Chapter 9
Nine
New Clothes
As we pass through the Northern Gate, a low tunnel through the fortified wall, Mr Lee marvels, ‘Hardly any of the original Old City wall remains in my Shanghai.’
I nod. I’ve heard many tourists exclaim the same thing.
‘What’s your favourite part of Shanghai?’ he asks.
I don’t answer, and instead navigate us through the narrow warren of streets, hemmed in either side by three-storey wooden buildings, painted red or brown, adorned with intricate carved beams and topped with traditional smiling eaves that curve upwards at the corners.
This is where the immortals of yin Shanghai call home.
Mr Lee is still trying to engage me in conversation, and it’s making me irritable.
‘Where’s your favourite place to eat? Do you go out much? From what Big Wang told me, yin Shanghai is full of fun places to visit.’
I huff. ‘You are so nosy.’
Hurt flashes across the mortal’s face and I’m hit with that pang of guilt again. No matter, I let it roll off me. There’s a reason Horsey calls me a well-seasoned wok. Nothing sticks.
We turn a corner and arrive at a small single-storey dwelling, much less ornate than most of the buildings in the street.
But what it lacks in size and adornment, it makes up with elegance and clean lines.
The building is made of silkwood – much favoured by Celestials.
The wood is honeyed and polished to a lacquered shine.
Two red lanterns hang either side of the smooth wooden door.
I knock.
‘Come,’ calls a voice from inside.
Mr Lee grabs my sleeve. ‘Is it safe?’ he asks again.
‘Of course,’ I say, willing him to shut up.
His grip tightens. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Would I lie to you?’
‘Yes,’ he says simply.
I yank my arm away. ‘Quit being such a nuisance. We have Mafan and you have your stamp. No one is going to harm you.’
His cheeks are pink but he says no more. We enter a small courtyard of raked white pebbles. Flat stones mark a path to the inner rooms.
I leave my slippers on the ground and step up into the receiving hall. Mr Lee follows.
A huge loom sits in the middle of the room; wooden slats hold thousands of fine threads taut, and a young woman plays the contraption like a lute, her fingers dancing over the fine strings, manipulating them to the rhythmic clack clack of the shuttle sailing back and forth across the sea of threads.
A large table behind her is piled high with rolls of embroidered silk, linens, and the finest cotton.
She rises from her seat. Her dress is an exquisite shade of lilac, like summer wisteria, embroidered with delicate cranes and swirling clouds, all in subtle shades of purple.
A long sheer sash wraps around her waist and her water sleeves trail on the floor.
In the fashion favoured by most Celestials, her hair is set in a triple loop perched on the top of her head, each section pinned with an ornate hair comb, studded with coral and pearls.
Additional ornaments of gold and silver filagree adorn her hair, flowers and butterflies flutter and dance with her every movement.
She folds her hands at her waist, gaze demurely on the ground.
I bow. ‘Lady Gi.’
‘Lady Jing, what a surprise.’ Her voice is neither warm nor welcoming. Unsurprising given she lost her favourite jade hair comb to me in our last game of kanhoo.
‘I need a changpao,’ I say.
She spends some time smoothing out a non-existent crease in her dress, still not looking at me. ‘And why would I help you?’
‘I can pay,’ Mr Lee pipes up.
Rotted turds, I forgot to tell him to keep his mouth shut.
Yang qi fills the room. Lady Gi’s head snaps up, her eyes blaze green.
The skin on her face tightens dramatically, and her mouth stretches wide, wider than should be possible.
The sash at her waist whips towards Mr Lee, and slithers around him, binding his arms and covering his nose and mouth.
He struggles against his bindings, but the sash holds him tight.
I lean the blade of my sword against the sheer mauve fabric, with enough pressure to make Lady Gi look my way.
She frowns. ‘What is the meaning of this, Jing?’
‘Sorry, you can’t eat him. He’s Big Wang’s guest.’
‘And? What do I care of Big Wang?’ She tugs the sash, forcing me to either lessen the pressure or slice into the fabric. If I ruin her dress, I’ll never hear the end of it.
I lift the blade. ‘You live in Hell.’
‘I’m the Jade Emperor’s daughter. Big Wang is not the boss of me.’
‘Yeah, Gigi, but your daddy kicked you out of the Celestial realms. Until he forgives you, you’re stuck here. I wouldn’t piss off Big Wang. He might cut off your credit line at the Mahjong Hall.’
She gives me a look that would turn a mortal to stone. Mr Lee’s muffled groans are growing faint. I hurry to the point, but drawl my words slowly. It would not do to give away my hand.
‘I heard something that might interest you.’
‘Oh?’
‘You’ll need to unwrap him. If he dies, I won’t tell you.’
‘Tell me.’ Her voice resonates with Celestial command.
