by Jeannie Lin
I told him about Ming-fen’s warning. Rather than dismissing my fears, he listened to me patiently.
“I can guarantee Burton is not involved in the coolie trade, Miss Jin.”
“And the armed escorts he’s hiring? Do you know anything of them?”
“He has contacts that I unfortunately do not have. Remember that you were the one willing to seek out less reputable parties to get you home.”
It seemed like so much bravado now, lost in this strange settlement without a friendly face in sight. Chang-wei knew how to survive in this new place that had become our homeland, and I did not. Sadly, the one lesson I was learning quickly was to turn a blind eye when a blind eye was needed.
Otherwise there was nothing to see but rage and sorrow. And defeat.
***
Burton arranged for a room in one of the hotels along the river. Stone steps led up to the front entrance, which was graced by a pair of carved lions. Unlike the guardian lions I was accustomed to seeing, these were lions of the West, large and shaggy haired.
I stood back from the desk as Chang-wei spoke in a foreign tongue. There was some problem, and the exchange went on for longer than I had anticipated. At one point, the clerk’s voice rose loud enough for me to hear.
“No Chinese allowed,” he said, breaking out in the Canton dialect.
I tensed, but Chang-wei remained unfazed. He continued in a firm and composed manner. All I could discern from Chang-wei’s response was Burton’s name, but apparently that was enough for the clerk to begrudgingly hand over a key.
Chang-wei took my side as we ascended the staircase and spoke apologetically as he worked the key into the lock. “There is only one room. He assumed we were husband and wife.”
He said nothing of how the clerk had tried to refuse our entry, but it must have been a source of shame for him. For a clerk to treat an imperial official, even a minor one, with such rudeness was unheard of. The foreign concessions stood on Chinese soil, did they not?
But I let the matter die for Chang-wei’s sake, since he’d chosen to control his temper. It wouldn’t do to complain when living off of someone’s charity.
It also wouldn’t do to complain when I saw that our room took up an entire corner of the second floor. It was the size of my family’s house in Linhua, with a decadently large bed and a canopy overhead. Chang-wei made a point of avoiding the bed with his eyes.
The true luxury, however, was in the adjoining compartment.
“A bath!”
I had difficulty containing my awe. In Linhua, the bath was a large wooden tub set in a storehouse that had to be filled by hand with buckets. Most of the villagers frequented the public bathhouse where they took the trouble of supplying and heating water.
Here, the washroom contained a porcelain tub connected to a network of brass piping that snaked into the wall. Seeing it, I was nearly ready to apologize for ever doubting Dean Burton.
“Use this lever here.” Chang-wei pointed to the metal arm at one end of the contraption and explained the controls for hot water as well as cold.
I was almost more interested in figuring out the clever system of pumps and water wheels that fed the pipes than actually taking a bath. Almost more interested.
Chang-wei worked the lever, and steaming water flowed into the tub only minutes later. Then he left me in privacy so I could sink into the tub, washing away the layer of grime and salt accumulated from the ocean voyage. It was hard to imagine that just that morning, we were aboard a ship.
After I was scrubbed clean, I stepped out of the washroom to see Chang-wei at the desk by the window. He was turned away, head bent to read from something hidden in the palm of his hand.
He had set the bamboo screen outside the washroom door for me. A package wrapped in brown paper had been placed upon the bed.
“What is this?”
Chang-wei didn’t turn. I saw his throat moving as he swallowed. “I don’t know.”
I opened the wrapping to reveal a blue cheongsam dress embroidered with white flowers. There was also a tunic and a pair of loose trousers.
“Burton,” Chang-wei replied before I had a chance to ask. I saw there was another package for him beside his arm. “He runs a store in the settlement along with trade routes.”
I was grateful to change out of my battered clothing. There was silence on the other side of the screen as I fastened the frogs that ran along the shoulder of the tunic.
Even turned away, with the screen separating the two of us, these close quarters were unsettling. My heart beat faster and I took a deep breath before stepping out from behind the screen.
“If you will excuse me,” Chang-wei began hastily.
“Of course.”
We navigated past each other, me to the window and him to the washroom, all without meeting each other’s eyes once. It was a wonder we didn’t collide, we were trying so hard not to make eye contact. His sleeve brushed against mine as he rounded the corner of the bed.
I pinned my hair while listening to the metal creak of the lever and the rush of water. Then I allowed myself to think of my brother, something I hadn’t done for a few days. I wondered if Tian was keeping up with his studies, if Nan was able to keep him fed. I wondered if Mother had come out of her stupor long enough to worry that I was away for so long.
Most of all, I hoped the rebels hadn’t raided our village. Another few days, a week at most, and I would be home.
I started to nod off with my head propped onto one hand at the desk when the washroom door opened. Just as I had, Chang-wei disappeared behind the screen. When he came out, he was dressed in a loose steel gray robe; notably finer than the one he’d been wearing before.
