The night is a blur of firefly lights and laughter. Lots of laughter. Dessert is sweet, layers and layers of thin pancakes drenched in honey and liquor and set aflame.
At some point there is dancing. Only men, and they’re all wearing blowsy white tops with red embroidery around the collar and black trousers. There’s a lot of movement and blurriness and I’m so swept up in the whirlwind of music and sounds and smells and sheer joy all I can do is laugh and clap in time with the music. Mr Lee gets up and joins the male dancers – Russian folk style, he says – kicking their legs out from a seated position, but without a chair for support. I clap long and hard for Mr Lee as he works up a sweat with the others, acquitting himself honourably, and receiving hearty claps on the back from his fellow dancers.
As we leave, swaying and stumbling, one of the dancers grabs Mr Lee in a tight embrace. He clamps thick hands either side of Mr Lee’s face and kisses him three times on his cheeks – left, right, then left again. I’m so surprised that when the dancer clasps my face in turn, I let the man kiss my cheeks too. He smells of dried wood and pine and sunshine. I can’t help but laugh. His joy is infectious. He bows in my direction. In a flush of goodwill and wild impulse, I grab his face like he did mine, and kiss him three times – left, right, then left again. He looks dazed, then pleased as he says something to Mr Lee who blushes deeply.
‘The best night ever!’ I say to Mr Lee, who links his arm through mine.
We laugh and stumble arm in arm back to the Cathay Hotel. There’s a moment when I glance up at Mr Lee, the stars twinkling above our heads, and he notices me watching him. His expression is open and warm. He smiles, pats my hand. ‘The best night ever,’ he replies.
Sixteen
Cheers
As soon as we pass through the revolving doors, the Cathay Hotel concierge comes scurrying out from behind his desk.
‘Miss Wang,’ he calls.
Mr Lee pulls me to a stop, gives me a meaningful look. I stare back at him, and he squeezes my arm.
‘Miss Wang,’ Mr Lee says, arching his eyebrows and smiling so the dimple in his left cheek shows.
I almost say who, but Mr Lee’s intent expression makes me pause. I rememberI’mMiss Wang. A fit of giggles takes me. The concierge stands patiently as I gather my wits to answer him.
‘Yes?’ I finally say, in my most ladylike voice, though I can hear I’m slurring my words.
‘You have guests waiting for you in the Horse and Hound,’ the concierge says with a curt bow.
I squint at him. ‘Sorry – what? Hound?’
‘The hotel bar – it’s past the lift lobby to the right.’
‘Oh! Of course. Who—’
The floor seems to tilt under me, and I stumble, but Mr Lee holds me tight, keeps me standing upright.
‘A lady and gentleman. I’m so sorry miss, but I did not get a chance to ask their names.’ The man bows, then retreats to his desk.
I give him a sloppy hand fist salute and a slurred, ‘This humble one offers abundant gratitude.’
Mr Lee laughs and pulls me along to the Horse and Hound. The bar is a cosy space tucked into the corner of the building. Tall glass windows give us a clear view of the still crowded Bund. The walls are panelled in dark wood and all the seats are upholstered in green leather.
‘Jing! We’ve been waiting for you for hours. Where have you been?’ A familiar voice calls out from the gloom.
I squint, trying to resolve the double images. I make out a woman wrapped in peachy gauze waving at me from a table by the window. With her is a broad-shouldered man, a head and a half taller than the woman. I sniff the air, trying to make out their scents.Gigi. What in the rotted turds is she doing here? I squint again. Slowly her blurry form focusses.Tian,how can a dress with so much fabric still manage to expose so much cleavage? I don’t recognise the man’s scent. He has the spicy gingery scent of a yin creature, there’s also mountain pine and a subtle whiff of farm. Someone from the Celestial realm, I’d wager. Yaojing from Hell tend to smell less rural.
Mr Lee tugs me gently and leads me to the table. The man with Gigi stands to greet us. He wears loose cotton trousers and a blue tunic tied at the waist with a rough hemp cord. His long hair is tied in a low ponytail. Very farm chic. He raises a fist palm salute.
‘Honourable Lady Jing.’ The man’s voice tumbles from him like tilled earth, rich and deep. ‘I am Ah Lang. Big Wang sent us as your reinforcements.’
‘Wansui!’ I shout, laughing as I flop into the nearest chair.
‘Tian,Jing, how much have you had to drink? You smell like you’ve been bathing in baijiu!’ Gigi crosses her arms, pushing up her already abundant cleavage.
‘Keep doing that and they’ll pop right out,’ I say, pointing at her chest.
‘She’s been having a grand old time, drinking herself stupid, while we’ve been sitting here sipping tea. This will not do.’ Gigi’s tone has that imperious edge to it.
I dismiss her with a lazy wave of my hand. The whole room swims around me. Distantly, I hear Gigi demanding a cocktail menu and rattling off a long list of drinks. I stare at Ah Lang, but my tongue is too drunk to make the words out.