Mr Lee stumbles from the effects of her compulsion. His complexion goes grey as the roof tiles.
I flick my hair. ‘You know that Celestial dog-fart doesn’t work on me.’
‘Suit yourself. I don’t want to know, anyway.’
It’s my turn to smooth a non-existent crease. ‘That’s too bad. Poor Lang. I guess you don’t care.’
The sash immediately loosens from around Mr Lee’s face, but doesn’t release him. She’s playing nonchalant, but I caught the way her hands tensed when I mentioned her long-distance boyfriend.
‘What did you hear about Lang?’
‘Agree to fit him a changpao, and shorten his trousers to fit me, and I’ll tell you.’
She glares at me, the longing clear in her eyes, and the suspicion. ‘How do I know what you have is worthwhile?’
‘You don’t.’
I see her struggle between want and wanting to smack me. She knows my information almost always comes from Old Zao or Big Wang himself. The sash unwinds from Mr Lee; he drops to his knees, hand to his throat, gasping for air.
He glares at me. ‘Safe?’ he mouths.
I shrug. He’s not dead. That’s safe enough for me. A long grey changpao appears, hovering beside Mr Lee. I shake my head. ‘Not grey. He’s not an indentured servant. Make it black.’
The changpao changes colour and folds itself on the floor next to Mr Lee.
‘Off you go,’ I tell him. ‘You can change in the next room.’
He staggers to his feet, still scowling at me. My conscience pricks in response but I shake the unwelcome feeling away.
Mr Lee turns to Lady Gi and bows low. ‘This unworthy one labours your procession. May your exalted glory contain this borrowed light. Manifold gratitude by your fortune,’ he says, still a little breathless from being nearly asphyxiated, before disappearing to change.
Lady Gi practically wriggles with pleasure at the fancy platitudes. She eats up that flowery shit.
‘Spill your tea,’ she says, tone razor-edged.
I check my nails, make her wait. When I think she might explode from impatience, I say, ‘I heard Lang managed to get himself a pass to visit Hell.’
She goes limp for moment – her arms, the muscles in her face, I worry she might faint. But then her hand flutters over her chest, and she pats her hair as if Lang might walk in at any moment. ‘Do you know when?’ Her voice is breathless.
‘Next week. Big Wang will let you know the day.’
She holds a dainty hand over her mouth, attempting to hide her emotions.
But her eyes glisten. Everyone knows her story – she gets called back for a family dinner with the Jade Emperor once a year.
After dinner, she spends the evening with Lang until the sun rises and she has to return to Hell. It’s been that way for centuries.
‘You sometimes play mahjong with those b—’ I catch myself and reset my mouth, ‘emissaries from the Hulijing Court.’
‘Only the junior ones,’ she answers airily, but then her gaze narrows. ‘Why? You hate them. You call them “the foul spawn of rotted carp”, “those bosom-heaving turd for brain bitches”, “the rotted—” ’
‘Okay okay,’ I hiss, glancing towards the other room. I press on. ‘Them. Have they been asking about anything out of the ordinary? Or talking about visiting specific places in Hell while they’re here?’
‘Why do you want to know?’ She crosses her arms and gives me that look. Damn. She’s calling my bluff.
I think fast. ‘Fine. I had a tiff with that Soo b—’ I press my lips together and try again. ‘I had a disagreement with Lady Soo and I want to make sure I am nowhere they might be.’
Gigi isn’t stupid, and she’s irritatingly observant. She doesn’t answer, just tilts her head and scrutinises me. We both turn as Mr Lee returns in his changpao. I’m out of time.
He strides towards us with the grace of a panther. How did I not notice that before? The changpao isn’t baggy like the jacket. It sits neatly across his wide shoulders, flowing over his muscled chest.
Before I can say anything, Gigi prowls around him, trailing her fingers across his back. He twitches at her touch and I’m inordinately pleased at his discomfort, though I don’t like the stink-eye he throws my way.
‘Dashing,’ Gigi says, standing far too close to him.
I suck my teeth and step between her and Mr Lee, shoving my sword into his arms. ‘Hold this,’ I say and snatch the suit from him.
I start unbuttoning my dress.
‘Jing!’ Lady Gi’s tone is shocked.
‘What? You’ve seen me change plenty of times.’ I wave dismissively at her.
‘I don’t mean me, I mean him,’ she says, giving Mr Lee a disapproving glare.
Mr Lee is red as a firecracker.
‘Oh. Turn around if it bothers you,’ I say.
He spins on his heel and covers his eyes for good measure. I can’t help giggling. Honestly, it’s like he’s never seen a woman’s body. I change quickly. The trousers are huge on me, as is the shirt. But Gigi passes her hands over the fabric, and it immediately shrinks to fit.
‘Much better,’ she says. ‘You can turn now, mortal.’