by Mingmei Yip
I studied Teng Xiong across the table while she was placing orders with an attentive waiter. In her perfectly tailored black suit and red bow tie, and with the gold chain of her pocket watch dangling discreetly outside her vest, Teng Xiong looked more like a dandy than an actor. Her pomaded short hair gleamed under the club's dim light like threads of silk. Watching her elated expression and expansive, manly gestures made my heart ache with bliss mixed with tinges of gratitude. I sighed with pleasure. After a year wearing peasant clothes, I'd finally been able to put on makeup, a pretty Western dress, and be around fashionable people!
The waiter soon returned with a bottle of champagne, popped it open, then poured the pale gold liquid into our tall glasses.
After he left, a cheerful smile played on Teng Xiong's face as she clinked my glass with hers. "Precious Orchid, to your beauty and our reunion!"
I softly echoed. "To our reunion."
In my mouth, the wine tasted like sweet elixir. The golden bubbles seemed to tell me that, like the setting sun, life is achingly beautiful in the moments before it vanishes. Then I remembered the poem Pearl had recited to me when I'd first entered Peach Blossom at thirteen:
When a flower blooms, pick it. Don't wait till there is only the bare branch left.
I quickly took another long sip of my golden elixir-quite different from Qing Zhen's malodorous one. The dishes arrived one by one-warm bread with butter, Russian soup floating with chunks of beef, blood-streaked steak. During our sumptuous feast, Teng Xiong and I drank, ate, and chatted. Although we'd been sep arated for such a long time, we were women with similar fates, and so our bond renewed itself almost immediately. Bathed in the illusory, decadent atmosphere of the night club, she recounted her life without me-her performances with the opera troupe; the success she enjoyed; the attacks she received from the conservatives who thought it was sacrilege for women to play men's roles.
"Sacrilege, ha! " she sneered, now taking out a cigar. With sensuously moving fingers, she cut off its tip, lit it with a gold lighter, and began to puff. "Those men," she leaned close to me and lowered her voice, "they say that women's bodies are contaminated. So if we perform as a man, we'll offend the stage god and upset the way of Heaven." She twiddled the obscenely plump cigar with her slender fingers. "Absurd! Do they forget that they are the stinking males?" Teng Xiong laughed gallantly with a backward toss of her head, like a real man.
After she finished narrating her story, she asked me about what I'd been dreading to tell-my life after we'd separated. I feared that if I talked about Qing Zhen, I'd reveal the depth of my feelings. So I described my misery in living on the lonely mountain but left out the reason I'd endured the misery-my love for the Taoist monk. Teng Xiong, tactful as always, did not press me on the subject, which would have caused her as much unhappiness as it did me.
We continued to enjoy the lavish decor, the golden wine, the boisterous music, and the exotic food. Now the club was almost packed. Important-looking men-some gaunt with mean expressions and darting eyes, others fat with protruding bellies and greasy faces-were accompanied by heavily made-up and dressed-up women. A few couples were already undulating and scratching their feet on the dance floor. A woman in a bright green gown clung to a tan-faced man like moss to a rock. I was sure that she was now selling her smile and then later her skin.
Thinking that I no longer had to sell mine but could live an equally luxurious life, I almost smiled, then shot my handsome lover an affectionate glance. "Teng Xiong, thanks for bringing me back to life."
She patted my hand. "Precious Orchid, you deserve the best. Always." In slick movements like a rich playboy, she picked up the champagne and poured me another glass.
As I delicately sipped my wine, my eyes wandered to take in more of the scene until they landed on a crude-looking man three tables from ours. His middle finger was missing, so he held his cigarette awkwardly between his index and ring fingers. A scar slashed one bushy eyebrow into two, giving him a fierce yet miserable look, like an imperial eunuch. He seemed to have come by himself and was immersed in what he saw-us.
"Teng Xiong," I felt my heart knocking against my ribs, "see that man with a missing finger over there? He can't take his eyes off us; you think he's ... one of Mama and De's men looking for me?"