It was the first glimpse I’d had of Chang-wei’s hair loosened from its braided queue. Quickly I turned away, but I heard his tentative approach.
“Miss Jin, I apologize—” He held out a comb in one hand, which I saw from the corner of one eye. “If I could request your assistance.”
Despite his formal tone, I could hear the rasp in his throat. My pulse jumped and, for some reason, my hands would not move.
“If this is unacceptable to you, I can ring for a valet.”
“No,” I said, rising quickly. “I can help.”
It would be even worse to admit that being so close to him unnerved me so.
We arranged ourselves with him sitting in the chair while I stood behind. He reached over his shoulder to give me the comb, and my fingers trembled as I took it. For an entire minute, all I could do was hover with the comb poised in the air.
Chang-wei needed his hair braided back into the traditional queue that all male subjects were required to wear. I had done so for Tian a number of times, but he was my brother as well as a boy. For a man such as Chang-wei, this was certainly an intimate service reserved for a wife or a trusted servant.
I thought I heard him let out a breath as I sank my comb into his hair to part it. It was thick and nearly as long as mine, falling down past his shoulders. Seeing Chang-wei with his hair unbound rendered him vulnerable. At the same time, he appeared inexplicably unrestrained and masculine. I tried not to think of the contrast as I began to braid the three sections together, taking care to keep the queue even.
“Yang Hanzhu cut his hair,” I said partway through the process. I don’t know why that particular thought came to mind, but I had felt the need to say something and break the silence.
“Yang?” He sounded annoyed that I had brought our mutual acquaintance up. “I saw he had done that and knew then he was beyond reach.”
Yang could never join with the crown prince or work on behalf of the empire. Once a man’s queue was cut, he could never return as a subject to the throne. It was an uncompromisable symbol of loyalty.
I finished tying the end of the braid and stepped away.
“Thank you,�
� Chang-wei said simply.
He turned the chair around to face me. With nowhere else to go, I sat down on the bed. The mattress was padded and soft, sinking low beneath me.
“Yang believes that certain opium shipments have been specifically engineered to be more addictive.” I didn’t reveal the other part, when I’d stumbled upon the opium addicts kept inside cages.
“I don’t see why that would be necessary. The drug is addictive enough in its pure form.”
“Yang claimed to have seen strange effects of opium usage. He told me he was searching for a cure.”
The corner of his mouth twitched. “That sounds like the man I remember. His ideas were always grandiose.”
It was easier to look at Chang-wei now. He was composed and formal. Yet I couldn’t forget the feel of my fingers running through his hair or the sight of his back to me, broad shoulders tensing beneath my touch.
I kept on talking because I needed to keep talking. “Maybe Yang had a point. Fighting against ships and guns won’t free us as long opium holds our land captive. That isn’t the battle we should be waging.”
“Ships and guns allow the Yangguizi to force opium upon us,” Chang-wei argued.
“Opium addiction is what allows the Yangguizi to force opium upon us.”
His jaw hardened, and for a moment I thought he would berate me for being obstinate. Instead, he sat back in his chair, hands folded before him thoughtfully.
“Whenever the Ministry had a problem to solve, your father used to bring a group of us together. Even if our area of expertise seemed unrelated. And not just department heads, but junior members as well. Yang’s expertise was in alchemy; mine was mechanics. I was the youngest in the entire ministry and had yet to earn any respect. Your father’s rule was that no one could take insult if someone disagreed, no matter what rank he was. The arguments would often continue late into the night,” he recounted wistfully. A moment later, he became serious. “I need you, Miss Jin.”
“M-me?” I stammered.
“Someone like you,” he amended, to my disappointment. “Someone who is willing to argue with me. After your father was demoted, the Emperor promoted men who were better at giving the answers he wanted. Or perhaps the men who were promoted had learned to say what the Emperor wanted to hear in order to keep their heads.”
Chang-wei had only been nineteen when he passed the exams and joined the Ministry. Only one year older than I was now. Eight years had passed since then, but Chang-wei seemed to have lived eighteen years in the interim. He seemed so worldly and experienced to me. His knowledge put the narrowness of my concerns to shame. I was dragging him away from an important duty to the empire so he could help me get home.
But fish could only see the water they swim in. And I, too, had learned from my father’s example. The only way to keep one’s head was to not stick it out too far. The empire rewarded loyalty by asking an even greater sacrifice. And it kept on asking and demanding more until there was nothing left to give.
Chapter Sixteen
We left the hotel for dinner, ending up in a narrow alleyway where we watched an automaton crank out egg noodles between its gears and rotary cutters. The vendor then fried up the fresh noodles along with a handful of scallions, chilies and spices. We ate while seated upon upturned crates.
It was street food, greasy and cheap, and the best meal I could remember having in years. We were surrounded by the laborers and servants who worked in the foreign concession tending to the foreigners. Though they were peasant folk, we had more akin to them than the Yangguizi who dined in the restaurants and drinking houses.
