Soo places the toe of her turquoise silk slipper against the cage. An embroidered tiger, so finely rendered I’m tempted to reach out and stroke its fur, peers at me through a glade. She shoves; the cage tilts and tumbles off the pavilion’s edge. As I fall, I notice a stray thread has worked loose from the tiger’s ear. I hear the slap of water before the cold seeps into my back, the water scrambling over my body, grabbing me with icy fingers and drawing me down, screaming, to the depths of the lake.
I open my eyes, blind to the lake rippling around me. Soo, Wen, and that cage. Those are the reasons I can’t stand the water. The root of my phobia. I am horrified and broken-hearted for what I was forced to suffer. And now, after so many years, I am back reliving my nightmares. Powerless then to protect myself, powerless now to help Mr Lee.
Sobs rip through me. If I hadn’t selfishly involved him in my quest for revenge, he would never have been harmed. He would be doing his part to help his sister. And now... I have no way of knowing whether he is alive or dead. Mr Lee embodies all the five Confucian virtues, but most importantly, he is ren incarnate – compassion and benevolence. And me... selfish, impulsive, disastrous. I angrily wipe away the tears.
Horsey was right. I lack all the Confucian virtues and my selfishness is what causes others mafan. Guilt and shame pull my shoulders tight and though I squeeze my eyes shut, I cannot scrub away the image of Mr Lee, pale and still, his heavenly scented blood soaking the delicate pink carpet in widening pools of deep crimson. Ninety-some years of pent-up hurt pour from me in torrents of hot tears and broken sobs. My chest aches as I grieve for the loss of the child I once was, and for Mr Lee, whose life I so thoughtlessly put at risk.
Twenty-Five
Effort Makes the Mind
It takes a long time for the tears to stop. Longer for my ragged breathing to grow even again. I missed the sunset entirely – the lake shimmers black beneath a full moon. The forest bordering the lake rustles and sways, punctuated by chittering and clicking from unseen animals. The sounds remind me of when I was little and would fall asleep in my rooms to the clicking and muffled chatter of Old Zao’s mahjong parties. The memory brings me a small degree of comfort.
Just as I’m feeling a little better, the heavens open. Water pours from the sky, further blurring the shadowed night. The rain drums against the lake in a low, rolling roar and splashes me with cold droplets.
I whimper, shuffle further from the pavilion edge.Not this, not now. My insides turn icy, and my teeth chatter. I gasp and wheeze, unable to get air, the old fear shredding my hard-won calm.
Horsey’s voice, high and nasal, slices through the rain.Lady Jing! Labour your grindstone or your blade will never reflect true!
The sudden scolding shocks me. It sounds so real – that annoyingly shrill pitch of his voice when he’s close to losing his temper – and so near, though I’m alone on the pavilion. I can smell two of the masked men guarding the end of the bridge – green mask and red mask – but no one else. It must be the opium. I plug my ears to stop Horsey’s incessant nagging, but his monotone admonishments drone on.
When the old man lost his horse over the Great Wall, he did not expect a blessing. Consume your setbacks and grow in knowing.
I hiss at the claptrap.I’m powerless!I want to scream. None of Horsey’s drivel helps. If Niang Niang wants to finish me... The cage swims into my mind’s eye and I flinch away from that horror. I am not strong enough.
You are.Horsey’s voice is gentle.
I knot my brows, immediately suspicious. I must be very upset to imagine a kind Horsey and am clearly still under opium’s thrall.Rain sheets across the lake while thoughts float haphazardly through my mind. Part of my mind is paralysed by that old fear, another part churning obsessively over my recently discovered memories.
It occurs to me my gut has always been right about Soo. She triggers more of my ire than any of the other hulijing I’ve encountered in yin Shanghai. Even though I buried the memory of the cage, I knew she was my enemy. I delve into my feelings about my grandmother – Niang Niang. That hard little ember of resentment is there for her too. It makes sense – Soo is her right-hand handmaid. What Niang Niang orders, Soo makes happen.
