Since then, that urge had only grown stronger. She noticed his every move and heard every echo of his voice. When he stood next to her, she could feel his every breath and every heartbeat.
Why did he have to be part Japanese? After all that had happened in the last seven years, a rift of enmity as deep as a sea of blood had torn open between China and Japan. No matter how much Takeda would do for them to redeem for what his fatherland had done, she could never give herself over to him.
She left the table and took her sleepwear out of the chest of drawers. Methodically, she poured water into the wash basin to wash her face and prepare for bed. The loud shouts of the Kempeitai, the Japanese military police, came in through the window from the street and fouled the silence of the night. She tugged the string of the lightbulb and turned out the light.
Pointless. She pulled her pillow lower against her head and curled her body under the thin, coarse blanket. Thinking about Takeda was pointless. With the occupiers still running the city and the war still raging, they had enough problems to think about already. She should put aside the unsolvable question of her and Takeda, and focus on how to drive out the enemy instead.
Chapter 4
Across the street from the villa that once belonged to her family, Wen-Ying stood beside a lamp post and watched another truck pull into the driveway behind the one already parked in front of the main entrance. Movers circulated about, unloading trunks and furniture to carry inside. A middle-aged man, whom she gathered must be the head houseboy from the look of his tangzhuan uniform, came out of the mansion. Waving his arm wildly, he shouted orders to the group of shirtless laborers tying ropes to a huge, custom-made bed to pull it up to the large porch on the second floor.
Seeing all these strangers roaming about the property, her heart ached. None of them belonged here. And what happened to all her family’s furniture? Did any of it still remain inside? No doubt, looters had taken all the most valuable pieces, including her father’s antique collection and paintings. If the looters hadn’t taken them, surely the Japanese who came afterward had.
What did looters do with antiques and art in times of war? Sell them to the occupiers and collaborators? Probably. She winced at the thought of these vermin’s hands touching the things her family owned. Was it not enough that they raped, maimed, and killed their people, took their land, and destroyed their lives? Did they have to contaminate and violate their memories too?
How she missed this place. Growing up, she and her brother and sister had run around this garden playing tag. In the summertime, peonies, camellia, and azaleas would blossom everywhere. She could still see herself and her sister trying to outdo each other jumping ropes, and her brother teasing her for losing to him again in a game of badminton.
“Wah!” A chorus of men cried out from above and below the second-floor porch. The movers lifting the large bed had lost their grip of the ropes and the bed fell several feet before they quickly halted its drop. Wen-Ying wished it had in fact dropped all the way to the ground and smashed to pieces.
“Higher, higher on the left,” shouted the mover who appeared to be in charge. His voice carried all the way to where she stood.
She turned her eyes to the other end of the house at the balcony of the room that once belonged to Mei Mei. The flower pots that lined the balustrade were all gone, but the cypress tree beside the balcony still stood, like the last lone guardian of the shadow of the Yuan family’s glory days.
The shout of a boy, perhaps thirteen, brought her attention to the side of the street. “Hey! You haven’t paid!” The boy ran after two Japanese soldiers. He and his father were selling ceramic bowls and plates out of a cart. The two Japanese shorties, low-level privates with one yellow star on their uniforms, were checking out the goods. While the father wasn’t looking, the shorties had taken some of the bowls.
“You haven’t paid,” shouted the boy as he chased the thieves.
No!
Wen-Ying slapped her hand over her mouth. The boy’s father ran after him, but it was too late. Whack! One of the shorties smacked the boy across the face. The other gave him a good slap across the other side, then pushed him down hard. The boy bit back tears and tried to get up. His father rushed to hold him down while he kneeled and shook his hands up and down in prayer to the thieves. One of the Japanese dogs kicked him until he fell, while the other returned to the cart. With one lift, he turned it over. All the bowls and plates fell shattering to the ground.
A hard, sour lump swelled in Wen-Ying’s throat. Amidst the thieves’ laughter, a shiny black limousine drove by. Without slowing down for the passengers inside to even take note of the scene, it pulled up to the driveway of the mansion. The driver parked, opened the door to the back passengers’ seat, and bowed. Shen Yi, bedecked in jewelry in her red embroidered white silk cheongsam, exited the vehicle. Against her better judgment, Wen-Ying stepped closer to try to catch a glimpse of this woman who had come this close to being her sister-in-law.
