The Nine Fold Heaven

by Mingmei Yip

  But it was quite possible that Rainbow Chang had made up the whole thing. Jinying’s diary had said he was going to Hong Kong, so I doubted he would pause to attend an opera. But there was no way to know what had really happened. I was left with no choice but to go back.

  I wracked my brain trying to come up with a plan to save Jinying. To return to Shanghai was now doubly dangerous. Rainbow, at least, knew I’d been back, and Miller was no longer there for possible protection. I could not do this alone, and the best help I could get was Shadow. She wasn’t in great shape—she walked slowly and stiffly—but she could get around and her help would be better than none. She owed me that much for paying her hospital bills. Besides, I would pay her a lot more than the circus did if she’d go back to Shanghai with me.

  20

  Fortune-telling

  I decided to visit Shadow at Kowloon’s Walled City and try to convince her to come back to Shanghai with me. This old area was famous for being lawless; the police never came here. As a result, unlicensed doctors, prostitution, gambling, and drugs were rampant. It was said that if a foreigner came in here, he would never be seen again. Used to gangsters as I was, this place scared me, so I brought several new knives just in case.

  No taxi would enter here, so I was let off by the entrance. I paid the driver, got out, then walked in and turned left where Shadow had told me that the Shen’s Circus dormitory was located. Everywhere I looked there were rows of run-down flats “decorated” with colorful hanging “banners”—clothes, underwear, blankets, and bed sheets dripping onto the sidewalk. Wherever there was an empty lot, shacks were perched on top of each other like piled-up corpses. Only because I did not want the locals to know I was a stranger in the city did I not place my handkerchief across my nose to try to block the stench of rotten meat, vegetables, and even human excrement.

  Next to the street were crude stalls selling daily necessities—cigarettes, eyeglasses, mahjong tiles, chopsticks, incense, paper money, Guan Yin statues, as well as unsavory-looking fruit and fly-covered meat. I continued walking and passed a church, a school, a Buddhist almshouse, and most popular, a mahjong den. Next was an alley with stalls of all sorts of fortune-tellers: I Ching “scholars,” palm readers, physiognomists, four-pillar fate calculators, bamboo-stick manipulators, bird-tellers…

  Despite the dripping laundry, I watched with curiosity as the masters harangued their clients, mapping out fates while their believers listened with pricked ears and intense eyes. In the tense air, questions and advice were punctuated with “oohs,” “aahs,” and “aiyas.”

  As I was passing the last stall, an old man waved frantically. I turned around but didn’t see anyone else near me. I resumed walking and he waved again. I smiled and pointed to myself; he nodded his head. This living “immortal” must have already witnessed more than eighty Springs and Autumns. But had all these changing seasons taught him wisdom, or suffering? Maybe neither, judging from his mindlessly happy expression.

  I went up to him. “Master, were you waving to me?”

  He made a gesture. “Yes, who else?”

  I could not help being curious. “But why me?”

  He gestured for me to sit on a small wooden bench across from him.

  “I don’t need to have my fortune told.”

  “Ah, miss, but you do. We all need to be told our destinies—they will come sooner and later. Miss, you look different from the people here. You’re an outsider, I don’t just mean in this city, but in life.”

  Wah, how did he know this? What else did he know about me?

  The corners of his lips lifted to attempt a genial smile, revealing a big black hole. Either his business was not good enough for him to afford false teeth, or maybe at this age he didn’t want to bother. Despite my skepticism, I found myself already seated on the bench.

  When he spoke, I could almost hear the wind soughing in and out of the dark hole. “Miss, young as you are, there’s already been lots of trouble in your life, especially your love life.”

  I blurted out, “How do you know?”

  He pointed to his banner inscribed with the characters shen-suan, “Heavenly Diviner.” “That’s my job. I’m a fortune-teller and I know secrets that others don’t.”

  Now he pointed to a bamboo cage where a small yellow bird hopped around and darted glances at me with its tiny black eyes.

