The Nine Fold Heaven

by Mingmei Yip

  I protested. “But that’s your job!”

  “Some jobs are better left undone.”

  “What a disappointment.” I should have said, “What nonsense!”

  “There are always disappointments on one’s path, miss. You better get used to it while you’re still young. Anyway, go home and read it over, and you’ll be able to understand your situation. Pay attention to ‘she leaves like a cicada shedding its shell’ and also ‘golden lights shine at the end of her journey.’ These are all good predictions. Have you heard the saying, ‘A hidden dragon does not act’?”

  I nodded, though I was not completely sure what it meant.

  He went on. “When a person is not ready, she should be like the dragon who does not act. Not until the right moment arrives, then she’ll soar to the nine fold heaven, looking down on the ordinary as she enjoys her long-awaited success and glory.”

  He studied me. “Miss, you must hide now like the hidden dragon, but one day you will be the dragon that soars to the nine fold heaven.”

  “Thank you, master.” I nodded, savoring his every word.

  “Remember, miss, heaven only advises, you must take your fate in your own hands. That’s all I can say about your fortune.”

  He scrutinized me for seconds. “But I can give you some personal advice if you like.”

  “Please.”

  He studied me carefully, then spoke as if reciting a riddle. “You are beautiful. For some that brings good luck, for others, tragedy. When beauty is on your side, even the moon and stars lose their brilliance. But someday it will leave you. Be careful not to end up with a hard heart and an unfeeling body. Because if that happens, even if good fortune approaches you, it will give you no happiness.

  “Remember, the greatest fortune is not beauty, but family. That’s where you can always return.” He thought for a while, then recited something I recognized was from the sage Laozi’s Classic of the Way and Virtue:

  The ten thousand things arise and return to their origin.

  Returning to the origin is called tranquility.

  Tranquility is recovering your original nature.

  Recovering your original nature is called the unchanging.

  Knowing the unchanging is called enlightenment.

  To not know the unchanging is calamity.

  When finished, he added, “Miss, now when you have your beauty, don’t give all your attention to it and neglect other things. Look for the unchanging in your life—find your root and you will find tranquility, even happiness, that’s all I can say.”

  An abandoned orphan, I had no root that I could trace. Nor tranquility now that I was on the run from two gangs!

  But I said, trying my best to sound calm, “Master, but the Book of Changes says that everything changes.”

  He cast me a curious glance. “Yes, but we’re not talking about this impermanent world, but the one beyond, the true, original one.”

  “Oh… that makes sense,” I responded, although I actually had no idea what he meant.

  It was time to leave. Part of my spy training was never to stay in one place for too long, no matter how much I found it appealing.

  “Master, how much do I owe you?”

  He waved a jade-ringed hand. “Let’s not talk about money today. This is a very unusual encounter, so the temple won’t charge you. Because if money is involved, the magic will be gone.”

  What sort of magic, I wondered. I hoped not like my magician friend Shadow’s staged version.

  The master spoke again. “Find your root. Then magic will follow.”

  “I will.” I thanked him again and took my leave.

  During my way back on the crude, muddy path, I tried to decipher the enigmatic poem on the slip and what it had to do with the diviner’s portentous advice. It had taken all I could summon in myself to become the talented, charming, and mysterious singer, Camilla the Heavenly Songbird. What would be left without my beauty? It was my weapon against men and their power. But I also knew that time does not wait for anyone, and one day my beauty would be completely gone like a gambler’s money at the roulette table.

  2

  A Plunging Toddler

  When I arrived back at the main road, I heard a commotion. I hurried across the street to where a small group of people stood, looking upward while emitting heated comments in the hot air. Curious, I squeezed my way to the front and looked.

  On the second floor of a dilapidated building, a toddler was standing by a wide-open window and looking down on the street, his eyes open as wide as the window where tears rolled down his cheeks.

  His mouth opened to emit hysterical screams, “Mama! Mama! Mama! I want my mama! Mama!”

