Chapter 13
Thirteen
Sunshine
I wake to the smell of xiao long bao. For a moment I think I’m back in my room at the Lake Heart Pavilion and Old Zao is steaming me a basket of blood bao. But the smell is different. Less rich. I remember where I am. Mortal Shanghai.
Recalling the smell of yang and blood together, I shudder with pleasure and then shame when I remember my antics.
Tian, I licked Mr Lee. I groan, and my stomach echoes the complaint.
It’s one thing to lose control when I know Bullhead and Horsey have my back, but here in mortal Shanghai .
. . I don’t have that luxury. I’ll need to find a way to temper the mad rapture if I’m to function at all.
Though something here – yang or sunlight, I’m not exactly sure what – seems to dampen my fear of water; that at least is one less thing I need worry about.
I open my eyes and startle at the five pairs of watchful eyes staring down at me.
I blink a few times, dispersing the fog of sleep, and realise I’m looking at a painting.
On the ceiling, five fat baby angels cavort nude in silk floss clouds on a pale blue sky; their skin the steamed pink of piglets, their smiling lips a lurid red, some with their tiny penises dangling in the breeze, others with their chubby butts hanging out for all to see.
A chandelier in their centre drips with crystals and paints rainbows across their overly cheerful faces.
I blow out a long breath. I miss my umbrellas.
Pushing up on my elbows, I have to squeeze my eyes shut for a moment while I wait for the room to stop wobbling. The back of my head pulses with a dull ache, and my mouth feels like I’ve rinsed it with sand. I look around for a glass of water.
The room brings to mind a fancy French cake with ornate frosting around the edges.
A wardrobe sits against one wall, painted with meadows full of frolicking women with bouffant hair like clouds wrapped in ribbons.
The bed I’m in has the same images painted on the headboard.
I look closer. The women have skin like that lady from the lobby – rice white, with peony bud lips, and dresses full and wide as a dozen stacked umbrella tops.
I study the dresses for some time; it seems like a lot of fabric, though from the painting it’s obvious the women are not restricted in their movements – they could easily perform all the thirty-two sword forms, including the Big Dipper.
In fact – I scan the scene – quite a few expose stockinged legs with bow-topped shoes, legs swinging out joyfully, ta-tas bursting from low-cut lace-frilled tops. Niang Niang would no doubt approve.
The thought of her and those courtiers makes my skin itch.
I will expose the hulijing, make them pay for their humiliations.
I can’t do anything about the dragon pearl, I don’t even know where it’s being kept.
However, I am certain the fake talisman must be their work.
I can sense the truth of it, but given my last two missteps, and knowing how sly Soo can be, this time I need irrefutable proof.
There’s no water in the room so I slip out of the crisp white sheets and my feet sink into a thick rug covering most of the parquet floor.
Mr Lee’s voice drifts through the door. There are other voices too.
Willie Leung, I recognise. And two others.
I sniff the air – the two strangers are mortals.
Willie smells different – I’ve never smelled anything like him before.
He smells of yang, but also of yin. I’ll have to ask Big Wang; it would be rude to question him directly.
I know how much I hate being asked myself.
There’s a soft knock at my door and it opens a crack, letting in the mouth-watering smells of my favourite foods. Steamed buns, noodles, and something chocolatey.
Mr Lee pokes his head in. ‘Oh good, you’re awake. Room service just arrived. Come join us.’
I follow him to the other room. Mr Lee, Willie Leung and an older man in a black suit, light green handkerchief in the pocket, and a blazing pink azalea on the lapel, are in conversation, seated in plump pink armchairs around a low white table with gilded garlands of leaves wrapped around the edges.
A young man wearing a red jacket with a double row of brass buttons and a matching hat unloads bamboo baskets and steaming dishes onto a nearby table, all the while glancing nervously at Willie Leung.
I stare at the foreigner with the azalea. His hair is dark, slicked back close to his scalp. He’s about as pale as Lady Gi, but his skin has a bluish undertone. Eyes like chips of sapphire regard me. His thin moustache twitches as he allows me to inspect him. He stands and offers me a warm smile.
Mr Lee clears his throat. ‘Lady Jing, I’m so glad to see you up. We were quite worried; Mr Smith, the hotel manager was about to fetch a doctor.’
Mr Smith bows to me. ‘This humble one—’ he begins in cultured Mandarin.
My lip curls and Mr Lee hurriedly interrupts Mr Smith. ‘Please, Lady Jing prefers plain speech.’
Those blue eyes glance up at me through thick, dark lashes. ‘Of course,’ he continues. ‘We are most honoured to host you at Cathay Hotel. If there is anything Lady Jing needs—’
‘Please tell me you have xiao long bao there,’ I say.
