Mingmei Yip - The Nine Fold Heaven

I suddenly realized this execution must be the same one brought up by one of Miller’s guests at the garden party. I wondered who this Hong Bin was and what gang he belonged to. There were so many gangsters and spies in Shanghai, including me!

Faced with death, a gangster would likely make a deal to betray his own gang and take refuge with another one. But relationships in Shanghai’s underworld were even more complicated than the fate-determining, crisscrossing lines of our palms. So I wondered what was happening between this Hong Bin and his gang that his boss didn’t just spread some bribes around to set him free.

I decided to go see the execution. I was curious to know who this ill-fated man was and I hoped that, like me so far, he would somehow escape the hopeless situation.

But in the meantime a more pleasant event awaited me. After the garden party, Emily told me that her boss would like me to join him for a day on his yacht down the Huangpu River. As I set out for the harbor, the day was pleasant with clouds crossing in the afternoon sky like fishes swimming leisurely in a gigantic tank.

I arrived at the pier right on time, punctuality being one of my “virtues” as a spy. Edward was already waiting, leaning on a piling on the dock. He waved as he saw me approach, planted a kiss on my cheek, and took my hand. Then he led me to his yacht nestled at the dock among several others floating on the sparkling turquoise river.

“Welcome aboard!” He enthused, looking very charming in whites—shirt, shorts, shoes.

He took my arm and helped me on board. Two Chinese in crisp white uniforms stood on either side as we stepped onto the deck, undulating slightly in the gentle swell. After introducing me to the two sailors, he gave me a tour. I didn’t have much experience of boats, but this one seemed to be a cozy little paradise with almost everything. There were deck chairs near the bow and a comfortable cockpit aft with cushions along the benches. Down below was a cozy salon with a small but well-equipped galley including a bar. A door led to a curtained bedroom with a broad bunk. Though I liked his boat and was sure it had cost a lot, it did not seem so impressive compared to the rich men’s mansions I had visited.

But I said excitedly, “Oh, heaven! It’s so beautiful. I’ve never been in a sea palace like this!”

Edward gave me an appreciative once-over, his eyes lingering on my breasts and slim waist conspicuous under my simple, crocheted top and blue slacks. Then he took my hand and led me back onto the deck. We leaned on the railing, silently inhaling the fresh air while appreciating our expansive view of the river with its scattered junks, boats, and ships weaving back and forth in front of the city’s skyline.

“Jasmine, I’m glad you like it. I use this for both business and pleasure. People feel more relaxed out on the water and thus speak their minds more freely. Sometimes I also come here by myself to think or meditate on the flowing river.”

“How interesting,” I said, calmed by the rhythmically undulating waves, “I also used to come here to sing to the rising sun and its reflection on the water.”

“Did you?” he cast me a curious look, “When? You mean you could just leave the orphanage and come here?”

Damn. I’d forgotten Confucius’s famous precept, “A refined person is careful in speech.”

Fortunately, I had to learn early in life to make up answers quickly.

“Of course not, they’d never let me do that when I was in the orphanage. It was after I left.”

The crew already cast us off from the dock and we were now under way, the engine throbbing quietly, making it easy to change the subject.

“So today there’ll be only the two of us?”

“Just us, and, of course, my captain and his mate. I like to steer the boat myself, but this way I can enjoy your company.”

“It’s fine with me, Edward.” I smiled mysteriously. “No one from the orphanage is going to see me here with you.”

“Jasmine, I’ll be right back.” He returned with two flutes of champagne. “To our wonderful cruise,” he said, smiling handsomely while tapping my flute with his.

I returned his toast with a coyly flirtatious smile. “To our cruise, Edward.”

My diplomat friend went on enthusiastically. “We will be passing some of Shanghai’s most scenic spots: the Bund’s Western-style skyscrapers, the Customs House with its bell tower, Shasun Mansion with its pyramid top, the Garden bridge at Suzhou Creek, and many more. I’m sure we’ll have a good time.”

From behind his back, Edward produced an orange orchid and put it above my ear.

Staring at a few sea gulls gliding above the waves, I thought of a poem and began to recite it for Edward:

After I finished, he exclaimed, “What a lovely poem! And how well you recite it!”

“You flatter me too much, Mr. Ambassador. Poetry is just a hobby for me. And, Edward, you know so much about Chinese culture!”

“Jasmine, from the first time I met you I knew you were different from the others. As the Chinese say, ‘After one look at the loftiest mountain, all the other hills look flat.’”

What a naive foreigner, and a Consul General at that! If only he knew how different I was: That I could throw knives with deadly accuracy. That I was skilled in having sex in the most contorted positions possible. That I was indeed an orphan but rescued from the orphanage, not because of anyone’s compassion, but, on the contrary, to be trained as an assassin.

After more compliments bouncing back and forth between us like Ping-Pong balls, Edward suggested we go down into the salon for a late lunch. From the galley he took a platter of cold snacks, placed them on the center table, and we began to eat. When he was busy consuming his shrimp, chicken, beef, or whatnot, I took the chance to look around.

The room was decorated with old charts and paintings of Chinese junks. A wooden shelf was filled with books, held in by an elastic cord. On one wall was mounted a miniature Chinese dragon boat.

The dragon boat reminded me of what I had read about the Chinese luxury boats of the past. The wealthy would invite a select few to enjoy their aquatic paradise. The guest list might include close friends, celebrities, high monks, talented scholars, beauties, and honest merchants. The last category always amused me. If there are “honest” merchants, are there also “sincere” spies like me, “on the house,” or on the boat, courtesans, “compassionate” gangsters? What about “spiritual” monks, who ate meat, drank wine, and seduced women?

These rich people’s boats were lavishly decorated with lanterns, ribbons, and latticed windows. In these pleasant surroundings, the honorable guests would engage in sipping aromatic tea, or expensive wine, dancing, doing calligraphy, reciting poetry, and meditating on the ever-changing waves. The boats were given names based on their unique shapes, like Gourd or Banana Leaf, or poetic images, like Swallow’s Garden, Jade Pavilion, Pine Grove….

I wondered, in a past life, was I a courtesan entertaining on one of these luxurious boats? Had my past karma led me to be gliding over the water with a high official on his beautiful yacht? I inhaled the clean air, imagining myself living in the purity of tall mountains, far away from this dusty world. But sadly, reality always paints a different picture.

My life was a boat drifting on a limitless expanse of water—when would it land on the shore?