Was Shen Yi happy now? Did she go to sleep at night relishing the thought that the Yuan family she knew since birth was broken, and all the vestiges that remained of it belonged only to her?
The head houseboy came running to greet her, bowing several times as she ignored him and strutted to the center of the garden to take a sweeping view of her new home. A proud, victorious smile spread across her face.
Standing behind an abandoned cart, Wen-Ying squeezed her fists.
I’m sorry, she said silently to her parents and her grandparents who had built this villa in the hope that it would be passed on for generations. I failed you. I can’t protect what you’ve left behind. I’m sorry. She said in her heart over and over again, hoping they could hear her in the next realm.
The wail of the warning siren swelled around her.
Boom!
A loud explosion shook the street. Immediately, another one followed. And another one. American planes had flown into Shanghai airspace again. Those B-29s, so swift and formidable, had come undetected through the sky to deliver their deadly bombs. With each blast, buildings trembled. Windows cracked and shards of glass flew.
At the villa, men raced to save Shen Yi, surrounding her and scurrying her inside. Workers and movers darted away. Quickly, Wen-Ying dashed back across the street. The sirens split her ears and the ground beneath her quaked. People on the street, already nervous and tense, screamed and ran in chaos, seeking shelters.
Covering her ears with her hands, Wen-Ying huddled in the doorway of a locked, unoccupied shop. Up in the sky, white trails left by the plane lingered. As the sirens continued to shriek and the booms of explosions raged, she wondered if one of the American planes couldn’t drop a bomb onto the villa with Shen Yi inside. Memories, treasures, traitors, and pain. Let them all go up in flames. Let everything turn to rubble and nothing of the Yuans could be taken away by anyone again.
Chapter 5
When the sirens stopped, Wen-Ying picked herself up. Leaving the panicking crowd, she walked back to the safe house. Along the way, she stopped at the black market and picked up a loaf of bread. At least she still had money. She was luckier than most that way. The gold bars her brother Guo-Hui had made her take when they departed their home had carried her along.
Back in her room, she ate her dinner of dry bread and water. After that, all she could do was wait. Takeda had said during their meeting yesterday that the Kiyohashi would dock at three o’clock. That was three hours ago. Tonight, Fan Da Ge would try to blow up that ship.
The hour of curfew arrived and the city went dark. In her bed, Wen-Ying counted the hours, unable to sleep. At 2:00 a.m., loud booms of distant explosions shook the city from the direction of the Whangpoo River and she knew Fan’s plan to blow up the Kiyohashi had gone off. She jumped to her balcony and watched. From the direction of the river, fiery sparks of red and yellow lights pelted to the sky. For more than half an hour thereafter, shouts, sirens, and whistles of the Kempeitai howled and shrieked all over the s
treets. From all the sounds of it, Fan had brought serious damages, if not total destruction, to the Japanese commercial ship.
Her job would be next. As soon as the first silver lining of the sun spread, she hopped on her bike and left for Dr. Wu’s office. Once she confirmed whether the plot had succeeded or failed, she would transmit to Dai Li a coded message by radio to give him a short, immediate update.
The streets this morning felt even emptier than usual. A nervous silence hung in the air, interrupted only by the chirps of birds and the shuffles of her bike. Security would be tightened today for sure.
She arrived at the clinic without incident. Just when she was about to take a breath of relief, the haunted look on the nurse’s face took her aback.
“Fan Yong-Hao got injured,” the nurse said, rubbing away a tear from her eye.
“Injured?” Wen-Ying asked. The words didn’t sink in right away. Fan couldn’t be injured. The others maybe. But Fan? “How bad?”
“I don’t know. He’s back there.” She pointed to the door of the room with the hidden entrance. “Dr. Wu’s trying to save him.”
Forcing herself not to panic, Wen-Ying glared at the nurse with a finger over her lip. The nurse immediately closed her mouth, although fear still besieged her eyes. Wen-Ying gave her another firm look to warn her, then opened the door to find the concealed entrance.
