The Palace of Heavenly Pleasure

by Adam Williams

  Next day it rained. The road became muddy and they made slower pace. Helen Frances was still pale from her experience but had recovered enough to put on a brave front and apologise to the two men for what she called her pathetic behaviour the previous afternoon. By the afternoon she seemed restored to her usual good humour, but the rain and the heavy clouds oppressed their spirits, and they were glad to make camp. The ground was rising. They had reached the lower slopes of the Black Hills. ‘Tomorrow we should be in the forest,’ said Manners, ‘then it’s one day’s more riding and we’ll arrive in Shishan.’

  She had a restless night, and light rain pattered on the canvas. She had overcome the first horror of what she had seen the day before and now was trying to persuade herself that it was merely one of the adventures she had looked forward to when she left Sussex. ‘What did you expect, old girl?’ she said to herself in her father’s voice, which she always found reassuring. She only had a dim memory of what had happened after the swords had fallen. She remembered riding away, and she also remembered a feeling of respite when Manners had held her and tried to calm her. She remembered him stroking her hair. He had been so gentle. Had he briefly kissed her forehead? She could not recall. How strange that she had panicked when he had passed her over to Tom. ‘Sleep, girl, sleep,’ she imagined her father saying to her. ‘Get some sleep.’ And eventually, fitfully, she did.

  * * *

  She woke early. She could hear birds singing and she saw the early-morning sun reflected on the roof of her tent. She wanted to relieve herself before the others were up so, pulling a shawl around her shoulders, she untied the flap and crawled out on to the wet grass. She looked up and screamed.

  Not ten paces away from her a man was standing by the bushes. He was dressed like a priest, with a bald head and the white gaiters, staff and begging bowl she had come to recognise as the usual habit of mendicant holy men. He was not wearing the usual brown or saffron robes, however. Instead his robe was multicoloured, with stars and suns and blood-red characters woven round a general pattern of pomegranates. What shocked her, however, was his face, which was pale, fleshy, ageless, unlined. He seemed to be staring intently at her, but when she looked into his eyes, she saw that they were pupil-less, white cavities. His lips were curled in a malevolent, toothless, tongueless grin. There seemed to be nothing inside his skull. Noiselessly, he stepped behind the bushes and was gone.

  Manners was out of his tent first, a revolver in his hand, followed shortly by Tom and the muleteers. They searched extensively in the bushes and in the woods behind, but could find no sign of the priest.

  ‘I did see him, Tom. I did, you know,’ she told him.

  ‘Of course you did, old girl,’ said Tom. ‘Of course you did.’

  ‘Let’s get away from here,’ said Manners. ‘We’ll have breakfast further on.’

  Quickly they broke camp and headed up the dark path into the forest of the Black Hills.

  Three

  Lao Tian says the firecarts have eaten up the business of the canals and there is no haulage work left to do.

  The Tian Le Yuan, the Palace of Heavenly Pleasure, was not the only brothel in Shishan, but it was the best one. The girls were beautiful and cultivated in all the arts, not only the amatory ones: they could sing, dance, recite poetry, and play the pi’pa, zither and flute. The cooks were ingenious, the food was renowned; there were baths and steam rooms and miniature gardens, even a small library; the divan served best-quality opium; and, most important of all, customers knew that they could count on Mother Liu’s discretion. For the merchants of Shishan it was the only place to entertain.

  From the market square there was little to distinguish the establishment from any of the other houses lining the street on the opposite side of the temple. There was a sign, three gold characters painted on a blue plaque, but this could just as easily have referred to the restaurant, which occupied the ground floor. Mother Liu’s son, Ren Ren, ran this as a sideline to the main family business. It was a bustling, steaming teahouse, open to the public, serving dumplings, pasties and other typical northern food. It was profitable as far as it went and, more conveniently for Ren Ren, it served as a safehouse for his streetpads to gather unobserved. It was widely rumoured among those in the know in Shishan that Ren Ren, for all his youth and unprepossessing manner, was in charge of collecting street dues for the Black Stick Society. The patrons of his mother’s house were inclined therefore to treat him with respect, and a certain amount of circumspection. A smaller circle knew of his reputation for deviancy and sadism, and tended to avoid him altogether. That was not a luxury afforded to the girls and boys working in the Palace of Heavenly Pleasure.

