Chapter 8
Eight
Same but Different
I step from the Cathay Hotel’s revolving doors onto the wide pavement of the Bund. The sword sheath catches my qipao’s side slit and I nearly topple into Mr Lee, who doesn’t notice since he’s nose-deep in a small leather-bound notebook.
‘Could Lady Jing show this humble—’
I suck my teeth, fighting the heavy silver pommel and my temper. ‘Speak plain or don’t speak at all.’ Already my mahjong face is cracking; I’m not sure I can manage an entire day of playing nice with the idiot mortal.
Mr Lee clears his throat. ‘Could Lady Jing show me where joss money arrives into Hell?’
I turn without speaking and begin walking down the Bund, planning where I need to go and how to do it without raising Mr Lee’s suspicions. He looks like the type who would tattle. As if he can sense me thinking about him, he hustles to my side, gazing around him in awe.
‘I am astounded at how similar Hell looks to Shanghai.’
‘This is Shanghai.’ My voice is flat. My Shanghai has been in existence for longer than his Shanghai.
‘I mean, how similar immortal Shanghai looks to mortal Shanghai.’ He gestures to the imposing stone buildings that line the Bund, oblivious to my pique.
‘These, for example, are all the same as what we have on the Bund. That one – he points at the one with the clock tower – was only built in 1927. Eight years ago. The King of Hell has kept up with the changes sweeping mortal Shanghai.’ He cranes his neck to see further down the road.
‘They’re all here. Half of them are banks.
’ He pauses. ‘Why, if you already have so many banks, does the King of Hell wish to build another one?’
‘They’re not banks, they’re mahjong halls.’
‘All of them?’
‘Not all.’ I point to the building we’re passing, right next to Cathay Hotel, forgetting about the rotted sword. It swings down and catches my heel. I lose my balance, but strong hands grip my waist, holding me tight.
Mr Lee’s face hovers over mine, his gaze soft, concerned.
His scent – an unnerving melange of Big Wang’s hair pomade, snowflakes, and the velvet sweetness pulsing in his veins – overwhelms everything.
The world constricts until there is only him and me.
His breath tickles my skin, his arms solid yet warm.
It occurs to me I have not been held like this, ever.
I am confused by how I feel about that. His lips part slightly and his yang halos around him, bright as sunshine.
A responding burn, urgent and sharp, unsheathes inside me.
My fangs extend and a deep snarl erupts from my throat.
Mr Lee’s eyes widen. He drops me at the same time I jerk from his grasp.
Judging by his expression, he’s as shocked as I am by my reaction.
His gaze unsettles me. I fidget with my hair, tuck it behind my ears. My face burns.
Grasping for something to redirect his attention, I prattle about the buildings, walking quickly.
‘That one is Big Wang’s amusement hall,’ I say.
‘There are acrobats and opera, mostly shenqu, though they perform jing and yue operas too. The next two are theatre halls, also owned by Big Wang. One is for yaojing, the other for ghosts. Those three’ – I keep hold of the sword pommel with one hand while I point at the three short buildings, careful to keep two arms’ lengths between us – ‘are a dance hall, a massage hall, and a singing hall. Others are restaurants and bars, catering to the different denizens of Hell. That one’ – I point to the one with the clock tower – ‘is where we’re going now. ’
Mr Lee stops, his hands clasped behind him, forcing me to stop as well. I eye him warily.
He raises his chin to gaze at the clock tower. ‘You looked like you wanted to take a bite of me,’ he says. There’s no accusation in his tone. But when he turns those soft brown eyes on me, like a rotted puppy, unease knots the muscles between my shoulders.
‘I’ve never been that close to a mortal before. You startled me, that’s all.’
He gives me an odd look. ‘I was draped over your shoulders last night and hung off your back. I think I have been that close to you before. Closer in fact.’
My cheeks go hot again. I stare at my slippers, dust already shading the pale blue silk a dark grey. ‘That was different.’
‘How? I want to know what made you react like that, so I don’t make you uncomfortable again.’
I snap my gaze to his, offended. Who is he to coddle me, a yaojing? And yet, his gaze is clear and earnest. Free of arrogance. And foolishly, also free of fear. Having Big Wang’s calling card stamped into his forehead has clearly addled his mind.
‘Me? Uncomfortable? Now listen here, mortal: you are in my territory. Your face was in my space, breathing your qi all over me. Of course I’m going to react.
Never forget, not only can I drink you dry of blood, but I can also drain you of every last drop of yang qi.
You’d be nothing more than a desiccated husk. ’
‘But you wouldn’t.’ It’s not a question.
