The heavens open and rain sheets from the sky.
I want to run, but I’m frozen to the wooden seat of the rickshaw, every droplet of rain chaining me in place. The last time I encountered rain was during my first month as Big Wang’s ward in yin Shanghai. It was a sudden storm like this one. Bullhead held me for hours, wrapped in heated blankets, feeding me hot soup, until I finally warmed up again. It’s been so long I’d forgotten how awful it is.
Mr Lee tries to pull the rain cover over us, but it will only pull out partway, like a broken fan.
The coolie turns to us. ‘The rickshaw is rented. I don’t know how to fix it. Contain my ten thousand apologies!’
Mr Lee peels off his jacket and holds it above my head. But it makes no difference. The water seeps through my dress and slicks my skin. My muscles won’t obey. The downpour washes away the warm glow from the ballroom. It floods me with a chill that sinks into the pit of my stomach. I try to blink the water from my eyes, but there’s too much rain. Rising water wraps around my throat with smooth, cold hands. I whimper.
‘Lady Jing?’
My teeth rattle I’m shivering so hard. I can’t answer. Mr Lee calls my name over and over, his voice pitching higher. But I can’t focus enough to make my lips move. The water... it’s dark. And cold. I don’t want to be here. Mr Lee’s voice sounds far away. Muffled. Like I’m already underwater.
Images flash in my mind – a link of chain, the splash of water, a pale face watching me as water closes over my head. I flail and flounder, my lungs burn. I see flashes of white in the dark – long, slender fingers reaching for me. I try to grab hold, hoping to be pulled out of the water – instead nails dig into my scalp, push me deeper. Cold fingers grip my shoulders. I’ll never get out. I try to twist from the grip.
‘Lady Jing!’
A voice pierces through the murk of panic and fear. A voice I know. A voice I trust. Bit by bit I come back to myself, to Mr Lee shaking me, calling my name. The rain has stopped. I’m soaked through, shaking and sobbing.
‘Mr Lee? Don’t let go. Please don’t let go.’ I hold tight to him, pressing my face into the hollow of his throat, his familiar smell a safe harbour from my waking nightmare.
‘You’re safe, Lady Jing. You’re safe,’ Mr Lee whispers over and over, holding me tight.
I don’t know how we get to my room. I’m sitting on the pink sofa. I feel strange, like my body isn’t mine. I’m clammy and wet. I want to peel off my skin so I can escape the sensation.
‘Let me call the doctor. You don’t look well, Lady Jing.’
‘No, no doctor.’ I can’t bear the thought of a stranger prodding and poking at me.
He leaves me and I hear water running in the bathroom. He comes back, wraps me in towels. ‘Ten thousand apologies, Lady Jing, but you’ll be warmer if you can remove your dress.’
‘I d-don’t know how. Gigi h-helped me.’ The shaking makes it hard to talk.
I hear Mr Lee on the phone. Moments later, a knock, hurried footsteps, then Gigi’s ginger smell, hands on my shoulders, voice in my ear.
‘Arms up,’ she says. I try to comply, but my muscles won’t cooperate.
‘Help me, Mr Lee, hold her arms.’
The dress peels off, and a warm towel wraps around me.
‘The bath is ready,’ Mr Lee says.
They both help me stand. My beautiful dress is a sodden pile on the floor. The plum blossoms wilted, pathetic, and bedraggled.
‘I can manage from here, Mr Lee,’ Gigi says.
Mr Lee leaves us in the bathroom, and Gigi helps me out of the dudou and tap pants and into the warm bath.
‘Your lips are blue,’ Gigi says, a note of worry in her tone. ‘What happened?’
‘It rained.’ I attempt to laugh, but it only makes me dizzy.
There’s a knock on the door, and a bottle of dark red liquid topped with a straw appears. ‘I brought Lady Jing some blood earlier – see if she’ll have some?’
Gigi brings me the blood; I drink the whole thing. There’s a momentary flare of warmth that flickers in my chest.
‘Is there more?’ she calls out. ‘I think it’s helping.’