  The restaurant was sealed off from the main activity of the house. Mother Liu’s establishment, in which Ren Ren was a junior partner, was located on the upper floors, and in the maze of buildings and courtyards behind. To get there one had to go to the much more discreet entrance a block away, which was located in a dark, narrow alley between a high stone wall and shadowy artisans’ shacks. A candle box gleamed faintly above a peeled red doorway and two worn lion statues. On knocking, a hatch would open to allow the doorman to scrutinise the visitor; only if he were recognised or if he gave an approved password would he be allowed in through the small porter’s lodge, where two thickset guards would invariably be hunched over a game of chess, into the courtyard beyond. There, the lucky initiate would be dazzled by a fairyland of red lanterns hanging over an ornamental bridge. A smiling servant girl would lead him along a pathway of willow trees to the paradise within.

  On this occasion Mother Liu herself was waiting at the end of the bridge. She was a tall woman in her late forties, who had obviously been good-looking in her youth. She took pains to preserve her appearance now. Her hair, tied into a neat bun, was blackened to disguise any white strands, and her long, scornful face was layered with powder and makeup. She was dressed modestly in a gown of brown silk, but as she shifted on her tiny bound feet, the lantern light picked out expensive gold embroidery and glinted on her string of pearls. Shivering in the slight chill, though it was only early autumn, she pulled her black woollen shawl closer round her narrow shoulders.

  She examined the garden with a critical eye, noticing the leaves that had not been swept away from the path. She had always insisted on the highest standards and punished any shortcomings severely. To run a house like hers demanded order and discipline. Only in this way could one maintain the highest reputation. It had taken her fifteen long years to build up the Palace of Heavenly Pleasure to its present prestige. It had been hard. She had been involved in the business all her life, sold at the age of thirteen to a bawdy house in Shenyang when her father, a merchant, had been ruined. She had been raped, beaten, chained naked in a freezing loft until her spirit was tamed. She had suffered much, but she had the advantage of good looks, a strong character and the determination to survive.

  At the age of twenty she had been bought out of the brothel by a moderately wealthy merchant to be his third concubine. In his household she had suffered worse than she had in the brothel. To this day she preserved her hatred for his two other wives and her mother-in-law. It was like a coal that she fanned in her heart; never would she allow herself to be humiliated again. When she had borne the merchant a son the women’s jealousy and her torments had only increased, but she had had her revenge in the cholera epidemic that hit their town. They had all died, the merchant, his mother, his two wives. It had seemed strange at the time that only she, her son and two of her husband’s daughters had survived, but although there had been an investigation, nothing could be proved against her. The cholera had been decimating the town and other households had suffered equal mortality. She and her son had inherited the merchant’s money. She had the pleasure of selling his two daughters to the same brothel in which he had found her, then she had moved with her son to Shishan, and with her husband’s money bought the house that became the Palace of Heavenly Pleasure.

  At
first she had tried to run a textile business, but it had failed. She found more profit in returning to the old ways, initially on her own—she had discreetly hung her portrait outside the door—and later as the madam of her own establishment. The Black Stick Society had charged her dearly for her independence but she was also grateful for the clientele they had brought her. Now she had a profitable business, a talented stable and regular clients. Her son, Ren Ren, although his own tastes did not lie in that direction, had an extraordinary ability to break in new girls. The back passage was the same for boy or girl, and the advantage was it preserved the girl’s virginity, which could be sold for a premium. Nor was there any danger of Ren Ren showing leniency to any new chicken, however comely or winsome. He despised all of them. She smiled. Actually, there was no danger of Ren Ren showing leniency to anyone. She had brought him up well. Life was good, she thought. The three keystones, a prudently run business, firm discipline and modest dues to the powers that be for protection and insurance, had served her well. She determined to light an incense stick tonight in thanks to Providence. Meanwhile, her feet were aching. She wondered whether her visitor was delayed.