  Someone in the crowd lamented. “Ah… where’s his mother? So heartless to leave her child like this all by himself!”

  A plump woman exclaimed, “Oh, yes, you have no idea how neglectful some mothers are! I heard that one even locked her child in a closet so she could play mahjong with her friends. When she came home, he was swimming in his own foam and vomit!”

  Another woman added, “Yes, mothers like this might as well give birth to a piece of roasted pork to eat! At least she’d get some nutrition out of it!”

  The small crowd burst into nervous laughter. But no one did anything to help. Anyway, what could they do since no one knew who or where the mother was? Even if someone dashed up to the floor where the toddler lived, no one would come and open the door. Even if the rescuer could break open the apartment door, it might be worse. What about if the toddler would be startled by the sound and jump?

  I looked at the little boy and felt pain wringing my heart. What if this toddler were my baby, Jinjin, neglected, scared, and about to jump to his… to turn from a handsome baby to bleeding flesh and shattered bones? Just then the baby, crying and feet wobbling, began to totter….

  It was as if my little Jinjin were calling “Mama! Mama!” In a moment I had pushed aside the nattering onlookers and was standing under the window. I rooted myself firmly on the ground and reached up. In a split second, I felt a heavy object drop into my grasp, seeming to almost pull my arms from their sockets. Searing pain spread from my shoulders to my chest, and I fainted amidst cries and horrified exclamations….

  Someone must have called an ambulance because I awoke to find myself in a medicinal-smelling hospital room. A fortyish nurse’s round face hovered over mine.

  “Good, you’re finally awake.”

  “Where am I?” I looked around. It was a relatively small room with four beds. Two were empty and the one across from me was taken by a wrinkled old woman, asleep and snoring loudly.

  “Kwong Wah Hospital in Waterloo Road.”

  “How’s the baby?” I asked, while suddenly feeling confused. What baby did I refer to? Was it my son, Jinjin? No, now I remembered. It was the one who’d been crying and tottering on the second floor of an apartment building.

  “He’s doing fine, no bones broken, just some minor scratches. A miracle baby.”

  “I’m glad to hear that. How lucky!”

  “He was amazingly lucky that you happened to be standing there. You’re lucky, too, that your shoulders aren’t dislocated. Then you would have had them in slings for months.”

  She leaned closer to my face. “Miss, you are very brave.”

  I chuckled inside. So in a mere week I’d turned from an emotionless, murderous spy into a courageous and compassionate baby rescuer.

  “Where is the boy now, can I go visit him?” I asked, then immediately regretted it. It would draw unwanted attention to me. I knew the reason I wanted to see the toddler was because I wanted to pour my motherly love to someone, since Jinjin’s life or death still remained a puzzle.

  Fortunately, her answer was: “I’m afraid not, his mother already took him home.”

  So this baby had a mother and a home to go back to. But my little Jinjin didn’t, and possibly never would.

  “So the baby’s not injured?”

  “
No, you’re both fine. Only some abrasions.”

  “Then why am I still here?”

  “Dr. Li is your attending, he’s decided to keep you longer in case you have a concussion. He also needs to contact your relatives or friends to come pay and take you home. I’ll tell Dr. Li that you’re awake.”

  Before I could stop her, she went on. “Miss, you’re lucky to have Dr. Li. He fended off many of your admirers and reporters for you.”

  “What admirers?”

  She laughed. “Oh, you don’t know? You’ve become a heroine! The mother wanted to see you and thank you, but we stopped her.”

  My heart started to pound. That was exactly what I didn’t want! I had not done a good deed to get myself discovered and killed!

  Oblivious to my fear and bitterness, the nurse left the room and returned with a pen and a printed form, then handed them to me.

  ”So far the hospital has no information about you, not even your name. So you need to fill in this form.”

  Damn. Another thing I didn’t want in life. So I quickly said, “Miss nurse, I need to use the restroom real bad now. Can I fill out this form when I’m back?”

  “Okay. I’ll come back for it in a few minutes—please fill it out soon.”

