by Yangsze Choo
His words reminded me of Fan and her prematurely aged lover. “So you could feed off my qi?”
Lim Tian Ching’s denial was a shade too vehement. “I don’t need to resort to such cheap tricks! I’m not some hungry ghost. Look around you.” He drew himself up. “I’m an important man, Li Lan. If you’re lucky, you can be a great tai tai here.”
“What makes you think you’re such a great man?” I asked. “Just because your family humors you?”
His expression darkened. “I’m the one who humors them! It’s because of the special status of my case that we have a relationship with the border officials. And when I’ve gathered enough evidence, I’ll prove to everyone what happened.”
“How do you even know whether you were murdered?”
“Don’t be ridiculous! It’s true I had a fever that day, but it wasn’t until I drank that tea before bedtime that my pulse began to race. I couldn’t breathe or even call out. And in the night, my heart stopped.” He glared at me.
“It could have been a seizure from the fever,” I said, thinking rapidly of all the illnesses Amah had ever warned me about.
“There was a thick residue in the cup. You know he was once a medical student—who else in the house would know about drugs and dosages? And who profited from my death but Tian Bai?”
I swallowed, wondering whether to say anything. “There might have been other people who didn’t like you. Or your mother,” I said, hurrying on in spite of his outrage. “Tian Bai wasn’t even at home when you died. And Yan Hong still has your teacup hidden away. Did you ever consider her instead?”
“She hid it?” He had an odd expression on his face. “How do you know?”
Not wanting to mention that I had gone spying into the real Lim mansion, I dropped my eyes. But Lim Tian Ching said angrily, “So what if she kept the teacup? That doesn’t mean anything. It was Tian Bai who gave me a present of rare tea!”
My tongue was thick and numb, as though it was two sizes too large for my mouth. Lim Tian Ching began to pace, picking at his trailing robes.
“He could have slipped something into the leaves earlier. He didn’t need to be around when I died. In fact, he would probably ensure he was away at such a time. Yan Hong must have been protecting him. The two of them were always close, always against me. When she wanted help arranging her marriage to that penniless husband of hers, who did she go running to, Tian Bai or me?” He paused, controlling his voice with difficulty.
“My cousin always got what he wanted. The servants cosseted him, even my father had a soft spot for him. The only one who saw through him was my mother. She urged my father to send him abroad to study. I hoped he would never come back.” The pupils of his eyes contracted until they were no more than specks.
“Did you know he had a mistress in Hong Kong?” Seeing my reaction, he pursued his advantage relentlessly. “She was some half-caste Portuguese girl. There was a huge scandal and he was forced to leave school. My father had to pay an enormous sum of money to get rid of her. Some people said there was even a child. So don’t believe him if he says you’re the only one he loves. In the end he would have abandoned you, just as he cast that woman off.”
A terrible silence descended upon the room. Lim Tian Ching wiped his mouth with the edge of his sleeve. I couldn’t utter a word. At length, he gathered himself. “I’ll leave you to think about this. It has no doubt been a shock to your delicate sensibilities.” He clapped his hands and the door opened. A female puppet servant appeared. “See that she’s given every consideration,” he said. Glancing at me, he added, “The demons will question you tonight. Perhaps then you’ll revise your opinion of me.”
For a long time after he left, I didn’t move. The puppet servant waited, its patience unrelenting until, at last, I roused myself to follow its bidding. Dazed, I washed and combed my hair. Clothes had been laid out for me—heavy, stiff garments of an antique cut. Burial clothes. I put them on numbly, slipping the letter and the scale in unobserved. The female puppet servant dressed my hair, pinning it elaborately with jeweled ornaments. With impersonal movements, it powdered my face with rice powder and rouged my lips and cheeks. Then it lit a candle and blackened a pin with soot. It mixed this with a little wax paste and used it to darken my eyelashes. I didn’t flinch, even when the pin was brought close to my eyes.
I didn’t cry. Since the Lim family had approached my father about a ghost marriage, I had shed tears at every juncture. When Lim Tian Ching had begun haunting me, when I learned of Tian Bai’s arranged marriage, and later, when I was disembodied and wandering the streets of Malacca. This time, however, there were no tears. My heart felt as hard and dry as a salted apricot.
Lim Tian Ching might be lying to me. Nothing would please him more than to destroy any relationship I had with his cousin. And the symptoms of his death could apply just as well to a fevered seizure as to an overdose of a stimulating herb like ma huang. But there was no denying that he had constructed a plausible case. It would have been easy, very easy to do just as he suggested and include a poisoned decoction among the rest. I thought with despair of Tian Bai and realized that I didn’t know whether he was capable of such a deliberate risk.
But the most damning evidence was what I had seen when I entered Tian Bai’s dreams and memories. There on a high cliff, I had seen him stare longingly at a Eurasian girl. Isabel Souza, I remembered her name well. Surely this was the mistress that Lim Tian Ching had alluded to. To think that he might have had a child by her! If I survived all this and managed to return to my body, what future would I have? To be held in Tian Bai’s arms in the flesh, I had thought, would make all this worthwhile. But even if he were innocent and such a thing came to pass, I would never be first in his heart.
