Книга - Memoirs of a Courtesan

Memoirs of a Courtesan
Mingmei Yip


Did you love Memoirs of a Geisha? Want to be swept away by an epic tale of intrigue, forbidden love and deadly rivalries?A poor orphan girl is saved by a rich man and brought Shanghai.She becomes a beautiful and sophisticated singer, the talk of the town, wanted by every man.But her destiny is not to be so simple – lies, seduction and a terrible choice must follow…For fans of Anchee Min and Memoirs of a Geisha, this is a gripping story that will seduce and enchant you.









Memoirs of a Courtesan

Mingmei Yip










Copyright (#ulink_55c75545-2746-5d54-aa48-1159616db104)


Avon

HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

77–85 Fulham Palace Road

Hammersmith, London W6 8JB

www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)

First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2014

Copyright © Mingmei Yip 2012

Cover images ©Shutterstock 2014

Mingmei Yip asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780007570140

Ebook Edition © October 2014 ISBN: 9780007570157

Version: 2014-09-23




Dedication (#ulink_3e421dba-6386-5330-89f2-bdb7a26cb193)


To Geoffrey, who makes the whole world beautiful


Never give up working to defeat your enemy. Master his fate. Exploit his unpreparedness and attack him when he is unaware.

—Art of War, Sunzi (ca. 544–496 BC)

Stir the water to catch the fish – benefit by creating chaos

—Thirty-Six Stratagems, collection of popular ancient Chinese proverbs on outwitting your enemies. First mentioned in Southern Qi dynasties (AD 847–537)

So long as my body is still here, so will be my love for you.

—Li Shangyin (ca AD 813–858), Tang dynasty poet


Contents

Cover (#u8567aa27-ba84-5aea-9bce-b69dfa1d9bd9)

Title Page (#u4ecdd741-77b9-5856-8b31-d02f4f758f74)

Copyright (#ud9e8b8a8-e2a1-5efc-a62f-afd4bcadead1)

Dedication (#ud68eaf19-65a0-5b43-9718-0cebeb233759)

Epigraph (#ucd29cf79-a644-5a1a-b1d5-7e514bd2b147)

Part One (#u79a9748f-2cc7-50f9-abeb-d7a7f1a8aa36)

Prologue (#u5b69aed1-4f1f-5512-bc3f-0cca37466c46)

1. The Naked Girl Jumping Towards Eternity (#u4ec3d3a3-1130-5462-93a3-9e556b19d842)

2. Bright Moon Nightclub (#u5d9c249f-e04d-5166-a73d-9d61271f2f79)

3. Madame Lewinsky (#u8c9247be-d7c9-5dca-b4fb-9e7c5dba2b1c)

4. The Red Shoes (#ue1eed4b0-1762-5eee-bf07-25352aea3dbc)

5. The Young Master (#u641e64cd-ab12-5888-b339-c28b495f46ed)

Part Two (#uefa755bd-8d4c-5dce-b89d-0378620e6327)

6. Life Between the Two Gangs (#u5d803af3-a9e6-5f54-b288-aea3838ebeb2)

7. Temple Celebration (#udb11ee98-5d40-5fb4-a777-eded256e82ec)

8. The Lion Dancers (#u81567784-5b2a-5ff7-b01d-9a74416d2c9c)

9. Hospital Visit (#litres_trial_promo)

10. Manchurian Han Banquet and a Private Magic Show (#litres_trial_promo)

11. The Bund and the Amusement Park (#litres_trial_promo)

12. The Castle (#litres_trial_promo)

13. An Invitation to a Private Show (#litres_trial_promo)

14. Shadowy Recipes (#litres_trial_promo)

Part Three (#litres_trial_promo)

15. Life as a Spy (#litres_trial_promo)

16. Peony Pavilion (#litres_trial_promo)

Part Four (#litres_trial_promo)

17. A Luxury Cruise (#litres_trial_promo)

18. False Alarm (#litres_trial_promo)

19. Plaza Athénée (#litres_trial_promo)

20. Opera House and a Deadly Thought (#litres_trial_promo)

21. Shopping the Champs-Élysées (#litres_trial_promo)

22. Magic and Flying Knives (#litres_trial_promo)

23. Show of the Century (#litres_trial_promo)

Part Five (#litres_trial_promo)

24. A Ghost Baby Boy (#litres_trial_promo)

25. The Birth (#litres_trial_promo)

26. Two Ceremonies (#litres_trial_promo)

27. A Wandering Baby (#litres_trial_promo)

28. The Pink Skeleton Empire (#litres_trial_promo)

29. The Great Escape (#litres_trial_promo)

30. The Secret Villa (#litres_trial_promo)

31. The Garden (#litres_trial_promo)

32. The Grandfather Clock (#litres_trial_promo)

33. The Master’s Return (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)

Acknowledgments (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Author (#litres_trial_promo)

Also by Mingmei Yip (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)



PART ONE (#ulink_955cce1c-b1fc-577c-97d1-6479a0c768e9)




Prologue (#ulink_abbf1f03-635a-577d-86ed-9c72e41e6918)


It all happened because I was considered perfect material to be a spy – beautiful, smart and, most important, an orphan.

I am well aware of what people call me behind my back: Skeleton Woman!

Actually, this does not bother me a bit. Let others feel spite, jealousy, hatred for me. At times I feel a secretive, ticklish glee.

I am a woman who can turn men into skeletons under my touch, though it is as light as a petal and as tender as silk.

My name is Camilla. At nineteen, I’d already become the lead singer at Shanghai’s most popular and elegant Bright Moon Nightclub. It was through powerful connections that I got this position at my young age, with the bonus of being the object of desire of many men and the jealousy and hatred of countless women. And then there were Shadow and Rainbow Chang.

They were the other skeleton women.

But unlike me, Rainbow and Shadow were not nightclub singers. Rainbow, Shanghai’s most popular gossip columnist, made her fortune by digging up secrets and dirt for the Leisure News. Though she had a woman’s name, she exuded the charm of both sexes as she rode the waves of in-between. Short haircut, silk tie and outrageously expensive and impeccably tailored suits contrasted with white-powdered face, rouged cheeks, pink lips, silvery-pink eye shadow and long, lush, artificial lashes. Rainbow neither dressed like a woman nor looked like a man. Exposing everyone else’s secrets in her column, for herself she chose camouflage, in sex as well as in life. But why? It was yet to be found out.

If Rainbow Chang presented herself as mysterious, then Shadow was absolutely unfathomable. Everything about her was staged like a magician’s stunning feats – jumping into thin air; escaping from locked chains under water; cutting a volunteer into multiple pieces, then restoring her in seconds. Carried out in a skimpy dress, enhanced by snake-slick movements, with an expressionless, stunningly beautiful face. Who was she? I was dying to find out.

We used artists’ names; no one knew our real ones. With our own agendas, we were the three most pungent ingredients in this boiling cauldron called Shanghai. Men went crazy for a taste of us, while women sought our elusive recipe.

People admired or hated me as the ultimate femme fatale. But I myself had no idea who I was. I was a nobody, literally. An orphan, I was adopted by a man and his gang for their own purposes. Later I learned that the man was Big Brother Wang, his gang, the Red Demons. Under their constant watching and fussing over me, and due to their strict discipline, by fourteen I’d grown up to be a watermelon-seed-faced, full-bosomed, slim-waisted, long-legged beauty, possessing everything desired by men and envied by women.

Of course, I had not been raised and disciplined just to be a refined, well-mannered lady to be married off to the son of a rich family. Instead, I was groomed to lure Master Lung, head of the Flying Dragons gang, to his doom. I had quickly figured out that I’d been given a roof over my head, fancy clothes to wear and gourmet food to consume for a reason.

I was raised and trained to be a spy.

I was to be the Red Demons’ secret weapon in a meticulous plan to topple its bitterest rival, the Flying Dragons: for nineteen-thirties Shanghai was the battleground for relentless wars among the triads, wars in which I was to be merely a pawn.

And what a life that was.

Having schemed for most of my nineteen years in this dusty world, I’d already turned a few men and women into skeletons dangling in hell – literally or otherwise. I didn’t feel any guilt. This was the only job – the only life – I knew.

This was how they had trained me – to have no attachment, no feelings, no conscience. I was the woman who would, when needed, reduce any man or woman to a skeleton at the blink of my mascaraed eye.

Until the day I met Master Lung’s son, Jinying, and Lung’s bodyguard, Gao. But that was not part of the Red Demons’ plan forme …




1 (#ulink_3753461b-8140-5b3e-9a34-88a07b41530f)

The Naked Girl Jumping Towards Eternity (#ulink_3753461b-8140-5b3e-9a34-88a07b41530f)


Against the sapphire-blue night sky, a young woman was pacing along a ledge atop the Shanghai Customs House tower like a circus girl treading a tightrope.

Except she was stark naked.

The Shanghainese say that nothing will surprise them, that they’ve seen it all. But now they were surprised. No one watching had ever seen anything like this.

Not even my new lover, Master Lung, head of the most powerful black society in Shanghai, the Flying Dragons, nor his slew of bodyguards scattered among the crowd, alert for danger and shoving anyone who seemed about to get too close to their boss.

Lung’s and my eyes had stopped staring licentiously into each other’s and were directed skywards – to the clock tower of the Customs House with its fake European style, far above the Bund and the Huangpu River.

The crowd held its collective breath. Their probing, lascivious eyes were glued to the muscular, round-bosomed, naked body above, expecting at any moment that she would jump to her death. I imagined the onlookers’ agitated thoughts:

Is she really going to jump?

Why doesn’t she want to live?

Jump! I want splashing blood, crashing flesh, crackling bones!

What a pity: a beautiful girl soon to turn into a puddle of vomit.

Tonight the air was balmy, but the naked girl playing the tug-of-war with death hundreds of feet above chilled us all, both those appalled by someone about to plunge to her death and the perverts who secretly thirsted for the morbid sights of splattered blood and scattered human pieces. I bit my lip, my hand tightly clutching Master Lung’s arm while my heart pounded like a tribal drum trying to scare away demons.

Not that a smashed face and broken limbs would have bothered me much. For I had been trained since my teens to wipe away all human emotions. I had been moulded for one purpose and one purpose only: to be a spy. Though, ironically, I earned my living singing sentimental songs in a nightclub.

As I continued to watch, the two hands of the clock merged into a single one pointing north, setting off the imitation Westminster Chimes to suddenly flood us with an eerily cheerful melody. But then, in the midst of the clear sky, thunder cracked and lightning flashed …

And the naked figure jumped!

The onlookers gasped collectively, their expressions ranging from horror, to sorrow, to unabashed thrill …

All heads dropped down to gape, some of the women through cracks between their many-ringed, red-nailed fingers. A pause, then another shock. There was no body. Only a pair of red high heels in the middle of a pool of blood!

‘What happened?! Where is she?!’ A collective question burst into the night air.

A group of policemen arrived to inspect the scene, accompanied by a few reporters snapping pictures and asking dazed onlookers questions that no one could answer.

Nothing was happening now, except for an excited buzz from the crowd. Master Lung gave my elbow a tug. ‘Let’s go, Camilla.’

‘You don’t want to find out where she’s gone?’

‘She’s probably dead.’

‘Then where’s the body?’

‘Maybe you’ll find out in tomorrow’s Leisure News. Their gossip columnist, Rainbow Chang, knows everything.’ He shrugged. ‘Anyway, I’ve seen it all.’

Of course Master Lung had seen it all. He headed the most powerful black society in Shanghai. Not only had he seen it all, he’d also performed it all: shooting, stabbing, strangling, poisoning, decapitating and other acts I’d rather not imagine. And that was only ways to kill. Before the final moment there were often tortures: beating, electric shocks, finger-crushing, eye-gouging, flesh-slicing, tiger-feeding, stuffing inside a snake-filled cage, nailing inside a coffin in a ghost-infested cemetery …

As the onlookers began to disperse, a young couple ogled us, probably recognising me as the famous singer and Lung as the famous gangster head. Immediately one of Lung’s bodyguards approached them and lifted his jacket to show his gun. The two ran off as if they’d been accosted by the ghost of the naked girl who’d just jumped. Just then, Master Lung’s driver pulled up. We climbed into the huge black car and went back to his mansion on Junfu Lane.

Soon I was sipping wine next to him on the sofa, the question still swirling in my mind: who was this beautiful but mysterious jump-and-disappear girl? My spy’s training to dig out secrets just wouldn’t leave me alone.

Lung cast me a stern look. ‘Camilla, what’s going on inside your head now?’

I stared at the scar that divided his right eyebrow into two lizard-like halves. ‘Master Lung, the girl who jumped – what happened?’

‘You’re still thinking of her?’ He smirked. ‘Why are you so curious?’ Lung stuck his fat cigar inside his thin mouth and puffed, making a heavy, asthmatic sound.

‘Master Lung, you’re not?’

He studied me with his protruding eyes set into his monkey face. ‘I have much more serious matters on my mind, not trivialities like that.’

Those ‘serious matters’ were what I, the spy from his rival gang, the Red Demons, was trying to find out.

But I asked, ‘A girl jumping off a tower is trivial to you?’

‘Yes!’ He took a big gulp of his expensive whiskey, then slammed the glass down with an intimidating thud. ‘Unless that girl is you, my little pretty. So, will you stop your silly thinking and come to bed now?’

Early the next morning, I left Master Lung’s house and snatched up a copy of Leisure News from a street urchin. Standing on the pavement, I impatiently flipped through the pages until I saw the big headline:

Naked Girl Jumps to Her Disappearance

Last night at the Customs House on the Bund, the crowd was startled to see a young, naked woman pace on the ledge of the clock tower and then jump. But, strangely, no body was found, only splattered blood and a pair of red high heels. The police are investigating this mysterious, inexplicable incident.

Some say this was an attempted kidnapping but that the young woman escaped. No one can explain where she went. Others say she killed herself – but no body.

But now, more and more are saying that the girl was, in fact, a ghost. They say that before the Customs House was built, that same spot was a cemetery where the bodies of raped and murdered women were dumped by black-society members.

The police claim they are working hard to solve this case to appease people’s fear of a ghost’s vengeance.

Meanwhile, girls from my Pink Skeleton Empire and I have our own sources.

More to follow …

Rainbow Chang

After I finished the article, I almost burst out laughing. It was certainly strange. But a ghost?

The naked girl was definitely not a spirit, but a spirited human.

That was worse than if she’d been a ghost, because now there was a woman who could outdo me in getting headlines from Rainbow Chang. I was used to being the centre of attention as the most celebrated singer in Shanghai’s most famous Bright Moon Nightclub. Yet none of my patrons or customers knew anything about me besides my singing, my body and my name, Camilla, which was fake, anyway. For, since my early teens, I’d been trained to be in the public eye but to keep my real intentions secret.

Now my place in society was under challenge. Someone had stepped into my well-guarded territory. For I didn’t buy that Naked Girl was dead. She was somewhere, and I had to find out where and how she’d pulled off her stunt. Even though I had no idea who this girl was, I knew she was my enemy.

Thus, thinking in the chilly air, I knew it was time to hurry back to Lung’s house to warm his bed.




2 (#ulink_b01cc3aa-a412-56a1-b9d2-f58e25de1025)

Bright Moon Nightclub (#ulink_b01cc3aa-a412-56a1-b9d2-f58e25de1025)


Four times a week at six in the evening, a limo would take me to the Bright Moon Nightclub. This was Shanghai’s most fashionable – and expensive – entertainment establishment. It was located in the International Concession between Yuyuan Road – the Fool’s Garden – and Fanhuangdu Road – the Emperor’s Crossing. These roads were fittingly named, because, although there were no more emperors, there were still plenty of fools.

