He doesn’t answer.
‘Fine.’ I pull on the shirt. He doesn’t move.
I wait.
He waits.
I blow out a huff, then pull on my trousers.
‘Button your shirt and your trousers please.’ It’s only when my clothes are all done up that he turns, face red, eyes on the floor. ‘You’re properly dressed?’
‘For the love of Tian, yes. It’s like you’ve never seen a woman’s body before.’ He blushes harder. I scrutinise him. ‘Have you never seen a woman’s body before?’
He clears his throat and moves decisively to a silver bucket and pulls out another small bottle of the red stuff.
‘Aren’t you curious where I got this?’ He refills my glass and hands it to me.
The image of the still, barefoot child in Zhabei flashes before me. I put the glass on the table. The thick liquid is near black in the centre where the light can’t penetrate. I swallow. ‘It’s not from— from Zhabei, is it?’
He returns to his seat and pours a fresh cup of tea. ‘No. It’s not from the streets. It’s from a blood bank.’
‘A what?’
‘It’s where people donate blood for use in hospitals. It’s fresh, clean, and willingly given.’
‘Willingly?’ I can’t quite fathom the idea. I pick up the glass anew, twirling it slowly in my fingers, the blood clinging to the inside surface, thick and viscous. ‘Wah.’
Mr Lee looks pleased with my awe. I lift the glass, but Mr Lee puts his hand over the rim. ‘First, please eat what’s on the table.’ His cheeks are pink as he gestures to the strawberries and the remaining profiteroles. He unwraps a handful oftoo seerolls and caramels into a bowl and hands it to me. ‘Starting with these.’
I duck my head and try to hide the giggle. For a grown man, he’s absurdly squeamish. Even so, I obediently eat every last morsel of food before I drink.
Nineteen
Marcelle
After Mr Lee leaves with Ah Lang to get fitted for a suit, Gigi turns up at my door, her arms full of silky dresses.
I stand there holding the door open, staring. ‘What is all that?’
‘Pish, is that anyway to greet a goddess? Especially a goddess fashion advisor who is about to transform you into the best-looking deity in Shanghai? Well, apart from me of course.’
I regret playing this hand. I don’t want to wear them – to pretend to be something I’m not. ‘I’m already dressed.’
Gigi shakes her head, her eyebrows pushing high into her forehead. ‘For lounging around your hotel room perhaps, but not for the hottest ballroom in town. Even I’ve heard about the Paramount. Every deity worth their qi has been there. It’s only because I’ve been foolishly moping in Hell that I haven’t visited yet.’
‘What’s so special about the Paramount? Surely any of the clubs in Hell must rival it?’
Gigi sighs. ‘You know better than most how much yaojing like to show off. What better place than a mortal club? The mortals gawp while we yaojing preen and showboat to our heart’s delight. The only two rules are no mafan and no letting slip our true nature. Who could say no to that?’ She holds up one of the dresses.
I back away, waving my hands in front of me. I can say no, easily too. I’m about to tell her so when she says, ‘If you don’t look the part how are you going to approach any hulijing? They’ll see right through you.’
‘What do you mean? I don’t want to approach any hulijing,’ I say.
Gigi merely scoffs. ‘How are you going to find out if they switched the talisman if you don’t go? Don’t look at me like that. Who doesn’t know Brother Zhu is the Ministry of Thunder’s courier, and the hulijing make the talismans. Someone will have an answer.’
Grudgingly, I acknowledge her point. And berate myself for underestimating her. If I had confided in her maybe I wouldn’t be stuck playing forced dress up with Gigi. I eye the dresses warily. They look so ethereal. Fitting for a goddess. I am, as she so succinctly put it, a bedraggled half-deity.
Gigi senses an opening, moves in for the attack. ‘I saw you looking at that waitress’s hair. I know how to do that. I could marcelle your hair for you.’
