‘The public cemetery makes its rounds every few days,’ Mr Lee says. ‘The bodies will be collected sooner or later. Death is an expensive business; many don’t have the means to pay for a coffin, much less a burial.’
I glance at the child. Her face is grubby. She’s no more than four years old, around the age I was sold to Big Wang. Two short pigtails stick out either side of her head, and she’s wearing a simple shift, soiled and torn. Something tears inside my chest.
‘You should drink from them,’ Gigi says. She sniffs the air delicately. ‘They still have their yang too.’
‘Hells no,’ I manage to croak before my stomach turns. I twist away just in time and bring up bile, hot and sour.
‘Jing, their souls have crossed. What’s left is nothing more than dead flesh.’ Gigi’s tone is harsh, but her hands are gentle as she helps me up, taking the purse and candy from me and handing me a yellow handkerchief embroidered with phoenixes.
I wipe my mouth and pocket the silk square. Gigi returns my purse and candy, but I push thetoo seeroll back in her hands.
‘Mr Lee introduced me to them. They’re very good,’ I say.
She inclines her head in thanks. ‘We need to get you some blood.’
The image of the child flashes in front of me. My stomach clenches. I shake my head, not trusting myself to open my mouth without vomiting.
Gigi is about to retort, but Mr Lee gives her a look that, to my surprise, shuts her up. He takes my hand and puts it in the crook of his arm. ‘I will get blood for you, in a nice glass, ok? For now, have a caramel. We’re almost at the market. It will get more crowded there.’
I do as he says, then I hold my purse open for Gigi. ‘Try the squares. Those are sea salt caramels.’ Ah Lang peers around Gigi. ‘You too, Ah Lang. Go ahead.’
He slams his hand into his fist and bows his head. ‘Abundant gratitude for your generosity, Lady Jing.’ He takes atoo seeroll and unwraps it. Sniffs it, like I did. But when he tastes it, his eyes widen and a matching smile lights his face. ‘These are delicious!’
His cheery enthusiasm is too much for my hangover; I stuff two caramels in my mouth to stop me from gagging.
The market is a covered square thronging with people. There are long lines of stalls, separated by thin wooden partitions extending the length of the market. Each seller has their wares displayed on sheets spread over the ground and crowds five-deep snake up and down the makeshift aisles.
Mr Lee grabs my hand, nods to Gigi and Ah Lang. ‘Keep hold of each other and watch your pockets. There are always sticky fingers about.’
We push through the crowds. I stuff another two caramels in my mouth. Warm bodies squeeze from all sides, but Mr Lee keeps my hand firmly in his. There are some fancy looking wooden jewellery boxes, and Gigi exclaims in delight at the stall with ornate hair pins. There are radios, military curios, a jade stall, and another for handmade shoes.
We stop in front of a stall laid out with bamboo steamers and baskets of all different sizes. An older woman, skin weathered and wrinkled, plump cheeks ruddy and coarse, squats by her wares in the uniform of older amahs – a grubby apron over wide-legged faded navy trousers and an equally faded but carefully mended navy tangzhuang. Her hands are busy weaving longs strips of bamboo into a basket. Up, over, around. She catches sight of Gigi’s expensive gown, and her eyes light up; then she sees Mr Lee. Her expression dims into wariness.
‘Why, hello, Auntie, you look surprised to see me.’ Mr Lee inclines his head to the woman.
The woman’s gaze darts between the four of us, not missing Ah Lang and Gigi who’ve positioned themselves either side of Mr Lee and me. She cracks a gummy smile, exposing a few lonely yellowing teeth, hands still weaving the long strips of bamboo. ‘Honourable sir, I thought you would have stayed longer on your visit.’
‘Oh, I’ll be returning in good time. However, there was a little problem with the talisman you sold me,’ Mr Lee says. ‘We were hoping you could help us understand how you came to sell me a fake.’
Her hands still. ‘F-f-fake?’
I hold out the talisman and drop it in front of her wrinkled face. She stares at the swinging silver bi,then stands as if to flee. But Gigi extends an arm on one side of her stall, and Ah Lang on the other. There’s nowhere to run. She drops her weaving and slowly wipes her hands on her apron.
‘That’s impossible,’ she whispers.
‘Then, explain, because the talisman Mr Lee received is not yin silver,’ I say.
The old woman stares at me. I allow my yin energy to swell, causing my eyes to glow green. My focus sharpens until the old woman is limned in a golden yang glow. She stumbles into the wall at her back.
‘Well?’ I say.
She shakes her head, sinks against the wall until she’s crouched on the ground, cowering. ‘It wasn’t me,’ she says, eyes wide, unable to tear her gaze from mine. ‘Please! Do not tell Lord Lei!’
I lean in. ‘I’ll tell you what, Auntie. You tell me what happened, every detail, no matter how small, and I’ll make sure the big guy doesn’t come here himself to right this wrong.’
‘The b-big guy?’ she stammers.
‘Yan Luo Wang,’ I say, invoking the formal title for the King of Hell.