The nightclub had a gaudily lit circular facade topped with a torchlike, cylindrical tower. If you were allowed in, you would see a huge hall with many tables surrounding a polished dance floor. Above was a mezzanine from which the VIPs could watch those equally rich but less important. On its all-glass dance floor, powerful men became addicted to pirouetting with their seductive, hired partners in rhythm to waltzes, foxtrots, rumbas, sambas, tangos, even marches played by the impeccable Filipino band. Under the chandeliers, diamonds and pearls glittered as young bodies swayed beside their tuxedoed partners, fuelling the clients’ urge to splurge yet more on an evening’s decadence.

But Bright Moon was not always a paradise; in seconds it could descend into hell. Shots were often heard, and stabbings might spray blood onto an expensive gown. Even the private rooms and bathrooms were not safe havens from scores being settled. Targets of assassination could be almost anyone, from celebrities to politicians, black-society members, even suspected hanjian, traitors who spied for the Japanese.

The most talked-about assassination was of a gangster head a few years back. Late one evening as he was gleefully swirling, lifting and dipping his girl on the dance floor, four men approached. Sensing trouble, he shoved his girl hard against them and tried to run. Their long knives were quickly stained with the freshly minced flesh of the poor girl as they flung her back at him.

But he was a gangster head, after all, not a snivelling coward. So he pulled out his gun, shot down two of his assailants, then collapsed only after both of his arms had been chopped off. Under the astonished scrutiny of the other customers, he bled quickly and heroically to death. His lifeless body had found its final rest on his favourite glass floor, this time flooded not with his rivals’ but with his own precious blood.

People saw only the glamour in my job, but few thought of how the money I made had been recycled in blood. Anyway, only the rich and powerful in Shanghai could afford to come to Bright Moon to be entertained – or murdered.

I was proud to say that, together with seeing and being seen, I was the nightclub’s biggest attraction, but that had not happened overnight. Though only nineteen, I’d already come a long way.

I lost my parents at four and had been sent to the Compassionate Grace Orphanage. Unfortunately, I didn’t have much memory of my parents except for a few blurry images of their faces. Worse, I had no siblings, relatives or friends I could ask about them.

At the orphanage, outside volunteers would come to teach the children to sing and dance so they could perform on holidays like the Mid-Autumn Festival, Dragon Boat Races and Chinese New Year. Even before I became the most popular songstress in Shanghai, I’d already had to learn to charm audiences.

However, these free lessons were not given out of compassion, but to discover beauty and talent so that the gifted children could be sold to work as cheap labour at nightclubs, dance halls and, of course, prostitution houses. While hard work – most of the time forced – was abundant inside the orphanage, talent was unusual and beauty rare. Since visitors seemed to find me attractive, I always wondered why had I not been adopted much earlier. I’d heard from the girls who came back to visit that it was a better life than inside the orphanage. Many times I would watch with bitterness as other girls – less pretty and talented than I – were led away to waiting rickshaws and cars.

Then Mr Ho, owner of the Bright Moon Nightclub, began his visits to the orphanage, bringing the children toys, candies, food and clothes. When I was fourteen, Ho decided to rescue me from this institution notorious for cruelty and neglect. He immediately put me to work with the other singing and dancing girls at the nightclub. Though living and training together, we were not allowed to be friends, or even talk to one another too much. If we did so, we’d be sent to a closet to reflect on our misbehaviour on an empty stomach.

The other girls were either orphans like me or had parents so poor that they were forced to sell their daughters to the nightclub so that they would have a roof over their heads and soup to warm their stomachs.

But sometimes fate was in a good mood, and a girl would become famous and, like a hurricane, lift her whole family out of poverty. The rest of us, who were not famous, lived together in one big room and were not paid.

My sense of freedom from escaping the orphanage hadn’t lasted long. One day Ho took me aside and informed me that my real boss was not he but Big Brother Wang, head of the Red Demons gang. He introduced me to Wang, who told me he was an old friend of my parents. They had been killed in a car accident, and he and his underling Ho had been trying to find me for years. Smiling, he told me that in rescuing me from the orphanage he had fulfilled his duty to his deceased best friend. But next, his smile gone, he told me that finding me had been expensive and how I had to repay him. I was to continue being a singer, but now it was a cover for my real job – to spy on Master Lung of the Flying Dragons.

Before I even had time to think or protest, my training with Big Brother Wang had begun. I realised once again that beggars cannot be choosers, and that to continue to keep a roof over my head, rice soup in my stomach and, most important, my head on my shoulders, I had to do what I was told.

Much of my training was concerned with perfecting my ability to charm men. I was taught ballroom dancing, which was now all the rage in Shanghai. Dancing with a patron, I would put my arms around his neck and exhale my fragranced breath onto his face. And I would press my equally fragranced body against him and feel the heat shooting out from his groin. He might wrap his arms around my much-coveted twenty-one-inch waist, move his hand between my neck and bottom like an elevator or lift me up towards heaven, then dip me back towards hell. I learned early on that I should cling only to the important ones, such as Master Lung, and steer clear of the insignificant losers. Did I enjoy doing this? I can only say that it kept me alive while I watched other people’s lives.

I knew well that I was but a shadow of someone else’s existence.

I took singing lessons from a fifty-something Russian woman, Madame Lewinsky. Mr Ho picked her because she was a famous teacher who’d turned a few nobodies into somebodies. And she was too busy to be nosy. Also, as a foreigner, she was safe because she was too ignorant to perceive the complexities of Chinese society, especially the black ones.

Madame Lewinsky put a lot of effort and time into teaching me. But I heeded Big Brother Wang’s warnings and so told her nothing about myself. She probably assumed that I came from a rich family or had a wealthy patron, since I could afford her exorbitant fees.

Lewinsky had come from Russia with her husband to escape the revolution. But he’d died in a freak construction accident before they’d had a chance to have children. So now she was all by herself in this dusty world. Perhaps because of her loneliness, she often tried to act like she was my mother, which, of course, she was not.

Her face was distinctively Russian, with high cheekbones and a strong jaw, but her figure was voluptuous, like that of a Greek goddess. When she opened her mouth to sing, it was like a lark spreading its wings to soar above the clouds.

Was I fond of her? No. But I did appreciate the way she taught.

She also taught me how to feel – something absolutely forbidden in my training to be a spy.

However, all the songs Lewinsky chose for me had sad overtones. She told me that my voice – high-pitched, tender, innocent – was perfect for this bittersweet sentiment. And, contrary to my training, sometimes I just couldn’t help but feel the music tugging at my heart. Whether my emotions were genuine or pretended, the audience at Bright Moon was crazy about the ‘feelings’ in my voice.

It was not exactly right to say that I had no feelings, although it had been my training to stifle them. However, as I was not supposed to have feelings for people, I’d secretly developed them for my singing. I wondered if my boss, Big Brother Wang, understood the irony: if I was trained not to feel, how could I become a great singer? Maybe he didn’t think that far, or maybe he thought this was just life’s inevitable dilemma. Or maybe my vigorous training had enabled me to perform anything, like a magician; from putting great feelings into my singing to hurting people without a twinge of guilt.

For four years I worked as a singer at Bright Moon Nightclub while secretly being trained to become a spy. Then, the summer I turned eighteen, I won the coveted title of Heavenly Songbird from the Recording Songstress Contest organised by the Big Evening News, a newspaper secretly sponsored by the Red Demons gang. Madame Lewinsky had thrown me a big celebration party and flooded me with gifts – chocolates, cake, clothes, small jewellery, sweet little somethings.

Privileges soon followed. I was assigned to sing solo and given my own apartment. I had more good luck in that Lung, though an extremely mistrustful person, never suspected my real standing. My background as an orphan was just too plain to arouse any doubt.

Then, one night, I was sitting inside my private dressing room, scrutinising my illusory self in the big gilded mirror. Standing beside me was Old Aunt, whose job was to do my make-up and hair.

Old Aunt was now putting her finishing touches on my melon-seed-shaped face. ‘Miss Camilla, if you were not a performer, you would not need make-up. You must have heard the saying, “I lament using make-up that only mars my natural beauty.”’

‘I never thought about it one way or the other. I only do what I’m supposed to.’

She nodded at me knowingly, then pinned a flower above my right ear to complete my Heavenly Songbird look. ‘Miss Camilla, you look perfect. Now go out to charm Shanghai.’

‘Thank you, Old Aunt.’

I stood up and cast a last glance at the mirror. Tonight I was dressed in a turquoise body-hugging cheongsam with high slits up the sides. On the front were embroidered pale golden camellias, enhanced by matching elbow-length gloves and dangling gold earrings. During my training, I was constantly told, ‘People respect your clothes before they respect you.’ And, ‘Women need beautiful clothes like the Buddha needs golden robes.’ The message is obvious: if you want to be accepted into high society, dress like a high-society lady. If you want respect, dress elegantly. If you want to lure a huge following, dress in gold.

But the main reason I dressed my best was to lure Master Lung to keep visiting my bed so I could fulfil my mission: learning all his secrets, then eliminating him.

I took a deep breath, smoothed my facial muscles, thrust out my chest and pranced onto the stage in my shredded-golden-lotus steps. The sensuous silk rubbed against my thighs as the cool air caressed my alternately hidden and exposed legs.

As soon as the audience spotted me, thunderous cheers flooded the packed hall. I took my place at centre stage, under a banner emblazoned with big gold characters against a crimson background: Bright Moon Celebrates Heavenly Songbird Camilla’s Performance.

My eyes scanned the audience until they landed on a scrawny man in front with a crew-cut head and a monkey face – Master Lung. For the last few weeks, Lung had been coming here regularly to watch my performances, always accompanied by his underlings and a slew of bodyguards. Because of his infamous reputation, he and his entourage were constantly fussed over by nervous waiters and the fawning manager.

Lung alternated between chugging down expensive wine and twiddling a fat cigar in his bony fingers as he stuck it between his thin lips. While his fingers and lips were engaged in these suicidal activities, his eyes molested me unrelentingly. To my satisfaction, I saw him rhythmically strike his fist against his thigh, showing how excited he was by me.

But something was different tonight, and at first I could not place what it was.

I decided to make this audience wait while I took time to study them. The usual crew: successful businessmen, influential politicians, high government officials, black-society members. Also poets, artists, writers, a few professors: all no doubt the indulged sons of rich families. And the women with them: older ones who were obviously wives, younger ones who were just as obviously concubines, mistresses, courtesans or just prostitutes hired for the evening. But not everyone was what he or she seemed. A bomb-carrying revolutionary or two might be concealed in the crowd of revellers.

High-end nightclubs were miniatures of the greater Shanghai. I knew well that the expensive attire, polite speech and elegant manners were but tools to hide the itch for blood and money. As if oblivious of the tension in the air, white-shirted and black-suited waiters busied themselves topping up wine glasses, warming teapots, proffering hot towels, extending trays laden with cigarettes and depositing a variety of respect dishes – complimentary snacks.

Every evening I began with ‘Night-time Shanghai,’ a syrupy tune favoured by the rich and decadent. The small orchestra – consisting of a pianist, violinist, drummer and trumpet, trombone and double bass players – watched me, ready to strike the first note.

I always held a prop – an embroidered handkerchief, a painted fan or simply my long, red-nailed fingers imitating an orchid swaying in a gentle breeze. Tonight the prop was a golden fan adorned by a red camellia, a gift from Master Lung. Holding the fan to hide my lips, I meditated a bit more, then dropped the fan to breathe out my first note, trying to make it as tender as a baby’s breath.

Night-time Shanghai, night-time Shanghai,

A city of sleepless nights,

Lights dazzling, cars hustling,

Crooning songs and flirtatious dances filling up the night …

I half closed my eyes to let the tune, the dreamy air and the audience’s hushed attention wrap around me like a silk cocoon. I didn’t know what I was thinking, if anything. But I did feel, maybe a little nostalgic, even melancholy. About what, I had no notion.

I continued to croon as I swayed my waist in synchronicity with my fan, on which the painted flower seemed to be shyly nodding in approval.

They only see my smiling face

But will never guess my heart’s pain.

Singing for my living,

Intoxicated not by wine but by this lush nightlife.

My years are spent in dissipation.

When someday I finally awaken,

I will still love Shanghai at night.

I could identify with the sentiments of the song. But had I been spending my life in debauchery? Did I still love Shanghai at night? Thinking, I let the last note end its decadent incarnation in the air.

The audience, as if awakened from a dormant past life, burst into thunderous applause.

‘Wonderful!’

‘What a heavenly voice!’

‘Wah, melts my ear wax!’

Again, my eyes made their obligatory rounds, right, left, middle, back. But then they stopped at a new face among a group of richly attired, refined-looking young men. He looked shy, seemingly ill at ease, as if he had been raised in a different environment and was thrust into a nightclub for the first time. Since the people with whom I had grown up all lived by cunning and cruelty, innocence always surprised me.

I threw this youth a nonchalant glance, bowed deeply, then threw the fan in his direction before sashaying backstage in my golden stiletto heels.

Ten minutes later, after the crowd had quieted down, I left my dressing room and headed straight to Lung’s table under the audience’s intense scrutiny. Because of my popularity, I was usually expected to make my rounds, stopping at different tables and pleasing the patrons by making sexy small talk. But for the past few weeks, I could sit only with Lung. Once the other men realised I was Lung’s favourite and might be his concubine someday, they quietly backed away. Because Lung or his thugs would not hesitate to strangle anyone – not only men but even a crippled oldster, a pregnant woman or a newborn baby.

Behind his back Lung was nicknamed ‘Half-Brow,’ because, it was said, years ago his right eyebrow had been slashed into two by a would-be assassin using a sharp razor. The assassin had probably meant to slash his carotid artery, but during the struggle Lung must have dipped his head to protect his neck, so his brow was slashed instead. While a non-Chinese might have borne this as a sign of bravery, for Lung it was a mark of shame, to the point that no one would risk asking him how he had got it.

For the Chinese, to ‘shave off the eyebrow’ is to inflict the most extreme insult, even worse than calling his mother a dog-fucked whore or his father a shit-chomping tortoise head. Splitting a person’s eyebrow is believed to cut off his vital energy, life breath and good fortune.

Like all Chinese gangsters, Lung was terrified of bad luck, so after his eyebrow was split he had become extremely superstitious. Now he would never take off his amulets, not even when he bathed. From his thick golden neck chain were suspended Guan Yin, the Goddess of Compassion; General Guan, both loyal protector and relentless killer; the ubiquitous money god; and a new addition – a soaring dragon, his zodiac animal, carved from translucent jade. A gift from me for his recent fifty-fifth birthday.

In less than twenty years, Lung had risen from a spat-upon shoe-shine boy to being respected and feared by Shanghai’s most powerful people, even the police chief. The gangster head had begun his ascent by shining shoes for celebrities, wealthy businessmen, powerful gangsters, influential politicians. His shoe-shining was rumoured to be so painstaking and immaculate that with it he softened the hearts of some of his influential customers. He’d rub harder, longer and use more cream than the others. He ran errands faster than anyone else and somehow knew whom to ingratiate himself with by not charging them for his services. If the right situation arose he would chat briefly with these dignitaries, but always remain respectful, never crossing boundaries.

