The Girl with No Face

by M. H. Boroson

  I addressed Horse-head. The rules of Hell were arcane, intricate, and legalistic, a bureaucracy lubricated by bribery. My father made me study the laws of the afterlife, thousands of pages of legal tomes. I never knew I’d need them in a situation like this.

  “She was created to fulfill a ghost wife’s function,” I said. “But was a wedding ceremony officiated? She can still leave unless they’ve been formally married.”

  “They are married,” he said. “The wedding ceremony was performed by the man who burned the paper and made her.”

  I drew myself up to my full height. Though I was far from tall, I still took a regal pose, imitating my father’s. My voice commanding, imitating my father’s. “I invoke the power of the Jade Emperor, by my authority as a Maoshan Nu Daoshi of the Fourth Ordination, Eighty-First Generation of the Linghuan lineage, I declare their marriage annulled. Quickly, quickly,” I finished the proclamation, “for it is the Law!”

  The Mamian did not seem impressed. Behind him, the red rat cackled. “You sought to annul my master’s marriage? You, Ordained only to the Fourth? Woman, the man who made this girl and proclaimed her my master’s wife is a Daoshi of the Seventh. No human being has greater spiritual authority.”

  “The Seventh Ordination?” I felt cold, and sorrowful. “What sect and lineage? What generation?”

  “Maoshan sect, Linghuan lineage,” he said, his rodent grin triumphant. “Eightieth Generation.”

  At his words, I felt lost, and ashamed. Every thread of my life had led me here, to this moment, when I was powerless to save this little girl from a ghost husband who seemed cruel and domineering. A Maoshan Daoshi, the Eightieth Generation of the Linghuan lineage, who holds the Seventh Ordination. In all the world, there was only one of those. The same man made both of us. My head hung low.

  Still, my mind raced, seeking a solution. My memories ran through all those documents I had studied.

  “Does she have a name?”

  “No,” Horse-head told me.

  I nodded. “If she has no name, then how can she be married?”

  “What do you mean?” said the rat.

  “The Daoshi who declared them married must have issued a marriage license. Whose names were written there?”

  “Don’t be preposterous, priestess,” the rat-boy snarled. “My master’s name was written on it.”

  Earlier I had tried to fill my proclamation with authority, my voice with power. This time I rushed through, running the words together. “I invoke the power of the Jade Emperor, by my authority as a Maoshan Nu Daoshi of the Fourth Ordination, Eighty-First Generation of the Linghuan lineage, I proclaim that this burnt paper offering will be named Xian Meimei. Quickly, quickly, for it is the Law.”

  There was silence at the street corner, and a low murmur of wind. Eventually, the ox-headed guard spoke.

  “Her name is now Xian Meimei,” he said.

  “The name Xian Meimei was not written on the marriage license,” Horse-head said.

  “This is absurd,” said the rat-boy. “No quirk of the law can dissolve a marriage.”

  “In the absence of devotion, a marriage is made of laws,” I said.

  Ox-head said, “I do not think this is proper jurisprudence. I think they are still husband and wife, and that means she is his property.”

  “You think so?” I said. “But you are not certain?”

  His gaze was cold. “No,” he admitted. “I cannot be sure.”

  “Very well then,” I said. The intractability of the afterlife’s bureaucracy could work in my favor. The stories told of people waiting centuries for a court date. “By my authority, I demand a hearing with the Bureau of Underworld Affairs.”

  I heard a sharp intake of breath. “Do you know what you are asking, woman?”

  “I do.”

  “You place your higher soul on the line, should the judges decide against you. And I do not believe legal precedent is on your side.”

  “I know,” I said.

  “Her husband is a man of wealth in the hereafter,” said the ox-head. “He will be able to bribe the judges. Do you know what happened to the soul of Xi Fangping when he faced a corrupt judge?”

  I swallowed. “Yes, Niutou, I read it in the Liaozhai tales. First the bailiffs beat him with a whip, then they strapped him naked to an iron rack which they submerged in a pool of lava. After that, they sawed him in half, starting at his face and his crotch.”

