Ruse

by Cindy Pon

  Jason had said she did have the ability to choose, and now her father was being dragged to jail—thrust into the Chinese criminal justice system, which was probably corrupt itself. It’d likely be merciless.

  The thought of Jason knocked Daiyu from her stupor. She messaged her chauffeur, Xiao Wu, who ignored the no-fly zone around Jin Tower amid the chaos and landed the airlimo just twenty feet away. She climbed inside and asked to be taken to the Shanghai University Hospital. He didn’t ask any questions but simply soared upward after the handful of people who still remained in the VIP area scurried out of the limo’s way.

  As they headed away from the Bund, the loud whistling of fireworks filled the air, and a collective gasp rose from the crowds below. Daiyu turned and saw fiery red sparks explode in a plume right behind her, followed by gold and silver florets. Booms reverberated, then more colors splintered the darkened skies: blues, purples, and greens.

  Daiyu watched for as long as she could from the airlimo’s expansive windows.

  It was a fireworks display like Shanghai had never seen—just as her father had promised.

  ZHOU

  I made it to the hospital alive.

  Barely.

  I had lost a lot of blood. The doctors took me straight to the operating room, administered blood transfusions, and opened my abdomen to assess the damage from the gunshot wound. The bullet had only hit me in the intestines, and they were able to remove the damaged portion and stitch me up again without complications.

  It helped that I was young and healthy. It helped that I got damned lucky the bullet hadn’t hit any vital organs or arteries or shattered bone. It helped that I got the best medical care available thanks to Arun’s reputation and newly earned wealth. He told the hospital he would cover everything.

  It helped that I did want to live.

  “Daiyu never left the hospital once,” Lingyi told me after I came to. “Arun had to force her to eat and sleep. Iris went to Daiyu’s suite at the Peninsula and brought her changes of clothing and toiletries.”

  That surprised me. I knew that Iris had never been a fan of Daiyu, and I said as much to Lingyi. “We were all terrified for you, Zhou,” she replied, her eyes suddenly bright with tears. “And it was clear to everyone how much Daiyu cared for you—where her loyalties lay—especially after all she did to help us lock her own father in jail.”

  I learned all this from my friends in my days of recovery in the hospital after my operation.

  But when I finally came to for the first time, it was Daiyu who was there by my side.

  I gained awareness again slowly after the operation, like rising through heavy darkness toward an obscure light. I had never felt so weighted in my own body, bound by pain and tubes and wires. But something familiar prickled the back of my consciousness, and I forced my heavy eyelids open. My eyes felt as if they had been sewn shut. Daiyu stood by the side of my bed, clutching my hand. Her face was wet with tears, and for a moment, I thought I was still in Jin Tower on a stretcher.

  “Daiyu,” I croaked, but couldn’t manage to make it sound like her name.

  “Jason!” Her face lit up, and she swept her free hand over her cheeks, wiping away the tears. “You’re awake.”

  I tried to smile, and then nodded, unsure if my face was working. “How long have I been out?” This time, they actually sounded like words.

  “A few days,” she replied, her gaze never leaving me.

  “Are you all right?” I asked.

  Her brown eyes widened; then she let out a strained laugh. “I didn’t get shot at.”

  I glanced down at myself, tucked beneath white sheets and a blue blanket. Daiyu squeezed my hand, and I suddenly felt tingling in my fingers. “I’ll be all right,” I said.

  “The doctors said you’ll be back to normal in a few weeks.” She stared at our hands. “But for hours”—she drew a shaking breath—“we didn’t know anything. There was blood everywhere. Jason, I was so afraid.” Her chin trembled.

  I squeezed her hand this time. “Hey,” I said. “I made it. I’m here.”

  She nodded, attempting a wavering smile.

  “Come here.” I shifted in the wide hospital bed. Machines beeped and equipment jangled.

  “What are you doing?” Her dark eyebrows drew together.

  I must have been in some luxury wing or somewhere with a private room. The large window showed a tree with bright green leaves outside. An armchair was pulled close to my bed. “Come up.” I released her hand and patted the bed; there was enough space for her.