Soon he was invited into the Flying Dragons. Though he was no more than a gofer, rumour had it that he once took a bullet for a powerful gang member. The gangster he saved was an important politician, and so Lung was catapulted to fame, fortune and power. His generosity also greased his way to the top. Unlike many warlords, Lung was free in passing out red envelopes stuffed with lucky money. His beneficiaries were not only his underlings and his favourite women of the moment, but also police and politicians. Whether to ease his conscience or simply to ease his way into Shanghai society, he held lavish banquets and donated millions to charities, especially if they were run by influential people. On his way up, he somehow managed to shed most of his shoe-shine boy speech and mannerisms. Though his speech was still not refined, his money and violent reputation more than compensated for that.

Of course, most of what I knew about Lung was based on rumour. He never told me anything about himself, and asking a too-personal question was possible suicide.

Looking at Lung as I approached his table, I was, as usual, reminded of a monkey. Not only his face but also his limbs, which seemed always to be moving like those of a monkey leaping between branches. During his shoe-shining days, he could steal almost anything from anyone without them noticing. Usually he sold his booty, but if the victim might benefit him in some way, he would return the item, pretending that he had found it.

All the other gentlemen – or gangsters – stood up to greet me, except Master Lung and his right hand man, Mr Zhu.

The boss stared at me with his big, protruding eyes, rumoured to be the result of a near-strangling by a rival.

‘Camilla, you smell really good. Your singing is also getting better. Do you drink special herb soup for your body and your throat?’ Lung’s own voice was hoarse from years of smoking, drinking and screaming.

I smiled, sitting down in a chair automatically pushed under my bottom. Crossing my legs and feeling the squeeze between them, I said in my innocently sexy voice, ‘Master Lung, what else is so “special” besides you?’

I had been trained to say whatever was beneficial to a situation. As the Chinese saying goes, ‘When you run into a human, speak the human language; when you run into a ghost, speak a ghost’s.’

He laughed, his belly making waves. ‘Ha-ha! My Camilla, your tongue is getting more glib, too.’

Of course, I never told him, or anyone, how hard I’d been working to improve my voice. I’d rather they thought it was all natural talent. Nobody wants to hear about the painful years of tedious, bitter practise: only their pleasurable result.

What no one knew was that when my act finished, I would sleep for a while, if I was allowed to evade Master Lung’s clammy hands, then walk to the Bund and sing to the sun as it rose, then to its reflection on the Huangpu River. This way my voice would absorb the powerful yang energy from the rising sun and the yin from the softly flowing river. I hoped to expand my range up to heaven and down to earth, so that when it reached the highest register, instead of cracking, it would be as soothing as the morning light. And when it reached the lowest register it wouldn’t disappear, but would be as deep and fathomless as the sea.

I knew the truth of the Chinese sayings: ‘One minute onstage is worth ten years’ cultivation offstage,’ and, ‘You plant a melon, you harvest a melon; you plant a bean, you harvest a bean.’ Success will not arrive at your doorstep if you just mope around the house instead of getting out and taking action.

But I doubted anyone in the audience tonight cared about the long, arduous hours I’d spent to perfect my four minutes of singing ‘Night-time Shanghai.’ However, that innocent but intelligent-looking youth I’d noticed earlier at the adjacent table, maybe he could understand.

‘Thank you, Master Lung.’ I smiled, taking a delicate sip of his whiskey as if swallowing all the bitterness that came with my practise. As I felt my tongue pricked by the rough-tasting liquid, in my peripheral vision I spied a pair of eyes fixed on me like a mistress’s on her patron. Just then Lung signalled to the next table, and the shy, fresh-faced young man hurried over. His tall, slim frame was covered in a grey pin-striped suit set off by a silver tie with a pearl tie pin.

I wondered, what did this refined-looking young man have to do with the uncouth Lung?

Gao, Master Lung’s most trusted bodyguard, stood up to pull a seat out next to Lung. ‘Young Master, please.’

Lung smiled till his eyes became two slits. ‘Camilla, meet my son, Jinying.’

Could he really be Lung’s son? Maybe he was adopted, or a guoji, a child given to a childless man by a male relative – a gift to maintain the family tree.

The young man and I shook hands. Wrapped around mine, his palm felt warm and cosy, like a cocoon. If I was a yin type of person – remote, cool, calculating, meticulous – then he was definitely a yang type – warm, straightforward, impetuous.

Now Lung smiled a proud, open-mouthed smile, revealing a few sparkling gold teeth. It was the first time I had detected anything like tenderness or kindness in the underworld boss. ‘My son just came back a few days ago from studying in the US.’

I smiled. ‘That’s very impressive. May I know what subject the boss’s son studies?’

The young man smiled, blushing slightly. ‘Law—’

Lung interrupted. ‘At Ha Fuk.’

The son corrected his father. ‘Father, it’s Harvard University, not Ha Fuk.’

The father laughed, watching his son admiringly, as if now he were his son’s underling. ‘Yes, Harr … Fud.’

‘Father, you’re embarrassing me!’

‘So-ri, so-ri, son,’ Lung apologised in pidgin English. The most powerful gangster in Shanghai, who never hesitated to eliminate fools, now looked like a fool himself.

I suppressed a smile. Even this ruthless gangster chief had his soft spot. No one is invincible; it’s just a matter of finding his weakness and waiting for the right time to attack it.

The young master ignored his father and turned to me. ‘Miss Camilla, you have the most beautiful and intriguing voice I’ve ever heard.’

‘Thank you,’ I said, not really meaning it. I’d been taught not to fall for flattery, because to be distracted would ruin my mission. I never forgot that even though people might praise me, it was unlikely they cared for me beyond my beauty, celebrity and talent to entertain.

Oblivious of my bitterness, Lung again cast his son an appreciative look. ‘I want Jinying to help me in my business, but maybe he won’t do a good job, because he only cares about music.’ He paused to pinch the sleeve of his son’s suit. ‘See? I even have this suit made for him at Gray to suit his Hardfud-lawyer status.’

Gray was the most expensive tailor in Shanghai, even more outrageous than the famous Paramount. I heard that each suit would cost nearly three times what it would at the expensive Paramount, which meant a tael of gold.

The young man, red-faced, turned away from his father and said to me, ‘Miss Camilla, my father told me about you and your legendary voice, and it’s such a pleasure and honour to finally have the chance to hear you sing and then meet you tonight.’

I was astonished that the son of the most feared gangster in China would act and talk in such an elegant and courteous way. With such a powerful father, no one would imagine that he spoke that way from weakness. However, his father might have taken it that way, because he cast his son a disapproving look.

Abruptly, Lung stood up and held out his hand to me. I let him lead me to the glass dance floor amid the scraping of patent leather shoes and stiletto heels. Lung put his arm around my waist, and we began gliding to the dreamy tune of the ‘Blue Danube’ waltz. Some of the men, when they waltzed near us with their partners, bowed their heads respectfully as they said, ‘Good Evening, Master Lung.’ The boss returned these greetings with a simple nod.

As we swirled in circles, my eyes glanced alternately at the orchestra and the audience. I peeked towards the young master Jinying, who was intensely watching us. I found myself tightening my arm around Lung. I’d only just met this young man; I wondered, why should I want to arouse jealousy in him?

Finally, when we had made enough dents on the dance floor, Lung and I returned to our seats. But Jinying’s friends kept calling him back to his own table, so he quickly apologised to us and left. Then Mr Zhu, Lung’s right-hand man, picked up a newspaper and handed it to me, pointing to an article. It was the latest gossip column by Rainbow Chang.

A Naked Shadow

We can now reveal the identity of the girl who plunged to her disappearance three days ago. This stunning escapade was staged by a magician, Miss Shadow.

The incident was a prelude to promote her show opening on Thursday at the Ciro Nightclub, the upcoming rival of the older and more classy Bright Moon Nightclub. With this fanfare, Miss Shadow has instantly become the talk of the town. So I believe that the Ciro Nightclub will steal many customers away from Bright Moon.

We were also told that the night she jumped, Miss Shadow was not really naked but wearing a flesh-toned tunic. The blood, of course, was fake, probably from a slaughtered chicken or pig or dog.

Like me, many of my readers must wonder what will happen now to Camilla, our beloved Heavenly Songbird. Will she still dominate the Shanghai nightclub scene, or will she soon be pushed into the turbulent sea? Who will be our supreme entertainment queen? Who will be Shanghai’s ultimate skeleton woman?

Well, we will soon find out.

One question to Miss Camilla: how will you feel when you finally meet your worthy rival?

More to follow …

Rainbow Chang

I bit my lip, then quickly regained my focus and conjured up my most flirtatious smile. ‘Master Lung, have you read this?’

‘Do you think I’d waste my time on gossip?’

Good. ‘Will you be here Thursday night?’

He cast me an amused look. ‘Depends. Why?’

My heart suddenly turned cold, like the ice floating in my drink. I couldn’t bring myself to ask if he would go to Ciro to see the naked magician and her show.

Back in my apartment, I couldn’t shut my eyes. Sipping wine, I could only think of this new rival, her inconceivable trick and her genius in getting attention. Why did she call herself Shadow; did she not have a real existence? Was she a ghost? The name was fake, of course, just like mine. Not that this Shadow, having already bewitched Shanghai, would need a response from me. Did she want to replace me as the number one nightclub attraction? Or maybe Rainbow Chang had guessed wrong. Maybe Shadow’s target was not me but someone else. My heart rose in alarm. Could that someone else be … Master Lung?

Of course, I was smart enough to realise that this Shadow had not jumped to her death and was not a ghost but a human rival.

So of course I was smart enough to deal with her. I remembered the lines from Sunzi’s Art of War:

Know when to attack and when to wait.

The essence of warfare is not attack but strategy.

Know yourself, and know your enemy even better.

Yes! That’s it. Know yourself, but know your enemy even better. Knowing her would be the next step towards clearing this weed on my path to completing my mission of eliminating Lung.

Thus resolved, I reached to turn on the radio. As if on cue, a recording of my singing ‘Night-time Shanghai’ began to flood the room.

They only see my smiling face

But never guess my heart’s pain …

I sighed, then downed the whole glass of wine.




3 (#ulink_39ec2421-2e5c-5938-af6c-9534fb4436c7)

Madame Lewinsky (#ulink_39ec2421-2e5c-5938-af6c-9534fb4436c7)


As a spy, I had to study strategies about scheming. My favourite was the Art of War by the most famous military strategist, Sunzi, who lived twenty-five hundred years ago.

Everything I learned from this book can be summarised in one sentence:

Build your presence, and use your cunning.

Sunzi says that on a battlefield there are only two realities: win or lose. So there is no room for virtue, unless being virtuous or being a gentleman is your strategy. To win, every position has to be thoroughly known, every plan meticulously studied and every act carefully worked out. As there is no room for virtue, there is no such thing as ‘a glorious failure.’ On the battlefield, ‘honour’ is just an empty comfort for losers.

Losers don’t get sympathy; they get killed.

History is written by the victors. So no matter how heartless and dishonest you are, after it is written, if you win, you’ll be remembered as a paragon of virtue and honour. The Chinese say, ‘Those who win become kings, those who fail, thieves.’ Steal a nail, you’re a thief, steal a nation, a king.

You must show no weakness, no human feeling. Like King Liu Bang, who lived over two thousand years ago.

When they were battling for the kingdom, Xiang Yu kidnapped Liu’s father and threatened to cook him alive. Expecting his rival to surrender, Xiang Yu was shocked when Liu Bang exclaimed, ‘No problem. After you’ve cooked my father, don’t forget to save me a piece for dinner!’

In war, you have to be that ruthless.

Having studied the Art of War, the Thirty-Six Stratagems and all other major works on strategy, I believed no one, trusted no one. So I’d already guessed that little naked Miss Shadow had not plunged to her death – and was probably not really naked, either. I didn’t trust my own shadow, so why would I trust anyone else’s?

To decide how to deal with Shadow, I needed to talk to my real boss, Big Brother Wang.

A bodyguard let me into Wang’s spacious study, filled with antiques, polished redwood furniture and string-bound books. My boss sat at a massive desk, where smoke curled up from a cone of incense nestled on a celadon disk. He was reading a book cradled in his jade-ringed, long-nailed fingers. Above him on the wall was a calligraphic scroll:

Befriend all scholars under heaven; study all books written by sages.

So I worked for a scholar-gangster. Maybe that was why he had never been able to beat the cunning, streetwise Master Lung.

The door closed as quietly as a drop of water in a bucket. Staring at the bald spot on Wang’s lowered head, I could see that he would not look up at me until he finished the page. I was curious to know what he was reading, but kept my lips tight to prevent questions from popping out of my itchy mouth. Instead, I glanced at his many books on the shelves.

Trained to be aware of everything in my surroundings, I wanted to know what these books were about and why, as a gangster, Wang liked to read. In addition to his more active pursuits of cheating, scheming, gambling, threatening, kidnapping, torturing, killing and, of course, womanising.

Despite this last proclivity, Big Brother Wang had never tried to seduce me or even force me to have sex with him. This was not because he respected me but because I was the queen on his chessboard. If the pieces on the chessboard of the gangster world shifted, I would have to shift in response, even at the risk of sacrificing my life. But not my happiness, because I’d never known that sort of emotion.

Wang put down his book. His eyes searched mine, gazing intensely above the gold-rimmed reading glasses perched on his square-jawed face.

I straightened myself, cleared my throat and spoke in my most respectful tone. ‘Big Brother Wang …’

‘This is my study time. Do you have a good reason for interrupting me?’

As I told him about Shadow, he closed the book. I saw that it was the Romance of the Three Kingdoms, the story of endless battles among feudal lords during the most chaotic time in Chinese history.

‘So, do you think this Shadow will be an obstacle?’ he asked.

‘She will be if Lung stops coming to my show and goes to hers instead.’

‘You think that will happen?’

‘It must not happen, Big Brother Wang.’

‘You can prevent it?’

‘Yes, but I need to get to know her first.’

‘You think she’s working for someone else?’ he asked.

‘You mean as a spy for another warlord?’

‘Yes. But I can’t see who at this point.’ He knit his brows in thought. ‘I can make her disappear.’

Fearing he would give this order right away, I said urgently, ‘Big Brother Wang, if I may give my opinion …’

‘I’m listening.’

‘She is a woman and hasn’t made any trouble for us, so if you—’

Wang cut me off. ‘All right, I understand. You’ve got a point there. I have to protect my gang’s reputation.’

Even a gangster had his reputation and honour to protect! But the real reason I didn’t want Shadow killed was not because I had any sympathy for her, but because of my own excruciating curiosity. I wanted to find out just how clever and scheming she was in comparison to me. Besides, I was dying to put more of my secret training and abilities to use.

So I said, ‘Big Brother Wang, I will handle her.’

‘Good.’ Wang spoke in his gravelly voice. ‘We spent a lot of time and money training you. So don’t disappoint. You understand? You must not let Lung fall for this girl. Report to me soon.’

Though my boss for the past four years, Wang remained an enigma to me. He talked only about what was necessary for business. I knew only what he did, not why he did it or how he felt when doing it – if he felt anything at all. If I tried to probe, my questions, like bullets hitting a metal wall, just bounced right back.

I thanked him, bowed, then started to walk to the door.

Wang spoke to my back, the temperature of his voice dropping. ‘Camilla, do not come here again. You may telephone me when absolutely necessary. You got it?’

I understood. Since Master Lung was getting serious about me, his men might be watching me closely. Though a little disappointed not to be able to visit this gangster with literary tastes, I was pretty sure he did not want to stop seeing me, either, for he often looked at me like a cat does a fish. However, I was just a woman, and what he wanted was something much bigger – to topple the invincible Lung and replace him as Shanghai’s number one boss. To achieve this, my boss was more than willing to send me into the tiger’s mouth.