Teng discreetly glanced at the man, then turned back to me and, to my surprise, smiled. "I think it's only because he's jealous of my having such a beautiful companion."
"How can you be sure they're not from Peach Blossom?"
"Do you think your Mama will pay for a train ticket, wine, and food in a supper club, plus a detective, to look for you here?" She paused to sip her wine, then, "It's because he's feasting on your beauty."
I felt flattered. "You really think so?"
Instead of answering me, Teng Xiong cut a slice of steak and put it on my plate. "Don't worry and eat more. This is to keep your face flushed and your qi abundant."
Just then I noticed that two other equally crude men and two gaudily dressed club girls were sitting down to join the man with the missing finger.
Teng Xiong said, "See, he's with friends. I told you not to worry. Please enjoy the moment."
When we finished eating, Teng Xiong took my hand. "Come, Precious Orchid, let's dance."
"But I'm out of practice."
"Don't worry. I'll lead you."
Teng Xiong was as graceful on the dance floor as in bed. Her body responded naturally to the music's rhythm and her feet glided as effortlessly along the dance floor as carp in a pond. Yet as I stared at her dreamy expression, I thought only of Qing Zhen. While my body was moving sensuously in the decadent city, what was he doing now on the lonely mountain? If he had not chosen the hermit's life, maybe now I would be dancing not with Teng Xiong, but with him. Would he move as elegantly on the dance floor as he did when performing his esoteric and erotic rituals? Would our life be perfect if he were a dandy instead of a monk?
This unpleasant thought about Qing Zhen was immediately followed by another-my mother. Why wasn't she in Taiyi Mountain as she'd told me? Maybe while now I was enjoying myself in an expensive nightclub, she was living as a hermit nun in a cold, deserted cave. Or was she already dead? If she was, then her ghost would be wandering restlessly in the yin world, because I hadn't been burning incense to appease it and guide it to Buddha. But if she was still alive, then her mind (if I was still on her mind) would be restless, worrying about her daughter. Guilt and then fear rose inside me. I imagined Mother, bald and emaciated, her body barely covered by a filthy, many-patched robe, pulling grass from the ground with calloused fingers. When she parted her lips to pop in a squirming worm, her mouth, toothless, was a hole as dark as hell ...
Teng Xiong whispered into my ears. "Precious Orchid, what are you thinking about?"
"Oh, nothing." I put on a smile to hide the throbbing pains of my heart.
Teng held my waist and began to swing me this way and that. I remembered how as a child I'd liked to have my father push me high in the swing so I could have a better view of the world. Now that I'd finally tasted the vicissitudes of life, all I wanted was to find something unmoving to hold on to.
I clung close to Teng Xiong's slender body like a child holding on to the hem of his mother's dress.
My lover planted a kiss on my third eye. Are you happy now?"
"Yes," I said. But added silently to myself, "And no."
The next day in the hotel room, I was awakened by Teng Xiong's kisses.
"Morning," she murmured. Her eyes were tender and her face flushed; her hands began to search my body.
I remembered my promise: If our Karma led us to another rendezvous in this lifetime, I'd try to make her the happiest lesbian under heaven. Receiving directions from my brain, my hands, lips, and tongue began to apply their erotic art to provoke and please.
In the evening Teng Xiong had to perform, so she took me to the Double Happiness Tea House to see the Golden Phoenix Opera Troupe. The tea house was also situa
ted in the Qianmen area. After we got out of the rickshaw, Teng Xiong ushered me through a side door that led directly backstage. Some women were chatting, others reciting their lines, yet others painting their brows with small brushes.
Before I had a chance to take in more of the scene, a girl with a goose-egg face and alert eyes dashed up to Teng Xiong and pinched her playfully on the arm. "My master, you're late! "
Teng turned to me and smiled. "Precious Orchid, this is Tinkling Bell, my bride on stage tonight." Then she introduced me to the girl. "This is Precious Orchid, my ... friend."