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea. . . .”

  I patted the bed again and gave her what I hoped was a pleading look. She shook her head in half reprimand but climbed onto the high bed. I raised my right arm, and she tucked herself gently against me, making sure she didn’t jostle any equipment. We settled against each other, and despite how foreign my own body felt, her weight against me was familiar—comforting. I felt content.

  Every part of Daiyu that touched me seemed to bring me more and more back into myself: my chest where she rested her hand, her hip against my hip, our thighs pressed together. She wore denim shorts, and I could feel her warmth even beneath the layers of hospital bedding. I had missed her so much. If it took a gunshot to get me back to this place, back to us being together again, it was worth it.

  She swept her palm in a small circular motion across my chest, careful to avoid my lower left side, where the bullet had hit. “You didn’t use the poison,” she said in a quiet voice. “On my father.”

  “No,” I answered after a long pause. I was tempted, I thought. Instead I asked, “Where is he?”

  “Locked up still,” she replied. “The police are gathering evidence against him. Detective Lu came by the hospital, and I’ll be speaking with her again in a few days. She’s already talked with your friends.”

  “How do you feel about that? Testifying against your own father?”

  “I’m glad he’s finally behind bars,” she said in a low voice. “I knew what the consequences might be when I chose to help you and your friends.” She seemed to struggle with what she wanted to say next. “I’m sorry, Jason. I didn’t mean to lie to you about keeping in touch with him all those months. I knew it would upset you, after all he had done to you and your friends. But—”

  “He’s still your father,” I finished. “I know. I’m sorry too.” I drew her closer to me and kissed her temple, feeling more alert than when I had first woken. She shimmied higher to press her lips against my throat, where my heartbeat pulsed. My face flushed, and I clasped the hand she had placed against my chest with my own. The machine in the hospital room seemed to be making more noise; not a minute later, a nurse poked her head in.

  “Oh,” she said; her eyes widened when she saw us. “I came to check on Mr. Zhou. You called for assistance?”

  I glanced at the button on the side of the hospital bed that I might have pressed by accident in all our shifting around.

  Embarrassed, Daiyu was attempting to slide off the bed, but I brushed my hand down her arm, cajoling her to stay. “I just woke,” I said to the nurse. “And I feel great.”

  She stared at me for a moment, then laughed. “I don’t think this”—she nodded at Daiyu still lying against me—“would be approved by Dr. Gao.”

  I grinned my most charming grin. “Then please don’t tell?”

  The nurse laughed again, shook her head, and closed the door behind her.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  I waited five weeks before trying my first climb on my apartment’s rock wall. My wound had healed easily and fast, leaving a pale, four-inch scar on the lower left side of my abdomen. The doctor had warned against lifting heavy objects for six weeks, even if I was feeling back to normal.

  But I don’t play patient well and was jumping out of my skin unable to lift weights or climb. In the end, I convinced myself that climbing wasn’t actually lifting anything heavy. The belaybot would be taking most of my weight on the
rope.

  The belaybot whirled over, lights blinking eagerly when I called for it. I voice-commanded the most basic configuration on the wall—something I hadn’t done in a long time. I’d take it easy, just like the doctor ordered. My fingers felt thick and clumsy as I put on the equipment, then finally stretched my arms overhead to take the first grip. My muscles strained, unused to the exertion, but I found a foothold and reached for a higher grip, using my legs to push myself upward.

  I wobbled against the wall as I continued to climb higher, the sweat already sliding down my face. By the time I reached the top of the wall, it felt as if I’d hit my limit. I hadn’t been this bad since I had first started climbing years ago. Wiping my damp forehead against my bicep, I craned my neck to assess the overhangs, wondering if I could manage it. I’d have to swing my way across to get to the opposite wall for my descent—something I did without thought before I had been shot.