Of course, Big Brother Wang might have more personal plans for what to do with me after I’d eliminated Lung. But by then I’d be a different woman, not the innocent little girl he’d rescued from the orphanage. I would be the poisonous skeleton woman, the ultimate nemesis.

After I left Wang’s place, I decided to go to my singing teacher, Madame Lewinsky, whose apartment was situated in a quiet spot inside the French Concession. I needed to relax after my meeting with the gangster. Wang’s presence seemed to deplete the very air around him. Since I had no friends or relatives, Lewinsky was the only person I could go to. Moreover, she’d always pamper me with her delicious home-cooked soup and gooey, oven-baked cookies dipped in warm milk. Best, unlike my boss, she never scolded, only praised me.

When my teacher opened the door, a big smile bloomed on her heavily made-up face. Her distinctive perfume snaked its way into my nostrils, soothing my nerves.

‘My darling Camilla, what a surprise! Come on in. I’ve been practising on my own.’ Her big-boned figure was encased in a flowered dress topped with a black-tasselled shawl.

The neat, cosy apartment smelled of delicious food. Of all the houses and apartments I’d visited, I liked Lewinsky’s the best. The sun filtering through the lace curtains boosted my energy and lifted my mood. I imagined that the velvety chocolate sofa was having a pleasant conversation with its matching floral pillows. Plants crawled leisurely down from the tall bookcases stuffed with books and music scores. Atop her grand piano were arrayed miniature busts of famous composers and knick-knacks she’d collected over the years, all seeming to have interesting stories to tell. A vase was filled with fresh cut flowers. Were they from an admirer? I wondered.

Entering her apartment was like entering another world, softer and more human. Perhaps like being back in my mother’s womb – if I had known who my mother was.

I sat on the sofa, my teacher studying me closely.

Then she told me, ‘You look too thin, Camilla. Let me get you something to eat and drink.’

Madame Lewinsky then disappeared into the kitchen, only to reappear moments later with two steaming bowls atop a lacquered tray. Setting the tray down, she seated herself in a rocking chair across from me. ‘This is authentic Russian soup from my mother’s recipe. Very nutritious.’

After I commended the recipe with smacking lips and abandoned slurping, she asked, ‘Why this surprise visit? Are you okay, Camilla? You look worried.’

Damn. I was not supposed to let people see my emotions. ‘Everything’s fine, Madame Lewinsky. I’m just having some difficulty singing Carmen right.’ I hoped my lie sounded convincing.

Lewinsky took another big helping of her soup, then said, ‘Oh, don’t worry about that. Just be patient, and you’ll get there, talented as you are.’

My main repertory was Chinese and Western pop songs, for these were what the nightclub-goers liked. However, once in a while I’d also sing an opera aria or art song in Italian or French to entertain the foreigners and impress the Chinese.

My teacher cast me an affectionate look. ‘Let’s finish our soup; then we’ll go through Carmen’s “Habanera” – how’s that?’

So after I helped her put away the dishes, we walked to the piano. She sat down, her thick, round-tipped fingers immediately plunging into the keyboard. I closed my eyes to savour her powerful voice as it massaged my ears.

Love is a gypsy’s child,

It has never, ever, recognised the law.

If I love you, you’d best beware!

The bird you hope to catch

Will beat its wings and fly away …

Love stays away, making you wait and wait.

Then, when least expected, there it is!

I might have burst out clapping and exclaiming how beautiful her singing was, but I never forgot my training to conceal any emotion.

Madame Lewinsky spoke. ‘Camilla, don’t you find this music wonderful?’

I nodded, feeling a little confused.

Silence.

She smiled mischievously, her crimson-painted lips like two leaves curling in the spring breeze. ‘Perhaps I shouldn’t ask you, but I want to know: are you in love?’

‘No.’ I always kept my answers short and simple. I feared if we engaged in a long conversation, I might tell this motherly woman more about myself than was safe.

She cast me a curious look. ‘Have you ever been?’

I shook my head.

‘But that’s not possible, a beautiful, talented girl like you! So many men admire you. What about all the rich customers at the nightclub and their rich sons? Or those successful young businessmen? The erudite young professors? Don’t tell me none of them ever chases after you.’

‘I want to concentrate on my singing.’

She took my hand and rubbed it lovingly. ‘Oh, my little Camilla, don’t work too hard. It’s time for you to fall in love. Trust me, it’s a wonderful feeling.’

Wonderful or not, I was not going to fall in love and ruin my mission – and possibly my life. Look at how Carmen had ended up! I wanted this beautiful Gypsy’s freedom, her nonchalance, her power over men, but definitely not her pointless, tragic end. But as long as I was careful, I hoped I wouldn’t end up like her. If I failed in my mission, it would not be carelessness but fate, like my bad karma of being an orphan. But not the foolishness of love, not for a trained spy like me!

My teacher’s soothing voice awakened me from my pondering. ‘Maybe the next time I go to Bright Moon to hear you sing, I can pick out a suitable young man for you.’

I didn’t respond, silently discouraging her suggestion.

She was smart enough to stop insisting and change the conversation. ‘Hai, since my Sergi’s death twenty years ago, I thought someday I might fall in love again, but the chances, as if they had wings, have flown away. And now I’m too old—’

‘No, you’re not.’

‘That’s very kind of you to say, Camilla, but I know the ways of the world.’

Then all of a sudden she began to sing the famous Xinjiang melody, ‘The Waltz of Youth.’

After the sun goes down, tomorrow it will climb back up in the sky.

Flowers wither, then bloom again next year.

But the beautiful bird of youth flies away and disappears,

The bird of my youth will never return …

I closed my eyes to feel her voice’s penetrating sadness. I thought about the two birds – the rebellious one of love that knows no law and the one of youth that flies away and never returns. I sighed silently as Lewinsky’s last note, like the disappearing bird of youth, faded into the unforgiving air.

Her eyes looked as if they were dipped in sweet wine. ‘My Sergi, we were so young, so much in love and so filled with hope and dreams for our future. Just as we thought that the world existed only for us, in a minute, he was gone.’ She wiped away a tear with her lacy white handkerchief. ‘All of a sudden the world decided to turn against me full force. Had I not learned to sing and won awards back in Russia, I’d be starving on the street and wouldn’t be here talking to you, my dear.’

I blurted out before I could stop myself, ‘Why do people fall in love?’

She laughed, her eyes glistening. ‘You’re so naive, Camilla. Love only is – there’s no reason. Of course I could tell you that Sergi was handsome and kind, ambitious and talented and very nice to me. But I didn’t analyse all those qualities before I fell in love with him. I just did.’

Now her eyes drifted like two dreams. ‘You know, when I used to perform, just before I started, I’d look for someone in the audience, pretending he or she was the only person in the hall, and then I’d just sing for that special one.

‘So on that evening – I will always remember, it was on September twelve, nineteen twenty-five – even though the hall was packed, my eyes, with a will of their own, landed on this young man in the back row. I couldn’t move them away. So for the entire hour I was singing, heart, body and soul, just for him. From then on, like the telepathy between identical twins, we were deeply connected. Even now, sometimes I can still feel his presence.’

I’d heard these sorts of sentiments before.

‘But he died …’ she breathed.

‘How?’ I had heard the story many times, but I would not stop my teacher from reliving her tragic love once again.

‘Sergi was a very talented, aspiring composer. However, unable to make a living by composing, he had to take up odd jobs to bring in money. The only work he could find was at a construction site. Then one day, a beam fell on his head. He literally dropped dead on the spot.’

‘I’m so sorry,’ I said, as a courtesy. Why should I feel anything for this man I didn’t even know?

Some silence passed, then Lewinsky dabbed her eyes as she changed the topic. ‘Camilla, why don’t you sing Carmen, and let me hear your beautiful voice?’

I nodded, and she struck a key on the piano. Before I began, I tasted that starting note as if I were sucking on my favourite chocolate truffle. To help me sing better, I sensed each note with its own colour and personality. Middle C is yellow and virtuous, because it takes the imperial position – in the middle of the keyboard. The D next to middle C is orange and honest, for it has royalty as a neighbour. E is Chinese red and expansive. And the rest: F is blue, G is green, A is gold and B is purple. I gave the sharps and flats variations, so F-sharp is turquoise, A-flat becomes a brownish gold, B-flat bluish purple.

I straightened my back, inhaled deeply, then blurted out the first note, singing in French at first, but then reincarnating Carmen as Chinese. I used all my skill to imitate my teacher’s style and emotional nuances. But I especially liked, ‘Love is a Gypsy’s child; it has never, ever, recognised the law.’ Because I had lived my whole life controlled by others, even when outside the law.

When I finished, Madame Lewinsky nodded appreciatively. ‘Very good. But, Camilla, sooner or later, you’ve got to develop your own style.’

Lewinsky stood up and went to put a record on her gramophone. Besides her piano, this was her most treasured possession. Even in affluent Shanghai, few could afford this amazing machine from the West. She set the needle down on the record, and a beautiful voice singing ‘La Habanera’ perfumed the room like fine old wine being poured. We half closed our eyes and let the music kidnap our minds for a few moments.

‘It’s Maria Gay. You feel her subtlety and sensitivity?’

I nodded.

‘That’s what I want you to focus on, my dear. Camilla, you’re gifted with an innocent, sweet voice that is like a pacifier in this ruthless, chaotic world. Those people at Bright Moon, they’re wicked and scheming, but deep down they crave purity.’

I chuckled inside. Did she really believe I was innocent? If I ever had been, my training as a spy had long since ended it.

My teacher spoke again. ‘Maybe those politicians and businessmen at your nightclub can’t tell, but I can.’

‘Sorry. What can you tell?’

‘Let me be blunt with you, Camilla. Your singing doesn’t have real feelings, only the imitation of feelings.’

I didn’t respond.

‘Don’t worry, once you fall in love …’

‘But I won’t.’

My teacher cast me a curious glance. ‘What makes you so sure?’

Of course I knew why, but the ‘why’ was not something to be shared.

Lewinsky winked, smiling. ‘Hmm … you’re sure you’re not in love already?’

‘No way.’

‘I can tell your mind has been wandering.’

I meant to ask how could she tell, but she was already speaking. ‘With my experiences of focussing on one person during my concerts, I can spot any musician’s wandering mind.’

‘Hmm … Madame Lewinsky, unfortunately I don’t have your kind of sensitivity.’

‘Next time when you sing at Bright Moon, find someone to focus on.’

‘I will.’

Just then the bell rang, and Lewinsky went to open the door to let in a student. It was time for me to leave. This was the first time I’d visited except to have a lesson.

Was there a genuine bond developing between us? I both hoped and feared that.

At the door, my teacher winked at me and hummed the tune from Carmen, her eyes twinkling with mischief. ‘The bird you hope to catch will beat its wings and fly away … Love stays away, making you wait and wait. Then, when least expected, there it is!’

When finished, she reached to pat my cheek. ‘Beware, my little sweetie. Karma happens. So be prepared.’ She winked again, then closed the door with a very tender click, like the sigh on a lover’s lips.




4 (#ulink_18616a02-ffe2-5bf2-8420-bf17d4f08c7e)

The Red Shoes (#ulink_18616a02-ffe2-5bf2-8420-bf17d4f08c7e)


Visiting Lewinsky was an all-too-brief intermission from my tension-filled, murder-oriented existence. But I couldn’t do it often, because being relaxed was dangerous. Tension is like spice on food; without some, the dish would be tasteless, if not inedible.

After having had the right dose of tranquility, now I needed to plan for my next move: to discover Shadow’s intentions and prevent her from stealing Lung from me. And, if there was any chance that she was smarter and more talented than I, plot how to get rid of her.

After some hard thought, I decided to cancel my Thursday night performance and take the risk of inviting Master Lung to see Shadow’s debut magic show with me. In the subtle Chinese art of calligraphy, this is called pianfeng, an unorthodox brush movement for the sake of a startling aesthetic effect. In military strategy it is called bingxing xianzhe – send the soldiers to advance into danger. An illogical move is applied to win an impossible battle.

So now I was using a bingxing xianzhe in asking Lung to Shadow’s show. My real purpose was to prevent them from having any contact with each other without my knowing. In old China, this strategy had been adopted by many first wives. They would rather hand-pick the woman to be their husband’s concubine than let him pick for himself. That way they would have some control over the interloper who was to share their house and their husband’s bed. The shrewd first wife would pick a concubine who, though younger and prettier, was respectful and submissive and, most important, a little stupid.

Know yourself as well as your enemy; then out of one hundred battles you will win one hundred. Sunzi’s advice was as useful now as when he’d written it twenty-five hundred years ago.

Having Lung escort me to Shadow’s show would let her know that the gangster head was my not-to-be-trespassed-upon property. Of course that didn’t mean she wouldn’t try to cross the line. But at least she’d get my message. Best would be if Lung had no interest in her big, muscular physique.

But I had learned never to rely on hope. Anyway, the first step is like a house’s foundation; if it’s not cemented right, the whole house will sooner or later collapse. Actually, each step is critical; as the sage Laozi said, ‘Things are more likely be spoiled at the end than at the beginning.’

But as I contemplated this more, I felt as if I were hanging on a cliff above sharp rocks surrounded by starving tigers. Then I asked myself, if it was easy, where was the thrill?

Shadow’s debut show was held at the Ciro Nightclub, a competing establishment with Bright Moon. The manager greeted Master Lung and his entourage with a smile as gleeful as if his wife had just given birth to his first son, then led us to the table in the middle of the front row.

Lung, his right-hand man, Mr Zhu, and I all sat down at a table already set with bottles of expensive wine and plates of snacks – watermelon seeds, dried plums, olives, sugared lotus root. As usual, Master Lung’s head bodyguard, Gao, and his team took the neighbouring table. Nightclub-goers threw us curious, envious stares. Among them I noticed a flamboyantly dressed, striking young man four tables from ours. Five or six tall, beautiful girls in matching pink dresses surrounded him like stars about a bright moon. The only strange thing about this figure, at least from the distance, was that he had make-up on.

When our eyes met, he smiled, then raised his wine glass and made a toast. I smiled back, then quickly averted his scrutiny as an uneasy feeling rose inside me that Lung might notice. Or even Gao, because the quiet but physically intimidating man was watching me intently. I feared, not that he had any inkling of my secret mission, but that he had a crush on me, which could be dangerous for us both. He might not survive trying to seduce his boss’s woman.

Once in a while I admit I did flirt with him, though indirectly, by twirling my hair as if deep in thought, or wriggling slightly when he was watching. I sensed that he was the kind of man who’d risk death to protect a helpless, beautiful woman in danger.

Even though my present status was above his, I always treated the bodyguard with respect. It’s smart to accumulate good karma by acknowledging, and even doing small favours for, those beneath you. You never know when you might need their help or when they might decide to mess up your life, no matter how small a cog they were in the big machine.

Although tonight Lung was physically present, I could tell his mind was somewhere else.

My patron took a long sip of his whiskey, then asked, ‘Camilla, how come you’re so curious about this magician – what’s her name – Shadow?’ Then he turned to Zhu, scoffing. ‘Why would someone in their right mind name their girl Shadow? What did they call their other children, Ghost, Apparition, Phantom? And the parents, Specter and Silhouette? Eh?’

Lung laughed his full-toothed laugh with his thin lips stretching downwards. The Chinese call this the capsized-boat expression. In physiognomy it is deemed an unlucky trait. But so far Lung’s luck, like his bodyguards, was always there for him.

Except for Gao, who was always serious, everyone else burst into hilarious laughter. Not that the joke was that funny, but because it had come from the mouth of the most relentless man in Shanghai.