  Right after she left, I sprang up and changed back to my own clothes, gritting my teeth at the pain in my shoulders. Then I grabbed my purse and slipped out of the room.

  Luckily, rickshaws were waiting in front of the hospital, so I climbed into the closest one, endured the bumpy ride to the Star Ferry, and was soon home. I was asleep as soon as I lay on my bed. Later, when I woke up, still very stiff, I went out to get food and the evening newspapers.

  Back in the temporary safety of my dusty but anonymous apartment in the crowded Wanchai district, I flipped the pages of the Singtao Daily News until my eyes landed on a headline in the local section:

  Mystery Woman Saves a Plunging Child’s Life

  This afternoon in Diamond Hill, a toddler opened the window to look for his mother and fell almost to his death. Miraculously, a young woman dashed through the crowd and caught the baby. Both were rushed to Kwong Wah Hospital. It was a miracle that neither had serious injuries, only scratches and bruises.

  Onlookers said the young woman used her body as a cushion to ease his fall.

  The boy’s mother had been out shopping and had left him alone. When she returned, police informed her of what had happened and warned her that they would press charges for child neglect.

  As for the baby’s rescuer, she disappeared mysteriously from the hospital without leaving any information about herself or paying her bill.

  People are curious to know who this bodhisattva is and why did she disappear. The mother of the toddler asked us to find her boy’s rescuer so she could personally thank her and reward her with a gift.

  According to the onlookers, the young woman was in her early twenties and dressed like a student.

  Anyone with information about her whereabouts should call our newspaper.

  Young lady, if you are reading this article now, please come forward so we can better know your brave face and loving heart.

  I almost chuckled at the last two words. I might have a heart, but it’d been anything but loving. Then I sighed. When I’d been the Heavenly Songbird Camilla in Shanghai, publicity was all I sought. But now I had to avoid it like a mouse a cat, or a pickpocket the police.

  That night, my baby, Jinjin, came to my dream. But one thing disturbed me—he’d not been growing.

  I asked, “Jinjin, how come you don’t grow but stay the same as the first time you visited me?”

  “Because I can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because my mother abandoned me. She’s famous for being cruel and scheming. I tell you, Mama, people can survive without food, but not without love.”

  “Who told you this?”

  “My baba, who else?”

  “You met him?”

  He nodded, each thread of his lustrous, silky hair tugging at my heart.

  “Sometimes I’ll sneak out from my crib and crawl to where he sits. Baba has aged a lot because he’s very lonely and he misses you. I never talk to him because he doesn’t even know that I exist. So I can only watch and listen, but I heard him say this to himself.”

  Before I could respond, he went on. “Mama, though most of the time I think he is my father, other times I’m not so sure.”

  “How’s that?”

  He answered in a mocking tone. “Oh, you forget? You had others besides my baba, remember?”

  His saying this hurt so much that I was speechless.

  “But, Jinjin, I love you very much! In fact, you’re the one who’s taught me to love.”

  He didn’t respond to my declaration of love, but continued in his childish voice. “In a few months I’ll turn one year old, but sadly I’ll have to spend my birthday all by myself.”

  “But I can celebrate with you!”

  His expression turned sad. “How? I can’t always come to your dreams and I won’t let you in mine.”

  “But, Jinjin, why can’t you let me into your dreams?”

  “Because I can’t. I am no more than a dream myself. I am not real, Mama.”

  “No, Jinjin! You are a living being, my son! What makes you think you’re not real?”

  “Mama, I’m confused. When you gave birth to me, I heard someone say that I’m dead, a stillborn, what does that mean?”

  “But you’re not.”

  “How are you so sure?”

  “Because here you are in my dream and my life.”

  Just then I woke up, wetting my pillows with tears flowing like the Huangpu River.

  I wanted my real Jinjin in my arms—not merely in a dream.

  I had to go back to Shanghai to find him. Even if I’d get killed trying, so be it.