  It was because I thought I couldn’t do it that I swung myself toward the overhanging bar, wincing. But despite being out of practice, I managed to navigate across the bars, swinging as the belaybot followed my progress below, the ropes moving with me. By the time I scrambled down the opposite wall, my limbs felt like cooked noodles. Still, I couldn’t wipe the grin off my face as I got out of my harness. The belaybot gave me two toots of congratulations, handed me a towel, then wheeled away.

  I swept the towel across my face and chest and was wiping the back of my neck when the apartment door snicked open, and Daiyu came in carrying three boxes piled high for our Mid-Autumn Festival gathering tonight. Her eyes widened when she saw me. “You didn’t,” she said as she walked across the apartment to set the boxes on my small glass dining table.

  “I didn’t,” I agreed, heading for the shower.

  “Liar!” she shouted at my retreating back.

  But she couldn’t have been too angry with me, because I saw the shape of her beyond the steamed glass of my shower wall a few minutes later, slipping out of her dress.

  Arun was the first to show up at my apartment. He had come straight from the clinic, as the Mid-Autumn Festival fell on a weekday on the lunar calendar this year. He had cut his hair short but still dyed the tips in orange, spiking it in the front. “I brought pan-fried vegetarian buns.” I could smell their delicious aroma before he handed two boxes over as Daiyu swept past me to give him a hug.

  “I feel underdressed,” Arun said after taking in the flowing light blue dress Daiyu wore. He glanced down at his own black tee with a purple cartoon tyrannosaurus on it. The dinosaur was enjoying a giant bowl of dandan noodles.

  “You look great,” she replied.

  I placed the fried buns on the table. Daiyu had draped a pale lavender cloth over the top and arranged an assortment of round and square mooncakes onto a jade ceramic platter. I had made sure to request my favorite: lotus paste with salted yolk.

  Arun walked over to my wall of windows; it was dusk, the horizon swathed in a deep pink mingled with Taipei’s brown smog. The neon signs were just beginning to flicker to life in the city sprawling below us. “I’d forgotten this amazing view you had, Zhou.”

  I joined my friend at the windows. I might have gotten more used to these views, but I never took them for granted. “Victor always arranged to acquire the best in everything—including apartments for his delinquent friend.”

  Arun gave me a sidelong glance, tilting his chin up in wordless agreement. The Mid-Autumn Festival was meant to be a gathering of loved ones, family, and friends. It was a thanksgiving, to take stock of everything we should be grateful for in our lives. But for us, it’d be remembrance, too. “Maybe we’ll actually be able to see the mountains that surround us one day?” I said.

  Arun turned to Daiyu then and asked, “Isn’t the Legislative Yuan going to vote at the end of this month?”

  Daiyu was arranging a bouquet of flowers I had surprised her with in the kitchen. She looked up from the large deep purple lily she was trimming. “Yes, I think it’ll finally pass.” She had been working hard ever since returning from Shanghai over a month ago, speaking on all the popular talk shows, throwing glamorous fund-raisers broadcasted in all-media news to help the cause. She used her name and image to bring attention again and again to our country’s need for reform.

  She was also the head of Jin Corp now, while her father was locked in jail. Jin had hired the best lawyers to help him, but his influence in China wasn’t the same as it was in Taiwan. Although he got preferential treatment—he was kept in a private and more comfortable setting than the usual criminal—he was still locked up. And it didn’t look like he’d be getting out anytime soon.

  The Chinese police didn’t allow him to have any business contacts or make any business decisions while imprisoned. Daiyu put an immediate stop to the work on suit production in the new Jin Corp located in Beijing, but Jin Tower still opened for business as Jin had planned. Despite the grand opening marred by Jin’s arrest, the drama played worldwide in all-media news seemed to garner the building even more publicity. All the spaces sold, but Daiyu set aside several floors within the building for nonprofit organizations fighting for better environmental laws in China and access to education and medical care for the poor. I watched Daiyu make all these decisions for her father’s company, knowing she knew full well what she was doing. Placing these organizations in one of the wealthiest and sought-after pieces of real estate in Shanghai gave them visibility as well as credibility. Jin’s reputation might have been tarnished by the arrest, but his billionaire status held; and the public was casting an eye more and more toward Daiyu, Jin Corp’s official heir, seeing what she was promoting or investing in.