  She had not long to wait. She heard the sound of a sedan chair being deposited outside the gate, a curt knock and a short exchange with the porter. Then a stooped, heavily cloaked figure stepped quickly out of the lodge.

  ‘Your Excellency,’ she inclined her head in a bow of formal greeting, ‘we are, as ever, honoured to receive such an eminent personage into our unworthy home.’

  ‘The pleasure is mine, Liu Mama,’ the cloaked figure murmured. ‘I am glad to see you in good health. But you should not be outside on a cold night. It would perhaps be better to talk inside.’

  ‘We’ll go in immediately,’ said Mother Liu. ‘I have prepared some refreshments.’

  ‘You are, as always, solicitous to an old man.’

  Despite her bound feet Mother Liu hobbled quickly over the bridge, the cloaked man following. She led him through another courtyard. Lights shone in a pavilion on one side and the two could hear the clear notes of a Chinese zither, a chin, slithering through the melody of an ancient folk tune from within.

  ‘We are honoured to have Major Lin as a guest tonight,’ said Mother Liu, looking archly at her companion.

  ‘Ah, then, no doubt the music is being provided by the beautiful Miss Fan. She plays expertly. You are to be congratulated on her talent.’

  ‘I fear she is only a clumsy beginner. But you are kind to say so. By the way, I have something to ask you about Major Lin and this girl.’

  ‘Later,’ said the cloaked man. ‘Inside.’

  They passed through another garden, then entered the larger building and climbed two flights of rickety wooden stairs. Mother Liu negotiated them with difficulty, and the cloaked man supported her arm from behind. From below they could hear laughter and male voices, one booming louder than the rest.

  ‘Those are the merchants, Lu Jincai and Jin Shangui,’ said Mother Liu, disapprovingly. ‘They are banqueting the fat barbarian, De Falang.’ She used Frank Delamere’s Chinese name. ‘They are all drunk as usual.’

  ‘You keep a very open house,’ murmured the cloaked man.

  ‘I provide services to those who pay. Is that not the way you would want it?’

  ‘Assuredly,’ said the man.

  A corridor led past a line of closed doors. From behind some they could hear sounds—a flute being played, conversation, male and female voices; from others creaks and sighs, sometimes of pleasure, sometimes of pain.

  Mother Liu stopped by one of the doors, moved aside a scroll on the wall, flipped a panel, and indicated a cleverly disguised peephole. ‘Would you enjoy…’

  ‘Later,’ said the man. ‘Let us talk first.’

  ‘Then we will go to my sitting room.’

  ‘As you please.’

  He followed her to the end of the corridor and down another, which seemed to lead to a blank wall, partially covered by a large scroll painting depicting an emperor’s palace with many courtyards; in the rooms off the terraces, if one looked carefully at the detail, concubines and eunuchs could be perceived entertaining each other in a variety of ingenious ways. Mother Liu lifted the scroll, pressed a panel on the wall and a small door swung open. A short flight of steps led up to another long corridor, this time undecorated, uncarpeted, with bare wooden walls. Taking a bunch of keys from her pocket, she unlocked one of the doors, and stood aside to allow the man to enter.

  It was a small room, sumptuously furnished with carpets and hangings. It was dominated by a large, curtained bed, on which a Pekinese was curled asleep. In one corner was a shrine with statues of Guan Gong and other household gods. Two candles were burning and there was a smell of incense. Laid out on a low table between two wooden chairs was a bowl of fruit, a tea basket and some wickerwork food warmers.

  ‘I welcome you to my humble home,’ she said, opening the food warmers and laying on the table saucers of sweetmeats and pickled vegetables. ‘Will you drink some wine?’

  ‘Tea will do,’ said Jin Lao, the Mandarin’s chamberlain, as he took off his cloak, folding it on a stool. ‘You are extremely kind to offer such hospitality, which is quite unnecessary.’

  ‘As the poet says, “A thousand cups would be too few, to drink with an intimate friend.”’

  ‘We are certainly old friends. We are also business partners of long standing,’ said Jin Lao ‘I believe that we have a little business to discuss tonight.’