‘Maybe her other siblings are called Smoke and Mirror?’ I quipped, a risky move, in case Lung might think I was trying to outsmart him. However, judging from his past mistresses, he could be fascinated by a woman’s brain, not just her breasts.

Now it was Lung’s turn to laugh, followed by even more hilarious laughter from the group. Not because my joke was so funny, but because I was the number one gangster’s number one woman.

This was the satisfaction of being at the top. But as the great sage Laozi said, ‘When things reach their zenith, they have nowhere else to go but down.’ So there is always the dread of the possible downward journey or, especially considering the fate of many gangsters, assassination.

When the laughter subsided, Zhu leaned over to his boss. ‘This Shadow must be an illegitimate child or an orphan to have a name like that.’

Was Zhu subtly deriding my orphan status?

Lung scoffed. ‘Maybe you’re right. Ha-ha! But who cares about a shadow, right?’ Then he said to me, ‘Camilla, this had better be a good show. I don’t want to waste my time being bored. How come you wanted me here tonight?’

I smiled my heart-softening, man-hardening smile. ‘Master Lung, what a question. You want to embarrass me by having me declare my love for you in public?’

He squeezed my narrow waist with the same hand that had inexorably squeezed out many rivals’ last breaths. ‘Besides your singing, your speech is also getting more clever. Whom did you learn this from?’

‘You of course, Master Lung. Who else?’

‘Ha-ha! Ha-ha! I like smart, beautiful women, just like you.’ He pulled my head to him and planted a kiss on my cheek.

I caught a jealous glance from Gao, followed by an ambiguous one from that young person four tables away.

Just then the orchestra struck up an animated tune, a signal that the show was about to begin. I’d already guessed that the first act on the program wouldn’t be Shadow’s. As the star, her act would come last.

The opening act was a songstress, mediocre in looks, talent and dress. Following her was another mediocre singer, better dressed but with a screechy voice.

Master Lung, looking bored, raised his rough voice amid the loud music. ‘I really don’t understand why Ciro Nightclub hired two homeless cats to meow.’

I giggled. ‘Master Lung, you’re so funny! Because these two mediocrities are only here to make us appreciate the following show.’

He hit his fist on the table, causing a small earthquake. ‘You’re damn right, Camilla. What do you eat to get so smart?’

‘All the meals granted by you, Master Lung.’

He laughed, and the earthquake shifted to his belly. ‘Good, Camilla! That’s why you’re my favourite!’

I could only hope that that would last – until my mission was completed.

‘Thank you, Master Lung.’ Though I feared his impatience if he were bored, I silently prayed that Shadow would not be my match in beauty or intelligence.

But Master Lung would be the one to judge. And unfortunately men’s opinion about women is unpredictable and subject to change, like a child’s in a toy store, or a woman wandering the aisles of the expensive department stores on Nanking Road.

Still smiling, Lung playfully pinched my hip. I pretended to fend off his ambush by hitting his arm flirtatiously with my hand.

He cast me a curious look. ‘Where’s the painted fan I gave you?’

That was the fan I’d thrown towards his son the other night. To be courteous, I should have invited the young master tonight. But I hadn’t because I didn’t want him here to further complicate things or to be another distraction to my goal.

I responded. ‘Didn’t you see that I threw it to the audience? I guess someone must have caught it.’

‘Next time, don’t throw my fans away.’

‘Of course not, Master Lung.’

As if on cue to save me from more chiding, a burst of loud drumming rolled out as multicoloured lights criss-crossed the stage. A quiet fell over the hall as people anticipated the long-awaited act. Soon a black-tuxedoed man entered from the right side of the stage.

‘We want Shadow and her magic!’ someone shouted.

I smiled inside. Any performance is a form of seduction. Playing hard to get is always a winning strategy.

With his white-gloved hand, the master of ceremonies tapped lightly on the microphone, then cleared his throat. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Ciro Nightclub!’

A round of applause burst in the packed hall.

‘Are you ready for our mysterious guest tonight?’

Another burst of applause as the audience shouted a collective, ‘Yes!’

‘Are your eyeballs ready to be astounded?’

An even louder ‘Yes!’

‘All right, so now be prepared for Miss Shadow’s impossible show. If you saw her daring stunt last week at the Customs House, I can assure you that tonight’s show will be even more astonishing.’ He paused for a moment.

‘Okay, everybody, let’s hear a loud welcome for the incredible Miss Shadow!’

The MC strode off the stage as another fusillade of drumming burst from the orchestra. All the lights dimmed in the hall except those onstage. An unworldly silence seemed to stretch into infinity. Then, to everyone’s surprise, instead of the much anticipated appearance of Shadow herself, there was only a pair of red shoes floating in the air!

My heart sank. If she could think of this, she might actually be able to outshine me.

I cast Lung a secretive glance and found that his eyes were protruding more than usual. He must have found her intriguing, if not downright attractive.

More gasps and exclamations sprinkled the hall. Now we only saw one bare foot, toenails painted bright red, like drops of blood from a slaughtered chicken.

I could see that, like me, the magician knew how to create a presence. I wondered, was she also well-versed in Sunzi’s The Art of War and the Thirty-Six Stratagems?

Then she materialised on stage, and immediately a collective gasp exploded in the hall. Just as at the Customs House, she had not a stitch on her entire body! The men laughed and cheered, and the women gasped.

My hear sank another notch.

Shadow had a voluptuous figure, her full breasts jiggling like tofu, with a firm, if generous, bottom atop muscular legs. Her face was rounder than mine, with a high forehead and two painted-on, crescent-moon-shaped eyebrows. Her hair was pulled back tightly like a ballerina’s, but slithered down her back. Sizing her up, I had to admit to myself that I could not compete with her athletic physique. But so far I had been able to rely on my narrow waist, long legs, slim, girlish figure and innocent eyes. ‘Like a beautiful maiden walking out from an album of exquisite paintings’ – that was how the entertainment newspapers in Shanghai described me.

A few seconds passed as the audience – at least those who sat close to the stage in the first three rows – realised that the magician was not naked but wearing a tight, flesh-coloured tunic. Some men emitted a disappointed, ‘Huh!’ and a few women, ‘Thank old heaven!’

Shadow began slow dance movements to the dreamy music from the orchestra as the red shoes floated teasingly in front of her. Then she paused, hands on hips.

She made a face, chiding the shoes, ‘Oh, you terrible little twins. Now come back to Mummy!’

The shoes shook but came no closer. Looking annoyed, she reached to snatch them, but they playfully bounced away.

‘Come back, good girls, come back to Mummy …’ Shadow cooed as the shoes kept backing away like playful toddlers, advancing and retreating until Shadow suddenly slapped them down onto the floor.

Then a gasp of shock came from the audience as a pool of blood appeared around them – just as had happened in front of the Customs House. She shook her fist at the shoes, then put them on and exited the stage, leaving a trail of blood in the shape of a zigzagging snake.

There was an explosion of laughter and applause.

My heart was now grovelling on the floor. Damn this Shadow who was trying to steal away my mystery, my show, my life!

When Shadow reappeared, she was wearing a traditional magician’s outfit: black tuxedo, white gloves and tall hat. She did some usual tricks, like pulling rabbits out of her hat, but with great flair. For her finale, a large glass bowl filled with black ink was wheeled onto the stage, and a scroll was hung up next to it. With a graceful movement, Shadow dipped a huge brush into the bowl, then splashed the Chinese character for fish onto the scroll. She took down the scroll, wrapped it around the bowl, then whisked it away, to reveal the bowl now filled with fish swimming in clear water.

Spectacular as this was, I knew she must have even more spectacular illusions yet to come.

She would be the talk of Shanghai, stealing the limelight from my show. I had to put a stop to this.

Get close to yourself; get closer to your enemy. If Lung was going to fall for her, it’d better be under my eyes.

I turned to the gangster head. ‘Master Lung, why don’t we invite Miss Shadow to our table for a drink?’

Lung nodded, looking excited. ‘This Shadow is pretty good, isn’t she?’

Fifteen minutes later, a stunning Shadow floated to our table, trailed by flashing eyes and heated whispers. Her dress was light purple with swaying green willows, making me dizzy. For Chinese, the willow symbolises rootlessness. Was that the impression she intended to give? A mysterious magician whom no one could pin down?

Gao immediately stood up and pulled out a chair for her.

Lung smiled, his eyes traversing her body like wild horses galloping in a meadow.

After Gao went back to his table, Zhu spoke to the magician for his boss. ‘Miss Shadow, what a show!’ Then he introduced us.

‘Thank you so much for coming and inviting me to your table, Master Lung, Mr Zhu and Miss Camilla. Your names have long been thundering in my ears.’

The moment Shadow’s and my eyes met, I knew, and was sure she knew, that we would be rivals to the end.

It was a contest of feminine energies. I, slim and small-framed, was purer yin, and she, tall and robust, had some admixture of yang. I could only hope that the sage Laozi was right when he said, ‘The soft always overcomes the hard, the feminine, the masculine.’

I was also sure that only one of us would emerge victorious.

Lung was about to say something, but the manager came to tell him he had a telephone call.

The gangster head said to his right-hand man, ‘Zhu, you’d better come with me, in case it’s something important.’

After the trio left, Shadow smiled generously. ‘Miss Camilla, what an honour to be invited to your table.’

She was trying to please me, exactly the same strategy I intended to use on her.

I lifted the corners of my lips a little less than hers to show that my status was higher. ‘Thank you, Miss Shadow, but I’m sure you know that all eyes were upon you tonight, as they were the other night, too.’

‘You overpraise, Miss Camilla. I still have a long way to go, especially in Shanghai.’

‘You don’t need to be so modest. Your magic is astonishing.’ I paused to sip my champagne, then asked the question that had been burning in my mind, ‘Where did you learn your magic?’

Just then the evil duo, Lung and Zhu, came back.

I didn’t ask Lung what the phone call had been about, because as a woman and his mistress, I had no business knowing.

The two sat down. My patron looked happy. It must be that the phone call had brought good news, plus he was returning to sit with two dazzling women.

‘All right, I’m hungry. Let’s have something to eat.’

Mr Zhu waved for the manager and ordered dinner. In almost no time our table was covered with fresh drinks and plates of exotic gourmet food like drunken fish, fried quail, stewed rabbits’ legs, spicy deer tails and pigeon hearts with ginger.

While we ate, drank and chatted, I tried to study Shadow without being too obvious.

‘All right, what did you two girls talk about when I was away?’ Lung asked, picking up a fish head and chewing out its eyes. Maybe to look at women better, because fish eyes are supposed to be good for your eyesight.

Hoping to force Shadow to respond, I told him, ‘I asked Miss Shadow where she learned her magic.’

Lung turned to stare at the magician, chewing and waiting for an answer.

She dabbed her lips with a napkin, put it down, then said, ‘I consider myself extremely lucky, because my teacher taught me everything he knew before he passed away.’

Since her answer was not a real answer, Lung pursued the point. ‘What’s his name, then? And his school?’

‘Mine is an esoteric tradition, not to be made public.’

Probably seeing a fleeting shadow cross the gangster’s face, the magician immediately made amends by smiling flirtatiously as she apologised. ‘I’m so sorry, Master Lung. I had to swear a blood-oath to my ancestors—’

Lung waved a bony hand. ‘No need to apologise.’ He turned his attention back to the fish.

Of course I knew full well that no magician would ever reveal his or her secrets but would carry them to the grave.

‘Anyway, I learned it in Shandong, not here,’ Shadow added.

An unexpected revelation – we Shanghainese look down upon anyone from outside our city, because they are never as smart or as scheming or as sophisticated as we are. But perhaps she said she was from Shandong just to put me off guard.

Lung threw her a slanted glance, his cheeks masticating rhythmically to the nightclub’s music. ‘Shandong? I have some business there.’

Shadow’s eyes brightened. ‘That’s wonderful! What kind?’

Lung looked at her condescendingly. ‘I don’t think a woman would be interested in men’s business. You are too pretty to trouble yourself about such things. Anyway, you wouldn’t understand even if I told you.’ He cast his right-hand man a conspiratorial glance. ‘Right?’

Zhu sneered. ‘Completely right, Master Lung. That’s why I never talk to my old lady except to tell her what to cook for dinner.’

We all laughed, except Shadow.

Her smile froze, and her body stiffened, but she was smart enough to immediately try to make amends. ‘Of course you are both right, Master Lung and Mr Zhu.’

Lung nodded, then gave her a once-over. ‘Hmm … Shandong. That’s why you’re so damn big and tall!’

I was not sure if this was supposed to be a compliment or a criticism. But judging from what I knew of Lung’s previous conquests, or captives, he favoured women with small frames and delicate features. Lung was a small man himself, about five feet four, with a narrow face on which sat a few crude features not unlike a monkey’s. But although he was short, the gangster boss never failed to project an intimidating presence. Wherever he went, he splashed the air around him with menacing, don’t-mess-with-me expressions, surrounded by bodyguards with fight-me-if-you-dare expressions.

Chinese opera actors cultivate the same kind of presence. Before going on stage they cross an imaginary line – the ‘tiger crossing gate’ from the anonymity of the actor to the power of a mighty general or king. However short and puny, they miraculously transform themselves into heroes or villains. They meditate, thrust out their chests, relax their shoulders, hold their heads high. Only then do they cross the line into the illusory life of the drama, where they instantly become generals, warriors or emperors, controlling the fate of millions.

‘Build your presence.’ Big Brother Wang had repeated this over and over during my training.

Reflecting on these matters, I poured Lung a full cup of tea, then turned to my rival, hoping to smooth out the growing tension in the air. ‘Miss Shadow, I’m sure you learned from the best. I have never seen anything close to what you do.’

‘I believe my repertory is unique in Shanghai, if not all of China.’

As I was about to ask more, Lung suddenly turned amicable, smiling at us appreciatively. ‘Are you two going to be like sisters, huh? That would be big news, two pretty, talented women joining forces to win over Shanghai. Why don’t you two stop chattering for a while so we can eat more, eh?’

Mr Zhu immediately poured more wine into our glasses and heaped more food onto our plates. Though I didn’t know Zhu well, and he was the only man Lung trusted, I had never liked him. His small eyes were always darting inside the confinement of their two sockets, ready to spot any impending trouble. His nostrils were always enlarged, as if sniffing for anything fishy. Lung almost looked benign next to Zhu, whose face spewed evil and murderous thoughts wherever he went. Perhaps Lung’s face was less warlike because the guns and knives had already been transferred from his hand to Zhu’s.

I glanced back at Shadow, but her gaze was fixed on my patron.

‘Master Lung, if you ever want to hold a party and need a magic show, please don’t hesitate to ask me. It would be my greatest pleasure and honour.’

Zhu answered bluntly for his boss. ‘Miss Shadow, Master Lung is a very busy man.’

‘Yes, of course.’ She split an embarrassed smile, then looked back at her rice bowl.

Just then, we were approached by the striking young man I’d noticed earlier. Before he reached us, Gao, the head bodyguard, sprang up, ready for action.

Zhu leaned towards Gao and spoke softly to him. Gao then waved the intruder on to our table. ‘It’s okay, Master Lung,’ Gao said. ‘This is Miss Rainbow Chang, columnist at the Leisure News.’

So this was the gossip columnist? I’d been reading her column for a while but had never imagined she was of ambiguous gender.

Chang smiled an elegant smile. ‘Master Lung, Mr Zhu, Miss Camilla and Miss Shadow, what an honour to meet you all tonight after I’ve heard so much about you.’