  The master smiled. “Miss, please let her out to taste some fresh air and enjoy moments of freedom while she tells your fortune.”

  Though in the past I’d dismissed the idea that a bird can foretell a person’s fate as ridiculous, I found myself mesmerized by the man and the bird.

  So I agreed.

  “Good. Now tell the bird what you want to know.”

  “But—”

  “Miss, you don’t have to say this aloud, just silently to the bird. She listens better than most humans do.”

  I cast a quick glance at the small bird, now released from its cage and hopping around happily on the table.

  “Master, how can she hear my thoughts?” I wondered if there’s a way to tell if the bird was really a she?

  “Miss, animals are more spiritual than we humans. Just think of your questions.”

  Of course, my worry was whether Jinying, Jinjin, and Gao were alive and well. And where I could find them.

  When I finished asking, the master whispered something to her like an old friend. The bird immediately hopped from the desk to a pile of yellow envelopes. She seemed to study them, then twisted her head this way and that before grasping an envelope with her tiny red beak and pulling it out. The master gave her a seed and whispered to her, after which she willingly hopped back into her cage.

  He opened the envelope, took out a card, and laid it on the desk for me to read.

  Walking through clutters of beautiful flowers,

  Not even one would cling to his clothes.

  If only on that day you had the courage to say you love me.

  Four smaller lines read:

  Just to pass and rub shoulders is not enough.

  Together, hold tightly so you don’t lose each other.

  To dwell in Paradise, where immortals dwell,

  Not to suffer in the Ten Thousand Miles of Red Dust.

  I was not sure if I understood the poem completely, but somehow it was depressing to me. My eyes moistened. The master, seemingly well-prepared, handed me his handkerchief. It was filthy, but I took it anyway, then dabbed my eyes and blew my nose to make it even dirtier. I knew my relationships with Jinying and Gao, or any other men for that matter, were a total mess.

  Before I had a chance to ask questions, I saw that a small group of teenage boys and girls had already gathered around us. One even leaned her small body toward me so she could read my fate.

  Her equally small voice snaked into my ear. “Wah, ‘if only on that day you had the courage to say you love me.’” She giggled.

  I was very tempted to push her away but controlled myself. But not the master, who vigorously waved her away with his wrinkled, arthritic hand.

  “Go away, don’t block my business. You are all too young to understand love. Come back in ten years, now get out of here!”

  The youngsters ran away laughing and we were left in peace again. But a line had formed of other believers eagerly seeking to know their destiny. They crowded forward, some bumping into my stool or hitting my shoulder.

  The master, unperturbed, picked up his thermos and took a long sip. “You have more than one man in your life, right?”

  I remained silent, thinking of Jinying, Gao, then Edward Miller, surprised by the accuracy of his statement.

  “Two are troublesome, but one will shatter your heart.”

  “Which one?” My voice sounded alarmed. Would Jinying be all right? Would Gao?

  “The one who’s not destined to be with you. Sometimes in life, it’s the choice between the fish and the bear’s paw.”

  Chinese consider the fish and the bear’s paw the tw
o greatest gourmet delicacies. Few have the luck to taste both.

  He went on. “Miss, though you can’t have both the fish and the bear’s paw, still consider yourself very fortunate. Because most never even rub shoulders with the special one, despite a lifetime of hoping.”

  He snapped his fingers to create a small explosion. “And life flies by just like that! Look at me, once a handsome, erudite, talented young man, but now an ugly old one wasting his talent advising these fools”—here he swept his arms around to indicate his neighbors—“how to live and love!”

  Now he stared at me with his cloudy eyes. “Miss, you will bring moments of great happiness to this man, but his end won’t be good.”

  I blurted out, “But, master, I love this man, but I love another one more!”

  “I know, and that’s too bad. He’s been waiting for you to say this his whole life.” He pointed to the lot with his long-nailed finger. “The lot says, ‘walking through clutters of beautiful flowers, not even one leaf clings to my clothes.’ You know what this means?”

