One
Rude
Fussy, frilly, and full of courtly piss-fart, I’ve always hated my full name, so much so that everyone in yin Shanghai, unless they have fermented shit for brains, knows to never address me as anything other thanLady Jing.
Yet, as I cross the small wooden bridge into the Hall of Harmony – less Hall and more bucolic meadow dotted with blossoming trees – someone loudly, confidently, and cheerily shouts, ‘Fragrant Grand Princess Overflowing with Sagacity, Noble Lady Hu Xian Jing of Turquoise Hills, Lady Jing of Mount Kunlun!Yoohoo!’
I stiffen and scan the Hall, ready for violence.
Since ministers tend not to rise much before noon, the Hall is empty, making it easy to spot the offender. Hopping like an over-excited jiangshi at the far back corner of the meadow where clouds cling to a rocky outcrop of Mount Kunlun, is the one yaojing I am forbidden to offend, much less stomp his brains into porridge: the foreign envoy, Lord Aengus mac Dagda of the Tuatha Dé.
I curse under my breath. As if the hopping and the dazzling golden tresses weren’t enough of a beacon, he’s also madly waving his arms; long, neon fuchsia water sleeves stream in the air like military formation banners, rippling and dancing over his head, screamingLOOK AT ME. Were it evening when the place is teeming with yaojing, air thick and hazy with cigar smoke, with those antics, he would still be impossible to miss.
I force my face into the shape of a smile and nod in greeting before spinning on my heel to flee.
‘Don’t go! Wait!’ he shouts. ‘Fragrant Grand Princess Overflowing with Sagacity, Noble Lady Hu Xian Jing of Turquoise Hills, Lady Jing of Mount Kunlun!Waaaaait!’
My entire body shudders as I stagger to a halt.Twice. He’s used my full nametwice. A high-pitched ringing in my ears makes it hard to focus on anything but my rising temper.
Master Sun, my anger management teacher, once said in a fit of exasperation that I should consider the opportunity cost when giving in to my impulses. For a few delicious heartbeats I savour the joy of spitting in the envoy’s face before letting the impulse go.
Since both Tian and the Tuatha Dé are signatories to the International Treaty of Immortal Harmony, any insult or injury to Lord Aengus while in our territories is tantamount to a declaration of war. The fleeting glee of spitting at Lord Aengus wouldn’t be worth the torment of being lectured for hours by a dour-faced Horsey.
I take a moment to compose my expression into something approximating pleasant before turning and making my way across the Hall to Lord Aengus and the outcropping of Mount Kunlun.
The envoy has found many fans among the denizens of Hell, and among the Celestials who have come to yin Shanghai to see him. His fans call him Brother Yang – Yang because they say he shines like the sun.
It’s apt because, like the sun, it hurts to look at him. He’s painfully bright. His teeth are so white the glare is blinding; his eyes are the incandescent blue of a gas flame; his hair gleams as if anointed by the sun’s rays, even though there is no sun in yin Shanghai. In yin Shanghai it is forever twilight, a city bathed in blue shadows and blanketed by an inky, starless sky.
‘I am honoured to greet the most venerable Yan Luo Wang’s beautiful golden treasure,’ he says in perfect, high Mandarin, where hisWs sound more likeVs.Yan Luo Vanginstead ofYan Luo Wang.
Beautiful gold treasure?My jaw hurts I’m clenching so hard to keep the smile from sliding off my face.
‘Fragrant Grand—’
‘Lord Aengus, please, call me Lady Jing.’
He gasps as if he cannot believe his good fortune and spews more flowery claptrap. ‘This unworthy one basks in your blushing glory! Brother Zhu did not exaggerate your wondrous and gentle beauty!’ He laughs, a deep baritonehuh huh huh,looking very pleased with himself.
He knows Zhu Bajie, that incorrigible flirt? ‘When did you meet Brother—’ I start, but he takes no notice.
‘How honoured are we to find ourselves in Mount Kunlun’s noble presence.’ He presses his cheek to the crag embedded into the wall. ‘Descendant of King Gaoyang,’ he intones, ‘Bo Yang is my honoured father’s name—’
Those are the opening lines toEncountering Sorrow,one of the longest poems of antiquity: four hundred lines, more than 2500 characters. Surely he can’t mean to recite the whole thing. If he did, decorum would demand that I stand here and listen. No one would be that clueless... but he continues to recite the next lines.
My jaw drops as I realise the rotted turd is absolutely that clueless.
It takes the full recital for me to smooth out my pinchedwhat in the Tian is wrong with youexpression into something more appropriate and less horrified. As soon as he says the last line, I cut in.
‘Thank you, esteemed and noble Lord Aengus for your delightful recitation of such an epic poem. Stay your steps—’
Lord Aengus bows and blurts, ‘This humble one borrows your light and requests your most noble company.’
My eye twitches and I grip my mahjong face even tighter. ‘Wasn’t Horsey – I mean, Lord Ma escorting you? Let me go find him. I’m sure he wouldn’t want our esteemed guest wandering around alone.’
The envoy’s eyes go dreamy. ‘Venerable Lord Ma is such a treasure! So well read and knowledgeable on Confucian principle. I could listen to him for hours! Unfortunately, he was called away but he assured me you’d escort me in his stead, Lady Jing.’
‘H-he said what?’ Horror makes my skin goosepimple as I realise Horsey stitched me up. The last thing I want is to chase around after Lord Aengus.
