‘A little opium straight into her bloodstream, and she’s tame as a new-born pup, just as venerable Niang Niang said. She is fine and whole.’
Jade green slippers embroidered with coral chrysanthemums approach me; she uses her foot to push my face upwards.
‘Welcome back, mongrel.’ Long lashes sweep across delicate cheekbones. This one has a sharp chin and her plump lips curl into an ugly smile.
I don’t bother smiling. Instead, I close an eye, take aim, and hork on her shoe. The gob lands on her forefoot like a glistening, slimy pearl.
Sharp chin shrieks, shuffling away from me. ‘You animal!’
‘That’s rich, coming from you,’ I try to say, but my words slur. I try to sneer but my face muscles tingle with pins and needles.
Her friend, round-faced with round eyes, snarls. But before she can inflict any retribution, sharp chin grabs her by the sleeve and pulls her into a bow. The men drop to a knee and offer high fist palm salutes.
‘Venerable Matriarch,’ they intone.
Goosebumps ripple across my arms. I strain my eyes towards the direction they’re all facing. Dainty silk slippers the colour of pom-egranates float across the veranda. Matching sheer silks eddy around the near motionless feet. My gaze climbs up the diaphanous robe, past the water sleeves trailing behind her in a river of crimson, over the swollen bosom, pale as fresh tofu, to the face I hoped never to meet again.
Niang Niang.
She is as she always was, stunning in her majesty and power. A silver halo shimmers around her body. She wrinkles her nose delicately and holds her water sleeve up to her face.
‘Sit her up,’ she instructs yellow mask.
He grabs my collar and yanks me to my knees, but my boneless body merely hangs from his grasp. I can’t even feel my arms tied behind me anymore. When he lets go, I fall forward, face first, into the wooden boards. Everything feels as if I’m watching from far away. I think briefly of Mr Lee, but it’s hard to keep hold of one thought. My mind bends and twists, tangled with bobbing memories I try to keep submerged.
‘How much opium did you give her?’ Niang Niang’s voice rings across the lake, each word dripping with disgust.
‘Contain our mistakes, Venerable Matriarch,’ yellow mask simpers. ‘She is stronger than we expected. We gave her the whole bottle.’
A slowtak tak taksound follows, and though she’s out of my range of vision, memory supplies the image: Niang Niang, red lips curved downwards, cleavage spilling over folded arms, her imperial jade nail guard on one hand tapping a thick cream and crimson jade bangle on the other.
‘She’s no use to me in this state,’ Niang Niang hisses. ‘Throw her in the Pavilion of Reflection. I’ll interrogate her in the morning.’
The men lift me by the arms, making the rope dig deeper into my wrists. My head hangs forward, so I see only the wooden planks and their shuffling boots and, at the outer edge of my vision, the lapping waves of the lake.
They drag me to the very edge of the palace estate, where, single-file, we cross a long narrow walkway. At its end is a small open-air pavilion that sits in the centre of the lake. Six large pillars hold up an ornate roof – corners stabbing at the sky in upwards curves, marcelled in blue-green tiles. Water imprisons me from all sides.
They dump me in the middle of the pavilion and head back over the narrow bridge to stand guard at the far end.
I’m slumped like a heap of garbage, too feeble to move. The polished wood is warm against my cheek. As I look around, recognition rips through me. My blood chills, but the opium blunts the hysteria and fear.
Long buried memories float to the surface: my mother used to bring me here; we napped under the wooden eaves, cuddled together. She’d sing me lullabies. Often she had her box of diamonds and we’d play with them. Glittering baubles as big as quail eggs. When the sun hit them just right, rainbows splashed across the gleaming wooden floor, painted the ceiling in bright sparkling colour. Another memory, wet and cold, claws up my spine. Niang Niang’s handmaids dragging me here, screaming and crying. Their long talons carving crimson half-moons into my tender arms. I shudder, remembering too well the sting of those nails.
Out on the lake, movement ripples the mirrored calm. Something large breaches the water, only to slither back to the depths again. Waves surge outwards from the creature, racing to the edges of the pavilion. I should worry about such a large creature in the lake. The Celestial realm is full of wild beings even yaojing know to avoid. As the rolling waves glint under the sun, another memory jars loose. Gold links clink in my mind, but the full memory dances just out of reach. Instinct guides my gaze along the edge of the pavilion. I don’t know what I’m searching for until I see it – a slight dip at the end of one of the floorboards where I know without looking is the start of a heavy gold chain, jointed to the side of the pavilion floor.
Suddenly, I don’t want the memory. I should conserve my strength, then escape. But Horsey’s voice buzzes in my ear.Effort makes the mind, Lady Jing.I grit my teeth. For Hell’s sake, will I never be free of Horsey’s rotted lessons?
Memory drags me into its dark depths, holds me close, forces me to listen to theclink clink clinkof the chain being pulled up link by link from the lake. Water pools around the golden coils. I’m four years old, peering at the puddles which perfectly mirror the blue sky, the blue-green tiled edge of the roof, and my own round face. Two little buns sit above my ears, tied with pretty yellow ribbons that dance on the breeze. The water seeps across the wood to kiss my toes. My eyes are round. Nervous, I think. I’m not afraid. That comes later.
The water slurps at the final chain links, as if not wanting to let go. But Lady Soo, younger in my memory, keeps dragging the chain up until finally the water gives up a large cage, just the right size for a small child.
I squeeze my eyes shut, as if that could stop the coming knowledge. I don’t want it. My eyes burn, but no amount of tears can wash away the past. Soo’s hands – pale and smooth as a magnolia – grab my scrawny arms. I scream, thrash, but another handmaid helps Soo. I am no match for the two of them and they easily force me into the cage, adding yet more raw crescent marks to the criss-crosses on my arms. The second handmaid’s name bubbles up through the watery depths of memory. Lady Wen.
‘You do not belong here, mongrel,’ Soo hisses at me. ‘Better for you to drown, like the useless runt you are.’
My child-self scrabbles to hold on to her, to the soft silk of her sleeves, the smooth expanse of her arms, but she shoves me away and I slam head first into the bars of the cage. She swings the door shut and locks it with a tiny gold padlock.
‘Mama!’ I wail and wail. The handmaids step back, watch me. Lady Soo’s lips curl into a smile, but her eyes are cold and cruel. I clutch my bare knees, whimpering. There is a long tear in my pretty dress, and I cry even harder.