Zhu smiled stiffly. ‘Miss Chang, please take a seat.’

The gossip columnist said, ‘Oh, please don’t let me take up your precious time. I came over to propose a toast to Miss Shadow’s brilliant show.’

Shadow barely acknowledged her compliment with a slight nod. Didn’t she know that this was the heartless reputation-killer Rainbow Chang? Or was she too distracted and eager to butter up Lung? However, her bad manners could only be to my advantage.

Then the columnist turned to the gangster head. ‘Master Lung, you have an excellent eye. Our Heavenly Songbird is beautiful as well as talented.’

Lung patted my back affectionately. ‘I do have a good eye, especially for women. Ha-ha!’

Rainbow Chang smiled. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, enjoy the rest of the evening.’ After that, she went back to her table, where the group of pink-clad ladies awaited her.

I turned to my patron. ‘Master Lung, had you known that Rainbow Chang dresses as a man?’

Lung shook his head, while Zhu cast me a disapproving look and said, ‘Maybe you also don’t know that she’s calling you the skeleton woman, eh?’

Of course I knew. In the less than a year I’d been singing and dancing at Bright Moon, one man had killed himself over me, another had divorced his wife and yet another had gone bankrupt after selling his apartment to buy me a flawless, eight-carat diamond ring.

If a skeleton woman had to destroy a family just for one night’s shelter, she wouldn’t hesitate for a moment. Words like compassion, kindness, love or generosity did not exist in their dictionaries. For them, it was either win or lose, succeed or fail, destroy or be destroyed.

However, I was never sure: was being called a skeleton woman an insult, a curse or a compliment?




5 (#ulink_03c40baa-0111-5140-afee-0c82f4274379)

The Young Master (#ulink_03c40baa-0111-5140-afee-0c82f4274379)


As I’d feared, Shadow was dangerous, and something needed to be done about her. And soon. As the Chinese say, suzhan sujue, ‘Quick battle, quick victory.’

So as soon as I arrived home, I took out all the books of strategy I’d collected over the years and flipped through them for possible solutions. Judging from how Shadow had orchestrated her debut on the Shanghai scene, she was talented and imaginative. Though she said she was not from Shanghai, she was as scheming as the best of us. However, her bold interaction with Lung and her casual negligence of Rainbow Chang showed she still had a lot to learn. So now was the best time to crush this poisonous weed, before it grew out of control.

But I needed to figure out what she was plotting: to usurp my fame, to steal Lung from me or to supplant me as the ultimate skeleton woman.

Most likely, it was all of the above.

Most important, I had to look for her weaknesses. To achieve that, I would become her close friend, to control my space and invade hers. To become master of her fate.

So I invited the magician for a chat at the famous Chocolate Shop located on Jingan Ci Road, in the International Concession. She accepted without hesitation.

I preferred the quieter, upper floor of the cafe and arrived fifteen minutes before we were to meet. The ambiance was elegant but relaxed, with young Russian waitresses in white and green striped uniforms silently serving the customers. A white-gloved waitress led me to sit at a round table next to a floor-length window framed by grass-green curtains. Here I watched life pass by outside on the busy Tranquil Peace Temple Road. From the street below, the tune of ‘I’m Always Chasing Rainbows,’ wafted up.

I’m always chasing rainbows,

Watching clouds drifting by.

Some people look and find the sunshine.

I’ll always look and find the rain …

Soon I spotted Shadow getting off a rickshaw and hurrying inside. A moment later, she made her magical appearance on the upper floor.

Precision, a trait necessary for both magician and spy. We smiled at each other as she was seated by the same Russian waitress. After our orders were taken, we politely complimented each other on our good taste in clothes – she was clad in a black-dotted pink dress with a rather plain gold pendant, and I in a beige, lacy cheongsam with matching pearl earrings and necklace. We chatted until the waitress arrived with a layered silver tray with our drinks – cafe crème for me and vodka for her – together with Russian bread accompanied by butter and jam. Sipping my coffee, more bitter than sweet, I studied her smooth, lightly made-up face, and smiled, hoping she would break the silence.

She smiled back, her face as inscrutable as her magic. ‘What an honour to be seen with Shanghai’s Heavenly Songbird.’

‘Overpraise.’

Her eyes penetrated mine. ‘Don’t be modest, Camilla. You know you’re way ahead of me.’

And you’re desperate to take my place.

She sipped her much stronger and more expensive vodka. Then she tilted her head, her waves of shoulder-length black hair glowing in the early-afternoon sunlight. ‘May I know the purpose of this invitation?’

What a blunt question! I’d better get used to her brusque style. In replying, I was careful not to sound too eager or too cold, in order to maintain just the right distance. ‘Shadow, I am most impressed by your talent, and I still would like to know: how did you do it?’

Of course I didn’t expect an honest answer, or any answer at all. My goal was to evoke a response, to get a sense of how she handled things.

This time she let out a soft laugh, revealing rows of smooth, pearly teeth. ‘This will be my secret, unless someday I encounter a worthy student to pass on my teacher’s heritage. Or if I have a child.’

‘Do you have a father in mind?’

‘Camilla, do you think women like us can find someone suitable?’

The idea of having a husband and a family was as alien to me as going to America someday in the future, but I asked, ‘Why not?’ just to hear what she would say.

‘How long do you think people like us will stay in our prime?’

‘We’re both still young.’

‘You know, time never waits for anyone, especially not for glamour-girls like us.’

‘You’re right,’ I said, suddenly feeling older. ‘Just like the Huangpu River flowing on forever and, with it, our youth and beauty.’

Would this be her weakness – fear of losing her beauty, her possible fame and fortune, her magic? But why was she so fearful when she was yet in her prime?

She cast me a curious glance. ‘Camilla, I’m sure you’ve been carefully planning out your whole life, and that’s how you’ve got to where you are now.’

She was wrong, of course. But how could she have guessed that my life was not my own and that it had been strategically mapped out by others?

‘Shadow, I’m not as much in control as you think.’

‘I doubt that.’

After a pause she blurted out, ‘Camilla, do beauty and talent give you the happiness you’re looking for?’

Again, what a question. She must know that a pretty young girl like me would not really be in love with the old, puny, monkey-faced Lung.

But she’d never learn the truth from me. I threw her question back. ‘Shadow, how about you? Does your beauty and talent give you happiness – or trouble?’

We both laughed.

She raised her glass to tap my cup.

‘Let’s just hope that fate has a worthy purpose in granting us our beauty.’

I had my agenda, but what was hers?

As we resumed sipping our drinks and munching the delicacies, she asked, ‘Camilla, what made you want to be a singer?’

Of course my training had well prepared me to cover up such matters. I never told anything but lies about myself. The Art of War says, ‘To guard yourself, hide your secrets below nine layers of earth.’ In other words, others should know as little about you as possible.

‘It was my mother’s dream to be a singer; that’s why she sent me to take singing lessons.’

‘And your father?’

‘Oh, he died when I was a baby. My mother never talked about him. I guess it was too painful.’

‘Are you living with your mother?’

‘No, she’s in an asylum.’

‘Oh, how terrible! What happened?’

‘She became insane and can’t take care of herself. She’s much better now, being cared for by professionals. That’s why I have to work hard, to pay for her care.’

I had just made up another elaborate lie. I’d better remember to whom I told which story about my nonexistent parents – in case it mattered.

‘I’m so sorry. It must be very difficult for you.’

I changed the subject. ‘So, will you come to hear me sing at Bright Moon?’

‘Of course. I’ve been wanting that for a long time. I just didn’t have the connections to get in.’

‘Don’t worry. Just come tomorrow at eight, and I’ll tell the manager to let you in.’

The meeting with Shadow wore me out. So the following morning I arrived early at the winged-goddess statue by the Huangpu River. As usual, I went behind the gigantic column so I’d be left alone to practise. The sun had already risen over the wide river that seemed blissfully oblivious of the troubles and miseries of the human world. Staring at the peacefully rippling water always calmed me. What I loved most was that, though I would whisper my secrets to the river, it would never betray me by spreading them.

After I finished my vocal gymnastics, I turned around to watch the bustling boulevard. Vendors screamed their breakfast offerings: Wholesome soy milk! Tasty green bean soup! Sizzling scallion pancakes! Crispy fried dough! Extra juicy pork buns! Competing to be heard, street urchins shouted at full throttle: Leisure News! Heaven Daily! Flower Moon News! Pleasure Talk News! Idleness News! Amid the din, fast-walking businessmen with serious expressions lugged bulging briefcases, maids followed housewives carrying their shopping bags, children in uniforms headed towards school, coolies staggered under heavy boxes as they headed towards the piers …

The collective qi, or energy, of this city always fascinated me. Though pulling in every direction, the resulting cacophony created a strange harmony, chaotic yet orderly. As I watched the people and their intersecting lives in this dusty world, a song I’d written escaped from my lips:

Everyone has parents, but I don’t.

Where are you hiding, dear Mama and Baba?

When, if ever, will we meet?

Would we recognise each other,

Or merely rub shoulders as we pass?

Unexpectedly, a deep and mellow male voice rose beside me, singing the famous song ‘Looking for You.’

You are the floating cloud in the clear sky,

The fleeting star at midnight.

My heart is caught in a pool of passion.

How can I hold myself back,

Hold myself back from looking for you …

His voice sounded as if it could lure a lark down from a tall tree. When he finished, I could almost see the sad notes lingering above the rushing river, reluctant to end their melodious incarnation on earth. I felt strangely drawn by the singer’s unseen presence behind me. When I turned, I found myself under the scrutiny of Master Lung’s son.

‘Hello, Young Master Lung.’ I quickly pulled myself up from the well of my dangerous sentimentality. ‘I never imagined … what a beautiful voice you have.’

Did he blush, or did I imagine it?

‘Good morning, Camilla … May I call you Camilla?’

‘Of course, Young Master.’

‘Camilla, my name is Jinying.’

I smiled, glancing at the crowds along the Bund. ‘What are you doing here so early in the morning?’

‘Listening to your singing.’

We looked at each other in silence for a moment before he spoke again. ‘Camilla, when I was watching, I saw the sun’s rays splashing all over you. I really thought I’d seen a goddess. Or an angel.’

If only he knew. If I was an angel at all, it would be to his father – as the angel of death.

He went on. ‘When I saw you, I could only think of Botticelli’s Birth of Venus.’

So he was already visualising me naked, my private parts covered only by long, flowing hair!

‘And your voice, heavenly and golden like the sun …’

I was not going to let him change the air by the river from foggy to romantic, so I responded matter-of-factly, changing the subject. ‘Young Master, how did you know I was here?’

‘I like to come here and watch the river. Last week I saw you practise. You were so absorbed that I was afraid to interrupt you.’

‘You don’t have to work?’

‘I just got my law degree and wanted to stay in America. But my father sent me a telegram saying that he was not feeling well and needed me to come home. So he lied to get me back here. At first I was furious at him, but now I’m happy.’

‘Happy, why?’

He blushed. ‘Anyway, it is the will of heaven …’

Yes, it is also the will of heaven that your father will soon die through my efforts.

Oblivious of my secret thoughts, he spoke again. ‘But I don’t want to be a lawyer. I only want to sing and play the piano. Camilla, I’m so glad that we share the same passion.’

I didn’t respond. So he went on. ‘May I take you for a morning coffee or tea?’

‘I’m afraid not.’

He made no effort to hide his disappointment. ‘You have something else to do this early in the morning?’

‘Not really, but I just met you. Besides, I don’t go out to cafes with men … Someone will see us and set off gossip.’

He protested. ‘You’re friends with my father, so it’s not like I am a stranger.’

‘Young Master, I am a very busy woman. I wish I had the luxury for chit-chat or wind-and-moon talk over a cup of bitter Western coffee or sweet Chinese tea. Besides, gossip is the last thing I need in my life.’

‘But—’

‘Sorry, I’ve got to go.’

‘Wait a minute,’ he said, then took something from his pocket. ‘Can you at least sign this for me?’

It was the fan I’d thrown into the audience the other night. ‘It was you who caught this? And you kept it?’

‘Of course! How could I have thrown it away?’

I quickly signed the fan and turned away.

As I walked, I felt his eyes drilling small holes through the morning fog into my back.

The young master incident threw me off balance, and it was not until much later that I regained my composure. He wanted friendship, something I could not allow myself to have.

Or maybe more?

How complicated this could turn out to be. I was bedding the father, while the son wanted me in his bed? When father and son competed for the same woman, would they destroy each other? Or would one step aside? If so, which one? That would be interesting to know. If Lung found out about his son’s advances, would he get rid of him? What if instead Lung thought that I had seduced his innocent son – would this be the end of me?

Now my mission to eliminate Lung faced two obstacles instead of one: Shadow and now the young master. But was Jinying really an obstacle or just a nuisance? Perhaps he could be distracted … by Shadow?

Conveniently, Master Lung told me he’d be out of town with Mr Zhu for a meeting. I grabbed the chance to invite both Shadow and young Master Lung to my show at Bright Moon. But I couldn’t invite the son without the father’s suspicion.

So I told Lung, ‘I’m very disappointed. I’m going to debut a few new songs, and I really want you to hear them!’

‘But you can sing them for me when I’m back, right?’

‘Of course, but that won’t be the same.’

‘How come?’

‘Because this is the premier, and your presence gives me lots of face!’

‘All right, all right …’ He paused to think, then cooed, ‘What if I send my son to represent me?’

Wonderful.

That evening onstage, I followed Madame Lewinsky’s advice to pick one person in the audience to focus on. To my alarm, my eyes, with wills of their own, went straight to meet Jinying’s. Just then the pianist hit the first note for ‘Night-time Shanghai.’ Throughout my whole performance, the gangster’s son’s eyes never left me. Not even to appreciate the sensuous Shadow sitting right next to him.

After finishing my act, I went to sit at their table. The young master poured me champagne. I took a delicate sip, appreciating my two handsome guests.

‘I hope you two have been getting to know each other?’

Shadow smiled. ‘We were too busy watching you and listening to your music.’

Jinying nodded.

‘Young Master—’

‘Please call me Jinying.’

‘Jinying, have you been making conversation with our beautiful Miss Shadow?’

‘Yes, we’ve been discussing your wonderful voice.’ He sipped his champagne and went on. ‘Camilla, when you sing, you are so spontaneous, hitting those high notes so effortlessly.’ He eyes searched mine like a miner looking for gold. ‘I know how hard you must work to achieve this.’

I sighed inside. The last thing I needed was for Lung’s son, of all people, to have a crush on me. If only he would switch his infatuation to Shadow. But my idea of getting him and Shadow together looked to be a bust.

What to do? All I could think was to try one last time.

I raised my glass, and we all toasted to one another. After that, I said to the magician, ‘Shadow, when you have your next show, please let me know, and I’ll definitely go.’ Then I turned to Lung’s son. ‘Jinying, you will be stunned by Shadow’s impossible magic.’

He smiled politely at the magician, then turned to me. ‘Sure, Camilla. Let me know, and you and I can go together.’

It was hopeless. Didn’t he worry that his father would discover his feelings for me? Surely he did not imagine that his father would be willing to share his mistress. I really didn’t need this; my life was complicated enough. But how could I get rid of him?

Just then I felt a pat on my shoulder. I turned and saw, to my surprise, Madame Lewinsky’s kind face smiling down at me.

Before I had a chance to say anything, my teacher was already speaking. ‘My darling Camilla’ – she winked at me, tilting her head towards Jinying – ‘congratulations. Your singing has improved so much!’ She leaned towards me and whispered into my ear, ‘I can feel your genuine emotion now.’

