by Mingmei Yip
As my mind was swaying between dream and reality, I heard a cheerful "good morning." I looked up and saw Plum Blossom. Soaked in rays of the morning sun, her beak looked so red and her feathers so white that I was reminded of "Nuer Hong-Daughter's Blush," a story I had heard from my mother.
A young father, after the birth of his first daughter, buried a big jar of wine in his garden. Nobody was allowed to even touch the jar-not until the baby had grown into a young girl and was betrothed. Sixteen years passed like a horse leaping across a ravine. On the daughter's wedding night, the father, now a middle-aged man, dug out the jar, broke the seal, and poured the velvety liquid for his guests. Seeing that the wine reflected the rouge on his beautiful daughter's face, the father named it Daughter's Blush.
My baba, right after I'd been born, had also stored a jar of wine for my wedding-one that had never happened.
Now I looked at Plum Blossom through my watery eyes and re turned her greeting. "Good morning." Then I got off the bed and went up to stroke her feathers, this time for Pearl.
Plum Blossom pecked my hand affectionately. Scurrying back and forth on the stand, I imagined she was practicing the qin's lingering tones with her feet, or even the shredded-golden-lotus steps demonstrated by Pearl. For a moment I smiled, then my sadness returned. I sat down at the table and started to grind ink, slowly and meditatively. Watching the shallow of the stone slab gradually fill with a widening pool of black, fragrant liquid, my heart was appeased. Next I spread out a sheet of rice paper printed with pale plum blossoms. I picked up my brush, dabbed it into the ink until the white tip was soaked black, then watched a poem bloom on the paper.
I read and reread the poem silently to imprint it upon my mind. Then I recited it to Plum Blossom.
She nodded in approval, screeching, "Good luck, wish you make a lot of money! "
I smiled back, put the rice paper on a plate, and carried it to the window. I meditated, then looked up and whispered to the sky. "Sister Pearl, since your departure, my sole solace has been to immerse myself in the qin. Whenever I pluck the seven silk strings, their bittersweet tunes bring you close to me. Only their lingering tones can lift my heart above this evil world.
"I also like to play the qin to Plum Blossom. After you've left, she is my only friend and the only creature in the whole world whom I can trust. She likes qin music, too, for every time I finish playing, she'll say, `Feels good, eh?' "
"I've just composed this poem for you and hope you like it. I'll write you more. Without you in Peach Blossom now, I live in a different world. I miss you."
After my monologue, I burned the poem and scattered the ashes outside the window. The confetti dancing in the air made me think of the phrase tiannu sanhua-heavenly maiden showering flowers. Only the flowers were all black-to match my mood.
Plum Blossom rounded off my ritual by squealing, "Feels good, eh? Want more?"
Almost two years went by From time to time I'd think of the cause of Pearl's death-Red jade. And the notion of revenge would flicker in my mind. But how, since she was gone from Peach Blossom? Shortly after Pearl's death, Red Jade had been spotted by a film director and since then lived a new life under the mercuryvapor lamps. In less than a year, she'd made herself famous playing spoiled rich girls, dissolute concubines, and shameless prostitutes. The whole thing struck me as extremely amusing-a real prostitute got popular by pretending to be a prostitute!
To my bitterness, the fame she acquired now possessed a quality even more dazzling than a ming ji's. Pictures of her in gorgeous dresses and seductive poses were seen almost everywhere; huge signboards of her hung above the Peking and Lyceum Theaters. Among her fans were not just men, but also women, even decent housewives who relieved the tedium of their lives through fantasies of Red jade's more glamorous one. Red jade-once a near-prisoner in a whorehouse-was now the goddess of sexual freedom and a symbol of the emancipated woman.
