Chapter 3
Three
The Guardians
We crash through the topiary – taking out a few palm leaves – and land hard on Big Wang’s private roof terrace, the bronze pyramid above his living quarters a beacon against the indigo sky. The impact dislodges the mortal, and he rolls off towards the koi pond.
Bullhead and Horsey, Big Wang’s personal guards, jump to their feet.
Their real titles are Lord Nioh and Lord Ma, but I call them as I see them – one broad, muscled, and stubborn, the other long-faced, long-toothed, and long-winded.
They both wear black, ankle-length robes and brandish matching curved swords aglow with the blue flames of a guard of Hell.
Both swords are aimed at me. When their brains catch up with their eyes, their stances relax, though they don’t sheath the swords yet.
‘Oh good, you brought the package.’ Horsey says, gesturing to the mortal who is curled up against the side of Big Wang’s koi pond, dry heaving. A tortoise lifts its head from the pond, then just as serenely disappears.
I raise my head and stare at the two guards. ‘You knew the package was a mortal?’
Bullhead, as usual, gives me his it is what it is expression. But Horsey’s looking down his long nose at me in that snotty way I despise. I slowly stand and put a hand on my hip, staring Horsey down. Making sure the effort is particularly noisome, I spend some time bringing up a gob of spit.
Horsey’s ears turn red. ‘Don’t you do it—’ he warns.
I smile, then hork at him. The gob of saliva lands by his right foot, missing his fabric boots by a few hairs. My aim is off today. I give him a demure smile and bow. ‘Thank you for the heads-up.’
‘Have some decorum, Lady Jing.’ Horsey’s face is pulled frog-like in that disapproving frown he always wears around me. ‘And for Hell’s sake, cover your legs.’
I yank down my qipao. ‘The package would never have made it here intact if I had been precious about covering my knees.’
‘Which is why we won’t mention anything to Big Wang, right, Lord Ma?’ Bullhead says, moving between Horsey and me.
Horsey’s frown etches deeper into his face.
‘She’s a full Celestial, well into adulthood.
Her centenary is in a few short weeks and she has yet to learn the proper behaviour befitting her title.
She’s as bad as a monkey infested with fleas.
Can’t sit still, can’t follow instructions – how is she going to sit on the Council—’
‘I’m here, aren’t I? And I am not joining the rotted Council.’
Mr Lee chooses that moment to throw himself at the guards, kowtowing with renewed fervour. ‘This humble one has travelled far to bask in your glory. This unworthy one requests the attentions of the venerable Yan Luo Wang.’ He repeats different versions of this over and over.
His cowardice makes me want to puke.
‘What did I say about that overdressed drivel?’ My voice is a snarl.
Brain and bone porridge it is. I stalk over to the mortal. Garlic duty will absolutely be worth the satisfaction of shutting him up, but Bullhead blocks my foot with the flat of his blade. The blue flames tickle my ankles, pleasantly cool against my aching arch.
‘Temper, temper, Lady Jing,’ he says, his blade unyielding. ‘Remember the rules. Breathe, then count to ten.’
I roll my neck from left to right, making the bones crack, then throw him a glare worthy of sinking a thousand ships.
‘Big Wang has been waiting for this delivery with some anxiety,’ Bullhead continues, unmoved by my posturing. ‘He was most clear that no damage should come to his guest. A mortal with half a head will be quite a problem, and we don’t want to upset Big Wang, now do we?’
‘I was only going to bruise him a little,’ I mutter.
Mr Lee stills, turns his head just enough to glimpse the flaming sword keeping my foot from crushing his skull. His gulp is loud in the tense silence.
‘Lord Nioh is quite right, Little Jing.’ A voice of shadow and grit makes us all turn.
Big Wang stands before his gilded terrace doors, a giant figure of a man.
Bald with bushy eyebrows, skin the blue-black of inky night, and wild-looking eyes which gleam red when he turns his head just so.
He wears his favourite ensemble, an emerald silk robe and matching green baggy silwar gathered at the knee.
