Mingmei Yip - The Nine Fold Heaven

We have just been informed from a reliable source that Big Brother Wang, of whom we have often written in this column, has passed from the underworld to underground. Can the big boss scare the King of Hell? Will the gang wars continue in the realm of the dead? That might be interesting to watch, but we prefer to stay in this world for now. Too bad we can’t place bets on this one!

All of us Chinese believe that red is the luckiest color. Who doesn’t wear red on New Year, give out red envelopes of lucky money, and write auspicious sayings on red paper?

But the “red” in the Red Demons’ name did not bring good fortune to Big Brother Wang, who has early departed for his immortal’s journey. All Shanghai remembers his lavish sixtieth birthday banquet that ended with a bang—actually, many bangs, from a shoot-out. Wang escaped intact, but sickened and died after a few days.

The gang members have been keeping it secret, hoping to continue to use his intimidating name for their various extortions.

The rumor goes that Wang died of food poisoning. But no one else at his table got sick. We’ve heard that he ate a steaming fish on the plate that had been magically transformed on the stage from one swimming in a bowl. Could there be a poisonous relationship between the two fishes? And what about the young couple sitting next to Wang—what were they doing there? My pink-clad girls and myself will try to find out.

Who will be our next number one boss? Place your bets now!

I really had to salute the nerve of this gossip columnist, who did not hesitate even to make fun of a dead person. Didn’t she fear his ghost’s revenge, or that she would offend her superstitious readers? How had she come to suspect that Wang’s death had something to do with the fish? Was she about to reveal the identity of the “young couple”? This possibility was yet one more reason to speed up our departure from Shanghai.

Now that Jinjin had come back to his mama, he no longer appeared to scold me in my dreams. But then I had another kind of disturbing dream.

Under the mysterious moon in a deserted area, like a wandering ghost I slowly approached a red-roofed temple. When I was near its entrance, something sparkling on the ground caught my eye. The object seemed to beg me to take a closer look. It appeared to be a watch with its two hands merging in one indicating midnight. But when I looked closer, I was shocked to see that the watch was worn on the wrist of a severed hand!

I screamed, but my feet felt too paralyzed to run. They were rooted to the ground like the entangled roots of a thousand-year-old tree. As I was wondering what to do, a bald head, shiny in the moonlight, leaned out from the temple door to study me. I couldn’t see the man’s face, but realized from his bald head that he must be a monk.

He asked politely, “You all right, miss?”

I pointed to the ground. “There’s a—”

He interrupted me. “I know, I left it there.”

“Oh…” I felt a jolt. “Do you know what… that is?”

“Of course I do. It’s cold outside. Please come in for tea, if you want to know what it is.”

Hypnotized by his magnetic voice and moonlight-reflecting bald head, I entered the temple.

Inside, two candles burned passionately, as if enjoying their fiery suffering. The monk’s face was hidden in shadow, but I could tell he was square-jawed with nice teeth.

He signaled me to sit, then began to prepare tea. Only then did I notice he used only one hand—the other was missing.

I exclaimed, “Master, your arm…”

“I left it outside.”

“Oh, heaven!” I was terrified. “You chopped off your own hand and left it outside… why?”

But he answered calmly, “I didn’t want to know the time, but I couldn’t get my watch off. So as not to be attached to time, I chopped off my hand with the watch and tossed it outside. Now I’m in peace.”

A most bizarre reason for mutilating oneself! But I knew that sometimes monks or nuns burn off a finger or even a whole arm to offer to the Buddha.

I tried my best to act and sound calm. “But, master, why don’t you want to know time?”

“Time is an illusion. Where I am, there is only the time of no time—”

Completely puzzled by the monk’s “time” talk, I interrupted. “Master, maybe your time is an illusion, but mine isn’t. It’s already past midnight. You are lying. Of course there is time, so there must be a reason that you say it doesn’t exist.”

He raised his arm but realized that both his hand and watch were gone. A heavy sigh escaped from between his lips. “Miss, you’re the first person who is able to see through me right away.”

But instead of telling me the truth, he handed me a cup of tea.

I took a leisurely sip, then blurted out, “Master, this is not tea but heavenly dew!”

“Yes, it is. But I won’t bother by telling you how I climb high mountains to gather it.” He took a sip and sighed. “I want to tell you why I am suffering…”

Before I could respond, he was already speaking. “I did this because of the woman I love. I know I will never again see her beautiful face or feel her heartbeat next to mine. It will never happen, so time means nothing to me.”

“Master, if you don’t mind my impudence. Why don’t you love someone else instead of wasting your time waiting? There are so many beautiful women in the world….”

“Miss, you don’t understand love. Haven’t you heard, ‘After you know the Cang sea, no other water will feel the same; after you experienced the clouds on Mount Wu, no other clouds could even be called clouds’?”

Of course I heard of this phrase alluding to that love you encounter only once in your life. But there is no lack of mountains and sea in this world; in fact, there are too many!

The monk’s eyes were invisible in the shadows, but I could feel the passion burning within him.

“You know the saying, ‘A woman puts on makeup for the man who appreciates her. A hero dies for the one who truly understands him’? I’ll wait for this woman so long as I am alive.”

He took another sip of his tea and went on. “Miss, Emperor Li Shimin slashed his own brother’s throat without feeling a thing. But when his most beloved queen died, his tears flowed endlessly like the Yellow River.”

“Maybe she’s already dead?” This cruel question was to wake the monk from his stupid attachment.

He pointed to his chest. “She lives here forever.”

Feeling I should shake this monk from his attachment, I asked, “Maybe you’re afraid to see her beautiful face turn wrinkled and spotted?”

“Not that, because then my face will match hers. No matter what time does to her, she’ll always be my goddess.”

I felt both pity and admiration for this foolish man. I took another sip of his magical tea and stood up. “Master, thank you for the tea.”

As we reached the door, the moonlight shone on his face.

It was Gao!

I woke up from my disturbing dream and decided to see Gao. Now it was his turn to scold me—to tell me he needed to feel my love one more time before he perished. I looked around the room in the dim light. Peiling, my baby, and his father—the man who was my soon-to-be husband—were all asleep.

I buried my face into the pillow so Jinying would not see my tears and ask me to explain. Why had heaven sent me two men, actually three, to love me instead of one? Just to make my life difficult?