Chapter 30 A Mutual Proposition #2
All of that is true. You were always out in the field, busy wearing stolen skins. You add, What of it? Does it still exist?
“Oh, it exists. As a rotten little slum.” Her lip curls again, with fresh disdain. “I have made it my career mission to have Kowloon Walled City demolished and built over.”
You keep your silence, and say nothing lest your own contempt leak through. The sheer pettiness of human ambitions never ceases to amaze you, even after all this time. “Career mission” indeed.
“I suppose financial gain means little to a ghost,” Kit Ling says thoughtfully, with a flicker of self-awareness.
“But you see, I own some of the property in that place. Demolishing the city means I will benefit from the government compensation payouts, and as a Council executive, I can influence the amount we compensate the residents and landlords.” Her smile is wolfish and unpleasant.
“There are also certain building contracts which will fall into place, and again benefit me, if all comes to fruition. However, the clock is ticking, and these businesses will not wait forever.”
I respect your clever financial ambitions, Miss Tsang. A good thing that ghosts can lie, and very easily. You respect nothing about her, not an inch. Yet I remain confused as to what you require of me, willing though I am to serve and be of use.
The obsequious language seems to please Kit Ling. She practically wiggles, like a child who has been praised for good school marks.
“It’s very simple. There is great resistance to demolishing Kowloon, from within and without the neighborhood.
Therefore, I hope to unleash you on the Walled City.
It is the perfect place for you: dark, with many underground waterways, and lots of ghosts.
The triads who control it insist that only they can keep the ghosts in check, but if you are running wild and causing chaos, it will give me the perfect excuse to seize control and have it all knocked down.
We both benefit, and some nice buildings can replace that ugly slum. ”
You’re far from stupid, but she clearly thinks you’re an idiot, and that rankles.
It’s obvious that once she’s used you to wreak the havoc she needs, she’ll either step back when the exorcists and ghost hunters come calling, or send them in herself.
No way would she let you simply wander free at will, especially if she thinks you’re dangerous.
Doubly so if your existence implicates her actions.
Not that you can call her out on this, unfortunately. Anything suspicious and she’ll likely force you back into the bottle gourd with fu talismans and chants. Best to assume she’s able to do that, even though she gives the air of someone with more confidence than competence.
Your main priority needs to be getting out of prison. The next words you say to her matter greatly.
Forgive me, Miss Tsang, but what happens to me when Kowloon is demolished?
A little risky, but your gut instinct whispers that not mentioning it at all will be suspicious. She might be inclined to think you are insincere if you leap to accept her offer without question, and you don’t want that. She must believe your capitulation is real.
Kit Ling’s eyes narrow in response, and she examines you the way a housewife might examine a cockroach who has dared crawl into her house.
“What do you want to happen?” she says, acidly.
The ocean, you say, immediately. I long only to return to the sea, to the island from which I came.
“Huh. And how do I know you won’t do that straightaway, if I release you?”
Because my soul cries out for justice. That is certainly true.
The people of Kowloon betrayed me, and caused me to be locked away here, even though I once worked with them.
I seek retribution, and you kindly offer me this chance, Miss Tsang.
Not quite accurate, but close enough that the truth rings through it.
When that is done, I yearn only to retreat to the waves. Will you let me?
“Well. I think that can be arranged.” Her self-satisfied smile fills you with loathing. “I won’t ask you to sign a contract, Thousand-Faced Girl. Paper agreements cannot restrain a ghost. But here is what will happen. First, I am going to bind you back into that vessel.”
She pulls out a second bottle gourd, similar looking to the one you inhabited before.
“I’ll swap gourds, leaving this empty one behind.
Then I will walk out, with you tucked safely in my bag.
Your old prison will be put away, and no one will know you have been released.
Later, when I am out in the city, I shall set you free. Are we agreed?”
You agree, after pretending to think about it. There’s no other choice, except to trust her. If you don’t agree, she’ll only force you back inside, anyway.
