The room brings to mind a fancy French cake with ornate frosting around the edges. A wardrobe sits against one wall, painted with meadows full of frolicking women with bouffant hair like clouds wrapped in ribbons. The bed I’m in has the same images painted on the headboard. I look closer. The women have skin like that lady from the lobby – rice white, with peony bud lips, and dresses full and wide as a dozen stacked umbrella tops. I study the dresses for some time; it seems like a lot of fabric, though from the painting it’s obvious the women are not restricted in their movements – they could easily perform all the thirty-two sword forms, including the Big Dipper. In fact – I scan the scene – quite a few expose stockinged legs with bow-topped shoes, legs swinging out joyfully, ta-tas bursting from low-cut lace-frilled tops. Niang Niang would no doubt approve.
The thought of her and those courtiers makes my skin itch. Iwillexpose the hulijing, make them pay for their humiliations. I can’t do anything about the dragon pearl, I don’t even know where it’s being kept. However, I am certain the fake talisman must be their work. I can sense the truth of it, but given my last two missteps, and knowing how sly Soo can be, this time I need irrefutable proof.
There’s no water in the room so I slip out of the crisp white sheets and my feet sink into a thick rug covering most of the parquet floor. Mr Lee’s voice drifts through the door. There are other voices too. Willie Leung, I recognise. And two others. I sniff the air – the two strangers are mortals. Willie smells different – I’ve never smelled anything like him before. He smells of yang, but also of yin. I’ll have to ask Big Wang; it would be rude to question him directly. I know how much I hate being asked myself.
There’s a soft knock at my door and it opens a crack, letting in the mouth-watering smells of my favourite foods. Steamed buns, noodles, and something chocolatey.
Mr Lee pokes his head in. ‘Oh good, you’re awake. Room service just arrived. Come join us.’
I follow him to the other room. Mr Lee, Willie Leung and an older man in a black suit, light green handkerchief in the pocket, and a blazing pink azalea on the lapel, are in conversation, seated in plump pink armchairs around a low white table with gilded garlands of leaves wrapped around the edges. A young man wearing a red jacket with a double row of brass buttons and a matching hat unloads bamboo baskets and steaming dishes onto a nearby table, all the while glancing nervously at Willie Leung.
I stare at the foreigner with the azalea. His hair is dark, slicked back close to his scalp. He’s about as pale as Lady Gi, but his skin has a bluish undertone. Eyes like chips of sapphire regard me. His thin moustache twitches as he allows me to inspect him. He stands and offers me a warm smile.
Mr Lee clears his throat. ‘Lady Jing, I’m so glad to see you up. We were quite worried; Mr Smith, the hotel manager was about to fetch a doctor.’
Mr Smith bows to me. ‘This humble one—’ he begins in cultured Mandarin.
My lip curls and Mr Lee hurriedly interrupts Mr Smith. ‘Please, Lady Jing prefers plain speech.’
Those blue eyes glance up at me through thick, dark lashes. ‘Of course,’ he continues. ‘We are most honoured to host you at Cathay Hotel. If there is anything Lady Jing needs—’
‘Please tell me you have xiao long bao there,’ I say.
Mr Smith chuckles. ‘That, and dan-dan noodles. And sweet rice wine porridge. And chocolate éclairs. I am reliably informed these are your favourite afternoon snacks?’
My stomach rumbles its affirmation. ‘Perfect. Oh, is it possible to get a drink?’ From the corner of my eye, I see Mr Lee stiffen. ‘Warm soya milk, please?’ I clarify and throw a stink eye at Mr Lee. As if I can’t control myself.
Remembering my behaviour at the docks, I redden. Extraordinary circumstances. There are three mortals here, and their yang and blood don’t bother me in nearly the same way.
‘Your wish is our command,’ Mr Smith says. He nods to the young man in the red jacket who immediately leaves. He gestures to the young man’s retreating back. ‘I have assigned our brightest boy to you, Lady Jing. Anything you wish, you let Jay know.’
I nod, not really listening. I’m fascinated by Mr Smith’s skin – it’s like rice paper. Thin and translucent. I circle Mr Smith, peering at his eyes. They are a deep blue but slivered with speckles of silver and green. From different angles, the blue changes – lighter to darker. He smells a little different to Mr Lee, spicier perhaps.
Mr Smith holds very still, his brows pulling together, darting glances at Willie.
‘I’ve never seen eyes like yours,’ I say.
‘It’s alright, Mr Smith doesn’t mind, do you?’ Willie’s voice is smooth, almost inflectionless.
Mr Smith’s stiff smile, and the way he glances at Willie, make me reassess my earlier impression of Big Wang’s man in Shanghai. Willie might look like a mantou, but beneath the fluffy exterior is a sharp, and – judging by the Cathay Hotel mortals’ reactions to him – feared, blade.
I back away from Mr Smith and bow low. ‘Thank you for indulging me, Mr Smith. It’s only that I have never seen such beautiful eyes.’ I offer him a docile smile.
Mr Smith recovers his placid, pleasant expression. ‘It is my honour.’ He glances sideways at Willie, then back at me. ‘If it is not inconvenient, I will leave you three to rest.’
‘You’ve been here this whole time?’ I ask.
‘Yes,’ Mr Smith says. ‘We were monitoring your sleep, in case we needed to call a doctor.’
‘All three of you?’
Mr Lee looks embarrassed; Willie’s mahjong face rivals my own.
‘How long have I been asleep?’
‘Four hours,’ Mr Lee answers.
I glance between Willie and Mr Lee. ‘What kind of turd-eggs are you to make him wait while I sleep?’