The more I think about what they did to a child... the more my rage rises, burning through my fear. Lightning sears across the black sky. It elicits only a shiver from me. I am too consumed with fury to give it any more thought. A shard of another memory untethers from its watery grave and floats to the surface: overhearing Niang Niang telling Soo to finish me. Perhaps they thought they could drown me, or simply keep me imprisoned under water. How did I get away? I search my memories but that one eludes me. My mother? It doesn’t feel right. Lady Ay? Again, that doesn’t seem to be the answer. The knowledge is out of reach. Perhaps I broke the lock – I was stronger than they gave me credit for.
That’s right, Lady Jing. Remember your virtues, for they are manifold.Imaginary Bullhead’s quiet encouragement makes me smile, even if I don’t believe him. I threw so many tantrums, was such a little turd-egg to him and especially Horsey, and yet the most punishment I ever received from them was to write out lines of Confucian propriety.
A sudden memory of my mother bathing me, the water warm, scented with wild rose petals. Her looking around, as if checking we were alone, then quietly countingyi, er, san. On cue, I slipped under and from the bottom of the wooden tub, I watched her face stretch and ripple as I kept count, then popped back up once I reached a hundred.
‘My clever treasure,’ she cooed. ‘Don’t tell anyone about your super power, okay? Our little secret.’
I frown, understanding dawning on me. My mother always told me never to show off my strengths; even Big Wang discouraged me from sharing the extent of my abilities. I always thought it was because she was ashamed of me. But what if... what if she was trying to keep me safe? Hulijing whelps are vulnerable. Their ability to self-heal doesn’t fully form until they reach adulthood at eighty-eight years old. Niang Niang probably thought she could easily drown me.
I snarl my anger – and my defiance. Those bitches tried to kill me. I did not die as they expected. I should thank my baba for giving me the ability to hold my breath for hours... maybe even days?
A sudden epiphany: when I arrived to all that blood and yang in mortal Shanghai, if I had known I could simply stop breathing, I could have saved everyone a lot of mafan. But I would have also missed out on the good memories we made.
Now think,Horsey’s voice returns, bossy and imperious as always. Even though I’m imagining it, and his words are every bit as annoying as they always are, the familiarity is comforting.Labour your grindstone. How will you outsmart them?
The intense chill has abated enough that my teeth no longer chatter. I would dearly love to teach them all a lesson, but my priority must be to escape. I have to get back to Mr Lee. I have to know he is okay.
I ponder my next steps.I’m outnumbered by the entirety of that bitch court. No one knows where I was taken or by whom. My arms are useless, no longer tingling or numb, just heavy lumps that make it impossible to lie comfortably. Thunder rumbles in the distance, but I ignore it.Focus, Jing.
I lift my head – water on all sides, and water pouring from the sky. I can’t see my guards nor smell them much now with the rain and the dark, but I can still make out the shadowy shapes at the far end of the bridge blocking my only way off this rotted pavilion. I grunt in frustration, eyes hot.
Bullhead’s voice floats into my mind.Tears do not cook rice,he once told me after I’d come home crying about losing another fight with some gobby yaojing. A rare reprimand. I was beaten badly because I never applied myself to my forms. I’d found it all too overwhelming, too many different styles, with each style combining a dizzying series of forms.One at a time, he told me. Master the basics. Then the series. Then the style. Slowly, I did as he said, and form by form, series by series, style by style, I mastered them all.
I focus on the first thing that will make a difference right now. The ropes at my back. If I undo them, then I can figure out the next step. Rolling over to my front, my hands have more space to manoeuvre. Finger by finger, I crook and bend and stretch them, forcing them to move. Tingling needles stab my palms as blood rushes back to my fingertips. Twisting my wrists this way and that, I slowly get a feel for the ropes binding them. I find one end and then the other, working at the knot until it loosens and I wriggle my hands free.
My whole upper body is slow and clumsy, but it feels good to move my arms. I stretch, glad for the rain that obscures me from the guards. Someone has brought them umbrellas. They aren’t looking at me, and I want to keep it that way. Absently I rub at a sore spot on my hip and feel something hard and square. I’d forgotten I tucked a fewtoo seerolls and salted caramels in there. I pull them out, roll the glistening cubes and slim wax papered rolls in my palm. Tears slip down my cheeks before I can stop them.Tian, please let Gigi and Ah Lang have found him in time.
