by Janie Chang
He couldn’t have been much older than Anjuin.
I caught myself staring at him and hastened to make use of my new fan, a semicircle of finely carved ivory ribs. The fluttering of a fan was a good way to hide trembling hands. The shopkeeper who sold me the fan had claimed it was looted from the Forbidden City during the Boxer Rebellion. I doubted the dowager empress had held this very fan, but I’d bought it anyway.
“In addition to solving my cousin’s murder, I’m hoping the detective I’ve hired can find Baoyuan’s older brother,” Taiyong said. “It’s my duty to let him know of Baoyuan’s death.”
“How very odd,” Sanmu said. “He never mentioned a brother.”
“Baoyuan was adopted,” Wan Taiyong said. “He was a distant cousin, and my uncle had no sons. Later, when my parents died, my uncle took me in. So Baoyuan and I lived in the same household for several years. He told me about his brother in Shanghai.”
He paused. “Baoyuan’s original name was Fong. The property on Dragon Springs Road was his ancestral home. That’s why Baoyuan wanted to buy it.”
Liu Sanmu straightened up in his seat. His feigned astonishment was utterly convincing. “But why didn’t Wan Baoyuan say he once lived there?”
Wan Taiyong looked apologetic. “He was afraid he’d be in a weaker bargaining position if the seller knew of his attachment to the estate.”
There was a pause, then Sanmu cleared his throat. “May I ask which detective agency you’ve hired? I may know it.”
“The agency came highly recommended,” Taiyong said. “The owner’s name is Robert Shea, formerly of the Shanghai Municipal Police. His Chinese is surprisingly good. Unlike the other detectives I interviewed, he made no bold claims.”
I wanted to choke. Shea’s tenacity was well known.
“Shea’s reputation is sterling, he’s the best in Shanghai,” Sanmu said, his manner sincere. “If he can’t solve your mysteries, no one can.”
The conversation drifted on, from the situation in Manchuria to Dr. Sun Yat-sen’s return to Shanghai and whether it signaled a resurgence of the Nationalist Party. Either Wan Taiyong was very good at deception or he was truly as candid as he seemed. It was almost noon by the time he stood up to leave.
“I wonder if I could see the property on Dragon Springs Road sometime before I leave Shanghai,” Wan Taiyong said. “I’m curious to see where my cousin spent his early years.”
“You’re welcome to see it any time,” Sanmu said. “The Western Residence is the only one of the homes still standing. The other two courtyards have been knocked down. I would take you myself, but between the newspaper and family business, my time is not my own anymore. But Jialing can go with you tomorrow if you like.”
He gave me a look. Behind my fan, I gulped.
“I’d be happy to,” I said, trying my best to sound hospitable.
“I DON’T WANT to take him to Dragon Springs Road,” I said, after Sanmu had seen Wan Taiyong out the front gate. “Why didn’t you offer to take him yourself some other day?”
He kissed me on the forehead. “It’ll be fine. Look at you, as innocent as a schoolgirl in that dress. He’ll never suspect. I must go now.”
I helped him into his coat. I knew he was going to make his report to Fourth Uncle.
Upstairs on my letter tray, there was a letter from Yun Na in her childish writing.
Dear Jialing,
Next month we will move into the new apartment owned by Mr. Liu’s family. How can we thank you for this kindness? The rent is so reasonable and the extra space so necessary now that we have the new baby.
Truly, old friends are the best, but could I have expected any less of someone we raised like a sister? I hope you will come visit us in our new home, and perhaps one day we can visit you in your house. Anjuin is too polite to ask, but you know me . . .
Self-centered though she was, even Yun Na had to know I had asked Sanmu to offer Dajuin a better apartment at a good price for Anjuin’s sake, not anyone else’s. I crumpled the note into the wastebasket.
I opened my cosmetics box and lifted the top tray. All the money I had managed to save so far was inside, more money than I had ever held before in my hands, but in my new life, hardly enough for a new pair of shoes. I should’ve put more effort into saving money against a time when my life would have to change. Wan Taiyong was proof that surely as thunder follows lightning, my life was going to change again. In what way, I didn’t know. But it wouldn’t hurt to have more cash in hand.
