I nod.
‘When did Mr Lee pick up his talisman?’
‘Two days ago, the first day of the Mahjong Council.’
‘I would have delivered that lot a few days before that.’ Brother Zhu steeples his fingers, gazes out at the now nearly full ballroom. ‘The list of who makes and packs each talisman is sent to Old Man Lei. Lord Lei’s son owes me a favour. I’ll see if I can get a copy.’
‘You know the Thunder God’s son?’ Gigi asks.
Brother Zhu leans back again, a lord in his element. ‘Sure. Yun and I go way back. He plays the drums in my band when his ba gives him time off.’
‘Yun’s job is to create the fog that hides the veil,’ I explain for Mr Lee’s benefit. Mr Lee spares me the briefest of glances, grunts, then looks away again. I stare. He’s never less than courteous. What is wrong with him tonight?
Gigi smirks and gives me a look I don’t understand. I drain my champagne. If that’s the kind of night I’m in for, I’ll need more alcohol.
There’s some motion on the stage, and Brother Zhu stands. ‘Time for our set. I’ll have the bartender send over your cocktails.’ He leans over the table, blocking Mr Lee from view. ‘Fragrant blossoms, promise you’ll save me a dance later?’
Gigi waves him off with a coy laugh. When he’s done giving her his simpering smile, he turns to me, expectant.
‘I don’t dance,’ I say flatly.
‘Like I said, I love the feisty ones. And you, my delicious plum blossom, are an empress in the mortal realm.’
He kisses the tips of his fingers and blows the kiss my way. I pretend to gag.
He bites his lip. ‘You are so adorable. Be still my fluttering heart!’ He bows with a flourish and hops onto the stage.
‘He’s always like that,’ Ah Lang says to Mr Lee. ‘Don’t take it to heart.’
Mr Lee crosses his arms, but seems to thaw a little. I lift my champagne glass. ‘To harvesting seeds well planted,’ I say.
Gigi laughs – a tinkling, girly sound. ‘Sowing seeds. I’ll drink to that.’
Ah Lang blushes and Mr Lee blinks like he’s got something caught in his eye.
‘I’d prefer to toast to new friends,’ Mr Lee says, then raises his glass.
Ah Lang nods and Gigi huffs, but in the end we all clink our glasses and drink. Brother Zhu’s band sets the ballroom swinging with their tunes – vibrant and energetic. My feet tap in time with the zinging piano lines played by a chap in a midnight blue tuxedo. Brother Zhu plays a hook-shaped brass instrument – the sound is something like the plaintive cry of a crane, but raw and mellow at the same time. It makes my heart soar.
Even Gigi is impressed. ‘What is Brother Zhu playing? That’s no bamboo flute.’
Ah Lang smiles. ‘It’s called a saxophone. Incredible sound – so throaty! Brother Zhu really has a talent for it.’
As if on cue, Brother Zhu’s saxophone croons into the ballroom. The music sends a shiver through me. I can’t help smiling.
‘You said you play the pipa,’ I say. ‘Is that the instrument you played here?’
Ah Lang’s smile is a pleased, shy little thing. ‘Yes, at first, then Brother Zhu—’
Ah Lang’s interrupted by Brother’s Zhu’s amplified voice. ‘Tonight is a very special night. My old buddy Lang is here with his gorgeous girl! The Goddess Gi! Please enjoy the special cocktail created in her honour.’ At his word, waitresses circle the floor with trays full of a glittering peach concoction. Four are placed on our table. Brother Zhu continues, ‘I think our Ah Lang should come up here to serenade her. Whaddya think?’
The crowd, fuelled by the new cocktails, cheers and claps. Gigi wriggles in delight. I duck my head, giggling. A public declaration of love to Gigi. There’s no way she’ll be able to stay mad at Ah Lang. That Brother Zhu is a sly old pig. I take a sip of Goddess Gi and gasp. The bartender captured Gigi’s essence in a very tasty cocktail. Gigi takes a sip too and moans in delight. ‘Do I really smell like this? This is delicious!’
Gigi refuses to move, still punishing Ah Lang, so Mr Lee gets up to let Ah Lang out of the booth so that he can make his way to the stage. The patrons swirl and sweep around Mr Lee, who stands so still he seems to be outside of time. Then he nods to himself, breaking the illusion. Squaring his shoulders, he turns to my side of the booth.
‘May I sit next to you?’
He’s oddly formal, but at least there’s no courtly blather.