  I sort of understood but remained silent for him to explain.

  “Yuan Shen wrote this poem to commemorate his love for his wife. Yuan loved his wife so much that after she died, he felt no interest in other women. That’s why even among the most beautiful girls, none attracted him.”

  He leaned close to me, his cloudy eyes seeming to emit sparks. “So, this man feels for you as Yuan did for his wife. But you let him down. Fortunately for him, the regret is yours, not his.”

  “How come?”

  “Because his life is complete loving you. Most hide our feelings behind masks, including myself. Ha.”

  I wanted to ask how he hid his feelings but said instead, “But, master, I can’t love two men at the same time!”

  “You read Su Dongpo’s poem?”

  Then he began to recite in his wavering voice. “‘The moon becomes full, then wanes, we have joyous meetings, but heartbreaking departures. We can only hope we both live long to appreciate the moon together.’

  “This man is waiting for you to appreciate the moon with him. But sooner or later his love will be blown away by the merciless cold wind.”

  I sighed, feeling too sad to respond.

  He pointed to the yellow piece of paper again. “The lot states, ‘Passing and rubbing shoulders, it doesn’t matter.’ So let me tell you Cui Hu’s story.”

  The master went on to relate how Cui Hu composed this poem while journeying, tired and thirsty, to take the imperial examination. The scholar stopped by a house to ask for some water.

  A woman’s voice asked. “Who’s there?”

  After Cui gave her his name, the door swung open to reveal a very lovely young lady holding a bowl of water. But because of Confucian tradition, neither dared to initiate a conversation with the other.

  A year later, Cui overcame great difficulties to return to see the girl, only to find that she was away from home with her father. Disappointed, Cui wrote this famous poem on her locked door. A few days later, when the girl came back, she saw the poem, fell sick, and soon died of a broken heart.

  Later Cui learned the devastating news from her father. He went straight to the girl’s house, hurried inside her bedroom, stroked her bedsheet, and cried. “I have come for you, alas, too late!”

  The would-be lovers had exchanged only two sentences.

  When the master finished, he exclaimed, “This is rubbing past shoulders. In comparison, you’re much better off.”

  I stared at the lines on his face, mysterious as an ancient script, and asked hesitatingly, “Master, have you been in love…?”

  I could not picture how this man once looked, that a woman could fall in love with him.

  He waved a dismissive hand. “All right, that’s all I have to say.” Then he pointed past me with his chopstick fingers. “I have to see other clients now.”

  I turned and saw that the line behind me had grown longer. Most were young women, no doubt here about their equally hopeless loves.

  The old master blinked. “Miss, one last thing. You cannot have him, but you have your memories.”

  As I prepared to leave, I spotted a picture on the makeshift wall to his right—a handsome young man smiling like the sun shining at night.

  I pointed to the picture. “Is that your son?”

  He laughed out loud, again showing his toothless mouth. “Ha! Ha! Ha! That’s the ugly old man in front of you, seventy years ago!”

  He studied his much younger self. “I never married and have no children. But”—he pointed another chopstick finger to his chest—“she’s always here.”

  “Is she still… living in this world?”

  “Maybe, maybe not. I’m a poor scholar, so we were forced apart by her rich parents. She disappeared on her way to meet me.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry…”

  “Miss, I never told her that I love her. That’s my greatest regret. And it’s turned me into an ugly old man. All right, miss, enough, I need to see my next client.”

  “Thank so much, master,” I said, leaving a generous pile of cash on his table.

  As I exited what I now thought of as “love-sick alley,” instead of heading for Shadow’s dorm, I sat down at the first street food stall I saw and ordered a cup of tea, hoping its soothing heat would flush away the sadness lodged in my throat. But it had no taste.

