Mingmei Yip - The Nine Fold Heaven

“But, Jinying, there’s something else I haven’t told you yet.”

“What is it? Something bad?” A look of apprehension spread over his face.

“No, actually it’s good. I’m pretty sure that our son, Jinjin, is alive.”

His eyes became as round as two jumbo marbles. “That’s impossible!”

“No, a miracle.”

He leaped from the bed and strode around the room. “Our Jinjin is alive and we’ll soon be a happy family! You’re sure we’re not dreaming?”

I went on to tell Jinying how Madame Lewinsky discovered she had cancer and would die soon. She entered the Sacred Heart Convent to spend her last days atoning for what she had done and let the nuns arrange for our baby to be adopted.

Jinying came back to sit on the bed beside me, sighing. “But, Camilla, even if Jinjin is alive, how will we ever find him?”

“That’s what I’ve been worrying about. But I have determined I will not leave Shanghai until I have little Jinjin safely in my arms.”

Jinying looked alternately happy and sad. “Did they tell you who adopted Jinjin?”

“No, the abbess Sister Mary Stone said it’s confidential. I can understand that, because there’s no way I can prove I am really Jinjin’s mother.”

We fell silent for a few moments; then I suddenly thought of something. “Jinying, why did you put up the poster asking for Jinjin on the orphanage’s wall?”

“You told me that Jinjin was a stillborn, but somehow in my desperation I kept thinking that maybe he’s alive somewhere. And if he is, he’d either be adopted or living inside an orphanage. That’s why I went there to look, but, of course, I couldn’t tell if any of the babies were ours. So I posted the flyer as my last hope—and to vent my anger and sadness. Camilla, do you have any idea where our baby might be?”

“Not now, but somehow we’ll find out.”

I searched Jinying’s sad face. “Jinying, there’s still… one more thing.”

His expression told me that he feared that this time it would really be something bad.

“Besides finding Jinjin, I need to settle a score with Wang.”

“What score? I think you already did. Besides, we’re lucky we escaped unhurt. Why don’t we just forget about the past and leave Shanghai as soon as we can?”

“But I can’t.”

“Please, Camilla, forget about revenge. Yes, he abused and used you, but he also made you the most famous singer in Shanghai.”

“Jinying, my parents didn’t die in a car crash as Wang told me. He murdered them.”

Then I told Jinying it was Jinjin who came into my dream to tell me that. When I woke up, the whole image of my parents being murdered by Wang came back clearly into my mind.

Jinying looked so shocked that I didn’t have the heart to tell him about my plan for revenge. Not tonight.

Just as I was feeling hope seep back into my life now that I had Jinying back, I noticed a strange ad placed in several newspapers.

Young man, your father is still here with us. Come and claim him. Otherwise, we cannot guarantee his future. Call the number below to arrange a meeting.

I would not have paid any attention to the Missing Persons ads that ran in the newspapers every day—a husband looking for a runaway wife, a devoted wife for a gone-with-a-mistress husband, siblings separated for decades, parents of abducted children—except for the slight chance that someone would have placed an ad about a baby who might be Jinjin.

Otherwise, I would never have seen this ad, but when my eyes landed on it, my heart skipped a beat. Although it was signed “Anonymous,” it seemed pretty obvious that this was Big Brother Wang threatening Jinying and me.

Jinying was busy packing since we needed to be ready to change to a different hotel in case we were discovered here. I called Jinying over and showed him the ad.

He immediately exclaimed, “They must have my father! We have to rescue him somehow.” Then he thought for a moment and went on. “Camilla, do you think Wang really has him, or is this just a trick to set us up?” Then, even more agitated, he added, “We need to do something.”

“The problem is, Jinying, we can’t tell if they really have him or not. So I think I should first call to feel things out.”

“But wait a minute. That’s something odd going on here. Wang said that he kidnapped me to lure my father out from his hiding place. So why would he say this if he already had my father?”

I thought hard until a light went off in my head. “I know why! It’s me and the money that Wang wants, not just your father!”

“But didn’t he get everything that night?”

“Yes, but I’d already taken most of the cash and deposited it in Hong Kong. And I have your father’s seal; without that, Wang won’t be able to get his hands on the money.”

Jinying thought for a long time. “I have to try to save him, if he’s really alive. I don’t approve of my father, but what kind of man would I be if I abandon him?”

Of course, after being Lung’s forced mistress, I had little good feeling toward the man and would be quite content leaving him to Wang’s mercy—or lack of it. All that mattered to me was finding Jinjin. But I needed Jinying’s help for this and, since Lung was his father, I could not really expect him to be an unfilial son. So I thought the best way to resume looking for my baby was to deal with the Lung situation as quickly as possible.

We were getting restless, confined in our hotel room. Jinying wanted to go out, but we were both afraid of being spotted by Wang’s men. Then I thought of the Russian café where I had gone in search of Madame Lewinsky—Chinese hardly ever went there. So we finished dressing and set out, trying to blend in with other pedestrians. Jinying had never been there and seemed to relax for a moment as he looked around at the opulent foreign décor. Tea was brought to us immediately. Neither of us was very hungry, so we ordered a plate of pickled fish and thick, dark Russian bread.

After a few bites, we plunged into drumming up plans to save Lung, trying to figure out which might succeed without getting us killed.

Suddenly I remembered Wang’s sixtieth birthday was coming up in two weeks. This would be the excellent chance to meet my boss for the exchange because he would never dare to take on the bad luck of killing someone on his own birthday.

The Chinese word for “birthday” is shengri. Because this also means to live, thrive, or prosper, no Chinese would risk reversing these auspicious words by even saying a word like mousha, “murder,” on his birthday, let alone committing it. To do so would bring curses not only on him, but also on his wives, children, relatives, and friends during their birthdays.

For us these superstitions might be very lucky, since Wang would have to restrain his murderous impulses. I never paid much attention to superstitions but could never have imagined that one day the Chinese superstitious nature would provide me a lucky day for revenge. Or so I hoped.

The next step was the phone call. We took a taxi to Nanking Road, a district that was always so busy and crowded that we could easily merge with the others. When we spotted the first public telephone that was not on a main intersection, we settled with the driver, got off, then went in and paid the attendant for the call.

As expected, a gruff male voice answered, then seconds after I identified myself, Wang’s menacing voice snaked its evil way through the telephone line to my eardrum.

“Huh! I knew you’d call right away. You love the son as much as he loves his father, eh?”

“Sons love their fathers.”

“Hell, no, you don’t.”

“Only because I don’t have one.”