  But making unexpected, risky moves in a seemingly hopeless situation was part of my training as a spy. Besides looking for my baby, I also needed to find out what was left of the two rival gangs after the shoot-out. Was the Flying Dragons’ Master Lung really dead at last—or just nursing his wound somewhere, awaiting his comeback? Had my boss, the Red Demons’ Big Brother Wang, finally been able to take over Lung’s place to be Shanghai’s number one gangster head?

  The next few days, I shopped, packed, and booked a steamship ticket for Shanghai. Then, because I had no choice, I went to a hairdresser and had my waist-length hair cut off, replaced with a bob and thick bangs. I consoled myself thinking it made me look playful and even younger than my twenty years. I needed to look as different as possible from my days singing at Shanghai’s Bright Moon Nightclub, when I wore my hair permed to be as wavy as the ripples on the Huangpu River and swept to one side. Since arriving in Hong Kong, I had stopped putting on makeup and dressed mostly in a white blouse and dark skirt so I could pass as a university student, or a salesgirl.

  I was scared to be going back to Shanghai, but also energized to be back in action at last. After all, I’d been raised to be a spy, not to mope around doing nothing.

  PART TWO

  3

  Home to Heartbreak

  With light luggage, a heavy heart, but at least a thick purse, I dragged myself aboard the ship for the short trip back to Shanghai. In my modest stateroom, I unpacked my few belongings. Soon the ship was under way and I went up on deck to watch people. Some looked like harried businessmen, others, excited tourists, and yet others, happy families going home. But sadly, I felt none of their cheerfulness. I turned to look at the infinity of the turquoise sea, and into my mind popped the words of the Tang dynasty poet Wei Zhuang’s “Jiangnan, South of the River”:

  The Spring water is bluer than the sky,

  I listen to the soft rain, dozing off aboard the painted boat,

  By the fire sits a woman beautiful as the moon,

  Her pale wrists white as frost and snow.

  Don’t go back to your homeland, not until you’re old,

&
nbsp; Because returning home is heartbreaking.

  I had no idea why Wei thought that homecoming—to Shanghai, which is south of the river—was heartbreaking. And why it’d become bearable only after you gathered snow on your sideburns. Is it because only when we are old can we let go of painful memories?

  * * *

  Finally, the next evening, with much shouting of the crew, the ship bumped against the same pier that I’d left in a hurry three months ago. With more shouting the ship was made fast and the gangplank was lowered with a crash. To take no chances of being recognized, I had disguised myself as a man. This way, I felt a little less anxious because I could not imagine anyone would recognize me as Shanghai’s most famous songstress. Just in case, I’d made up a man’s name—Shen Wei—and would pose as a university student returning home from overseas. I’d also made up a woman’s name—Jasmine Chen—for when I didn’t need to dress like a man.

  But I had no illusion that even with my new hairstyle, new name, and new gender, I was out of danger. I might not look like Camilla now, but I did not want to be looked at anyway. So as soon as I was off the ship, I hired a car to drive me to a slightly shabby hotel on Rue Lafayette in the French Concession. I hoped this busy street inside a foreign territory could give me some protection.

  After settled inside the hotel room, I washed, unpacked, and then took out a pen and paper to write down my plans. My first step would be simply to explore my surroundings and gather information. I needed to read the local newspapers to see what news there was about Master Lung, Big Brother Wang, Jinying, Gao—and myself. Then I’d quietly walk by the apartments of those I needed to visit—Jinying and Madame Lewinsky—to be sure they were not being watched by gang members. It was my singing teacher Lewinsky who’d helped me when I gave birth to Jinjin—and her who had told me he was stillborn. Too, I wanted to revisit the Bright Moon Nightclub where I performed.

  The next day when I woke up, it was already three o’clock in the afternoon. I hadn’t realized I was that exhausted. Dressing in my man’s outfit, I slipped out, bought two evening newspapers, and read them while I had an early supper in a noodle stall. I worked my way through the newspapers carefully but was surprised to find no news about me or the gang war that I’d set off.