I asked, ‘You think so?’

She nodded. ‘Absolutely. I’m a woman, I can tell you’re in love.’

‘No, I’m not. No, no.’ My voice rose.

She smiled tenderly, like a mother at her daughter. ‘Camilla, trust me. I know these things. You’re fighting it, but you don’t need to. Just relax and give yourself some time, won’t you, my darling? Love is the most wonderful thing that can happen to a woman. If you want to talk about it, I’m all ears. Just pay me a visit.’

I paused before I said, changing the topic, ‘Madame Lewinsky, why didn’t you tell me you’d be here, so I could have sent you a ticket in advance? Please sit down and chat with us for a while.’

She shook her head. ‘I’ve got to go, but nice to meet you and your friends.’ Eyes sparkling with mischief, she again whispered into my ear, her head nodding towards Jinying, ‘He’s a really nice young man, and I can tell he’s madly in love with you. Remember, once your bird of youth has flown, it will never come back.’

After that, she cast another appreciative look at Jinying, turned back to wink at me, and left.

Jinying poured more champagne into my glass. ‘Who was that lady?’

‘My singing teacher.’

‘Then you should have introduced her to us.’

I explained that she was in a hurry, but the young master continued. ‘Maybe I should also take lessons from her.’

Alarmed, I exclaimed, ‘Oh, no, I am sure she is all booked!’



PART TWO (#ulink_321ddd21-dc12-51d2-8da1-065b4f2b0685)




6 (#ulink_fbaf7aa2-d0c4-5111-9ae8-a21a676d2129)

Life Between the Two Gangs (#ulink_fbaf7aa2-d0c4-5111-9ae8-a21a676d2129)


Among the city’s numerous black societies, the two most powerful, headed respectively by the warlords Master Lung and Big Brother Wang, were the Flying Dragons and the Red Demons. However, the Flying Dragons were always a few steps ahead of the Red Demons in their various ‘business enterprises’ – gambling, prostitution, opium, ‘protection,’ kidnapping and loan-sharking, as well as smuggling guns, gold, US dollars and medicines in, and national treasures out. Ironically, as the two gangs competed in illegal dealings, they also vied in doing charitable works.

My boss, Big Brother Wang’s, lifelong obsession was to destroy Lung so he could replace him not only as the richest and most feared boss of the Shanghai underworld but also as its most respected philanthropist.

That was how I came onto the scene – a minuscule screw wriggling between the city’s two most powerful machines.

Wang’s plan was to apply the famous meiren ji, beauty strategy or honey trap, one of the Thirty-Six Stratagems. Simple in principle and timeless in effectiveness, it involved sending beautiful women to eliminate anyone from lord to emperor. Twenty-five hundred years ago, during the chaotic era known as the Warring States, King Goujian of Yue used it to defeat King Fuchai of the State of Wu.

King Wu won the first battle, and so King Yue sent him ten carts of priceless treasures as tribute. But cleverly he also included eight of the most beautiful women in his state as peace offerings. As intended, King Wu and his ministers became so immersed in dalliance that they neglected state affairs. Tipped off by his spies, King Yue sent his army and easily defeated King Wu. Though Wu offered Yue his country and all its treasures, the victor was merciless. Wu was ordered to commit suicide in front of the very women who had brought about his ruin.

Even the most cunning man becomes a fool for a beautiful woman. Friends’ warnings fall on deaf ears. Men blind themselves to the schemes behind the pretty face and the poisons in the beloved heart. When clothes come off, thinking stops.

My job was simple in principle, though not in operation. It was to win Lung’s complete love and trust, then lure him to a place where the Red Demons gang could assassinate him. Of course I’d been told to do the murdering myself should the right situation arise. But this was really chiren shuomeng, crazy dreaming – pure wishful thinking on their part.

Because before every time I was allowed inside Lung’s bedroom or hotel room, I’d be stripped naked and searched thoroughly by Gao, his head bodyguard. I was even asked to jump up and down in case a weapon – small knife, razor, poisonous pill – had been hidden inside my vagina. Of course he’d also scrape my mouth for possible pills wedged between my teeth. Was I humiliated? No, because acquiring a thick skin was part of my training. I had learned not to be distracted by pointless feelings such as humiliation or embarrassment. These things were just part of the job, along with the singing and dancing, except that this part was in private, with only one admirer instead of a hall filled with them. But it was boring, not to mention tedious.

Whenever I came out of Lung’s room, Gao would look flushed and embarrassed. His eyes would be filled with bitterness or sadness, depending on what he’d heard – cow-slaughtering cries or puppy-beating whimpers – from my fake orgasm. Like the young master, the head bodyguard seemed to have stepped onto a dangerous path by falling for a woman he’d be better off pretending not to notice.

Anyway, even a beggar on the street in Shanghai would know that to assassinate Lung would be as difficult as to get a virgin pregnant. Lung, Zhu and all the bodyguards were extremely cautious. Gao, though, might be different, because of his crush on me. Sometimes I wondered, if I became his lover, would he kill Lung for me? But to imagine this was pointless; to seduce the bodyguard under Zhu’s sharp eyes was as likely as a baby crawling out from a virgin’s narrow gate.

Warlords, though powerful, were not invulnerable, since many ended up being assassinated. Some, however, managed to live to die in bed. But survival required constant vigilance. It was rumoured that Lung had a double who would travel in his limousine, while the boss himself went by another route. So to eliminate Lung was no simple matter. It was also rumoured that Lung wouldn’t trust any Chinese tailor for fear that he might be an assassin in disguise. Scissors in the back during a fitting were not unknown in Shanghai.

I was Wang’s means to discover his rival’s defense tactics, his daily routine, where he entered and exited, his secret hiding places, who of his guards were the most formidable. And the grand prize: Lung’s bank account.

Most of spying is not exciting but tedious, though still very dangerous. I was supposed to put together a complete list of Lung’s contacts: his close friends, relatives and all who worked for him or did business with him. Not only those in the underworld but those supposedly above it. This also included a list of the spies who worked for Lung and who, ironically, might turn out to be my boss, Big Brother Wang’s, most trusted men!

Like Lung, Wang always had an ominous feeling that he was marked for assassination. Of course the most likely source would be the Flying Dragons. So I was to try to find out who was on up Lung’s assassination list and how high up Wang was. Eliminating Lung had been Wang’s goal from the moment he became a gang head. He just hadn’t yet figured out a good plan – until his underling Mr Ho had discovered me in the orphanage.

After winning the title of Heavenly Songbird last year, I was given a luxury apartment inside the French Concession. This included a maid and a driver, but I knew full well that their real jobs were to keep track of me for Wang. I made good money, but unfortunately Wang took his half and most of the rest for ‘safekeeping.’ He knew that if I had my own money, his hold on me would be weakened. Though I was free to go places within Shanghai, I couldn’t just disappear. Wang repeatedly warned me that his gang men were everywhere, so he would know everywhere I went and everything I did.

Yet life as a nightclub singer was incomparably better than in the orphanage. I now had a comfortable apartment, which was decorated in a mixture of Chinese and Western styles. The Chinese elements – calligraphy, landscape paintings, antique furniture and vases – were there to impress on people, especially the refined ones, that I was not just a singer but one steeped in traditional culture and taste, perhaps from a prominent family. The Western decor – velvet curtains, soft sofas with silky coverings, a gilded and latticework clock and oil paintings showing classical scenes – was to show that I was also cosmopolitan.

To others I was the beautiful, sophisticated woman who had it all. But I was well aware that Big Brother Wang didn’t pay my rent because he liked my singing, but to keep me under his control. My amah and cook, Ah Fong, and driver, Ah Wen, who did almost everything for me, were also his spies. The best I could do about this was, from day one, to tip them generously, hoping they would avert their eyes or keep mum when I needed them to.

Unlike most gangsters, Lung favoured talented women. With me it was singing; before it might have been speaking a foreign language, horseback-riding or even flying a plane. For him, women like us were like a rare Ming vase, while others were but ordinary kitchenware. No doubt this was Lung’s way to compensate for starting out as a shoe-shine boy.

Now that Lung had finally fallen for me, I had to work steadily to complete my mission, because the boss of the Flying Dragons gang would not stay long with any woman. No flower blooms all year long. No matter how enamoured he was with her, Lung believed that any woman who’d warm his bed for too long would bring bad luck, polluting his bedchamber and harming his business. That was why the sudden appearance of Shadow worried me. I did not want him to be thinking of her as my successor.

But with or without Shadow, my situation would likely be lose-lose. Mission successfully completed, I’d have served my purpose. And as in the Chinese saying, ‘After the rabbits are caught, the hounds will be cooked.’

That was the inevitable fate of spies. I had read that, in China’s Harbin province, one time the Japanese sent a prostitute-spy to seduce a Russian general so as to steal his map. On this map were marked the soldiers’ positions, their planned route of attack, and their supply lines. Succeeding in stealing the map, she was able to send it to the Japanese embassy. But the Japanese never sent anyone to rescue her. Instead, they referred to her as ‘the sakura blossom without root’ and abandoned her to die alone in a prison in Siberia.

If I did not begin to plan for my escape, I was sure to end up being another sakura blossom without root, if not in Siberia, then in my own homeland. Not in a prison but sprawled in a back alley, bobbing in the Huangpu River or rotting in a well. Or, as the story was told of one of Lung’s former mistresses, fed to tigers …

Someday, probably soon, I would need to escape. I would need a plan, and I would need money. So I tried my best to save. Although I didn’t get to keep much from the nightclub, I got expensive gifts from admirers, most generously from Master Lung, who had been pampering me with American gold pieces, fur coats and lavish jewellery. Of course my boss, Wang, knew about the gifts, but he could not take away those from Lung, who might notice that they were missing. Meanwhile, I tried to waste as little as possible on frivolities like the theatre, movies, high tea or amusement parks.

However, even if I had the money to escape, where would I go? I had neither relatives nor real friends. I knew great danger was approaching, but all I could do was wait for the right moment to act. As the sages tell us in the three-thousand-year-old Yijing, or Book of Changes, ‘If you step on the tail of a tiger but use extreme caution, you will be fortunate in the end.’

When you first glimpsed him, Lung looked quite ordinary. This was in fact a gift from heaven that enabled him to conceal his astute mind and scheming heart. But, despite his small stature, Lung could inspire fear. His dealings were of extreme complexity, but, unfortunately for me, he seemed to keep everything in his head. No one had any idea of his many business dealings. His routes were untraceable, his hiding places unfindable and even his facial expressions gave away nothing.

Lung’s gang, the Flying Dragons, took its name from the Book of Changes. The name was appropriate because Lung himself was like a dragon, whose body is always half revealed and half hidden by clouds. Lung heeded well the advice of The Art of War, ‘See all, but stay hidden.’ According to the Book of Changes, there are three kinds of dragons. One soars to heaven and leads the world; one hides in the field and waits for the auspicious moment to act; one becomes arrogant and ends up in bitter failure. The first one is the leader, the second the sage, the third the loser.

Master Lung was already a leader, would never be a sage and was certainly arrogant. So he was ripe for being overthrown. The moment would come when he would relax his vigilance, but I would not relax mine. The Chinese say, congming yishi, benzai yishi, ‘Smart for your whole life, stupid for a moment.’ All I needed was for Lung to be careless for one moment.

And that would be the moment when I would act. Because no matter how brilliantly cunning Lung was, he did have a weakness – his infatuation with beautiful, classy women. But most mistresses are enjoyed for a brief time, then cast away. Infatuation by itself is not enough. Most women did not understand that to bewitch a man, sex is only the beginning. After you have captured his heart, you must also capture his mind.

If Lung really had a heart – or even if I had one. But we both had minds – scheming ones.




7 (#ulink_ad6072b7-bbac-5c08-b3ca-e31cda6f3ed8)

Temple Celebration (#ulink_ad6072b7-bbac-5c08-b3ca-e31cda6f3ed8)


One evening, in my living room, I was sipping tea and savouring its warmth slowly soothing my Heavenly Songbird throat. I enjoyed the warmth that I never received from human beings, except maybe Madame Lewinsky. My gaze wandered out the window at night-time Shanghai glittering like an enormous multifaceted diamond. People must be enjoying their youth, beauty and wealth out there, I mused. I knew I was getting sentimental, something I could not allow myself. Then, for no reason at all, the face of Jinying, Lung’s son, flashed into my mind. As if on cue, the telephone beside me rang like a barking dog who’d just lost sight of its master.

I picked up the receiver. ‘Hello?’

‘Camilla?’

I immediately recognised the voice that had sung ‘Looking for You’ to me at the Bund. ‘Yes, Young Master?’

‘Please, I beg you, Camilla, call me Jinying. I really don’t like to be addressed as Young Master.’

My voice switched to the teasing mode. ‘Do you have a choice?’

As the father was imprisoned by his own suspicion and superstition, the son was confined by his father’s wealth and power.

‘I … really don’t want to go into this.’

‘Why don’t you like the title of young master?’

‘Because I don’t like to be thought of as superior to you or other people.’

I almost chuckled out loud. Of course. He had been educated in America, a country that supposedly advocated liberty and equality. So his mind was liberated, or poisoned, depending on how you looked at it, by this ridiculously unrealistic concept.

‘But you are,’ I cooed into the receiver.

‘Please, Camilla.’

‘All right, Jinying, what do you want?’ Of course I knew exactly what he wanted, the same thing as his father – me. Did he think his father would share with him?

‘May I come to visit you now?’ The tone was plaintive, like that of an orphan desperate to be adopted.

That was an unexpected and daring request. But of course he was, after all, the indulged, privileged son of the most powerful gangster in Shanghai. At least he was courteous enough to ask before coming.

I inhaled deeply. ‘But why would you want to come here?’

‘Camilla, since I heard you sing at Bright Moon and at the Bund, I just can’t shake you from my mind. You sing like an angel.’

If only I were one. ‘Don’t you know that I am your father’s woman?’

An uncomfortable silence passed before he spoke hesitantly. ‘Yes, of course.’

‘You’re not afraid?’

‘No.’

‘Maybe you’re not, but I am.’

‘My father won’t hurt you.’

This time I laughed out loud. Was he that naive?

‘Please don’t make fun of me.’

‘I’m sorry. But do you know who your father is and what he is capable of?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then what makes you think he won’t harm me – or you?’

‘Because he loves me the most, and he’s superstitious.’

My ear perked up at the word superstitious. Though it was not news to me that the gangster head was a believer in feng shui, Yijing divination, physiognomy, palmistry – the whole gamut of Chinese ways to attain good luck – his son could be a source of other useful information about his father.

So I immediately curtailed my sarcasm and replaced it with a warm, tender tone. ‘Jinying, yes, please do come up to my place so we can chat over a glass of wine.’

In a mere five minutes, Jinying was on my doorstep.

I opened the door and asked, ‘Were you downstairs?’

He nodded, looking anxious.

‘Please take a seat on the sofa, and I’ll ask Ah Fong to fix you tea and snacks.’

He looked around, his expression disappointed. ‘You have someone else living here with you?’

‘She’s my amah.’

Moments later Ah Fong came out with a tray of tea, coffee and sandwiches.

After she had laid it on the table, I smiled. ‘You can leave now, Ah Fong.’ And I took some coins from my purse and pushed them into her hand.

She looked at me appreciatively. ‘Thank you so much, Miss Camilla.’ Then she cast the young master the same look and left.

Delicately sipping my fragrant tea, I asked the fine-featured, intense face across from me, ‘Jinying, what is the purpose of your visit?’