In the smaller hidden back room used for tending those injured in their plots, Fan lay on a bed while Dr. Wu pulled a blanket over his body. Dr. Wu’s wife, Lian jie, took a wet towel and padded Fan’s forehead.
“What happened?” Wen-Ying asked Yao Kang and Huang Jia-Ming. Yao Kang stood scowling and didn’t answer. Huang looked up from his chair, his hands still clasped over his knee. “We thought we made it. We swam out from the sampan in the dark. Just swimming in the dark toward the Kiyohashi. No one noticed us. Under water, we couldn’t even see anything and we followed the directions of the lights of the ships. We planted the bomb to the bottom of the hull, and then we swam away. We thought we’d set the time delay long enough for us to reach the sampan in time.” He stopped. His voice cracked as his face scrunched and he dropped his head deeper.
“Go on,” said Wen-Ying. A chill rose inside her, spreading from her back to her arms.
“One of the bombs must have gone off early,” Huang Jia-Ming said. “That or we swam off course, or maybe the current pushed us harder than we realized. Everything was so dark, it was hard to tell. When we heard the first explosion, we were still swimming. That was when I started swimming in a frenzy. I never swam so fast in my life. I got to the sampan first. Yao Kang got in soon after me. We saw Fan Da Ge swimming toward us and we thought we’d made it. But when we pulled him into the sampan, he was pressing his hand against his waist. Some shrapnel hit him. He told us he was fine. Then he fell unconscious.”
Wen-Ying gasped. Trembling, she raised her fist to her mouth.
“At first, we didn’t notice how badly he was bleeding. We were soaked. Our lookout rowed the sampan back to the dock and we were supposed to hide inside until morning. But Fan Da Ge started shivering. We debated for a while what to do, and then we decided to take a chance. We stole a rickshaw and brought him back here. Luckily, no one caught us. The explosions distracted everyone and all the Kempeitai were rushing to the scene.”
“The shrapnel shifted to his vein,” said Dr. Wu. “It probably happened when he was swimming.”
No. Wen-Ying shuddered. This couldn’t be happening. “How is he now?” she cried out. “Will he be all right?”
His head still down, Dr. Wu put his surgical equipment away. “He lost too much blood. There’s nothing more I can do.”
Wen-Ying took a shaky step toward the bed. Suddenly, her entire center felt empty. She came closer to Fan. His lips looked so white. His face was ghostly pale. For the first time, he looked mortal, not the invincible fighter who could wage a hundred battles for a hundred wins.
Tentatively, she reached out and touched him on the arm. “Fan Da Ge,” she whispered. She could feel his body trembling beneath her hand. She watched his chest rise and fall weakly in rhythm with his faint breaths until he drew one final breath. And then, everything stopped. “Fan Da Ge!”
Yao Kang and Huang bolted up and came around him. “Fan Da Ge!” they both called out to him. But it was no use. Fan couldn’t hear them anymore.
Wen-Ying shook him with both hands. “Fan Da Ge!” she cried, but he would not respond. His eyes remained closed. She let go of his arm. Her head began to spin and her body felt cold. She gasped for air, unable to breathe. Her arms and legs weakened, and everything around her went dark.
Chapter 6
Slowly, Wen-Ying opened her eyes to the barren walls of her room in the safe house. What happened? Why was she lying in bed?
“You’re awake?” asked Zhang Yu-Lan, who was sitting by her bed.
Wen-Ying pushed herself up from under the cover. A splitting pain throbbed in her head. “How did I get back here?”
“You fainted.” Yu-Lan stood up. She wetted a towel from the wash basin and handed it to Wen-Ying. “Lian jie and I brought you back here in a rickshaw. Dr. Wu asked me to look after you until you wake up.”
Wen-Ying fell back and put the wet towel over her eyes and forehead. Her headache subsided slightly.
“Here, drink some water.” Yu-Lan handed her a full glass.
Her mind still groggy, Wen-Ying took a sip. And then, her memory returned. “Fan Da Ge!” She sat up and swung her legs off the bed. “How’s Fan Da Ge?”
Yu-Lan turned away her gaze. When she blinked, tears fell down from her eyes.