It’s a style he embraced after returning from the last Convention of Immortals, an international version of our Mahjong Council.
Big Wang says he likes that all his bits can breathe.
Honestly. There should be a rule about how much sharing is appropriate.
He’s tied a saffron yellow sash around his ample waist and his robe is open to his navel, showing off the crimson tattoos of cavorting dragons which crowd every inch of exposed skin.
A cigar dangles from his mouth and he takes a slow drag.
The end sizzles white, then red like an angry eye.
In one hand he clutches a bottle of cognac.
He raises a finger and lifts his chin very slightly.
Usually, Big Wang has a dozen or so apprentices standing at the ready, but because tonight is the first night of the Ministerial Mahjong Council, he’s only got one apprentice attending him – the rest are busy catering to the many whims of the ministers, no doubt delivering drinks and messages around the Mahjong Hall.
A young woman decked out in Big Wang’s livery – grey robes, silk instead of the usual cotton for indentured servants, tied with a bright red sash around her waist – steps forward at his signal carrying a tray with three cut crystal tumblers.
Big Wang places the bottle on the tray and strolls over to the koi pond where the mortal cowers.
He leans forward, hands on knees, cigar clamped between his teeth.
‘Welcome, Tony Lee. I trust your journey was not too uncomfortable.’ With a meaty hand, Big Wang yanks Mr Lee to his feet, then drapes an arm over the mortal’s shoulders, which in fairness are sculpted and well-muscled, but Big Wang’s size makes Mr Lee look like a scrawny child.
‘Come, let’s talk.’ Big Wang turns his back on me and heads towards his quarters.
I watch them go. For a moment, I’m curious.
What does Big Wang want with Mr Lee? What does Mr Lee want?
No mortal comes to Hell to vacation. Then I shake myself – curiosity leads to sharing.
Sharing leads to caring. Caring leads to having responsibilities which inevitably leads to boring lectures from a dour-faced Horsey.
Why should I bother with all that when no one bothers for me?
The apprentice scurries to the terrace doors and offers Big Wang the tray of crystal tumblers.
Two of the glasses are filled with cognac; the amber liquid glints gold in the low light.
The third tumbler is filled to the brim with a near black liquid that smells like an overripe persimmon – rich and tangy and sweet.
My nostrils flare and my fangs pierce my gums with a soft pop.
Big Wang plucks a glass of cognac from the tray and hands it to the mortal.
He takes the other for himself, then pauses, turns his head to the side, but otherwise doesn’t look at me.
‘That’s for you, Little Jing. Well done. ’
The coppery tang of blood dazzles my senses, and my stomach clenches in anticipation. But I push it away. I can’t let Soo’s insult pass. ‘Wait,’ I say.
Big Wang turns slightly, nods for me to continue.
‘When I came up the wall, I passed Lady Soo talking by a window. She openly insulted you, on top of the usual crap she spews about me.’ This time, surely, he can’t deny me. I won’t stand for this stain on his honour. I stand taller. ‘Let me avenge your loss of face.’
‘Lady Jing,’ Horsey hisses, glancing at Big Wang, ‘we do not throw baseless accusations at the ministers of Tian.’
‘I heard her! She said Big Wang was a fool and an imbecile—’
‘Enough.’ Big Wang faces me. His dark eyes bore into mine, as if trying to scrutinise my very soul.
I want to shrink back, but I know what I heard. I force my chin up. ‘She also said they want the Longnu dragon pearl. Is it really that powerful? Is that why you wanted it?’
‘The dragon pearl is not your concern,’ Big Wang says, dismissing my questions about the dragon pearl as he always does. ‘Do you have any witnesses?’
‘Rotted shit sticks. Can’t you take me at my word? Can’t you care about my face when she insults you?’
Big Wang swirls the cognac in his glass. ‘Do I need to remind you about the importance of tomorrow’s plenary council? I do not want anything to distract the ministers, especially not a repeat of the last time you decided to avenge your own loss of face.’