My heart sank at Teng Xiong's words. That broken bell was her "bride," and it seemed that I, her lover, was suddenly just a friend? I studied the girl and felt an instant suspicion. When she talked, her eyes flicked flirtatiously, her grin stretched wide on her perfect goose-egg face, and her fingers kept touching my lover's arm. But I didn't have much time to think more about this, for Teng was already pulling me around to introduce me to the other actresses. Although not all of them were young and pretty, they all expressed enthusiasm for promoting women's performances. Then, before I finished my conversation with the middle-aged actress who played laodan-old ladies-I heard Tinkling Bell's high-pitched voice announce, "There's not much time before the show, so please get ready!"
After that, Teng Xiong came to me and said, motioning to a very young girl now standing timidly next to her, "Precious Orchid, the performance will soon begin, so let Little Cat take you to your seat in the theater. Hope you like my performance." Before I left, she discreetly planted a kiss on my cheek. As I straightened up, I saw Tinkling Bell's eyes fixed upon us.
Little Cat led me out from the backstage to a seat at a front table. After I settled, the maid swiftly left and returned, to my delight, with a hot towel, food, and drink. When I reached into my purse, she smiled shyly. "Oh no. Miss Teng already paid me." After that, she disappeared backstage.
I blew on the cup of scalding tea, then looked around. The tea house was nearly packed. People kept streaming in while vendors moved noisily between rows hawking tea, cigarettes, and snackssesame cakes, sugared ginger, dried plums, roasted watermelon seeds. I noticed some richly dressed tai tai who came with their amahs-one cooing a red-faced, hysterically crying baby. A young couple talked quietly with their heads close together like a pair of kissing fish. A group of middle-aged women gossiped, sipped tea, cracked watermelon seeds, and spat the husks onto the floor. People looked happy and excited-maybe this was their first time at an all-female opera performance.
Soon the curtain rose, and the small tea house was instantly flooded with the sharp wailing of the two-stringed fiddles punctuated by frantic beatings of drums and gongs. Although Teng Xiong had told me of her days as an opera singer before she'd become Fung's concubine, this was the first time I would actually know it was her onstage-now as a young, handsome scholar.
Tonight's performance was the Peking opera version of the Kun opera The Peony Pavilion, a love story about a man who fell in love with a beautiful ghost, and how, due to the power of his love, finally resurrected her from the yin world.
Du Liniang-the young girl and female ghost-was played by Tinkling Bell. Although I didn't like her, I had to admit that her acting was gilded with magic. Her plaintive, obsessive longing for the scholar whom she'd only met in a dream melted everyone's heart. When, after a long period of suffering she finally died of lovesickness onstage, sighs were all that could be heard. The plump woman next to me kept shaking her head while wiping the corners of her eyes. A young girl two tables away sobbed audibly.
During the next scene when Tinkling Bell was being buried, my heart started to pound, for I knew Teng Xiong was soon to make her entrance. Suddenly there was a loud beating of the drums but at first only a willow branch was seen sticking out from the en trance. It was held in midair for a few agonizing seconds before its master finally revealed himself-a young, white-powdered scholar. Thunderous applause exploded in the hall, drowning even the boisterous sound of the musicians.
Teng Xiong's performance was flawless-her movements were stylized but fluid and perfectly coordinated with the music. Even the ribbon swaying from her bun and the fan in her hand seemed expressive of the scholar Liu Mengmei's aroused emotions. When Liu swore his undying love for the ghost through Teng Xiong's sincere, pure voice, my eyes were filled with tears. While I wiped my eyes with the towel, my heart ached with jealousy of Tinkling Bell. How I wished I could exchange real life with that on the stage so I could be that lucky bell and Teng Xiong a real man and my real husband!
I was intrigued by the many transformations of my woman lover. Last night she'd been a dandy in a Western suit gliding on a dance floor, today she was a traditional Chinese scholar reciting poems to his ghostly lover. But all these were as a man. How would she have looked as Fung's bejeweled concubine?
