Mingmei Yip - The Nine Fold Heaven

I sighed inside.

Jinying cast me a worried look. “Are you all right, Camilla?”

I acknowledged his worry with a tense smile.

Wang’s honorable guests were busy socializing between sips of champagne, imported liquor , mao-tai, wine, and aromatic tea, and so I was relieved that no one seemed to pay us any attention. As on the outside of the restaurant, red banners covered with auspicious couplets and fresh flowers were everywhere. But I didn’t see the little poem that I intended to change from good luck to bad:

However, I was encouraged by another sign from heaven. Hanging on the wall was a huge character shou, “longevity,” made from flowers and flanked by two red candles. Perhaps no one else noticed, but to me the dripping wax looked very much like bloody tears. What a bad omen, I hoped—for Wang. Right beneath the longevity character was a long table piled high with lavish gifts—a jade sculpture of the god of immortality, a gold bat for fortune, a huge marble plaque inscribed with lucky sayings, Chinese scrolls with paintings and calligraphy by famous artists…. Even the gifts seemed to be competing to get Wang’s attention.

Finally, I spotted Wang’s table in the center of the hall, the only one decorated in red—the color of good luck. A man who might be Master Lung sat at his table flanked by two muscular men—bodyguards, obviously. At the same table were three women, their age ranging from twenties to sixties—his old and young wives. His grown children, their wives, and grandchildren were scattered among different tables close to his.

If the old man sitting at the red table was really Master Lung—the once most powerful crime lord—then only his shadow was left. He looked more like a corpse than a living man. I felt a tug at my heart. Because when a man is at the height of his power, Chinese believe he can:

Just a few months ago, Master Lung had almost this much power. Now he looked more like a homeless person than someone who could give orders even to the police chief.

I didn’t tell Jinying that I spotted his father. Because I was not one hundred percent sure. Also I feared that he’d dash to Lung impulsively and spoil our plan.

In the distance, I saw Wang standing next to a plump, wealthy-looking man at a nearby table. The two shook hands, then both held up glasses of champagne and toasted each other. The plump man looked familiar to me and I suddenly realized he was the Mayor of Shanghai. Wang looked around at the assembled guests, then spotted me. He subtly nodded his head toward the red table in the middle.

Just then, a pretty woman in a high-slit cheongsam began to perform on the stage. In a high soprano voice, she sang excerpts from Beijing operas. I thought that if things had worked out differently, it might be me singing on that stage. I realized that Wang must arranged for the entertainment to begin at this moment so as to distract the guests from the transaction he was about to carry out with me. Good. This was exactly what I wanted too. So as the girl continued to sing while performing the elegant bodily movements and hand gestures of Beijing opera, I discreetly led Jinying to Wang’s table. When he tried to talk to me, I held my finger before my lips so as not to interfere with my carefully worked out scheme.

When we arrived at Wang’s table he stood up and shook our hands enthusiastically, for the benefit of his guests, as if we were his esteemed friends.

In reality, I had no doubt that he wanted to shoot Jinying and me on the spot.

“Welcome to my birthday party!” he shouted as we congratulated him enthusiastically, and I recited the lucky couplet—meant only to be lucky for Jinying and me.

There were now nine of us at the table: Wang, the old man, two bodyguards, three women, Jinying, and me. I was sure that Wang had already warned the women to keep their mouths shut, no matter what happened. That explained why they kept their eyes lowered and didn’t greet us, but ate and drank silently, hands reaching busily for the delicacies in little dishes in front of them.

Jinying and I sat down. Now I could see that the man was indeed Lung. Tinted glasses were perched precariously on his nose, and a hat was pulled down low to half-cover his face, props so that no one would recognize him. He seemed to have aged so much and lost so much weight that it was hard to believe that not long ago he was the seemingly invincible head of the notorious Flying Dragons.

Jinying immediately attended to his father. He took Lung’s hand, touched his forehead, then whispered something comforting in his ear that I couldn’t hear. Lung’s cheeks were so sunken that his eyes, once like a tiger’s, now bulged like those of a dead fish. Wang must have tortured him relentlessly to destroy his spirit. Sadly, he had no response to his only son’s solicitude.

Jinying said heatedly to Wang, “What have you done to my father?”

Wang sneered. “Lower your voice and cool off, young man. Consider yourself lucky that you have your father back with all his limbs, fingers, toes, eyes, and ears.” He turned to his former rival and said sarcastically, “Right, brother?”

Fearing my hotheaded lover’s shock would lead him to do something to spoil our plan, I leaned over to him. “Jinying, please control yourself. Don’t spoil our plan. We’ll have our revenge in just a few minutes.”

He nodded, his face grief-stricken.

Leaving Jinying to his misery for the moment, I turned to Wang. “Congratulations, Big Brother Wang. What an impressive banquet with all these important guests, and wonderful music too!”

Wang gave me his dirtiest look and said menacingly, “Cut the crap. Did you bring the seal?”

“What seal and who is she”—the youngest of his concubines asked with one cheek bulging with food, then pointed to Jinying—“and who’s he?”

Wang growled at the poor woman. “Shut up! You forget I told you to keep your mouth shut tonight? When I speak, you just listen!”

The girl looked stunned, then lowered her head to play with her handkerchief. The two other women dropped their heads even lower to stare at their dresses.

That’s why Rainbow Chang’s column never lacked for fresh material—the flow of juicy gossip can never be stopped. At least not permanently. But talking does stop when there’s a knife pressing on your throat or a gun pointing at your head. Better stop talking for a few minutes than be silent forever.

I faked a sweet smile. “Big Brother Wang, you know well that we came to collect Jinying’s father.”

Wang leaned close to me and lowered his voice. “Now cut the chatter. Where’s my seal?”

“I don’t have it.”

“Is this a joke? You want to stay alive?”

His two bodyguards looked alert. One even placed his hand on his holster, ready for action.

I knew well it was an empty threat, for even a gangster would not kill during his own birthday party. So I took my sweet time, just to enjoy the chance to torment my former boss.

“Big Brother Wang, besides the bulletproof Mercedes, which you haven’t seen yet, I’ve also prepared something very special for your birthday. You may be surprised that I am being so nice. But believe it or not, I do feel an obligation to you. After all, you rescued me from that horrible orphanage and made me into a famous singer.”

As always, Wang loved being flattered. “Ha! That’s my girl, even though I taught you not to have affection”—he cast Jinying a disgusted look—“let alone love.”