Mingmei Yip - The Nine Fold Heaven

I nodded, taking out my last, most precious and treasured knife. “Gao, please keep this for protection and as my token of love for you.”

Among the few knives I had, this was special. It was decorated with silver, gold, and precious gems—ruby, crystal, malachite. Lung had given it to me—I suspected, though he never admitted it, that it had come from the body of one of his many victims. Sometimes I thought of the knife as itself like a beautiful skeleton woman, able to destroy men and topple countries. I could not stay with Gao, yet I hoped that my knife would both help him defend himself and remind him of our love.

The bodyguard’s face lit up as he caressed the knife’s hilt. “Camilla, I will keep this with me every day that I live. Even if I’m destitute, I’ll never pawn or sell it. I will treasure this as I have treasured you.”

Fascinated by the sharp blade, he suddenly spun and stabbed it into the tree trunk he had been leaning on.

Then he touched my cheek with his big, rough hand. “You heard the saying that a hero will protect three villages, a dog its three neighbors? As long as I’m still breathing on this earth, I’ll love and protect you as much as I can.”

I was greatly moved by this sentiment. Not that I thought he could really protect me from all the evil people now out to get me, but because he was so unlike the others who cared for me only if I could be useful in their tortuous schemes. In my world, decency was unexpected. Life, as the Chinese phrase it, is like “a broad landscape with winding bridges and tall mountains”—one never knows what is around the next turn.

Gao took the knife and put it inside his pocket. He held his hand out to help me up onto a big boulder underneath the tree, then sat beside me. It was getting dark and chilly, so I tightened my thin blouse around my chest. Poor Gao looked upset that he didn’t have anything to offer me to protect myself from the cold. So he wrapped his arm around my shoulder. We remained silent, savoring these moments, wondering if they would be our last ones together.

The consulate building stood silent and majestic in the distance. Its many lights resembled spying eyes, watching Gao’s and my every move.

But I ignored the spying and asked, “Gao, I’ve always wondered, how come you’re still alone? I’m sure lots of women have wanted you.”

He sighed. “Camilla, you’re the only woman I care about. My wife’s very cold, distant, and proper—”

“I didn’t know that you’re married!”

“It was an arranged marriage. I never loved her and she knew that from the beginning. My family tried to get me a second wife, but none of the girls were to my taste. Too young and frightened, as if I might torture them at any moment. I’m married, but I also live like a single man.”

“Did you… go to the turquoise pavilions?”

Turquoise pavilions were high-class establishments where the ladies, though available, were well versed in the four literary arts of music, poetry, painting, and calligraphy.

“I did. But never after I met you. I just lost interest in these women who have lost their hearts.”

“But, Gao, I, too, am a bad person, very bad.” Although I love two men—not only you, but Jinying—I was also intimate with an ambassador only a few days ago. But I swallowed my self-accusation.

He pulled me to him and kissed me deeply; then his hand reached to pull up my dress.

I was mumbling between his mouthful attacks. “Gao, stop, what do think you’re doing? This is not a safe place and we’ve already let our guard down. Someone might come out from the building anytime to take a walk here.”

But the bodyguard ignored my warning.

“Camilla,” he went on, unzipping his pants, “we have no idea if we’ll see each other again, nor how long we’ll live….”

His voice trailed off as I felt his ballooning sex, like a mischievous snake slithering around the hole to which it wanted desperately to return. Soon we were lying on the mud and grass kissing, groping, squeezing, shaking, as in the midst of our living hell we entered our temporary sexual paradise.

Just after we finished our frantic pleasure, an explosion slashed the night air, followed by the sounds of shattering glass and collapsing walls. My ears rang as they had during the shoot-out in Master Lung’s villa. We quickly pulled on our clothes and looked around to see where the startling bang had come from.

Gao whispered heatedly to my ear. “Camilla, leave right now before it’s too late!”

“But what about you?”

“I’ll take care of myself, leave.” He gave me a push, but I stalled.

“Gao… don’t do this to me again, I beg you…”

I was referring to my previous escape from Shanghai when he’d just pushed me onto the ship and driven away.

He gave me another push, this time harder. “Go. Now.”

I was becoming hysterical. “But why, Gao? Didn’t you just ask me to run away with you?”

“Not now. Someone may have guessed that I would come to the consulate for protection. And they do this to threaten the consulate not to take me in.”

Just then another loud sound—it could only be a bomb to be so loud—followed by firing of guns.

I screamed, “Gao, Gao!”

But amidst the clamor, Lung’s former bodyguard had already vanished into the dense smoke, making it hopeless for me to find him. Nor did it seem like a good idea to visit my friend, the Consul General. Because of the bombing, the place would be swarming with police and reporters. So I took advantage of the darkness to sneak out of the wooded area, walk a short distance, then climb onto a rickshaw, my collar pulled up over my face as if to keep out the smoke.

The next morning, I flipped through several newspapers and ran across Rainbow Chang’s article:

Last night’s bombing at the American Consulate has police out in full force to investigate. Who could possibly be behind an embassy bombing? It is very unlikely it was our government, for they are trying to be friends with the Americans, not to provoke them by starting a war.

There are only two possibilities: It’s either a random act of communists or anarchists, or gangsters who don’t like the new Consul General Edward Miller’s idea of cleaning up Shanghai.

Girls from my Pink Skeleton Empire and I are on the case.

As I read this, a chill descended my spine. If Rainbow was right, did it mean that the life of my possible savior, Edward Miller, was in danger?

Fortunately, none of the newspapers wrote about the other day’s failed execution and Hong Bin’s, that is, Gao’s, disappearance. I figured that Police Chief Li blocked the story. Li would shoot himself in the face if the news leaked out to make him lose face.

There was no mention of Gao in Rainbow’s story neither. Had he been able, like me, to slip away unnoticed, or had he been caught by the police? What was my chance of ever seeing him again, or even learning his fate? I buried my face in the pillow and sobbed.

Since there was nothing I could do to find out if Gao was all right, the next step was to see about Edward. So the following morning I made my way to the Consul General’s mansion, only to find that the whole building was cordoned off. Consulate staff, guards, and reporters milled around under the watchful eyes of policemen, who occupied themselves scribbling notes, snapping pictures, or yelling at onlookers to step back. There was no hope of getting close to the building, let alone being allowed in.

Back in the hotel, I called Emily and asked about her boss.

The governess’s worried voice brushed my eardrum. “Miss Chen, so glad to hear from you!”