Mr Lee stands. ‘Well, you’re full now, why don’t we go out and practice. Make sure you can manage.’
‘You can take me to the lady who sold you that talisman.’And tomorrow we’ll go see Brother Zhu.
‘I was thinking more along the lines of a gentle tour through the city. You heard Willie, we can’t go to Zhabei without your reinforcements.’
I cross my arms. ‘I don’t need reinforcements. I told you, it was just the huge crowd. I wasn’t prepared, that’s all.’
He crosses his arms, mirroring my body language.
‘I’ll go myself then,’ I say.
Mr Lee waits me out, clearly aware I’m bluffing. I have no idea where to even start looking. I need him and he knows it. I drink the last of my soya milk, then hold the glass upside down in a show of getting every last drop so I don’t have to look at his stupid face.
He chuckles. ‘While you were sleeping, Mr Leung told me Big Wang provided you with a line of credit here in Shanghai.’
‘A line of credit?’ I ask, turning back towards him despite myself. I’ve never had my own money before.
Mr Lee strolls to the window. ‘A few hours won’t change whatever the stall Auntie will tell us. In the meantime, let me show you around Shanghai.’
‘How much credit do I have?’
‘A generous one,’ Mr Lee says.
I bite my lip. Most of the things I own I’ve won in kanhoo games or swapped with my winnings. ‘Do you have book shops?’
‘Many.’
‘Art supplies?’
‘The best, from Germany and France.’
I can’t help smiling. To be able to choose the things I want, rather than barter for what’s available makes me sit taller. The stall Auntie can surely keep for one afternoon. ‘I recall you owe me some Western suits. Could we pay a visit to Master Chu as well?’
Mr Lee returns my smile and holds out his arm. ‘As you wish, Lady Jing.’
We emerge from the hotel into the frenzied rush of the Bund. I can’t help comparing mortal Cathay Hotel with Big Wang’s version back home. It’s mostly the same. The great glass dome here is lit by sunshine, which makes the colours dance on the marble floors. The quality of light is also different – less yellow, and somehow more vibrant. There are none of Big Wang’s apprentices; just mortals, most of whom are foreign, striding along looking purposeful. The bittersweet scent of walnuts and persimmons dances on the breeze, makes me feel woozy. I make a wistful sound, like a quiet moan. Mr Lee gives me a strange look, then glances away almost immediately.
‘Are you well?’ he asks the sky.
I’m panting slightly and feel a little too warm. ‘I think so. There’s a lot more yang out here than inside.’
‘Should we get you some blood?’ Mr Lee says. His tone is matter- of-fact, but I can sense his reluctance. To be honest, I share his sentiment. The idea of drinking from a corpse turns my stomach. The memory of pressing my fangs to his neck makes me shudder. I hope he didn’t notice that.
I match his tone. ‘I’m okay for now.’
‘Maybe a little sugar boost will help. Try this. It’s an American candy.’ Mr Lee offers me something long and thin wrapped in brown and white wax paper. Red foreign lettering is stamped across the length of it.
I untwist the waxy wrapping. ‘It looks like a tiny number two.’ I sniff it. ‘But it smells quite nice, actually. Chocolate and something else. Vanilla?’
Mr Lee gestures for me to take a bite. The candy is soft and sticky on my teeth, and very tasty. I pop the whole thing in my mouth. The woozy feeling abates.
‘And?’ he asks.
I hold my hand out for another. He laughs.
After a small detour into a nearby shop, my pockets bulge with the candy –too seerolls he called them. I am duly fortified against the crowds.
Mr Lee raises a hand. A coolie, human beast of burden, pulling a rickshaw, stops beside us. His trousers are frayed and full of holes, his shirt equally worn. Wiry muscle criss-crosses his arms like prison chains.