He looked surprised and pained. ‘Camilla, I … wanted to see you. I am hoping you will sing for me again.’

I studied his eager eyes and their two brows. Unlike his father’s, they were smooth and unscarred, like two distant mountains shrouded in the mist. ‘Jinying, you have the money for casinos, nightclubs, anything you want. So why are you so interested in music?’

His smile showed a trace of bitterness. ‘That’s exactly what displeases my father about me. That I would waste my time on something so decadent and worthless.’

This seemed ironic. Wasn’t music the reason the old man came to Bright Moon?

Lung’s son’s face softened under the gentle light of my chandelier. ‘My passion began when I visited New York and a friend took me to see Madame Butterfly at the Metropolitan Opera. Since then I’ve been hooked. I used some of the money Father sent me for singing and piano lessons. At Harvard I even performed a few roles in musicals.’

‘When you were in America, you must have heard the most famous singers of the world.’ My curiosity was piqued.

‘I did, but I like your voice the best. I’ve heard all the famous singers, and of course they’re all first-rate, but in my opinion, they all have one basic flaw …’

‘What’s that?’

‘Too much training and not enough being.’

‘What do you mean?’

Maybe he thought I feigned not understanding, but it was true that I didn’t. For ‘too much training, not enough being’ was exactly what Madame Lewinsky seemed to criticise in my singing. But of course neither she nor the young master had any way to know that I’d been trained not to have feelings.

‘They are so conscious of their fame and status that they gradually lose contact with their heart. In my opinion, they should strip away their mannerisms and let the audience in.’ He picked up his cup and took a long sip as he studied me intensely. ‘Camilla, I’m amazed that you don’t need to use technique or posture to hide your vulnerability. You just let your goodness shine through.’

I suppressed a smile of relief. He was completely fooled by me, or, to be exact, by my training! This showed that he was the one who was naive. Wonderful.

On the surface I stayed calm. ‘But you have only heard me twice. How do you—’

‘I go to hear you sing almost every night. I sit in a corner seat in the back so if my father’s there, he won’t see me.’

He shook his head, then downed more coffee. ‘My father is getting old and wants me to start in his business so I can take over someday. But so far I’ve stayed away. I’m just not interested. Also, well, his business is just … not right. I wish I were someone else’s son.’ He put down his coffee cup with a loud clink.

As I studied his anxious expression, I felt a perverse relief rising inside me. ‘I’m sorry that’s how you feel, Jinying. Can’t you explain to Master Lung how you feel?’

‘That would not matter. He loves me, but I am his only son, and so there is no one else to take over. And he considers me his good-luck son.’

‘Oh, yes? How is that?’

‘Because since the day I was born, his business has boomed, and it has lasted until today. The Red Demons have tried but failed to kill him many times. So he believes my lucky star shines on him to protect him.’

Now I was glad for his interest in me. I was also getting an idea.

The Chinese say, ‘If you want to shoot the person, first shoot his horse; if you want to capture the bandits, first capture their chief.’

What if I seduced Jinying – the boss behind the boss – and set father and son against each other? Of course it might end up that Lung would kill his son, but that sort of possibility was why I had been trained to have no feelings. If it ended up the other way around, then my mission would be successfully completed even without my having to get my hands dirty.

I looked admiringly at the young master’s angelic face. To lie under the owner of this face would be a much better deal than being fucked by his monkey-faced, split-browed old man.

I tried to hide my smirk by downing more tea, but I burned my tongue and choked myself.

The angel dropped from heaven asked, ‘You all right, Camilla?’

‘Couldn’t be better.’ I smiled, still choking.

Two days after Jinying’s visit, I got an invitation from the Eternal Luck Temple to participate in a celebration, but of what, it did not specify. Then Mr Zhu, Master Lung’s right-hand man, called.

‘Miss Camilla, be prepared to accompany Master Lung to the Eternal Luck Temple.’

‘Mr Zhu, may I know what is the purpose of this event?’

‘To celebrate the opening of the temple’s new wing. Gao will pick you up next Saturday at one in the afternoon. Dress your best, and be ready on time. We cannot miss the most auspicious moment meticulously calculated by the temple’s feng shui master. You got it?’

‘Of course, Mr Zhu.’

‘Good,’ he huffed, then hung up.

For the temple event, instead of a cheongsam, this time I picked a white silk Western dress embroidered with pink camellias and light green leaves. The hem was slightly below my knees, revealing just enough of my high-heeled, hundred-dollar-silk-stockinged legs. A red camellia, pinned above my ear, echoed my matching pink high heels and purse.

To bring out the green, I put on a jade necklace and a matching bracelet. To set off the jade, my huge diamond ring was perched regally on my middle finger, demanding attention.

Whenever I was invited to an important occasion, jade and diamonds were always my favourite choices. Jade’s cool nature conveys a reserved, Oriental sophistication, like a woman’s silent declaration: ‘I am beautiful but coy, so please don’t stare.’ On the other hand, a diamond is fiery and Occidental, like a tall, voluptuous woman strutting confidently and exclaiming, ‘Come, see how sexy I am!’

However, today my most exciting feature was neither the jade nor the diamond but my dress’s heart-shaped neckline cut-out, revealing my undulating two half-moons. I knew I succeeded in creating an intriguing presence. But disturbingly, as I felt happy looking at the beautiful face that stared back at me from the mirror, now, for the first time, I wanted to avoid looking deeper at what was within.

Gao arrived to pick me up in a black Cadillac. As we drove to the temple, I caught his eyes wandering off the road to look into the rear-view mirror at me or, to be specific, my bulging half-moons.

Finally he blurted out, ‘Miss Camilla, you look gorgeous today.’

I smiled sweetly. ‘Thank you, Gao. Glad you like my outfit.’

‘I don’t mean only your outfit.’

I could say, ‘Of course I know what you meant,’ but I was not going to chide him by telling him to keep his eyes on the road instead of on me. I didn’t want to completely discourage his interest. One never knew; someday I might find him of use on my path to defeating Lung.

So I said, ‘Thank you, Gao, whatever else you mean.’

I studied the bodyguard’s face in the mirror and found myself liking it. He took his job seriously and was good at it. He was also a martial artist and Thai boxing expert, and I had heard that on a bet he had shot right into the red heart of an ace from forty steps away. I knew him to be alert, careful and, unlike Zhu, gentle and courteous.

But Gao had his weakness: his huge crush on me.

I realised that because I often noticed his gaze travelling downwards from my face to my chest, waist and legs. Didn’t he realise that even a split second of his distraction could cost his and his boss’s lives? But of course he was a man, and he couldn’t help it. That’s why there are skeleton women. We use men’s lust to turn them into skeletons.

With Mr Zhu, the situation was entirely different. He was impatient, ferocious and even more bossy to me than his boss was. However, this was, in fact, a good thing. Because the less attention I received from this ruthless man, the better, lest he see through my pretense and detect my true intentions.

A few minutes later, the car pulled to a stop in front of the Eternal Luck Temple and awoke me from my reveries. Gao opened the car door for me, and my ears were instantly filled with the buzzing conversations of the important-looking guests. He helped me out and led me into the temple’s front yard. I enjoyed the envious glances of the women, beautiful and otherwise, as I was escorted by the handsome, muscular man ready to serve my minutest need.

Monkey Face was waiting for me, surrounded by his usual entourage. As Gao brought me over to the gangster head, he gave me a licentious once-over, looking happy and proud. ‘Camilla, you sure are easy on the eyes. And your fragrance is intoxicating!’

The abbot and his entourage of Daoist monks hurried to greet us. Soon Lung and Zhu were the centre of attention, not only for the monks but also for a circle of obsequious businessmen and politicians.

I got a drink and walked around. Recognising me as the Heavenly Songbird, some guests nodded in my direction; others cupped their mouths and whispered to their partners. My attention was drawn to a tall woman dressed in a man’s white suit, a golden tie and a white fedora. She easily could have been mistaken for a man were it not for her exaggerated make-up. Her stark white powder, bright red rouge and scarlet lipstick formed the background for long, artificial lashes fluttering in front of golden eye shadow. A weird, even haunting combination. Flanking her was a small group of tall, strikingly beautiful girls in matching pink dresses.

Of course this time I recognised this cross-dressed woman as the famous, or notorious, gossip columnist Rainbow Chang, with her enigmatic clique of pink-clad followers. Were they her confidantes? Bodyguards? Lovers? Anybody could be anyone in Shanghai. Watching her poise and the ease with which she worked her way through the crowd, I could only hope that she would not be yet another obstacle on my path. Dealing with a Shadow, a gangster and his son was already more than enough for a nineteen-year-old songstress-spy.

When she was in front of me, the columnist reached out her hand. ‘It’s such a pleasure to meet you here again, Miss Camilla. I am Rainbow Chang, remember? We met at Bright Moon.’

On the surface, I stayed calm. ‘Yes, of course. What a lucky encounter!’ I said, feeling her fleshy palm tightly squeezing mine. ‘I’ve been a fan of your column.’

‘Really? The most famous Heavenly Songbird, my fan? I’m flattered.’

Underneath our polite words, we were scrutinising each other like two unneutered cats under the full moon.

She gave me a meaningful once-over. ‘Wah. Look at you, Camilla. May I call you Camilla?’

‘Of course.’

‘No other singer in Shanghai has your kind of presence.’

Of course she was referring to my expensive clothes and even more expensive jewellery, and on top of that, my much-envied position beside Shanghai’s number one gangster head.

I decided to play modest. ‘I owe it to the help of your column.’

‘Hmm … is that true? You’re not offended by my writing? You know, sometimes I can be pretty straightforward.’

Now I’d play the flatterer. ‘If you had never mentioned me in your column, I would not be so famous today.’

Her expression turned mischievously delightful. ‘Then maybe we should be friends, or at least business partners?’

What did that mean?

‘You know, Camilla, we could build a long-term, mutually beneficial relationship.’

Oh, heavens. This was exactly what I didn’t need: one more complication! I knew I had better tread this path with utmost caution. While Lung could kill with a knife or gun, this Rainbow could do the same with her pen, without even having to waste a bullet!

I asked, feeling a little nervous, ‘But how?’

She looked at me deeply, as if I were her lover. ‘I’ll tell you if you let me take you to dinner. I’m sure we’ll enjoy each other’s company. What about next week?’

I sighed inside. I was sure many people wanted to meet this famous gossip columnist and her pink entourage, but I couldn’t wait to get rid of her.

‘Thank you for the invitation. I would love to have dinner with you. But I hope you will be free some other time?’ I gestured to Lung’s back in the distance. ‘Right now my schedule won’t even afford me the luxury to breathe—’

Before I finished my sentence, I felt a large hand on my shoulder. I turned and saw Gao’s concerned face. He leaned down to whisper into my ear. ‘Miss Camilla, the ceremony is to begin in fifteen minutes. Master Lung’s good friend the police chief has arrived, and Master Lung would like to introduce you.’

I turned to smile at Rainbow Chang. ‘Sorry, Miss Chang, but I have to excuse myself.’

‘No problem.’ She winked. ‘Go ahead. Lairi fangchang.’ Time is aplenty in the future.

I stared at her retreating back and felt a chill. Would she prove yet another rival in my life?

With this new worry, I let Gao steer me back to Lung, who was now standing beside a stout, uniformed man. Gao stepped back to join another bodyguard, both men watching us closely.

Master Lung turned to grab my waist. ‘Please meet my beautiful Camilla.’

Although I’d never met the police chief in person, I’d seen pictures of him in the newspapers. I also heard rumours about his proclivities, most infamous being that once, when he and Lung were drunk, they threw their respective ex-mistresses to Lung’s pet tigers, whom they kept starving for just such occasions.

Chief Li cast me a licentious glance and shook my hand hard, as if he were tormenting a helpless kitten.

‘Miss Camilla, I have heard your name for a long time, but you are much more beautiful in person than in your pictures.’

I returned him a demure smile. ‘Thank you for your praise, Chief Li. Likewise I’ve also heard your name like thunder in my ears.’

Together we walked into the newly built wing. A crimson signboard with four big gold characters, huakai fugui, ‘Flowers bloom and fortune looms,’ hung above the portal. Fortune really meant making money. Many Chinese believe that donating to temples will bring them good fortune, so perhaps the temple wanted to be sure they would not forget that. Monks, of course, have no desire for riches, but donations to their temple in the form of checks, jewellery, gold bars, antiques and land are always welcome.

Inside, the hall decor resembled a Western casino, with red and gold as the main colours, for double luck. Male staff in black tuxedos and female staff in pink and green cheongsams flanked the entrance, nodding and exclaiming, ‘Welcome, our honourable guests!’

We nodded and smiled back. Inside, scrolls of calligraphy adorned the walls, proclaiming auspicious sentiments: ‘Invite money; welcome treasures;’ ‘Gold bars fill the house;’ and ‘Money flows in like rushing water.’

As I was wondering what these phrases were doing in a temple, my eyes spotted men throwing dice and playing mahjong in the distance. In one corner, a uniformed man was shaking a cylindrical tube and exclaiming, ‘Big! Big! Big!’ followed by another man’s louder, ‘Small! Small! Small!’ After that, the first man threw the contents of the tube onto the table as the customer yelled, ‘Big!’

The uniformed man smiled cunningly at the anxious customer. ‘Sorry, sir, but it’s small.’

After that, the pile of money immediately shifted from in front of the client to in front of the uniformed man.

I realised that this was none other than a casino! But inside a temple?

Then my eyes landed on red lanterns hanging low from the ceiling above the gaming tables. Could cameras be hidden inside to catch cheaters?

‘Master Lung, so this is a …’

‘Yes, my new gambling den.’

‘But in a temple?’

He laughed, his belly trembling. ‘Ha-ha-ha! For the gods’ protection and blessings, what else?’

Thinking about that, I realised that a temple was, in fact, a perfect place to operate a gambling den. If a gambler won, part of his winnings would be donated to the temple as a token of gratitude. If he lost, he’d also donate as a bribe to the money gods so that next time they would direct the propitious winds to blow in his direction.

What other kind of business could be win-win like this? I smiled, toying with this ‘win-win’ idea. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if I could also put myself into a win-win situation – successfully completing my mission and escaping from both the Flying Dragons and the Red Demons?

As soon as we finished touring this sacred casino, we were all ushered back outside to the courtyard, ready for the auspicious opening ceremony.




8 (#ulink_bd6932a2-2e98-59a0-a63e-09315972aae4)

The Lion Dancers (#ulink_bd6932a2-2e98-59a0-a63e-09315972aae4)


It was three minutes to two o’clock. Our mandatory early arrival had been to make sure the ceremony would start exactly at the time calculated by the fortune-tellers, not a minute early or a minute late. Otherwise the auspicious moment would be missed, possibly ruining Lung’s gambling business even before it started.

According to these fortune-telling savants, the first moment of an event determines everything. Unfortunately mothers couldn’t choose the time of their babies’ birth; otherwise they’d all grow up to be kings and queens, dragons and phoenixes. Perhaps my parents hadn’t believed in fate calculation, and that was why I’d ended up having this horrible life. But I hoped someday to undo my inauspicious beginning. After all, as the ancient Yijing tells us, ‘Everything changes.’

Lung, Zhu, Chief Li, me and a few other honourable guests were led to stand at the front of the newly opened temple wing. Two girls placed red ribbons with a wreath at each end into our hands. Photographers and reporters streamed in, snapping pictures and taking notes. I spotted Rainbow Chang furiously scribbling in her notebook. Scattered around were Gao and his team of bodyguards, all dressed in black, eyes continuously scanning the crowd.





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