Gigi glides over to our group. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen you look so sweet, Jing,’ she says. ‘We need to give you more presents. Brother Zhu originally chose an ugly brooch, but I knew you’d like this better. Here, let me help you put it on.’
It takes a little effort, but once over my hand, the bangle sits nicely on my wrist. I can’t help admiring it.
Gigi turns to Tony. ‘It is good to see you again, Mr Lee.’
Tony doesn’t respond, he’s staring at my jade bangle.
‘Mr Lee,’ Gigi says again, a knowing smile playing at the corner of her lips.
He startles, then offers her a fist-palm salute before bowing low. ‘Manifold apologies, contain this unworthy one’s lack of manners.’
‘Aiya, Mr Lee, no need to be so formal. Zijiren. I consider you kin.’
Mr Lee bows again. ‘This unworthy one borrows your noble light; ten thousand years of gratitude for your friendship and kindness.’
I roll my eyes. Gigi loves that ornate claptrap. She giggles. It sounds like trilling bells. For a moment I’m jealous at her effortless charm and elegance.
‘Come,’ Big Wang says. ‘Let me show you the train.’
We follow Big Wang up the metal steps into what I can only describe as the inside of an oyster shell. The walls are a softpink lacquered to a mirrored shine, inlaid with precious gems to create scenes from the Celestial realm where mountains of jade rise from mother-of-pearl clouds while coral and emerald birds nest in lapis and sapphire pine trees. Gold velvet armchairs cluster around marble tables. At the back of the carriage sits a white grand piano and a fully stocked bar.
‘Stop drooling, Jing,’ Gigi whispers. I make a face, but she’s too busy gawking at all the opulence.
‘That’s the lounge,’ Big Wang says matter-of-factly as he leads us to the next carriage. ‘In Paris,’ he continues, ‘we’ve arranged for you to stay at our diplomatic outpost where Lord Aengus can rendezvous with his healer. Special Emissary Ahn will meet you at the station.’
The dining carriage is no less impressive. Carved silkwood panels with gilded borders hang from the red lacquered walls. A circular table in the centre of the room shines like honeyed amber. More silkwood, given its lustre and colour.
‘Your sleeping cabins are through here,’ Big Wang says, and we step into a silkwood hallway that reminds me of Gigi’s home in the Old City. Halfway down the corridor, two lanterns hang either side of the panelled doors, their lattices backed with silk for privacy. Big Wang opens them.
‘This is your room, Lady Gi and Ah Lang.’
The top parts of the wall are pale yellow silk and carved wood panels, but that’s all I can see because piles of huge wooden trunks block everything from view.
‘You look like you’ve brought every stitch of clothing you own and then some,’ I say. I count her trunks. ‘SIXTEEN? Are you moving to Paris?’
‘Don’t be ridiculous, Jing. It took me ages to pare down my travel wardrobe. I had to leavesomany things behind.’
‘Oh Petal, you are far more beautiful than any item of clothing,’ Ah Lang pipes up.
The two exchange a sappy look and I pretend-gag to make them stop. It doesn’t work.
‘Pish. You’ll be grateful when you run out of things to wear and you come begging for me to lend you something spectacular.’ She cocks her head. ‘Seriously though, Jing, I think I would move to Paris, if I had the chance. It’s the city of romance, after all. What about you?’
‘Leave yin Shanghai?’ I try to imagine it, but can’t. My days are shaped by those dear to me – I wake to the sound of Old Zao singing in their kitchen and the smell of steaming xiaolongbao. Mornings, Horsey drills me on the Classics, though more often than not he spends it lecturing me for some infraction or other. Afternoons, I gossip with Madame Meng over tea and visit with my pixiu. Evenings I eat with Big Wang, while Bullhead keeps me company when I have my midnight snack and daily glass of blood and then play kanhoo with Gigi until the wee hours of the morning. Take that away... The thought makes my chest hurt.
‘You’re really considering it?’ Gigi’s teasing tone pulls me from my thoughts.
The others wait politely for my answer, but Big Wang’s eyes are crinkled at the corners in an unfamiliar way – he looks nervous, or worried. ‘Are you okay, Big Wang?’ I ask.
‘Mmmgh,’ he says, his expression back to his usual unfathomable mahjong face.
Perhaps I imagined it.
Turning to Gigi, I shake my head. ‘Willingly leave xiaolongbao on tap? Not in ten thousand years.’
Big Wang leads us down the hall to the next set of panel doors. Two mahogany moon gates divide the long rectangular room into three areas; in the centre sits a table and chairs, with sleeping quarters at either end. I can tell Big Wang chose the furniture – tapered cabinets, chairs with curved backs, a simplesquare table with legs that curve gently inwards at the feet: the clean lines of the Ming dynasty.
Big Wang nods to Tony. ‘Thank you for offering to share with Lord Aengus. It sets my mind at ease.’