As for me, I'd been working extra hard to improve my painting, calligraphy, and music. But I had to spend far more time with favored guests than with the qin. I knew I needed to look cheerful and not hold back in the arts of the bedchamber. Yet some customers could still sense-despite my passionate act-the chill inside my squirming body and my wandering mind. One described me as having the body of an attacking tigress, but a heart like a sealed vase. Another quoted the Chinese saying "As beautiful as plum and peach, as cold as ice and frost" to describe me.
However, my "icy" nature, instead of turning customers away, ironically attracted more. Some customers even set up a club, its members competing to see who could become the champion of icemelting. But as time went on, the ice did not melt. It only proved once again the truth of Pearl's teaching when she'd talked about Big Master Fung:
Believe me, he won't pull his pants up until he's tasted the delicious sauce from your golden plate!
How true, Sister Pearl. A man will always wait for a beautiful woman whom he has failed to seduce!
I still thought of Pearl every day though now her name was rarely mentioned in Peach Blossom. That she could be happily celebrating with champagne one evening, plunged into despair the next, and hanging from a rafter two weeks later made me realize how short our time was. The Chinese saying ran over and over through my mind:
Hongyan baomeng-all beauty has a tragic end.
To escape the sadness and loneliness that pervaded my life, I always imagined that one day, instead of chou nanren, I'd meet someone intelligent, handsome, caring, and chivalric enough to melt the ice in my heart.
Though I felt a strong urge to love, and to be loved, I only met men like Zhang Zhong. No one knew where he came from nor what he did, just that one day he began to be seen in the expensive restaurants, tea houses, theaters, and turquoise pavilions in Shanghai. He seemed to have endless money to stuff in the sisters' cleavage and throw into the mamas' faces.
Shortly after Zhang Zhong had arrived in Shanghai, he invited all the ming ji in the Concessions to an expensive tea house. To keep him company for a Kun opera performance, the invitation said. But since none of us knew who he was, when the evening arrived, only the second-rate prostitutes appeared. That evening, Zhang vented his bitterness and humiliation by outrageously tipping the second-rate prostitutes-each received two silver coins.
The next day, his name and his legendary tipping spilled from the gossip columns of all the mosquito newspapers in Shanghai.
Zhang became famous overnight.
So, when he issued his second invitation, all the courtesans-in their most elaborate costumes, meticulous makeup, and soul-sucking smiles-descended upon Sweet Laurel Tea House.
Except me. Now that I was a ming ji, I was not cheap, and neither would I gain anything by acting that way. So at Sweet Laurel Tea House, the sisters' glamorous presence was paled by my haunting absence.
Just by not going somewhere, I became the talk of the town. And the obsession of Zhang Zhong.
Finally, one day he just marched into Peach Blossom and demanded to see me.
Mama, needless to say, made a big fuss over his arrival. "Xiang Xiang! Xiang Xiang!"
Her feet pumped on the stairs and in a moment her quivering flesh plunged into my room.
She dumped her bottom on the high-backed chair. "You know who's here? The legendary Zhang Zhong! "
I was looking at my reflection in the mirror while leisurely combing my hair. "So?"
"So?" Mama imitated my nonchalance. "What do you mean by `so'? He asked for you, right now! "
"But Mama, can't you tell that I'm busy right now?"
She shot up from the chair, darted to me, snatched the comb from my hand, and started to yank it down my three-thousandthreads-of-trouble. "Please, please . . . Xiang Xiang . . . " Mama cooed. "We can't afford to make Mr. Zhang wait."
"Maybe you can't, but I can." I threw Mama a contemptuous glance. "He's just a nobody."
Her hand tightened on my hair. "Shhh, Xiang Xiang, watch out for your mouth!"
"If he is somebody, then
who is he?"
Fang Rong's mouth dropped open, but no sound came out. She pleaded. "Please, Xiang Xiang, for Guan Yin's sake, please see him, you have nothing to lose."
"Nothing to lose? What about my reputation?"
"You're already the most prestigious courtesan in Shanghai."
I considered for a moment. "More than Red Jade?"
"But she's not a flower girl anymore," Mama flashed me a probing glance in the mirror, "she's now a movie star."