From drawers and wardrobe shelves I collected items whose absence I didn’t think Sanmu would notice. Scarves and gloves, shoes, an embroidered jacket. A few of my older dresses, some small pieces of jewelry. These all fit in a carpetbag. I slipped the paper with the address of the pawnshop Leah recommended into my pocket.
On my way out, Old Tan stared at the bag, but he waved for a rickshaw and said nothing. At the pawnshop, my imported accessories fetched more than I’d hoped, especially the shoes.
“They’re Italian and like new,” I pointed out to the pawnbroker. “Even a foreigner would buy these.”
He’d grunted and said, “It’s more likely they’ll appeal to a taxi dancer,” but he paid my asking price without grumbling. Which meant I’d set it too low.
“CAN I USE your den?” I asked Fox. “I need a place to hide some money.”
The Western Residence was the only safe place that came to mind. I would add to the cache of silver coins with each visit. I knew Fox would look after my little coin bag if she and my mother had to leave for any reason.
My mother was much improved and didn’t question why she was feeling better. Fox and I had agreed it would be best if she forgot all about her illness, forgot that Fox’s powers couldn’t extend to protect both of us. Her body was wasting away, her thoughts were confused, and she spent most of my visit dozing in the kitchen, which Fox kept well heated. With Fox’s help and tincture of opium, however, she was out of pain.
She moves in and out of sleep, Fox said, but she’s so dazed from the opium it’s hard to know how much she remembers. The main thing is to keep her comfortable and warm.
Fox was proud of her scavenging. She went to the Eastern Residence at night to take wood from the demolished buildings. The kitchen in the Western Residence was too small to store all the wood, so she had used the veranda of the main house to stack lengths of wooden railings and posts. She had collected enough wood to last the winter, but I didn’t know whether my mother would live that long.
“Thank you for looking after my mother, Fox,” I said.
She’s my friend, Fox replied, and she’ll be gone soon. I’ve lost many human friends, some who mattered more than others.
I had to ask. “Is my mother one of those who matters more?”
Of course. Or I wouldn’t have promised to take care of you. Fox laid her chin down on her paws, as if suddenly weary. I’ve outlived too many mortal friends.
I’d often envied Fox her powers. I’d never thought of how it must be for her to watch friends age and die.
My mother stirred from her sleep and looked up. She beamed at me. “Ling-ling. It’s been such a long time,” she said, although I’d been there just the day before. “What a beautiful coat. You’re such a grand lady now.”
“I’ve brought some sweet date soup for you,” I said. “It’s heating right now.”
We need more wood, said Fox and she hurried out.
“Fox has been a very good friend to you,” I said to my mother.
She blinked at me, then sat up on the bed. Standing up, she steadied herself then hobbled over to my side and took the wooden spoon from my hands. Her eyes were unfocused.
“She’s been a good friend to you as well, Ling-ling” she said, stirring the soup. Then she paused to peer up at me again. “What a beautiful daughter I have.”
“It’s because I have a beautiful mother.” I took off my white jade bracelet, one of the first gifts Sanmu had given me, and slid it onto her thin arm. S
he admired it and continued stirring.
IT WAS NEARLY ten o’clock before Sanmu came back to Yuyang Lane, tense and silent. I followed him upstairs to the bedroom.
“We still don’t know whether Wan Taiyong took part in the conspiracy.” He whispered as though there might be eavesdroppers. “Or whether he knew his cousin was an assassin.”
“Wan Taiyong seems very open and sincere.”
“The best conspirators are good at acting,” he replied, kissing me behind the ear. He moved one hand along my shoulder down to my hip. “When you’re with him in the Western Residence, see what you can learn. Ask him about his childhood. When people share childhood memories, it often leads to sharing other confidences.”
I turned around in his arms. “No, Sanmu. I’m no good at this sort of thing. You go with him tomorrow.”
But his only reply was to pull my hips against his.
In the morning, Sanmu was gone. He had been to the greenhouse. There was a stem of orchids on the pillow beside me, creamy flowers with a citrus scent. This tender gesture touched me more than anything he’d done for me so far. He knew today would be a distressing time for me.
