‘Raise high your honourable hand, most venerable Yan Luo Wang,’ they intone as one and leave me on the floor while they settle themselves in the armchairs behind me. I give those fickle ingrates the stink eye.
Staring at Big Wang, I will him to let me get off my knees too. Finally, he sighs. Without looking at me, he lifts his chin and gestures to the chairs.Thank Tian.I have to use the desk to haul myself off my knees.
Big Wang puts his cigar in a silver tortoise ashtray. The red glow in his pupils grows until the whole of his eyes burn like embers. Shadows darken and expand around Big Wang as he suddenly swells in size to loom above us, an oppressive and chilling presence. A rare glimpse of his true form. ‘Lord Aengus,’ he says, his voice a rolling thunder so deep it makes my chest ache. ‘Do you know what you ask of me?’
Lord Aengus gapes at Big Wang, then swallows. ‘Contain my thoughtlessness. I should have been more clear in my request. I would never dream of asking venerable Yan Luo Wang, King of Hell, most righteous and honourable Supreme Judge of Diyu, to lie. Nor would I wish to put a pantheon in a precarious position due to my own failings. All I ask is to turn a blind eye to my illness for a couple of days. You see, were I to fall ill on my way home, then the hulijing could not be held responsible. I will ask my healer to meet me in Paris with the elixir and I shall be able to return home fully restored.’ Under his breath, so low as to be nearly undetectable, he mutters, ‘And the Dagda will be none the wiser.’
Big Wang rotates the end of a new cigar over his tortoise table lighter as his shadows shrink to their regular size. ‘Mmmmgh.’
The non-committal grunt, paired with his mahjong face, is classic Big Wang negotiation tactic. Lord Aengus waits, but Big Wang says no more. The silence stretches as Lord Aengus’s expression becomes more and more distraught.
The door swings open to an intense light, as if the sun itself hovered in the doorway. I have to blink a few times before I can see again. When I do, I’m not the only one in the room who gasps.
The Great Goddess, Queen Mother of the West, floats over the threshold of Big Wang’s office. Fluffy clouds cushion her bare feet. Contrary to her title, she is a diminutive vision clad in a robe of moon-bright silk, no taller than my waist. Her water sleeves spill to the parquet floor while silk ribbons billow and swirl around her on eddies of unseen breezes. A golden circlet gathers her thick black hair in a loose bun at the top of her head. Luminous white jade adorns her – carved ruyi clouds dangle from her ears and neck, while bangles circle her wrists and ankles. Her round face is lit with a serene smile. Everything about her – from her dimpled knuckles and plump cheeks, to her gestures – exudes tenderness and compassion. Everything that is but her eyes. They are sharp, ancient, and knowing.
Big Wang bows low. The rest of us hastily slip from our chairs to our knees. With the horseshoe-back chairs behind us and the low table in front of us, there isn’t enough space to kowtow, so we bow as low as we can, foreheads hitting the edge of the table.
‘Great Goddess Queen Mother of the West,’ we chorus. ‘Ten thousand years of good health.’
Lord Aengus tears up. Unable to bow or move his head, he lowers his gaze and says, ‘This unworthy one basks in the most virtuous and venerable Great Goddess, Queen Mother of the West’s glory.’
Lord Aengus’s greeting seems to delight Queen Mother of the West. Eyes sparkling, she replies, ‘Céad míle fáilte romhat, Little Yang.’ Scolded the happy rice gave out tea-meat makes no sense, but Lord Aengus draws in a breath of surprised delight, as if if she’s given him the highest praise. He gazes adoringly at Queen Mother of the West as she turns to us and says, ‘This one of Mount Kunlun arrives before you unharmed.’
‘Venerable Queen Mother of the West,’ Big Wang says, still in his low bow. ‘The Realms of Hell are honoured by your virtuous presence. This humble one before you welcomes you to Immortal Shanghai.’
‘You have grown up well, Little Wang,’ the Great Goddess, Queen Mother of the West says. ‘Get up, there’s no need to stand on ceremony.’
Big Wang does as he’s told, blushing at the compliment. ‘Thank you, Auntie, for coming so quickly.’
Queen Mother of the West smiles indulgently as one of her ribbons spirals upwards and gently pats his cheek. ‘Of course. When I heard Little Yang had fallen ill, I came prepared.’
She turns to Lord Aengus. Her silk ribbons dart forward, flitting and flying around his head at great speed. Three of the ribbons support his neck and head while another two work on the hairpin and cushion, one plucking the hairpin from Lord Aengus’s hair then dropping it in Lady Min’s lap while the other holds the cushion to one side.
Her clouds bring Queen Mother of the West face to face with Lord Aengus. He regards her with wonder. She leans forward, but stops, as if waiting for something. When nothing happens, she makes a brief humming sound. One of her ribbons swoops out and perches a pair of lorgnettes on her nose. Satisfied, she peers deep into Lord Aengus’s eyes, then nods as if satisfied.
From her water sleeve, Queen Mother of the West pulls a bundle of silk and a small stoppered gourd. She hands the gourdto one of the ribbons while another stretches out to form a narrow makeshift table where she unfolds the silk. Inside is a set of long silver needles.
Turning to Lord Aengus, she inclines her head. ‘If I may, Little Yang? I will gift you some of my qi. It is not the same as awen, but it should make your journey home more comfortable.’
Lord Aengus eyes the long needles with some trepidation but nods. Queen Mother of the West takes the needles and with a flick of her wrist places them one by one on qi meridians in Lord Aengus’s face. The ends of the ribbons flowing around her rise and seem to watch her as she works. Soon, his face is covered in quivering needles.
The last needle she places onto the tip of Lord Aengus’s tongue.
Queen Mother of the West closes her eyes. With her middle finger and thumb, she forms a circle, one hand palm up, the other held to her heart. Gold strands swirl between her hands. She twists her wrists, and the gold strands arc away from her, gossamer threads spiralling down each needle and disappearing beneath Lord Aengus’s skin.
‘Better?’ she asks.
Lord Aengus nods.
She holds out her hand for the gourd and unstoppers it. She pours a few drops of dark liquid into his mouth.
She notices us all staring and giggles.
‘My special elixir,’ she says. ‘Immortality peach resin, propolis, and royal jelly from my apiary. This should give Little Yang a bit of his self back.’
As we watch, Lord Aengus’s head seems to gain more dimension.
Queen Mother of the West inspects her handiwork. ‘Good. It’s working. Now drink the rest,’ she says, holding the gourd to his lips.