Ignoring her, I started to recite Du Mu's poem, "Wandering and drinking south of the river, watching narrow waists swaying on palms, ten years' dreams of Yangzhou awakened, nothing left but a philandering fame."
"Xiang Xiang, please, Mr. Zhang is waiting."
"I know."
"Then please hurry, for Guan Yin's sake! "
I chuckled. "You mean Guan Yin approves of prostitution?"
"Aii-ya, Xiang Xiang, you know what I mean, plu-eez."
"How does this legendary Mr. Zhang look?"
"A man."
"Of course I know he's a man."
Fang Rong squeezed an unnatural smile. "He's rich and ... nice looking. "
"All right, then I'll go," I threw her a chiding look in the mirror, "for your sake."
Zhang Zhong turned out to be the most vulgar person I'd ever seen, more so even than Big Master Fung. I should say that he was a stinking male among the stinking males! His face and hands didn't even possess the decency of human form. But I wouldn't use the word animal to describe him, for no animal should be compared to such a man.
When we sat face to face at my marble-topped table, he was already drooling. His eyes kept boring into my face and body while his tongue flapped about his lips like a dog's. Perspiration, like ink, smeared the armpits of his indigo jacket.
"It's hot here, Mr. Zhang. Isn't it?" I leisurely swayed my golden fan painted with orchids.
He took out a handkerchief to vigorously wipe his face. "Yes, it sure is."
The diamond, jade, and gold rings on his hairy fingers flashed in the yellowish light of my room.
I called out for my maid Little Rain to bring towels and tea.
While Little Rain was arranging the table, she exclaimed, "Mr. Zhang, what nice rings you have! "
Zhang lifted his hand. "You like them? Then pick the one you want, it's a gift."
Little Rain's face turned pale, her voice trembling. "Oh no, Mr. Zhang, I can't take an expensive gift just like that."
I cursed inside. Fool, you're all shaken up when simply offered a ring?
I turned to my maid, then deliberately said in a nonchalant tone, "Little Rain, don't you think it's very rude to turn down an offer from our noble guest?" Then I cast her a sharp glance. "Why don't you just pick one as you're told?"
Now both Zhang and Little Rain looked shocked.
I put on an encouraging smile. "Go ahead, Little Rain, otherwise Mr. Zhang will really be offended."
As expected, Little Rain pointed to the cheapest-the gold ring. She was too scared to take the diamond or the jade. She didn't want to get herself into trouble later.
Eyes riveted on me, Zhang slipped the ring off his hand and handed it to the maid.
The episode immediately became the talk of the town-with variations. The Flower Moon News said that it was a diamond ring; the Flower Heaven Daily said it was jade; the Pleasure Talk News said it was not Little Rain, but I, who had been given both a diamond and a jade ring.
Despite my having made a gift of his ring to my maid, Mr. Zhang continued to visit Peach Blossom and ask for me. Each time he'd bring gifts-for me, for Mama, sometimes even for Little Rain. Of course, I was not so naive as to believe he came only to Peach Blossom as if it were a temple where he could make offerings to me as if I were Guan Yin. I was well aware of his intention-to shower his rain onto my clouds. But now, as a ming ji, my clouds could shift and not be showered by customers whom I found distasteful.
Then he got desperate.
One evening, after Zhang sat down on the chair, as usual, he laid down his gift on the table with both hands. That was what he always did, as I never took anything directly from his hands. Not only did I flinch from contacting those dark lumps of flesh, I also intended him to know that despite his right to put things on my table, I had no obligation to acknowledge them.
I asked Little Rain to bring him a towel, tea, and snacks. Then, when I started to make small talk, he looked impatient and ill at ease.
I waved my fan. "Mr. Zhang, is something on your mind?"
"Hmmm ... not really." He kept flicking nervous glances at me.