  “Knowing this, Priestess,” he said, “you still want to go forward with this claim? Knowing that you run the risk of whippings, lava baths, getting sawn in half?”

  My throat felt dry, but still I spoke out loud. “I do. And I ask that Xian Meimei be remanded into my custody until a hearing can be convened.”

  Gan Xuhao snarled. “This woman is just trying to manipulate the law. She knows it will probably take hundreds of years before the Bureau can get to this case.”

  “What of it?” I said, annoyed that he had perceived my plan. “It might inconvenience you, but one does not circumvent Hell’s laws for convenience’ sake.”

  “Daonu Xian Li-lin interprets the laws correctly,” said the ox-head. “Yet she has no claim as a custodian. Petition the Bureau of Underworld Affairs to hear your case, Daonu. The Officers will determine what should be done with the being named Xian Meimei. Until then, she is to remain in the custody of the Ghost Magistrate.”

  My mind raced, furiously. I could think of no further legalisms I could use as weapons. “Niutou and Mamian, I address you. Swear to me you will protect Meimei until the hearing.” I raised my weapon.

  The animal heads gazed at each other. I could not tell what messages passed in silence.

  “We will do our best, Daonu.”

  “Even if it directly contradicts the orders of the Ghost Magistrate?”

  I saw from their bearings that I was asking a great deal of them. They considered their master a route to redemption; if the Investiture were completed, he would have the ability to offer amnesty for any minor transgression or petty crime. And yet a sense of honor guided them, gave them pride and dignity, and I was asking them to potentially be forced to choose between doing what was right and achieving their dreams.

  I watched them consider their options, balance their honor against the possible consequences. It was a tragic position to occupy, and I felt for them.

  “Put down your sword, priestess,” the guard said.

  “Promise me you will keep her safe and I will lower my sword.”

  “Priestess, you realize you pose no threat to us?” the horse-head said. There was no contempt in his voice or his mannerisms; he was simply making sure I understood the situation.

  “You’re wrong, Mamian,” I said. “I may not be able to harm you. But if you try to take Meimei without promising to protect her, then you will need to kill me. And murdering a Daoist priestess is a crime not even a Tudi Gong could pardon. Your hope of redemption will be lost forever.”

  “You are willing to die for this paper child?”

  “I am,” I said simply.

  The horse-headed guard turned a curious eye to me. “Why did you give the girl your own family name?”

  “I have my reasons,” I said.

  “And the personal name ‘Meimei’?” the ox-headed guard said. “Why did you name her ‘Younger Sister’?”

  I stayed silent.

  “You have chosen to risk much for a being you never met before tonight,” the horse-head said. “You are willing to die; you are placing your soul on the line in a legal battle. Why?”

  “She could have fled, with me as her shield, but she chose not to. When the rat threatened my life, she tried to go to him, because she did not want to see me harmed. She was willing to sacrifice herself for me, so should I not be prepared to offer my life for hers? This should not be hard to understand. Is there no one you would be willing to die for? Would you die for each other?”

  The guardsmen glanced at each other, and in their look, I saw much.
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br />   “Listen to me,” I said, my voice soft but urgent. “If you promise to protect this girl, even if it means defying your master’s orders, you will find me in your debt.”

  “Is that supposed to mean a great deal? You only hold the Fourth Ordination.”

  “Entering a reciprocal relationship with a Daoshi, even one of low ranking, even a female one, can mean a lot,” I said, “if that Daoshi understands your secrets.”

  The former Hell Guards went still. I saw them struggle against their inclination to glance toward each other.

  “What is she talking about?” the rat-boy said. “What secrets?”

  “Priestess,” the horse-head said, ignoring Gan Xuhao, “is this blackmail?”

  “No,” I said. “I am offering my help, if you ever need it.”

  “Very well,” the ox-head said, slow and deliberate. “You have our bond. We will return the spirit-child Xian Meimei to the Ghost Magistrate’s custodianship, and we will protect her to the best of our ability until the Bureau of Underworld Affairs convenes a hearing, even if it means defying direct commands of the Ghost Magistrate.”