The too familiar burn rises inside me. Everything goes tight. ‘That was ages ago. Besides, she provoked me,’ I grind out.
‘You threw a burning cocktail on her. The ensuing diplomatic crisis between the Hulijing Court and the Ministry of Hell derailed the plenary session completely. The delays meant we missed our window to host the Convention of Immortals and have to wait until the next centenary cycle.’ Big Wang’s voice rumbles low, slow, and full of censure.
Lady Soo got off easy. I remember her from before my mother sold me.
How she’d pinch me when my mother was distracted by some shiny new bauble, leaving little red half-moon marks on my arms. How she’d take the yin silver talismans they made and press them into the tender skin of my underarms. Sometimes she’d catch me in a hallway alone and make up some infraction so she could haul me off and punish me.
She particularly liked using rattan canes.
The memory of her screams as flames engulfed her and danced in her sizzling hair brings a smile to my face and warmth to my chest. ‘Flaming Bitches are my favourite,’ I say.
‘Little Jing.’ The warning in his tone wipes the smirk off my face.
I shrug. ‘That was the name of the drink.’
Big Wang exhales slowly. ‘I am still paying restitution for the loss of face you caused the Hulijing Court because you cannot control your temper.’
I press my lips together, trying to keep the lava inside me from spewing out.
I glare at the terracotta tiles. Lady Soo had called me a mongrel.
Normally that wouldn’t bother me – I’ve heard that insult ten thousand times – but I’d been fetching drinks for her all through the three-day Council, listening to her hiss horrible things about me and my dead mother.
She’s the kind of person who searches for a tender spot, then gouges at it with her nails.
Of course I lost my temper. It’s why I have to take anger management lessons.
‘I was there,’ the mortal pipes up.
We all stare. How dare a mortal insert himself into yaojing affairs?
He swallows, but after a moment plants his feet and folds his hands at his waist. ‘What Lady Jing says is true. A woman in yellow said, “Big Wang is a bigger fool than I thought”, and then “Wang’s an imbecile if he thinks we’ll accept that mongrel as an equal”.
The woman doesn’t like the bank project and wants a dragon pearl to help stop it. ’
My face goes hot but Big Wang tilts his head and scrutinises the mortal.
‘I see,’ he says and turns to me. ‘Little Jing, stay away from Lady Soo. As I said, I do not want anything to distract the ministers from the plenary session. We need our banking system in place before war erupts in the mortal world and joss money all but dries up. If we miss this window, by the time the next Ministerial Mahjong Council comes around, it will be too late.’
Frustration wells. ‘But—’
‘You did well, getting Mr Lee here safely. Enjoy your drink.’ With that, Big Wang leads Mr Lee into his quarters.
The casual dismissal irks. I should tell him about the talisman, but why waste my qi when he never takes me seriously.
He wasn’t even bothered about the dragon pearl.
I shake myself. Stupid to care more about his reputation than he does.
Stomach growling, I head for the glass of blood.
The apprentice jumps when I appear too quickly next to her.
I know she’ll end up whispering about me, but right now the blood rush is strong enough that I don’t care.
My senses are magnified. The slight fizzing in the glass is as loud as crashing waves to my overstimulated senses.
My mouth waters. I snatch the glass, but the ever-present weight of Horsey’s disapproval presses me back to myself.
I am not in the mood to fake smile through another one of his lectures, so I force myself to slow down, to sip, but even then, I drain the tumbler in seconds.
It’s all I can do not to lick the inside of the glass.
The effect is instantaneous. The blood rush rips through me with the exuberance of a firecracker.
I sink to my knees, exalting in the energy chewing through my veins.
The apprentice hurries away, my obvious enjoyment distasteful.
Fuck her. I close my eyes and see with my senses – Bullhead and Horsey’s yin glows green.
The darkness forever cloaking immortal Shanghai comes aflame with light that pulses and shimmers with great brushstrokes of golds and russets and silvers, staining the sky with the colours of hulijing.