Lady Soo
I hike my qipao high to free my legs. I’m sure my butt is hanging out. Mr Lee twitches, like he wants to spew more of thatthis humble onecrap, but he catches my expression and wisely clams up.
With my legs free, I start moving, weaving through the narrow lanes between the hulking warehouses until I reach the neon lights of a wide asphalt road flanked by two-storey wood buildings, a stone-columned veranda at street level and overhanging second floors. The mortal’s bulk and warmth, added to the heat rising from the road, makes it hard to move quickly. This road is my fastest route to the Bund, the glittering waterfront of Shanghai and home to the Cathay Hotel, Big Wang’s headquarters. I stay within the deepest shadows of the veranda that meets my lane and sniff the air for any nearby yaojing.
A mix of sweet putrescence from decaying flesh and a mildewy smell from damp mould hits me. Jiangshi. By the strength of the stink, I’m guessing there’s two of them. Distant cousins to vampires, jiangshi are the only yaojing (apart from me) who prefer blood for nourishment, though neither vamps nor jiangshi are willing to claim the connection. Jiangshi are basically stiffened corpses who move around by hopping. Given how fastidious vampires are about their appearance – capes and velvet and corsets and such – it’s no wonder they turn their noses up at their decidedly ill-groomed cousins. And jiangshi would rather self-immolate than claim relation to vampires, because jiangshi are almost as xenophobic as my grandmother and dislike foreigners. But their connection to vamps means the jiangshi sense of smell is nearly as good as mine. I peer around the corner.
Neon signs hang like banners off the second storey of the buildings, advertising A-Man Hing Cheong Tailors, Double Lucky Pawn Shop, Dragon Seed Beauty Products in buzzing colours of red, yellow, purple and green. Two jiangshi hop unsteadily through the puddles of light, their greenish skin taking on the neon hues as they sing a smutty song very off-key. The wide road is otherwise empty, but the hoppers are between me and the Garden Bridge, the metal monstrosity that spans Soochow Creek. Another rotted body of water.
‘Hold your breath. We have to pass two jiangshi.’
The mortal puts on an expression that looks like he badly needs to dabian.
Hells no. I just washed this qipao. ‘Don’t you dare defecate on me or Iwilleat you.’ For good measure, I curl my lips and show him my extended fangs.
His eyes roll back and his eyelashes flutter. Oh, for Hell’s sake, he’s going to faint. I pinch his arm, hard. He winces, blinks, colour coming back to his face.
‘They have terrible eyesight,’ I tell him. ‘If you don’t breathe, they won’t notice you. Understand?’
He nods meekly. I launch into the street and run as fast as my bare legs will go, keeping a close eye on the hoppers. They warble and sway, each clutching a pale green bottle and taking deep swigs between verses. They make enough noise to drown out my footfall, but I do what I can to keep light on my toes and make as little noise as possible. As we get closer, my eyes water from the alcoholic sting of baijiu and the intense stench from their green-grey flesh. They’re too drunk and too busy singing to notice us, so I keep running. We’re nearly even with them. I hold my breath, but it doesn’t stop my eyes from watering. The way to the bridge is clear, just a few more strides, and we’ll be out of their reach.
A rooster streaks out in front of me in a blur of multicoloured feathers. I try to dodge it, but my own feet get in my way and suddenly I’m flying forward, fingers gripping the mortal’s legs, tarmac meeting body with a bone-jarring crunch.
I freeze, hold my breath, hope the jiangshi don’t notice.
One of them stops. He sniffs, a long hard inhalation, head swivelling to locate us. My hip smarts from the impact. Damn those roosters. We have so many of the rotted strays here. But I don’t have time to wring the stupid creature’s neck. Mr Lee lays crumpled on the ground.
I roll onto my knees and hiss, ‘Get up.’
The second hopper lets out a high-pitched giggle and their eyes glow green with yin energy.Shit sticks. They’ve smelled him. Their mouths stretch wide and I’m hit with the worst halitosis in Hell. The mortal claps one hand over his mouth and nose, I’m bent double, retching. He presses against my legs, pointing frantically at the hoppers.
