Paris Celestial (Shanghai Immortal #2)

Chapter 1

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 than Lady 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, screaming LOOK 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 name twice. 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 his Ws sound more like Vs. Yan Luo Vang instead of Yan 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 baritone huh 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 to Encountering 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 pinched what in the Tian is wrong with you expression 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.

‘Lord Ma told me you are especially well versed in Confucian theory, and that you’re a master when it comes to the Book of Songs.’

‘Lord Ma, praise me?’ I scoff. ‘You’re a rotted liar.’

Lord Aengus’s expression turns solemn. ‘I swear on my honour, Lady Jing. Lord Ma told me you’d mastered the full canon of Ming poetry at sixteen! Most impressive.’

Rotted turds, he’s telling the truth. Too late I remember the Treaty as well as the fact that Lord Aengus is a frequent guest of Queen Mother of the West. She is very protective of her favourites.

Shit sticks.

I drop to my knees and knock my forehead to the ground. ‘Contain my rudeness, esteemed Lord Aengus.’ I bend forward and kowtow twice more.

When I straighten again, Lord Aengus is on his knees as well, facing me. What in the Tian is he doing?

‘Contain my apologies, Grand Princess Overflowing with Sagacity, Noble Lady Hu Xian Jing of the Turquoise Hills, Lady Jing of Mount Kunlun!’ he declares, knocking his forehead to the floor with a loud thunk. Waves of golden hair tumble to the ground.

‘Lord Aengus, why are you apologising? I’m the one who gave you insult. I am trying to—’

He cuts me off. ‘This humble one beseeches the most venerable Grand Princess Overflowing with Sagacity, Noble Lady Hu Xian Jing of the Turquoise Hills, Lady Jing of Mount Kunlun to contain my ignorance. This lowly one has cleaned his ears and is ready to receive the teachings of the wise and learned Grand Princess Overflowing with Sagacity, Noble Lady Hu Xian Jing of the Turquoise Hills, Lady Jing of Mount Kunlun!’ He kowtows again with a loud thunk.

‘Contain this unintelligent one’s ignorance!’ Thud. ‘Allow me the honour of borrowing your light and assisting honourable Grand Princess Overflowing with Sagacity, Noble Lady Hu Xian Jing of the Turquoise Hills, Lady Jing of Mount Kunlun!’ Thud.

His big gilded head rises and falls with each kowtow. He’s clearly enjoying this. My temper frays. A curse rises up my throat, but I swallow it back down. One round of kowtowing to the envoy is enough; I want him to accept my rotted apology and move on already.

‘Get up,’ I hiss.

He is so enraptured in delivering overly florid apologies he doesn’t hear me.

He’s called me a golden lotus, a precious treasure, distinguished, honourable, noble, excellent, and fragrant.

He has yet to repeat himself. If I weren’t so annoyed I would be impressed by his verbal acrobatics.

At the next thud I grab a handful of his hair. He stills.

I make an almighty effort to control my simmering temper. Instead of threats, I offer him an incentive. ‘If you promise to accept my apology, and stop apologising, I will let you watch me play a round of mahjong.’

He shifts, his hands still on the ground, until one bright blue eye finds me from behind a curtain of golden locks. He nods excitedly. I release his hair, which to my annoyance is as soft as it looks. We both stand, me warily, him practically quivering with anticipation.

I hold up my hand, a defensive move against another round of courtly piss-fart.

‘No speaking. If you utter even a single word, I’ll .

. .’ I scramble for something which will dissuade without breaking diplomatic ties and land on one that gives me hives just thinking about it.

‘I’ll tell Lord Ma to go over the whole of the Confucian Analects with you. ’

His grin falters and I crow (silently, of course) congratulating myself on finally finding his weakness. But then his bottom lip wobbles and those wide eyes actually well with tears. The weight of the Treaty hangs over my head; did I go too far?

‘Truly?’ His voice trembles and he sinks to his knees once more. ‘My gratitude has no bounds, most esteemed Grand Princess—’

‘Lady Jing,’ I beg. ‘Please, Lord Aengus, call me Lady Jing.’ My voice sounds as beaten down as I feel.

We stare at each other: Him with such adoration a passer-by would think I’ve blessed him with all the wonders of the universe; me, like he’s shat on my foot. Fat tears roll down his cheeks even though I’m the one who wants to cry in frustration.

‘Benevolent Lady Jing’ – thud – ‘gives this unworthy one the highest of honours!’ Thud. ‘This unintelligent one borrows your light’ – thud – ‘for the benevolence of Lady Jing knows no bounds.’ Thud.