Mr Smith chuckles. ‘That, and dan-dan noodles. And sweet rice wine porridge. And chocolate éclairs. I am reliably informed these are your favourite afternoon snacks?’
My stomach rumbles its affirmation. ‘Perfect. Oh, is it possible to get a drink?’ From the corner of my eye, I see Mr Lee stiffen. ‘Warm soya milk, please?’ I clarify and throw a stink eye at Mr Lee. As if I can’t control myself.
Remembering my behaviour at the docks, I redden. Extraordinary circumstances. There are three mortals here, and their yang and blood don’t bother me in nearly the same way.
‘Your wish is our command,’ Mr Smith says. He nods to the young man in the red jacket who immediately leaves. He gestures to the young man’s retreating back. ‘I have assigned our brightest boy to you, Lady Jing. Anything you wish, you let Jay know.’
I nod, not really listening. I’m fascinated by Mr Smith’s skin – it’s like rice paper.
Thin and translucent. I circle Mr Smith, peering at his eyes.
They are a deep blue but slivered with speckles of silver and green.
From different angles, the blue changes – lighter to darker.
He smells a little different to Mr Lee, spicier perhaps.
Mr Smith holds very still, his brows pulling together, darting glances at Willie.
‘I’ve never seen eyes like yours,’ I say.
‘It’s alright, Mr Smith doesn’t mind, do you?’ Willie’s voice is smooth, almost inflectionless.
Mr Smith’s stiff smile, and the way he glances at Willie, make me reassess my earlier impression of Big Wang’s man in Shanghai. Willie might look like a mantou, but beneath the fluffy exterior is a sharp, and – judging by the Cathay Hotel mortals’ reactions to him – feared, blade.
I back away from Mr Smith and bow low. ‘Thank you for indulging me, Mr Smith. It’s only that I have never seen such beautiful eyes.’ I offer him a docile smile.
Mr Smith recovers his placid, pleasant expression. ‘It is my honour.’ He glances sideways at Willie, then back at me. ‘If it is not inconvenient, I will leave you three to rest.’
‘You’ve been here this whole time?’ I ask.
‘Yes,’ Mr Smith says. ‘We were monitoring your sleep, in case we needed to call a doctor.’
‘All three of you?’
Mr Lee looks embarrassed; Willie’s mahjong face rivals my own.
‘How long have I been asleep?’
‘Four hours,’ Mr Lee answers.
I glance between Willie and Mr Lee. ‘What kind of turd-eggs are you to make him wait while I sleep?’
Willie’s eyes widen at my outburst, but Mr Lee ducks his head. I can tell by his raised cheeks that he’s smiling.
‘Mr Lee did suggest—’ Mr Smith starts but I wag a finger, shushing him.
‘Come now, I’m sure you have a lot of work, and don’t need to be nannying one of your guests.’ I half-push, half-drag Mr Smith to the door. ‘Thank you! I will be sure to find you if I need you. And I’ll tell Big Wang that you were a wonderful help.’
Mr Smith shakes my hand, pumps it up and down three times like Mr Lee did the other day. I smile and close the door on him, catching his expression of relief. I have things I want to do; but first, food.
The bamboo baskets are emptied of xiao long bao; I’ve slurped all the noodles, as well as the sweet rice wine soup. Only the soya milk and three chocolate éclairs are left, which I’m saving for last.
Willie hangs up the phone. ‘Big Wang is sending reinforcements. They will arrive tonight.’
I put down my chopsticks. Willie is making it difficult to enjoy my snacks.
‘I told you. I was hungry, that’s all. Blood and yang affect me more when I haven’t eaten. I wasn’t prepared. I will be now. I am perfectly capable of managing without help.’
‘My job is to make sure your visit is complication free. You passed out because you breathed our air. That is a complication.’ Willie’s lizard smile gleams.
‘You could’ve at least let me speak to him. I could’ve explained.’
‘Letting you meddle in my work is not doing my job.’
I snarl at him, and the shit stick actually smiles even brighter.
Mr Lee is wisely staying out of the conversation, sitting on the pink sofa and pretending to be engrossed in a newspaper. Coward.
‘Who’s coming, then?’ I ask.
‘Big Wang did not say.’
He is being intentionally infuriating. ‘You should’ve let me talk to him.’
He smirks at my show of temper. ‘As I said, letting you meddle in my work is not doing my job. And Big Wang values me because I do my job very well.’
I shove the whole éclair in my mouth and glare at him while I chew.
Willie clasps his hands behind him. ‘I understand from Mr Lee you are somewhat squeamish about corpses? I can certainly obtain blood for you since you aren’t capable of doing so yourself.’