But he couldn’t begin to guess how distressing. Fear of being alone with Wan Taiyong, fear of learning he was a danger to us. One after the other, anxieties crashed against me in waves.
WAN TAIYONG HAD hired a large bicycle rickshaw for the day. As we pulled into Dragon Springs Road, I glimpsed my mother walking along the street, an old wool scarf tied around her head. Fox, dressed just as poorly, held her by the elbow. They were a pair of vagrants, ignored by all, practically invisible. Fox gave me a wink as I climbed down from the rickshaw. I gave a silent sigh of relief as they meandered away, glad my mother was well enough to leave the Western Residence. With Fox’s small enchantments, Wan Taiyong wouldn’t notice the signs of habitation in the courtyard.
Where the Eastern Residence had been there was nothing now but bare land, the foundations for three modern villas dug out on the ground. In the Central Residence, workers swarmed in and out, the air loud with curses and shouts, the noise of tools striking earth and wood, the crash of falling roof tiles.
Inside the Western Residence, all was dormant, waiting for warmer spring days. I avoided looking at the stones at the edge of the bamboo garden. Was it my imagination or was the moss still dark with blood?
“I prefer this to the new houses they’re building,” Taiyong said, looking around. “Baoyuan talked a lot about this estate. He said the Western Residence was the oldest of the three courtyard homes.”
He wandered in to the main house, opened the lattice shutters in the downstairs bedroom where First Wife had slept, then carefully closed them again. He came out of the main house and crossed over to the derelict erfang.
“The roof has fallen in on that erfang,” I called. “Be careful of tiles coming down on your head.”
A moment later, he came out again, a grin on his face. He cleared the steps from the veranda with a single jump, landing with both feet on the paving. “My parents’ house had a veranda too. I can’t count the number of times I skinned my knees leaping off the steps.”
He sat beside me on the garden bench. “In Harbin, we build courtyard homes with a high wall on the north side to block the coldest winds. I love the open plains, but when I come back from inspecting repair stations and railway tracks, I want to come home to a courtyard. Not a Western-style villa but this, a small, sheltered world of my own.”
That was exactly how I felt about this courtyard. It was a sanctuary.
He leaned back, looking contented. That look stirred something warm in me, something I tried to push away.
Had Wan Taiyong known anything about his cousin’s role as an assassin? I had been observing him as closely as I dared. When he spoke, his words were unhurried, his eyes clear and guileless. Was he truly as open as he seemed?
“Were you very close to your cousin?” My first cautious probe.
“Now I wish we’d been closer,” he said. “My uncle died just a few years after he took me in, and Baoyuan took care of everything. Even though we were distant cousins, he was the elder and took on the duty.”
Wan Baoyuan had believed in duty. Duty to his commanding officer and duty to his family. He’d made sure Wan Taiyong went to boarding school, attended college, and found a job.
“He used to come to my school every month and take me out for a meal,” he said. “Out of duty, not affection. I knew that. But I was grateful. I had no one else.”
His slightly crooked smile gave away the pain that still accompanied the memory. Losing his parents, losing his uncle. His only guardian Wan Baoyuan, a humorless young army officer. It wasn’t hard to imagine Taiyong as a child, lonely and orphaned. Again, I pushed away that feeling.
“Baoyuan was a successful officer,” he continued, “chosen to lead many important battles. He was very talented, one of the youngest majors in the Fengtian army. The military was his life. When he resigned to work for a mining company, I could hardly believe it. In fact, I couldn’t believe General Zhang accepted his resignation.”
Sanmu had speculated that Wan’s career change had been to conceal his role as an assassin.
“After he left the military, did he miss the camaraderie of fellow officers?” I asked. “Did he still socialize with them? Invite them home?”
“I wouldn’t know,” Taiyong said. “He used to take me with him to dinner parties, introduce me to people he said would be important to my future. Then it all stopped. He became withdrawn. Perhaps he was disappointed I decided not to join the army.”
He sounded genuinely sad. If he spoke the truth, then Wan Baoyuan had kept his distance and it was likely Wan Taiyong didn’t know anything about his cousin’s secret life. It may have been too soon for relief, but something loosened in my chest and I almost sighed out loud.