  I nodded to them, then turned around and squatted to see face-to-face, or face-to-facelessness, with the spirit girl. “Your name is Xian Meimei,” I told her. “If I had a younger sister, that would be what I would call her. Do you like that?”

  She nodded.

  “I am glad,” I said. “I have done as much as I can for you here. I wish I could do more, but I think you will be safe with the Niutou and Mamian protecting you. I will find a way to annul your marriage and set you free.”

  She nodded.

  “For now,” I said, “you must go with them. I promise you, Little Sister, I will find you, soon.”

  She nodded. She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around me—it took a moment to realize I was being hugged—and then she pulled back from me and walked, bravely I thought, toward the immense, beast-headed, armored creatures who’d spent centuries guarding the gates of Hell. The jade eyes of the red rat goblin in black silk robes sparkled in the cold starlight.

  Together the four of them walked away in silence, into night, into mist and void, sorrow and memory. I found myself thinking of departures, voyages, and farewells, my last glance toward China as I embarked on a steamer across the sea.

  That girl with no face, Xian Meimei, my “little sister” who had been created as a tool for some nefarious ritual, who had offered herself up to try to protect me, followed obediently behind the spirits, her tiny feet wobbling. She turned a final gaze toward me and though her face was blank I could imagine what a beautiful face it might have been, brave, self-sacrificing, and radiating hope. Who would she be, I wondered, if men had made her more than an object of paper burned to pass into the other world, married to this Ghost Magistrate without a choice in the matter?

  She continued walking, continued turning her head toward me. Distances took her far into the night, into otherworldly depths, and she—carefully, deliberately—dropped a sheet of paper behind her.

  TWELVE

  Iwaited until the night had closed its fist around the departing spirits, and then I waited a minute longer, before I went and retrieved the slip of paper Meimei had dropped so purposefully.

  The sheet was small, the size of a talisman, and it had been folded and unfolded many times, as if someone had obsessively examined it. It existed only in the world of spirits; it was the ghost of a note.

  Rows and columns of numbers had been written in tiny, bird-scratch penmanship, along with symbols: semicircles and arcs, sequences of dots, arrayed on the same lineless graph as the numbers. Only a few written characters were legible, intelligible, clustered into odd phrases, but the words taken together made no sense.

  “What does it say, Li-lin?”

  “Mostly numbers. A chart of some kind.”

  “And the words?”

  “Just meaningless phrases, Mr. Yanqiu. ‘Fourth Floor Embassy,’ ‘Yin Platform,’ ‘Five Elements Mountain,’ ‘Ghost Yamen Station,’ and some others.”

  “Do any of those terms mean anything to you, Li-lin?”

  “Not in the slightest, Mr. Yanqiu.”

  “What does ‘Yamen’ mean?”

  “A yamen is a regional compound for the Chinese government,” I said. “Each region will have a governor, and the governor’s estate has armed guards, a police force, courts of law, a hall of records, and so on. A yamen is like a miniature city built around the governor’s palace.”

  “So ‘Ghost Yamen’ refers to a government compound . . . Isn’t an Embassy a government building too?”

  “Yes, Mr. Yanqiu.”

  “What is the purpose of an Embassy?”

  “It’s a place where different governments meet to negotiate things.”

  “What about this ‘Fourth Floor Embassy’?”

  “Another oddity, Mr. Yanqiu,” I said. “The number four is considered unlucky, so buildings tend not to have a fourth floor; they skip from the third to the fifth.”

  “Is China’s Embassy in San Francisco like that?”

  “It doesn’t need to skip the number four,” I said, “seeing as it only has three floors.”

  “So ‘Fourth-Floor Embassy’ doesn’t refer to China’s local embassy,” he said. “Could it be a place where the spirit world negotiates with the world of the living?”

  “Without my father’s knowledge? That would be forbidden.”