“I don’t believe it.” Wen-Ying lowered her glass and slumped. “I don’t believe it,” she said again, as if she could defy the truth if she denied it.
A knock came on the door. Yu-Lan wiped away her tears with the back of her hands and went to see who it was. “Takeda,” she said over her shoulder, then opened the door and let him in.
“Wen-Ying.” He hurried up to the bed. “Are you all right?”
All right? Was she all right? How could she be all right? They lost Fan Yong-Hao.
“She fainted,” Yu-Lan said. “She’s fine now. Good thing you came, Takeda. I have to get back home. Will you make sure she regains her bearing?”
“Of course,” Takeda sat down next to Wen-Ying by her bed.
“I’m sorry I have to leave,” Yu-Lan said to Wen-Ying. “I ought to get home before my parents wonder why I’ve been gone for so long. You get some rest.”
Not wanting to make things difficult for Yu-Lan, Wen-Ying nodded. After she left, Wen-Ying got up.
“Wen-Ying?” Takeda asked.
She ignored him. At the table, she sat down and opened her radio. After turning on the switch, she began entering the message: “The sun came down the mountain. A shooting star flew across the sky.” As she transmitted the message, a wall of tears blurred her eyes.
“Wen-Ying.” Takeda came up to her.
“Why?” she cried. “Why do all the good people die but all the bad ones live so well? Fan Da Ge, how could he leave us behind like this?”
Takeda turned his head and looked away.
“Fan Da Ge’s gone. What will we do now?” Wen-Ying stood up. “What will happen to us?”
“We’ll make some adjustments, of course. We’ll adapt. We’ll—”
She didn’t let him finish. “It’s been nine years. I’ve been with Tian Di Hui for nine years. Nine years I’ve given my life to the cause. I keep hoping we could drive out the Japanese, but the Japanese keep growing stronger. I watch our country’s leaders flee in retreat. I stifle my conscience and take directions from that cold-blooded animal Dai Li, knowing all too well he murdered everyone who stood in his way without a blink of an eye. So many times, I felt I lost hope.”
She walked over to the entrance to the balcony and gazed up at the sky. “I asked Heaven, what difference does it make if I continue what I do or not? The Japanese will win. We can�
��t defeat them. They have more planes, more ships, more guns. Everything they have to fight with is better. In the end, we will surrender and give up. Fan Da Ge was the only one who kept me believing. With him here, I believe we can fight a good fight. He’s all I have to rely on to believe we have hope, because he told us there’s hope. Win or lose, I’d follow him to the end. Now he’s gone.”
She turned around, tears flooded down her face. “Now he’s gone, what more can I look to so I can continue to believe? What do I have to hold on to? Where else can I put my hope?”
“You have me!” Takeda pulled her into his arms. “You still have me. You can believe in me.”
“You?” She let her weakened body fall against his. The sound of his heartbeat beckoning her as she tried to breathe between sobs.
“I’m here. I’m not going to give up. We won’t surrender. Believe me. The Japanese troops can’t keep up. Their supplies are depleted. Their casualties are mounting. We still have hope. We do.”
She raised her hand and held it against his body. She wanted to feel him closer against her. She wanted someone to hold on to. Someone who could assure her that all the deaths and devastations would be avenged, and all their efforts and losses would be worth it.
“Do you know why I can’t give up?” Takeda asked. “It’s because of you. You said you could keep going because you believed in Fan Da Ge. Do you know, I can keep going only because I can think of you. There were times I thought I would go crazy myself when I had to stand aside and watch the Japanese soldiers abuse their powers and terrorize people. You don’t like taking directions from Dai Li. I don’t like taking directions from the Japanese generals either. When I hear about the brutal ways they’re torturing the prisoners at the Bridge House, or when I found out they’re conducting human experiments up in Harbin, I have to act like I don’t care. Every day, I have to act like I feel nothing for anyone they harm. In reality, I just want to run away. I think I would go insane being around these people. I’m afraid if I’m with them long enough, I might lose my own humanity. Sometimes, I lose hope. How can the world have any future when mankind can be this evil?”
The Darkest Hour Page 39