Mingmei Yip - The Nine Fold Heaven

“Some restaurant in the French Concession. So please, can you come play with me now?”

Her voice emitted a sweet quality rarely heard in the orphanage, and her face and manner were strangely appealing.

“All right, but not too long.”

She took my hand and dragged me along excitedly, bumping into furniture and corners. Suddenly, I realized that this little girl was nearly blind and that this was the reason for the thick glasses.

Now I took more care to guide her along, descending the stairs and out the back door until we finally reached a deserted area of the yard that was hidden behind rocks and trees.

I’d never noticed it during my years here. Perhaps because my favorite place was the library, which was equally deserted since few of the orphans had any interest in reading. They put all their effort into learning to act polite and cute in the hope that they’d be adopted by a good, preferably rich, family. But sadly, this was mostly fantasy, because no rich people ever came here looking for sons or daughters to adopt.

I looked around the courtyard. Stinking of rotten vegetation, it was surrounded by short walls along which crawled withered branches with a few leaves struggling to hang on. Discarded cartons and broken furniture were scattered here and there.

I asked, “Little friend, but there’s nothing here, so how do you want to play? You have some game in mind?”

Her answer surprised me yet again. “I’ll sing you a song.”

I led her to sit with me on an empty bench under a few malnourished branches.

“All right, little friend. Go ahead.”

She stood back up, struck a pose like a professional singer, tilted her head toward the gloomy sky, and began:

After this, she went on to sing another one:

I felt a shock of recognition—these were my two signature songs from Bright Moon Nightclub! How could she possibly have heard them? But her voice was so pleasing and the nostalgic feeling so pleasant that I half closed my eyes to let the soothing tunes wrap me like a silk cocoon.

Unaware of my reaction, the little girl continued to sing with full force, until she came to the final lines:

When she finished, I felt touched beyond words. Not only she was singing my two most popular songs, she imitated my voice almost to perfection! Just liked I imitated my teacher Madame Lewinsky’s. Of course, this little girl could have no idea what the words meant. I turned so she wouldn’t see me blinking back tears, thinking of how her innocence would one day be lost. But I was a little worried, too; if she recognized I was the heavenly songbird whose voice she was imitating and told any of the adults at the orphanage, I’d be in serious trouble.

I calmed myself and asked, “Little friend, your singing is beautiful. Anyone teaches you to sing like this?”

She shook her head. “I learned it from listening.”

“Listening? To whom?”

“Records.”

“But you’re an orphan here, how could you have a gramophone?”

In Shanghai, owning a gramophone was a rare luxury enjoyed only by the rich.

“Director Chen’s office. She always asks me to do chores there.”

“Do you know who this singer is?”

“Of course,” she was not looking at me when she talked, but in the distance, “she is the famous Heavenly Songbird Camilla! Director Chen has all her records and plays them all the time. She also said that Miss Camilla used to live right here in this orphanage. Director Chen is very proud of her. I hope someday I can be a famous singer, too, just like Camilla!”

I said, “Little friend, you have a beautiful voice like Camilla’s. I’m also a great fan of hers and know all her songs—”

“You do?” she asked excitedly, still not looking at me.

“Yes.” I paused, then said, “Little friend, I’ve got to go now.”

I felt bad right after I said this. I knew I could bring this poor, lonely child a few moments of happiness by singing for her, but I didn’t feel I could take the chance.

So I just said, “Good luck with your singing, little friend.”

But could there be any good luck in this appalling institution? The best one could hope for was dreary days with enough food and no punishment.

She pulled at my sleeve. “No, Big Sister, please don’t leave me like this!”

Wah, what a demanding child.

She kept tugging on my sleeve. “Please, you have to sing me a song.”

“What makes you think that I can sing?”

“Of course you can.”

“How are you so sure?”

“From your voice. Please, Big Sister.”

“Sorry, my friend, but I think I should go.”

“There’s no one here. Please, I know you can sing.”

She looked so eager and miserable at the same time. So I decided to grant her this one wish, since not many wishes are granted in an orphanage. Anyway, I wouldn’t be seeing her again.

I looked around to make sure no one was within earshot. “All right, little friend, any particular song you want to hear?”

“‘Everyone Has Parents, But I Don’t.’”

I was surprised by her choice. “Why would you want to hear this one?”

“You know why.”

Yes, what a stupid question. Of course, because she was an orphan who missed her parents.

I meditated, circulated my internal qi through my body, then slowly began:

After I finished, the little girl immediately followed by singing another of my popular songs: “It’s Rare We Can Be Together.”

Then we sang together:

A little orphan and the Heavenly Songbird singing together, with our qi blending harmoniously!

“Little friend, what’s your name and how old are you?”

“Peiling. I’m twelve.”

Probably because of not getting enough food, she looked much younger, maybe eight or nine.

“Peiling, you’re a very good girl and a wonderful singer. But you can sing even better.”

“So, are you going to teach me?”

Somehow her straightforwardness both surprised and impressed me. Only a short time together, I already felt a bond with her—a pleasant feeling, but for me a dangerous one. I could not forget the lessons of my spy training—never let yourself develop feelings for anyone or anything.

So I said, “Peiling, I’m afraid I don’t have time.”

But little as she was, she would not take no for an answer. “Please, Big Sister, it’s very lonely and miserable here…” Her voice trailed off like the wisps of incense smoke in an empty temple.