Their matte black tongues hiss from their mouths like snakes, stretching across the space between us. The mortal screams.Double shit sticks.Staggering to my feet, I throw him over my shoulder like a sack of rice. His face presses against my ass. He’s muttering something, but I ignore him, and run like my yin depends on it. The hoppers’ tongues lash at me; the mortal screams again as cold air whistles across the back of my legs. Too close! The hoppers screech and give chase. I sprint, still dizzy from their terrible breath, focussing on the grey metal bridge just ahead, their rapidthud thud thudfollowing close behind.
The hoppers are fast and I’m slowing. Next time their tongues will get us. The mortal shifts so suddenly I nearly drop him.
‘This humble—’ he sputters.
‘Spit it out!’
‘I have coins,’ he says, and waves a hand clutching coins, like he wants my praise or something. If the jiangshi get him, it’ll cost me my measly glass of blood.
‘Throw them!’ I shriek. ‘What are you waiting for?’
In answer, metal tinkles against the asphalt. The thuds slow, then stop. Jiangshi cannot help their urge to count the shiny metal pieces. It’s one of their few weaknesses. I don’t look back. In seconds I’m on the Garden Bridge.Tian.That was too close.
Steel girders flash overhead as I run, my footsteps swift over the metal bridge, leaving a dull echo in my wake. Big Wang cherry-picks what he likes from the mortal realm and brings it into existence on our side; this bridge he chose because the shape reminded him of his beloved tortoises. The creek rushing below raises my hackles but in moments I’m free. I burst onto the Bund into the fresh aromas of a manicured garden with a pond filled with more of Big Wang’s prized turtles. I slow a little. The view of the Bund that greets me is still unsettling, all pale stone and electric lights. I miss the marshland this used to be when I first arrived. The whole of Shanghai was contained in the walled city. Rickety bridges and wooden boats latticed the marshland around it, and the paper lanterns hung here and there along the docks winked like fireflies in the ever-present gloom. But Big Wang was impressed by the foreign-built buildings that sprouted like so many gigantic teeth along the maw of the river. One by one the old wooden buildings with their smiling upturned eaves disappeared, replaced by these great stone monoliths.
The Bund is heaving with tourist ghosts; immortal Shanghai is one of the few gateways for the Naihe Bridge, which souls must cross to reach their next life. Many, if not most, spend a good deal of time indulging in Shanghai’s many offerings before moving on. I smell a few Celestials, no doubt recently arrived ministers here for the annual Mahjong Council, so I bank right into Peking Road. There aren’t any mahjong halls or drinking dens here. The road is quiet and shadowed, apart from a few drunk ghosts. These ones wear grey robes denoting their stature as indentured servants to Hell. Most of them avoid me anyways, so I dodge them easily, then dog-leg through a back alley to the north side of the Cathay Hotel. Again, I pause at the corner, peering down the empty street towards the hustle of the Bund. The rat-a-tat-tat of firecrackers blisters the air as sparks of light and smoke obscure my view of the crowds. No one has any interest in this quiet side road, so I put the mortal back on his feet and catch my breath. His face is frozen in a bizarre rictus, eyes squeezed shut, mouth pulled down into the caricature of a frown. He sways, then starts to sink. I grab his arm, then slap him. He blinks, splutters, focusses on me.
‘We’re not safe yet. Get on my back and hold tight. I need my hands to climb.’ I crouch down to make it easier for him. He opens his mouth.
‘Just do it!’ I hiss.
He swallows and obediently climbs onto my back like a large monkey, then wraps his arms around my neck.
I pinch his ear. ‘If I pass out from lack of air, we’ll both fall.’ Not strictly true – I can hold my breath for a long time. But I dislike the pressure against my throat.
He immediately loosens his grip. I climb, fingers and toes finding the familiar holds between the granite slabs. Open windows flash past as I ascend, the mortal hanging from my back. I curse the lack of talisman, forcing me to take this ridiculous route. Luckily, most guests have their lights off; either asleep or out sampling the delights of yin Shanghai, while the yaojing here for the Mahjong Council should all be in the Mahjong Hall on the ninth floor. It’s the first night of Council so the ministers are busy gossiping and cutting deals. There’s little chance of accidentally being seen.
