

  Just then one of the guards opened the wooden cage and dragged the criminal out. His arms were bent to his back, tied with thick ropes cutting deeply int
o his blood-smeared wrists. Another round of shouting exploded in the murderous air. The man was very tall, at least six feet. Lean, big-boned, and seemingly muscular underneath his gray, loose “execution” outfit. His face looked sunken and his hair long and dirty. But I couldn’t tell if he was someone I knew, because his face was turned away from us and he was blindfolded.

  Li exclaimed with an authoritative air. “Now we announce the execution of Hong Bin, spy, traitor, and a communist!”

  “Hao!” many of the onlookers shouted, itchy for blood.

  He turned to ask the man: “You have any last words?”

  The man tilted his head, shouting, “Be struck by lightning, you turtlehead!”

  No one dared to say anything. I yelled inside. “You have guts, man!”

  Li, his face crimson, kicked the criminal’s head. To everyone’s surprise, the victim didn’t scream, or even moan, as blood trickled down his face.

  Li turned to shout at the executioner. “Ready!”

  The executioner picked up his ax and raised it in midair, ready for action. Another guard pushed the criminal to kneel on the floor, then twisted his head so he was now facing the onlookers.

  Chief Li shouted again. “Take off this man’s blindfold so he can witness his own death!”

  I stared at the bloody face as my heart froze and a chill scurried down my spine like a street rat. The intended to be soon entering-a-coffin-and-turning-a-corpse man was none other than Master Lung’s bodyguard—my secret lover, Gao! How fortune’s wheel turns. Not too long ago, this man was making passionate love to me a few feet from his master’s stateroom as we crossed the Atlantic on our way to Paris.

  I pressed my hand across my mouth so no scream would escape.

  Gao must have lost at least twenty pounds since then, but still looked tough and handsome. I suddenly realized that Hong Bin must be his real name, and Gao the one given by the Flying Dragons after his initiation.

  Now Gao cast a contemptuous look at the evil officers, then at us. Suddenly he spat with full force.

  One of the guards kicked him in the face, yelling. “What’s the matter with you, dead man?”