  “They said Meimei had been created by a Daoshi of the Seventh Ordination, the Eightieth Generation of the Maoshan Linghuan lineage . . .”

  “And there’s only one of those. I know. My father created her as a paper offering, and for some reason he left her face blank. He would not knowingly be a participant in the plans of the Ghost Magistrate; he would not tolerate a ritual that sent a vampire tree into Xu Anjing.”

  “So you think his participation was unintentional?”

  “Yes,” I said. “I think someone paid him to create Meimei with a blank face, without him knowing she was going to be used in some sinister ritual, and paid him as well to perform a wedding ceremony between her and the Ghost Magistrate.”

  “If that’s true, then your father has most of the information you need.”

  “How so, Mr. Yanqiu?”

  “To perform the ritual, he would’ve needed more information than just the phrase ‘Ghost Magistrate,’” the eyeball said. “The Ghost Magistrate is being Invested, unlawfully, as this region’s City God . . .”

  “And my father knows his name,” I said. “He just needs to realize the connection.”

  “And also, someone hired him.”

  I nodded. “We knew there was someone, a living person, performing the rituals—the Rite of Investiture and the hex that killed Xu Anjing with a vampire tree. And that person paid my father to burn this paper offering for the Ghost Magistrate to marry.”

  “So, the next step is, share information with your father?”

  “Actually, Mr. Yanqiu, the next step is to sleep. It’s past midnight, I’m exhausted, and also, I suspect my father would not appreciate being awakened.”

  In dead of night I walked back to the building where I now lived. Standing nearby, looking like some lost dove with a damaged wing, a white man stood in rumpled clothing and an opiate cloud. A dissolute wreck of what had once been human, waiting for his most recent kiss from the black tar to burn its way through his system before returning for the next.

  I passed the pale man in his opium haze, ducked under an awning, knocked a secret rhythm on a recessed door, waited for the slot to slide open and the eyes of one of my boss’s men to appear, blink at me, and decide to admit me.

  He ushered me into the entry area, which had roughly the same size and fragrance of a barrel of manure, then up a rickety flight of stairs. At the top of the stairwell the process repeated: I tapped out a different knocking rhythm, waited for a different pair of eyes, and was admitted into the hall where my sleeping quarters were.

  Thi
s level of security was perpetual. I could not come or go without undergoing the scrutiny of professional criminals. None of this was for my safety, of course; it was because my quarters were next door to the room shared by my boss and his family.

  No one knew how many assassination attempts had been made on my boss. When he’d been an up-and-coming criminal, many powerful men had tried to rid themselves of the troublemaker with the ridiculous name, only to find themselves losing their territories or their lives to the giggling wrongdoer who’d chosen to name himself after a vegetable.

  No one knew why the ambitious upstart gangster selected the name. But I had seen for myself, repeatedly, as men underestimated him due to his clownish garb, manic mannerisms, and silly name. Often they would lose everything and wonder how they could have been so thoroughly outsmarted and outgunned by the fool who called himself Bok Choy.

  Anyone who approached the master bedroom would have to go past mine, and I was, in theory, his bodyguard. Frequently he brought me with him when he went out in public. He’d flaunt around Chinatown with his wife—a tall and strikingly beautiful woman who wore American makeup and hairstyles, and wore them exquisitely—on one arm, and a dour Daoist priestess on the other. To passersby he appeared to be a man swaggering along with a pair of young women at his beck and call; but I was there to keep them safe, from men and spirits.

  Now, my footsteps heavy, I half-asleep dragged myself down the dim hallway toward my tiny quarters.

  My door hung open. Light was glowing inside my room.

  Shocked into alertness, I dug for my rope dart, hardening my fist into Eagle Claw. I needed to take the intruder by surprise, so I held my breath, lightened my weight with qinggong, and sprang into my room, making no sound.

  My rigid fist stopped an inch from the startled face of my boss’s wife.

  “Mrs. Choy,” I said, feeling tensions flow out of my body. “What are you doing here in the middle of the night?”