“What about you?” he asked. “All I know is that you grew up in the Yang household.”
“I’m an orphan. The Yang family took me in because their grandmother wanted to earn merit in heaven. I became their bond servant,” I said. “Then an American lady paid for me to attend a mission school.”
“The mission schools offer a good education,” he said.
“Alas, my grades weren’t good enough to go on to college,” I said. “I’d hoped to earn a living as a governess or nanny, but there isn’t a single family in Shanghai, Chinese or European, that’s willing to hire me. So here I am, mistress to Liu Sanmu.”
The words came out with a bitterness that surprised me, for I thought I had accepted my fate. I tried to make light of my remarks. “In Shanghai, mistress can be quite a respectable career. I’m luckier than most. Liu Sanmu is kind and generous.”
His wry smile reflected my own, and I thought I detected sympathy in his eyes.
Wan Taiyong insisted on taking me to lunch at the Astor Hotel.
Inside the hotel, I paused to scan the busy lobby, where a mix of wealthy Chinese and foreigners gathered, creatures of privilege. A number of the women, both Chinese and foreign, drew back their skirts as I passed. Some turned deliberately to avoid me, others stared.
Lifting my chin and squaring my shoulders, I made my way across the huge expanse of lobby toward the dining room. For a moment I thought I saw a familiar swaying walk. From behind, the woman looked like Leah. Her male companion was Chinese. Not Mr. Stephenson. The couple disappeared down a corridor in the direction of the private dining rooms.
A woman I recognized as the mistress of one of Sanmu’s friends stared at us. Wan Taiyong was certainly a very handsome new face worth staring at, but I was also sure she was wondering whether I was having an affair. Let her wonder.
At lunch I looked at the menu, at my plate of fish croquettes, at the view of the riverfront, at anything but Taiyong’s face, his eyes, the lock of hair that fell over his forehead. I said very little and listened to him talk about Harbin.
It was a city more European than Shanghai. More than twent
y years ago, Russian companies had sent engineers and construction workers there to build a rail system from China to Russia. Many had stayed.
“Some brought wives. Many more married Chinese women or took Chinese mistresses,” he said. “Some have lived there more than a generation. You would not look out of place in Harbin, Miss Zhu.”
“Perhaps, but nothing changes the fact that both Chinese and Europeans see hun xue as a betrayal of race,” I said, a little stiffly. “Both sides see us as examples of moral degeneration. Those are not my opinions, Mr. Wan. You can read them in newspaper editorials.”
“Forgive me. I can’t begin to guess at the difficulties you’ve faced growing up, orphaned and hun xue.”
It wouldn’t do to create awkwardness. Not when Sanmu wanted me to spend more time with him. Not when I wanted to see him again. I smiled.
“Tell me more about Harbin,” I said. “How does it compare to Shanghai?”
“All cities seem much the same to me,” he said. “Except in winter. And then Harbin is transformed, as if by an enchantment. Everything is covered in snow, snow so clean it glows blue.”
“Parks with frozen lakes,” I said, unable to help myself.
“Yes. The lakes are beautiful in winter.” He smiled, a slow lazy smile.
Winter arrives suddenly in Harbin. By October the nights are freezing cold, but the air is dry and skies are clear. Street vendors sell bags of roasted chestnuts, chunks of sausage on skewers, big rounds of hot, Russian-style bread. At night the winter moon hangs high in the sky and after the first freeze, lakes in city parks turn into ice rinks where courting couples hold fur-mittened hands to skate in circles together while boys race each other across the frozen expanse.
“There’s nothing as glorious as ice skating,” Taiyong said. “The cold air rushing past, the smoothness of the ice beneath your skates, so fast and quiet it’s like flying. But did you know that blades don’t touch ice? Friction creates a thin layer of water between ice and blade, so you’re actually gliding on a film of water.”
“I can’t even imagine it,” I said, resisting the urge to reach over and push the hair off his forehead. Instead I pushed away the picture in my head, of the two of us dressed in warm furs, the moon casting its platinum light on the ice, our shadows gliding ahead of us, chasing each other down the gleaming path.