Yet Chang-wei didn’t wish to return to the walled city. Here, we were temporarily hidden from his masters; one of the reasons he had removed his state robe. For what we had to do, it was better not to stand out as a government official.
Afterward, neither of us was eager to return to the hotel where we were openly unwelcome. Instead we walked along the outer bank of the river. Activity at the docks had slowed in the evening. Most of the vessels had moored for the night. Occasionally lanterns could be seen hung from the decks. Other boats were dark and silent as they swayed in the water. A line of airships floated high in the sky, tethered to the docking towers concentrated to the north of the riverfront.
“There are so many of them here,” I murmured.
“And more every day. Our Middle Kingdom is a land of riches. For the taking.” His tone remained neutral as he spoke. Chang-wei could be impossible to read at times.
“I still don’t know what your stance is.”
“My stance?”
“On the Yangguizi. On being robbed every day by them.”
To the left of us were the major trading houses that had been established by the foreign merchants. Chang-wei had informed me that it was more than just Yingguo or England laying claim to our kingdom. There were trading houses set up by a land called “America” as well as the “Netherlands,” but I thought of them all as Yangguizi.
“The situation is complicated.” He strolled with his hands clasped behind his back. “The foreigners are entrenched here and have been for years now. You can see that with your own eyes. They can’t simply be swept out like dust on a broom.”
Though we were strolling out in the open, with the evening breeze on our faces, we felt secure that no one was spying on us. The foreign inhabitants of the settlement always cut us a wide path when they came near. We had also slipped into the Peking dialect, which was more natural between us. It had the effect of further shielding our conversation. Mandarin was much less common in the trading posts than Cantonese.
“It is important to know who among the foreigners wields influence. Who are the names who can get things done? Who can be useful allies?”
I remembered how Ming-fen had accused him of being a sympathizer. It was akin to being called a traitor in many circles. I mentioned that to Chang-wei and a dark look descended over him.
“It’s not the first I’ve heard of it,” he said tersely.
“But it’s not true.”
I was hoping he would deny it and reassure me, but Chang-wei continued to evade the question.
“Whether I sympathize with the Westerners is irrelevant. I’m trying to build a future for our kingdom, one where we can remain strong rather than one where we are forced to surrender more every day to our very invaders. That vision sometimes requires I make friends of our enemies.”
“But it’s dangerous to walk that line.”
“I know,” he returned, his tone uncommonly harsh. “I understand that very keenly, Miss Jin.”
I’d somehow offended him. It was time to change the subject. “How did you meet Dean Burton?”
His frown didn’t quite fade. “Aboard a ship when he was first traveling to Shanghai.”
What sort of ship would have those two men together on board? I kept quiet, hoping to hear the rest of the story.
“He came to me and offered to pay for my services.”
“What kind of services?”
“Burton needed someone to act as a guide in this exotic new land. He didn’t know the language or the people. Didn’t want to be ‘duped,’ as he called it. I had lost what little fortune I had after being dismissed from the Ministry of Science, so I accepted.”
“So he was your employer?”
“I suppose you could say that. What he needed from me most was my honest appraisal of a situation, education on how to handle himself with potential business partners. All the small pieces that hold the large pieces together. He came to trust me over two years working together.”
“And you came to trust him?” I asked.
Chang-wei didn’t answer at first. When he did, it was only in a single word: “Enough. I trust him enough.”
Something wasn’t quite right about his story. “You said Burton hired you to be an interpreter?” I
asked.
He nodded, and I patched what I had learned just that day together.
“Mister Burton couldn’t speak any Cantonese at the time he met you, and you were surprised today that he had picked up a few phrases.”
“That is true.”
“Then how did he communicate with you?” I asked pointedly. “How did he know you could help him?”
I could see Chang-wei was caught from the way his expression blanked. “It must have been mostly through gestures. I had picked up a few phrases in his language.”
I realized then why Chen Chang-wei did well for himself by remaining honest.
“You’re a poor liar,” I told him.
“Only when I try to lie to you,” he said gently. “I should know not to do that.”
He stopped to face me there on the riverfront. Behind him, I could see the flicker of the gas lamps used to light the street. The shadows danced over his face, highlighting his cheekbones and the line of his jaw.
“They call their language ‘English,’” he began. “I spoke it fairly well by the time I met Dean Burton.”
“Have you always known how to speak it? Where would one study it?” I asked incredulously.
“Before the war, it was only spoken here and there among the merchant class in China. There are a few missionary schools in the port cities as well, but no, English is not commonly studied among the scholar elite in Peking. I learned the language of the Yingguoren after being forced onto one of their ships.”
It was a more polite term than Yangguizi.
I stared at Chang-wei, at a loss for words. After the final battle of the war, the Ministry of Science had fallen apart. Father had been imprisoned. So many of his men had been stripped of rank. Others had just disappeared.
“I was in the citadel at Wusong,” he explained. “Directing the cannon fire. It was a failed endeavor from the start, as your father knew. But we had to fight to the end, which I did until the moment I was taken by the Yingguoren.”