  The front door buzzed; I glimpsed Lingyi’s bright purple hair and Iris standing behind her in our door monitor. I voice-commanded the door open and greeted them at the entrance. Lingyi hugged me awkwardly, as she was carrying two bags of groceries. She held them up after she hugged Arun, then Daiyu as well. “I’m making a mushroom and lotus roots dish.” She threw a glance behind her. “Iris has the roasted duck we just picked up and lotus buns—still hot.”

  Iris headed to the small table and set her boxes down—it was almost entirely covered with food now. Iris wasn’t a hugger, but she turned and made eye contact with each of us—her way of saying hi. Lingyi swept into my kitchen, and Arun followed to help her prepare the vegetarian dishes.

  “I’ll get a platter for the duck,” Daiyu said.

  “How’s it going?” Iris asked after we were alone in the main room.

  “Been feeling caged,” I replied. “But I finally climbed today.”

  Iris arched one eyebrow. “That must have felt great, and you’re not back in the hospital, so it probably went okay.”

  I laughed; I knew she was teasing. “It was a little rough, but it felt damned good.”

  Iris leaned over, and we bumped fists. She loved to climb too, and I’d barely ever seen her standing still. If anyone could empathize with how hard the recuperation process had been for me, it’d be Iris. The loud sound of food hitting a hot wok interrupted our conversation, and then the mouthwatering aroma of stir-fried garlic and chives wafted over to us.

  Daiyu emerged from the kitchen with a square platter five minutes later; her hand glided across my lower back when she passed, sending a jolt through me. She put the platter down after rearranging the food. Iris opened the container with the duck, and Daiyu used chopsticks to put the pieces on the plate.

  I brought out cold beers and iced teas when the vegetable dishes were done, and we pulled carved wooden stools toward the floor-to-ceiling windows to enjoy our meal together. The full moon hung low across the horizon, a nimbus of pollution tingeing its pale glow. Aircars flitted across the cityscape as yous made their way to fancy restaurants to celebrate the occasion.

  We sat and ate in silence for a few minutes, enjoying the delicious food, but also one another’s company—to be together in celebration instead of in hiding with our lives on the line, not knowing wh
at might go wrong next.

  Arun cleared his throat and raised his beer bottle. “To Zhou, for hosting this gathering, but also for surviving his first gunshot wound.”

  “First!” Daiyu exclaimed. “And last, I’d hope—”

  “Yeah, what are you trying to imply?” I interjected.

  Arun took a long swig of his beer and shrugged. “I’m not implying anything.” He nodded at Daiyu. “I’m sorry, but your boyfriend is an assload of trouble.”

  Iris and Lingyi burst out laughing.

  “Someone had to tell you.” Arun grinned.

  “I should have known better”—Daiyu gave me a sideways glance—“than to fall in love with a boy who plays with knives.”

  This elicited a loud ha from Arun, but Daiyu had slid her hand over to grasp my fingers during the exchange and gave them a squeeze when she replied to him. I had barely registered her joke, only hearing the in love with a boy part. I felt the heat rise from my neck to my face and took a long drink from my own beer to try and cover my rush of emotions. Daiyu had never been shy about sharing her feelings for me, but she had never declared it so boldly to my friends—to everyone I loved and who mattered to me in this world. And they accepted it, eyes glowing, their own cheeks pink from the food and company.

  I lifted my own beer and said, “To Dr. Nataraj. Your mom was a mom to all of us, Arun. She loved us like we were her own kids.” My friends grew quiet, but their eyes still shone. Each of them raised their drinks too.

  “She always told us to do right,” Lingyi said. “She showed us in everything that she did.”

  Arun lowered his head, overcome, and Lingyi put an arm across his shoulders, hugging him. He nodded, but directed his words toward his feet. “She did do that. It’s all she ever taught me. Do right, Arun; you can’t go wrong following that path. Help those who are in need. . . .”