He looks at me like I’ve grown three heads. ‘You have a phobia of water, and yet you live in a pavilion in the centre of a lake.’
‘I like where I live. Being inside a building, up a flight of stairs, somehow that makes it okay. But bridges and water, I can’t linger.’ I shrug, unable to explain things better than that.
Mr Lee scratches his head. ‘These bao are indeed delicious. And I can’t fault the location. It is beautiful here.’
Old Zao puts a freshly steamed basket in front of me. They pass me a pair of chopsticks and a small dish of sliced ginger and black vinegar.
I pick up a mouth-sized parcel and take a careful bite. The taste makes me groan, it’s so good.
‘Yours are different from mine.’
I open my eyes to see Mr Lee picking up one of my blood bao. Before Old Zao can react, I catch the bao in Mr Lee’s chopsticks between mine. ‘You can’t eat that.’
He leans back. ‘Why not?’
I can’t bring myself to say it, feeling self-conscious about my need for blood.
Old Zao wades into the awkward silence. ‘I’ve added women’s herbs and pig’s blood for Lady Jing to recover her strength. Better you don’t eat hers; I will steam you some more.’
Mr Lee releases the bao; but my chopsticks get tangled with his and I lose my grip on the bao too. The xiao long bao splats on the table, oozing a crimson juice. We both stare at the broken dumpling, its reddish-black contents spilling from the translucent wrapping.
Old Zao sweeps the broken bao away with a cloth.
‘Please forgive my presumption,’ Mr Lee says. ‘You need your sustenance, especially since you fainted. Please.’ He gestures to my basket, curls of steam rising from the almost translucent dumplings.
I eat without pleasure, though with each bite the chill recedes. It’s been a long time since I was caught unawares.
‘I like the clothes, Lady Jing,’ Old Zao says as they join us with their own basket of xiao long bao. ‘They suit you. Though, I think it will take Lord Ma some getting used to, seeing you like that.’
The thought of Horsey’s frown puts me in a better mood. ‘I’m going to wear this outfit every day. The freedom is extraordinary. You should ask Lady Gi to make you a Western-style suit. I bet you’d look very modern.’
Old Zao strokes their dragon beard, nodding to themself. ‘Yes. Wouldn’t I make a grand entrance to the Mahjong Council?’
While Old Zao eats their xiao long bao, I glance at Mr Lee, giving him a sickly-sweet smile. ‘Mr Lee, could I mafan you with a little errand?’
He sits up, eager. Just as I predicted. ‘No mafan,’ he says. ‘What do you need?’
‘Run my qipao upstairs to my room?’
‘T-t-to your room?’ He balks, staring between me and Old Zao, no doubt scandalised by the idea of entering a woman’s chambers.
Old Zao has folded their arms, clearly waiting to see what I am up to. They know me well enough to know I’m spewing dog farts.
Channelling Gigi when she’s sweet talking one of Big Wang’s guards into letting her break curfew, I pull on a simpering smile, and press the back of my hand to my forehead. ‘I still feel a little woozy.’ I glance up at him, make that soft feminine mewl Gigi makes which seems to make the guards melt. ‘You’re right, I’m being silly. It’s only a few flights of stairs. I’ll be fine.’ I stand, then make sure to sway very slightly while holding the table.
Old Zao breaks into a coughing fit. I don’t dare look at them.
‘No – Lady Jing, please, sit. I’ll do it. Where do I go?’
‘Up the stairs; please could you hang it on a hanger? There should be one near the clothes cabinet. Thank you.’
He disappears, clutching my dress.
‘Just so you know, you are the worst actress, ever,’ Old Zao whispers, their whole body shaking from repressed laughter.
I lean forward, not wanting to waste a single precious second. ‘I need a favour.’
Old Zao mirrors my posture, leaning in with a conspiratorial twinkle in their eyes. ‘Mmmhhhh,’ they say.