‘Don’t be na?ve.’
He bows his head and when he raises it to me, his eyes are gooey. I shudder.
‘I don’t believe you would ever hurt me,’ he says like the fool he is.
‘Are you kidding me? I want to crush your brains into porridge. I want to slap you so hard you go flying back through the veil.’
I stride away, well, try to, but the damn sword trips me again. Mr Lee reaches for me, but I jump clear of his helpful hands.
I snarl. ‘Did you not hear a single word I said?’
He bows low. ‘This worthless one bears a karmic debt from your benevolence. Without your help I would not have made it safely to Yan Luo Wang. I must do everything in my power to prevent harm from befalling you or I would bring dishonour on my ancestors.’
‘Your ancestors crossed the Naihe Bridge long ago. They won’t know and they won’t care.’
‘I will know. I will care.’ There’s an edge of steel in his voice now.
I give him a once-over. He’s standing straighter, nostrils flaring righteously. I shake my head in disgust. ‘You have fermented tofu for brains.’
That gooey gaze drips all over me and makes me feel odd.
He nods solemnly but as he turns away I see his cheek lift.
He is laughing at me. I roll my shoulders.
Yi, er, san, I count, working through my embarrassment and irritation.
I need to deal with the rotted sword. I will not trip on it again or give the mortal the satisfaction of catching me.
I am yaojing. He should not forget that.
It occurs to me it may be easier to simply abandon the mortal. I have a feeling he will only cause me mafan. But if Big Wang finds out I directly disobeyed him . . . I wrinkle my nose, remembering the awful itch of garlic and refocus on the sword.
I’m messing with the holster and the leather contraption wrapped around my waist, trying to get it off, when a lady ghost, with the tell-tale unkempt long hair and flowing white robes denoting wrongful death, wafts towards us, her dark tresses swaying in a non-existent breeze.
She pauses beside Mr Lee, inhaling deeply.
I am torn between leaving the mortal to her tender mercies or slapping the bitch out of my sight.
Instead, mindful of my temper, I count to ten slowly and watch to see how far she will go.
‘Master,’ she says to Mr Lee, her voice breathy and high. A gentle gust parts her hair to reveal her face: rosebud lips, dainty sloping eyebrows, and a small, pointed chin. She is beautiful, but not very observant. She hasn’t at all noticed me standing right next to her target.
The mortal sidles closer to me, fear rolling off him.
I sneer, insulted anew. I’m ten times more deadly than the ghost, yet he fears her?
The ghost’s nostrils flare, no doubt sensing the vigour of his yang qi.
Her filmy gaze travels up his body as if already savouring him.
As she reaches an anaemic, thin hand towards him, I slide out my sword and block her hand with its pole.
‘Na-ah. Look, but don’t touch,’ I say and give the sword a shake so blue flames erupt all over the blade. A warning.
The ghost finally clocks my presence. Her soft expression contorts into something ugly. Black shadows pool around her eyes and mouth, spreading outwards like spidery veins. She bares her teeth, and I nearly laugh out loud.
‘You wanna compare teeth?’ I extend my fangs fully and smile nice and wide. A deep growl rumbles in my throat.
She blinks. Her gaze darts between me and the sword of Hell, then at Mr Lee. The black veins fade and she’s once more pale as soya milk. She drops to her knees and kowtows, her hair falling in silky black rivulets around her. ‘This unworthy one—’
I groan. Not that ceremonial drivel. I put the weighted end of the sword on her back and hold her to the ground. ‘If you keep your maw shut, I won’t tell Big Wang you tried to eat his guest.’
‘B-b-big Wang? You mean, Yan Luo Wang?’
I press harder between her shoulders. ‘The very one.’
The ghost lies unmoving at my feet, finally silent.
‘Good. You’re learning nicely. Now get up.’
She rises from her knees, head bowed, trembling like a wet mouse.
One slice of the blade is enough to end her existence.
No reincarnation, no Madame Meng tea to wipe away her mortal memories, no Naihe Bridge to take her on to whatever new life awaits her.
Everything she is, everything she could be, finished, with one clean swipe. The power is intoxicating.
‘Hold this.’ I shove the sword at Mr Lee as I need both my hands. He takes it and holds it like I’ve given him a firecracker with the fuse already lit. ‘It’s fine. Just don’t drop it.’
The mortal stays as still as the ghost.
I focus on the leather holster, and finally untangle it from my waist, before handing the thing to the waiting ghost. Mr Lee is only too happy to relinquish the sword back to me.