I replay my last thought, then gaze around me.
Tian. I’minthe sampan, seated in the middle of the boat under an arched bamboo canopy.
Now he’s properly laughing. Tears streak down his cheeks. Fisherman Lo gives us a long-suffering look and with one strong push of the yuloh, the sampan launches into the currents of the Whangpoo. The boat rocks from side to side in rhythm with Fisherman Lo’s sculling as he pulls on the rope, then pushes the yuloh to propel us through the currents.
I grab Mr Lee’s arm. He tries to pull away from me. ‘What are you doing?’ I ask, not caring that my voice has gone all squeaky.
‘You said you wanted to rip out my tongue or slice off my precious peaches.’ He smothers a laugh. ‘The flowery language of formal court is clearly upsetting to you,’ he says gravely. ‘So perhaps it is best I leave you to your thoughts, Lady Jing.’ He bows his head and shifts away.
I yank him back, the warmth of his body enough to keep the chill at bay. ‘No, no, it’s okay. You can speak as flowery as you like. Just don’t let go of me.’
‘I am sorry, though, you know, for earlier. I was startled, and thoughtless.’
I nod, not knowing how else to answer. The boat rocks violently for a moment and I can’t help but cry out. Mr Lee presses his hand over mine; he is warm and solid, and I’m able to let go of the breath I’ve been holding.
‘I’m sorry Lord Ma didn’t get a chance to see your new outfit,’ he says. ‘I wonder how he would have reacted?’
The thought makes me giggle despite my anxiety. ‘Oh, I think he would have given himself a hernia. He’s so old-fashioned.’
Fisherman Lo strikes a match and I get a whiff of sulphur that’s quickly enveloped by the pungent scent of sandalwood. I look back – he’s got the joss stick clamped between his lips like a lady’s cigarette, long and elegant, the end a glowing red star in the inky ever-night.
‘Boh-yo-boh-lo-mi,’ he murmurs.
The murky dark suddenly fades to grey, then white. A thick cloud envelopes us. Shadows move in the fog, barely discernible. There’s a bright flash, and then sunshine, golden and resplendent, spills over every surface.
Mortal Shanghai is bright and sharp and intense. I squint, willing my eyes to adjust quickly. I don’t want to miss any second of this new world. The river is a molten bronze, shimmering as if scattered with diamonds, the sky a swathe of softest blue strewn with wisps of silk floss. Boats swarming the river dwarf Fisherman Lo’s rickety sampan. Junks with their bat-wing sails spread wide,chug-chuggingsteamers drag lines of barges, dull grey warships carry flags from Britain, America, Japan, and bobbing between the ships are countless sampans like ours and the ever-present coffins that bounce in our wake. All the shadows I glimpsed through the veil, brought to life in vivid colour and motion.
The smell is different too; stronger, more pungent. Among the seaweed and rot is also the stink of human waste, so powerful my eyes water. The smells of yang and blood – sweet and aromatic – tangle with the other scents. And there, across a slip of sparkling, silk-brown water, is the Bund. The familiar buildings, the pyramid that marks Cathay Hotel, but here it is a dull turquoise. The great stone edifices are almost blinding in daylight.
Mr Lee beams at me. ‘Welcome to Shanghai, Lady Jing.’
I lean forward, out from under the canopy into the sunlight. The rays melt over me like warm honey. I close my eyes for a moment; the back of my eyelids glow orange. I hold my hand out and marvel at the shadows and light which play over my skin. Warmth surges through me. My skin tingles. I’m disappointed I don’t sparkle like the river. I had no idea the sun could give me such a rush; the fear is there but dulled to a manageable level. I keep hold of Mr Lee’s arm, just in case.
The noise on the Shanghai docks is worse than the roosters at home. Horns from both boats and cars blast the air; there’s a constant hum of chattering from the crowds. Everything is anointed with glistening sunlight. There’s so much to see, I’m not sure where to look first.
Fisherman Lo weaves his way through the boats to the pontoon, deftly slipping his sampan between the small cruiser docked at one end, and the tourist ferry docked at the other.
The pontoon is heaving with people. And the smell. Oh,Tian. Thesmell. If I thought it was heady on the river, here by the pontoon, with the crowd of warm mortal bodies, waves of concentrated yang – pine and an earthy citrus smell, like a slightly rancid walnut fruit – crash into me. Beneath that is the smell of blood, the unctuous persimmon scent so thick it clogs my throat. My fangs are fully out now. My stomach flutters with want. The pulse of so many heartbeats drums in my ears.
My breathing is heavy and slow. The world spins around me, blurring the colours, tumbling the smells together. My whole body begins to tremble, and the giddiness takes hold. I cling to Mr Lee.
‘There’s too much blood,’ I try to say, but my words are slurred.
‘Lady Jing?’ His face is close enough for me to lick. ‘Are you well?’
A roaring like crashing waves fills my ears, muffles all sound. I can’t think straight. Mr Lee shakes me, trying to get my attention even though I’m already staring at him.
He looks confused and worried; I imagine his expression if I did lick him.Hee hee. He speaks, but the roar in my head drowns his words. His entire body is limned in a golden glow that fills the sampan’s arched canopy. I touch the edge of this glow – is this his yang? Strands stick to my fingers like gossamer threads. I can hear laughing. From the look on Mr Lee’s face, it’s not him. When I realise it’s me, I just laugh harder.
He tries to get me to stand; I am floppy, I am the Way, I flow like the Whangpoo. No, like diarrhoea! I giggle so hard I start hiccupping.
Someone pulls on my arm. I look up. Oh, it’s Fisherman Lo. I try to salute him, but I can’t get my fist and palms to meet. Mr Lee has my other arm. Together they carry me out of the sampan.
On the pontoon every mortal shimmers with a golden-red glow that coalesces into an amorphous twinkling cloud. When we push into it, the rush hits me with the force of a tsunami. I haven’t even tasted a drop, but I cannot stop shaking. I throw my head back and let the chaotic maelstrom take me.Tian. I’ve never experienced anything like this... I can’t get enough.
I’m vaguely aware of Fisherman Lo saying something about a joss stick. Mr Lee wraps my arms around his neck; I can’t stop petting his glow. It makes my hands sparkle. He lifts me through the crowds. They swirl around me, a mass of shimmering bodies. I lick his face. He tastes a little salty, and tingly. The golden threads spill from my lips like longevity noodles. His expression – wide-eyed, red-faced – makes me laugh even more.
Effort makes the mind, Lady Jing. Labour your grindstone or your blade will never reflect true.Horsey’s nasally voice pops into my head.