Still, stepping willingly back into that tiny prison is one of the hardest things you’ve ever done. The trauma of that bondage is fresh, the relief of being “out” immense in so many ways. It takes all of your resolve, your years of forged inner strength, to let her bind you anew.
She begins to read a chant from a piece of paper, and you close your eyes, willing yourself to yield. Darkness closes in again, and your final horrified thought as she seals up the new gourd is that you can, in fact, tell there is less room in here.
A while later.
You’re not sure how much time has passed, only that it was a much shorter span than before.
When you come to, you’re lying in a bath of water, groggy and exhausted.
Still not fully recovered from the exorcism which first trapped you, never mind the second one that Kit Ling has put you through.
There is very little light in here; the windows are boarded up, and the taps leak badly.
At least the bathwater is helpful, and very soothing. It’s good to be submerged again. The darkness is nice, too.
“There you are. Feeling yourself, yet?”
Sit up slowly. Water sluices off languidly.
Kit Ling is perched on the edge of the bath, a smug grin plastered on her pretty face. That expression offsets any beauty she would otherwise have.
Where are we now, Miss Tsang?
“In a property I own and lease, within the Walled City. People come here to gamble, hire girls, and take drugs.” The casualness with which she says this, as if immune to the stench of her own corruption. It is staggering that this woman is a city official.
I am … free? To kill, to hunt, to roam?
“Yes. Cause all the damage you like.” She stands up. “I must go, now that you are awake. It won’t do for me to be seen in this place. Have fun, Thousand-Faced Girl.”
You sidle out of the bath, standing between her and the door.
The councilwoman frowns. “What are you doing?”
You call yourself a city leader? Disgusting, “Miss” Tsang. Your first blow slams her head against the bathroom door. She squeals pitifully, tries to start chanting an exorcism ritual; you snatch the bottle gourd from her hand and smash it.
“No! We had an agreement,” she gasps, and then immediately wets herself when you pick her up by the throat.
I know that you plan to betray me, as humans always will. Our agreement was therefore void, the moment you made it.
She begins wailing, scratching feebly at your wrists. Her face is a mess of bruised cheeks and busted lips.
This idiot, you think dismally, would not have lasted an hour under Japanese occupation. She is all cocky privilege and corrupt self-satisfaction, with no character or strength. The world will not miss her a jot.
“Please, please, please!” she sobs, shameless and pathetic in her begging. “I’m so sorry, so sorry, please forgive me, I didn’t mean it!”
Be sorry in your next life. This one is over.
Drag her into the bath and force her head beneath the tepid water until she stops fucking struggling. It’s done in less than two minutes. With so much blood on your hands, another pointless death is not remarkable.
Afterward, it seems only fitting to take her body as your own. She is a well-connected, financially secure woman, and that is really quite perfect for your needs. Should have thought of that before hitting her so hard, but never mind.
You step into her skin, and stretch languorously. Next, you reach down and scoop out some of the water, splashing it on the floor before mopping it up with a towel. The rest you allow to drain away.
Water ghosts make water ghosts, especially if the victim is a woman. You got lucky with those Japanese soldiers the first time; they were men, which greatly reduced the likelihood. It’s trickier with women victims.
But her spirit can’t return to dryness, and thus her death is final if you displace or clean up all the water she died in. That’s a trick you worked out during the war, and it is as handy now as it was against soldiers. The water-ghost curse didn’t account for intelligent manipulation.
It’s a trick you’ll use later, to keep Red Bird’s ghost under control: a small spirit trapped in a small basin, virtually powerless. There is a certain creativity to your malice.
Later, as you stand in front of that mirror dabbing blood from your (her) split lips, applying ice to your (her) black eyes, a smile steals across your face.
“Thank you, Miss Tsang,” you say, into the mirror. “You don’t know what you’ve done for me.”
Not only has this idiot politician freed you, she’s given you the keys to the city. Her money and her life are yours, to use as you see fit. Everyone thinks you’re dead and captured, and no one will know to look for you.
The quest for vengeance—against Mei Chi, against Mami, against Hong Kong which betrayed you—can finally, finally resume.
This fucking city will never know what hit it.