Life in the city with a rich, runaway concubine-cum-famousopera-diva was quite different from that with a penniless Taoist monk on the mountain. When Teng Xiong didn't have to perform, she'd take me to elegant restaurants to try out famous dishesPeking duck, pig's intestines, shark's fin, sea slug. With warm, full stomachs, we'd ride in a rickshaw to appreciate the city's night life. Sometimes she'd stop the coolie to let us off in front of a tea house. Then we'd go in to relish scalding tea and high-pitched singing by girls with flirtatious smiles and graceful hand gestures. Yet I was always aware of something missing. I thought often of the phrase by the Tang dynasty courtesan Yu Xuanji: It's easier to find priceless treasures than a loving man. With Qing Zhen, I'd had the loving man, but not the priceless treasures. With Teng Xiong, I had the treasure and the loving, but no man. Perhaps the Buddha had it right: There is no end to desire.
So, while I lamented fate's malice, I enjoyed Teng Xiong's love and my regained luxury. Yet my life still seemed far from blissful. Though I'd been too busy at Peach Blossom, during my time on the mountain, I'd learned that having too little to do is not much better. So now living with Teng Xiong for two months, I decided I must find ways to keep myself occupied. Teng said I could also join the opera troupe if I liked. If I didn't, she'd have enough money to support us both. I did not want to just live off her money, so I decided to join the troupe. Although I'd been taught something about performing in Peking opera, I did not have the training of a professional actor, only a semiprofessional singer. Besides, the big roles were already taken by successful actresses like Tinkling Bell, and none of the others were eager to have competition for their parts. So I was only assigned to minor roles like a maid, an old woman, a page boy, sometimes even a low-class prostitute. I was paid, but one night's performance brought me less than one of my favored guests would have tipped my maid. Worse, while playing a maid or a page boy, I had to watch Tinkling Bell flirt and lean her small, shapely body close to Teng Xiong's tall, boyish one. I could not but fear that this broken bell was trying to seduce Teng Xiong. If she succeeded, who'd take care of me, how would I survive?
Even though I wanted to hold on to Teng Xiong, I could not stop thinking about Qing Zhen. At first I thought if I joined the opera troupe and kept myself busy working, I wouldn't have time to think of him. But I was wrong. Qing Zhen's image kept slipping into my mind, not only in quiet moments when I was reading or musing, but even while performing onstage. And of course during lovemaking with Teng Xiong.
And so I'd not quite escaped from the mountain prison because Qing Zhen's ghost never left me. My body was with Teng Xiong but my mind was still with the monk. Often when Teng and I were dining quietly together, I could almost see my monk lover sitting between us, staring sadly into my eyes. Maybe he was really there, for he'd told me his alchemy could render people invisible! I would also imagine what he might be doing. Perhaps he simply continued to live the same life-meditating, playing the qin, experimenting with alchemy, and writing talismans-but without me. I felt sad to think that I might have spoiled the spiritual practice that was his duty to his father. But even worse was when I imagined that he might not
be lonely at all because he might have already seduced another girl for his practice of balancing the yin and yang.
When I imagined all the positions he'd carry out with the other woman and the variegated ways he'd move his tongue and long fingers all over her body, a heat would gather around my chest until a moan erupted from my mouth. During these moments, I felt a strong urge to run back to him and take him from this new lover who could never give him what I had. But, of course, I'd never mustered up the courage, fearing that he might get furious at me and kick me out, or worse, his attention completely focused on the other girl-who might be even prettier than me-simply ignore me.
When my imagination had calmed down, I thought, even if Qing Zhen did forgive me and take me back, how could I spend another winter in his bare "temple"? If I left Teng Xiong for him again and then wanted to come back, I could hardly expect her to forgive me a second time. Unable to make any decision, I continued to live with my lesbian lover while tormented by desire for a Taoist monk.