Not really? I could see beads of perspiration oozing from his forehead. In the past, he'd been pretty direct about matters concerning the clouds and rain: "Should we retire to bed now, Miss Precious Orchid?" or "It's late, I think I'd rather stay overnight here." Not that he got anything from me in response to these little suggestions.
So this time it didn't sound like he was about to ask for sex.
"You want more snacks? Dinner perhaps?"
"Hmmm ... no ..."
I was getting impatient. "Then what is it that you want?"
"Hmmm ... Miss Precious Orchid, I think I left ... something here during one of my previous visits."
"Oh, really? What is it?"
"I think it's a piece of jewelry."
"You think?" Obviously he was not a very good liar.
He swallowed hard. "Yes, it's a piece of jewelry."
I saw through his scheme right away. Knowing well that I would not let him thrust his rotten stalk into my precious gate, now, in this last visit, he was going to get something back for all the money he'd spent. "Leaving a piece of jewelry here" simply meant he wanted his jewelry back.
I went and got one of my jewelry boxes, laid it on the table, and opened it.
Among my rings were two-a sapphire and a ruby-that he had given me; the rest were gifts from my other customers. I hadn't yet taken his rings to be appraised, so I didn't really know their value. But I just knew that any gifts from this crude man wouldn't be of first quality.
To my surprise, instead of taking the two rings he'd given me, he pointed to the diamond and jade ring Big Master Fung had bought me.
Though I was alarmed, I put on a calm countenance. "You're sure this is the ring?"
"Absolutely."
"Mr. Zhang, this is a really nice piece, so how could you be so absentminded as to leave it here by accident?"
He didn't answer my question.
I pointed to the sapphire ring. "You're sure it's not this one?"
He shook his head.
I pointed to the ruby. "What about this?"
"Oh no. Mine is much more expensive."
While he was reaching out to take the diamond and jade ring, I used my fan to halt his paw. "Wait a minute, Mr. Zhang. I'm sure that this one is from my other admirer. Because I remember there is an inscription inside the ring. So, Mr. Zhang, if you can tell me the inscription, then my memory is wrong and this ring is yours."
Zhang's yellowish eyes darted around. "Of course, I asked the goldsmith to inscribe your name, Precious Orchid, on it."
I picked up the ring and showed him the inside of the gold band, where there was no inscription.
Now he tried to pick up the sapphire ring he'd given me. "Oh I remember now, it's this one."
"Wait," I again stopped him with my fan. "Unfortunately this one I've already had it checked with a gold store; the owner told me it's fake. Mr. Zhang, rich and respectable as you are, I don't think you would have given me a fake ring to ruin your reputation, would you?" In fact, I had never taken the ring to be appraised.
He was now sweating so much that it looked as if his whole face were pouring with rain. Without a word, I picked up my jewelry box and went to put it back into the safe. When I returned, Zhang's seat was empty.
I didn't have to worry about him coming back because two days later his body was found in a back alley of the Temple of Supreme Happiness, a co
mpeting establishment.
The rumor went out that Zhang Zhong was an ex-tong member from Nanking. When the tong head had suddenly died, he took the dead boss's money and escaped to Shanghai, with the intention of joining another tong here. It was to arouse attention that he planned that whole incident at Sweet Laurel Tea House. Then he tried to melt the ice of the most prestigious courtesan-me-to further catapult him to fame. But it was also his "fame" which caused his downfall. News spread back to the Nanking tong members and they passed the word to their Shanghai brothers to get rid of Zhang.
And that ended the whole tragic farce.
22K
American Handsome
though I had ended up ahead in my adventure with Zhang Zhong, I felt myself sinking into depression. In a few months I would turn twenty-one and would have lived in this fragranced hell for eight years. I'd served all sorts of customers-young and old, rich and poor, powerful and powerless. But not a single one had made my heart pound, my face flush, my palms sweat. Was there anyone in the world for me? If so, where was he hiding? In the seventh evening of the seventh month a thousand years past or a thousand years hence?