  21

  The Forgetful Soup

  Thinking of Jinying and Gao and feeling sad, I thought of a Chinese legend about life after death. After people have died, but before they go on to reincarnate, they’ll arrive at Helpless Bridge. Guarding this bridge is Grandma Meng, who will offer you a bowl of Forgetfulness Soup. If you accept this soup and gulp it down, you’ll forget all the troubles, miseries, and sufferings in your life that has just ended. But if you have the courage to refuse the soup, you will remember everything into your next lives. Some want only to forget, while others—especially if they had wealth, fame, a beautiful wife or handsome husband—choose to remember.

  Some refuse to drink the Forgetfulness Soup because their heart won’t let them forget their loved ones. Ironically, sometimes the one you love the most is not the one who bears you children and shares your home. For a hundred possible reasons, the two of you could not spend your life together. But you love her so much that you cannot forget her, even though this comes with all the vivid memories of your sufferings—forced separation, departure without a farewell, death, the inscrutable working of fate.

  But you don’t want to forget all the wonderful times you spent with her, your warm handholding, mutual promises to wait for each other till your next life so you two could reunite and live happily ever after.

  And there are also those who cannot make up their minds—to remember or to forget? Should I drink and forget or decline and remember? This moment will decide your memories—or lack of them—for all your lifetimes to come.

  However, there is a third choice. That you don’t eat the soup but wait on the bridge for your loved one to join you. Because one day he or she must also cross the bridge. But if you remain, not only will you delay your chance to reincarnate and remain a ghost for a long time, but because there are always so many crossing the bridge, you may miss each other forever.

  When our days came, would Gao choose to drink the Forgetful Soup? Would I? I waved my hand to dispel the suffocating thought like a thick blanket thrown over me in summer.

  I took out the lot and reread it, but failed to detect a hint for Gao’s whereabouts. In Shanghai, I’d run into him twice, then lost him. If he was still alive, where was he?

  Since there was no answer, I paid for my tea and went to the Shen’s Circus’s dormitory.

  Inside a shabby room with crumpling walls, I found Shadow sitting at a wooden table, receipts spread in front of her. None of the other circus staff was there, probably all were at the tent, rehearsing.

  I sat down across from her and got straight to the point. “Shadow, I need to
go back to Shanghai. I’ll pay you well if you’ll go back with me.”

  Some silence passed before she spoke, her tone suspicious. “Camilla, why are you going back to Shanghai, and why would you want to pay me to go with you?”

  “Shadow, I’ll pay you extra not to ask questions.”

  “But I’ve been hurt enough. I don’t want to go back and get killed.”

  I laughed. “Ha! Why would someone do that?”

  “Camilla, I know you’re in danger and that’s why you’re here in Hong Kong.” She paused, then went on. “You told me that you stole money from Master Lung—”

  I cut her off. “Exactly. Since you already know my secret, we’re in the same boat.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means that if my life is in danger, so is yours.”

  The danger was greater than I was willing to admit to her. I was sure that Shadow did not have the guts to pull a tiger’s whiskers, let alone step on its tail. She came across as confident and brave, but I knew that this was just another of her illusions. Her magic fooled the eyes, but not my mind. I knew full well that with her desperate need for money she would end up doing anything I asked.

  So I said, “Shadow, I’ll pay you a lot. Do you really want to stay here as a clerk for a bankrupt, broken-down circus? You know you need money. Here you have no future and no freedom.”

  Unkindly, I added, “Probably no one will even remember who you are in Shanghai, so don’t worry.”

  Shadow rested her head in her hands and remained adamantly reticent.

  “Shadow, I’m not going to harm you.”

  “But I don’t see how I can help you!”

  “I’ll let you know when it’s the right time. So will you do this for your freedom and your future?”

  I took her silence as agreement and told her I would book the steamer tickets for early next week.

  Outside the dormitory I heard circus music flooding the air; perhaps Shadow had just turned it on. The familiar music conjured unexpected memories. It was the tune I’d heard when Jinying had taken me to Shanghai’s Big World Amusement Park and we had ridden the wooden horses on the carousel. This was extremely dangerous, for then I was still his father’s mistress.