  ‘And some pleasure to look forward to as well. I told you that I’ve prepared something for you of more than usual interest and excitement…’

  ‘But business first, Liu Mama. That’s the correct way, I think. I have my duty to my master.’

  ‘The Mandarin is in good health?’

  ‘Perfect health, Liu Mama. Perfect health, I thank you. His prosperity “like a lucky star in the ascendant rides the high tide of fortune”. It is matters pertaining to his prosperity, in fact, that I would like to discuss with you. There is the small due outstanding of … Was it as much as four hundred taels? More, perhaps, this month? Your house seems very busy.’

  ‘Certainly not more. Business has been very bad,’ said Mother Liu, shaking her head.

  ‘Business is never as good as one would wish it to be. “Boundless is the sea of troubles. Man is adrift in this world as if it were a dream.”’ Jin Lao smiled as he quoted the proverb. ‘It is something to be thankful for that no misfortune has ever befallen this establishment. Through your own good management, of course, but also in part due to the solicitude and continued protection of your friends.’

  ‘I am always grateful for the fatherly protection of the Mandarin,’ said Mother Liu, ‘who is a constant support to me in my tribulations.’

  ‘Tribulations? Oh, surely you have no tribulations?’

  ‘Jin Lao, you do not know. Our customers are so discerning nowadays, and always looking for something new, or different. And the only girls we can find today are swarthy, dwarfish, lumpen, devoid of any talent. A singer from Yangzhou. Or a dancer from Suzhou. Let alone a virgin! Do you know the cost to bring one here? Or to train a young one in all the arts? They are like children to me, my girls, and I lavish every attention on them. It is for the reputation of the house, Jin Lao, for our reputation. But the costs are so high.’

  ‘I am certain that you invest wisely and well, and prudently, dear Mama. And your investment is matched by the returns. I see no shortage of customers tonight.’

  ‘And then there are the other costs. Do you know how rapacious the Black Stick Society is becoming these days? The favours we are obliged to bestow on their thugs. I do not grudge anything to the Mandarin, who has been a father to me, but the tongs…’

  ‘Isn’t your son a prominent member of the Black Sticks? Not that I really wish to know too much about what in other circumstances I might have to condemn as a criminal organisation. I am sure that you have made the necessary accommodations.’

/>   ‘But there is a cost, Jin Lao. I am a poor widow and I certainly need protection—but I cannot be expected to pay equal protection to everybody.’

  ‘Liu Da Ren is as you know, a man of infinite generosity. I am sure that he would not begrudge the matter of one or two taels in the case of an old partner in difficulties.’

  ‘Three hundred taels,’ said Mother Liu.

  ‘Three hundred and ninety,’ said Jin Lao.

  ‘If only all our customers were good payers, then it would be easier,’ said Mother Liu, ‘but you cannot realise how many people—respectable people—come to my house, and wine and dine, and take their pleasure afterwards and leave without settling their bills. My debtors are too many, Jin Lao.’

  ‘Isn’t that why you pay for protection in the first place? I’d have thought that there’s a matter in which the Black Sticks could easily help you out.’

  ‘But not in every case, Jin Lao. There are some bad debtors … Well, there is one in particular, who seems to have his own protection.’

  ‘Who exactly are you referring to?’

  ‘Why, Major Lin. I told you there was something I wanted to speak to you about. I’m not saying he’s not welcome. He brings honour to our house. An upstanding man. Dashing and handsome. A hero. He’s very popular with all of us—but he hasn’t paid me for months.’

  ‘Have you asked him to?’

  ‘I’ve hinted at it. But I’m under instructions.’

  ‘What instructions?’

  ‘Your instructions, Jin Lao. You told me to give him everything he wanted.’

  ‘Major Lin’s contentment is a matter of special interest to the Mandarin. Major Lin is extremely important to us. He is training our troops.’

  ‘But free licence, Jin Lao?’

  ‘If I were to say three hundred and eighty taels, would that be easier for you?’

  ‘Three hundred and twenty. Let me give you three hundred and twenty. That’s reasonable.’