Dusk descended like a curtain in this staged world. My face in the mirror was a pale oval in the dimness of the room. I looked thinner, more mature. The angles of my cheekbones frightened me, and I wondered if they heralded the beginning of my starvation as a hungry ghost. Perhaps it was the clothes or the elaborate makeup; but the girl in the mirror, with her slender neck and shadowed eyes, looked like all the romantic heroines I used to pore over in books. I felt sick. Whatever charms I possessed were destined for Lim Tian Ching’s bedchamber. It was he who would lift the red bridal veil, and his sweating palms that would seize hold of me. I thought about snatching up a hairpin to disfigure myself, but I was reminded of my mother and her status in this household. It would be foolish to throw away any leverage I had.
Glancing out of the window, I was struck by an unwelcome realization. The ten days that I had asked Fan to wait for me were up. She must have already started the journey across the Plains of the Dead. Even if I survived my interrogation by demons, I might be walled up in this mansion for centuries as Lim Tian Ching’s bride. And what of Er Lang? Perhaps he too had gone, since I had missed our rendezvous at the red pavilion. In my anguish, I gave an involuntary cry. “Er Lang!”
There was a clatter as an empty basin fell off the washstand. I froze, fearing the appearance of a puppet servant, but long minutes passed without interruption. Yet something strange was occurring. The air near the washstand twisted and darkened like smoke, then condensed abruptly into a familiar, mushroom-brimmed form.
“I thought you would never call me.” Er Lang’s voice was the sweetest sound I had heard.
“What—where were you?” I asked. In my eagerness, I grasped his sleeve. It disappeared between my fingers and I g
ave a faint cry of surprise.
“It seems I’m having some difficulties maintaining a form in this world.”
“Er Lang!”
“Call me again!” he said urgently.
I repeated his name, and to my amazement his figure solidified until I could feel the weight of the cloth in my hand. “What happened to you?”
“Well, it was harder than I thought to stay in the Plains of the Dead. This spirit form proved to be quite unstable. It has taken me all this time to break through again, and if you hadn’t called me, I probably wouldn’t have been able to return.”
“So you didn’t do any spying after all,” I said. It was a childish thing to point out, but he made a mock bow.
“No, I didn’t. In fact, I’m in your debt. And by the way, you look lovely tonight. Much improved from last time.”
Despite myself, I colored. When Lim Tian Ching had complimented me, I had merely felt revulsion, but praise from Er Lang made my chest flutter unexpectedly. That fascinating voice was an unfair advantage, I thought. One that made even his offhanded remarks beguiling. But it didn’t rule out the possibility that he might use me as some other sort of bait.
“Can you get me out of here?” I asked, ignoring his last comment. “The demons are coming to interrogate me soon. Or were you planning to wait until they were done with me?”
“What a scold you are!” he said. “How can you possibly expect to catch a husband like this? It wasn’t as though I was exactly sitting on my hands.” Despite his complaints, I could hear the amusement in his tone, or perhaps it was just that I had become accustomed to him.
“If you didn’t insist on wearing that ridiculous hat, you might have better luck materializing here.”
“It’s purely for self-protection. I would be far too recognizable without it.”
“Who would recognize you?”
He shrugged. “I can’t help that I was born with such remarkable looks. But enough about me. What has happened here?”
Hastily, I recounted all that had happened, including the conversations between my mother and Master Awyoung. Lastly, I produced the crumpled letter I had stolen from the Old Master with a feeling of triumph.
“It has meeting dates and names the Sixth Judge of Hell,” I said. “Is that evidence enough for your case?”
Though I couldn’t see his face, Er Lang seemed extremely pleased.
“Very good,” he said at length. “I must congratulate myself.”
“Yourself?” I spluttered.
“Why, yes. For recruiting you as a spy. From the moment I saw you, tracking me so diligently through a mangrove swamp, I thought that this was a girl who could certainly be counted on to dig around the underworld.”
“Why . . . you!” I said indignantly, until I realized that he wasn’t serious. “You owe me a favor, then. I need to return to my body.”
“As for that, I promised you my help. But shouldn’t you be concerned about getting out of this place first?”
“Can’t you help me?”
He spread his hands regretfully. “Much of my strength is gone, for I expended too much qi trying to get here. To reach the realm of the dead, I had to empty myself of it.”
Despite my disappointment, I could scarcely resist the urge to cling to him. I’d come to rely too much on him, I thought. “Then find Auntie Three!” I burst out. “The little old woman from the kitchens. She said she would help me. Also, can you catch up with Fan?” Hurriedly, I gave him a brief description of her. “By this time she should be somewhere on the plains; but if you can travel fast, tell her to wait for me at the entrance to the tunnel, for without her I don’t think I can find the right door. Or can you show me the way out?”
“I told you, the way I came is not possible for you. This tunnel you speak of—I doubt that I could help you see in it. Remember, you and I are the only living creatures in this world.” His words, though softly spoken, brought a chill to my heart. And I was all but half dead already.
“I must get out!”
Even as I said these words, doubt filled my heart. Now that I had handed him the letter, what was to stop Er Lang from simply abandoning me here? His very features, under the ubiquitous bamboo hat, remained a cipher to me. My fears must have shown in my face, for he laid one hand lightly on mine. Without thinking, I clutched it. Er Lang didn’t say a word, but his grip tightened. I could trace the warm width of his palm, the length of his fingers. Yet it was indisputably a man’s hand: beautifully boned, larger, and far stronger than mine. The tightness in my chest eased. A peculiar comfort seeped into my skin as I considered his words, The only living creatures in this world. I had been too long in this negative realm, surrounded by the dead and their facsimiles of life. But I wasn’t dead yet.
Er Lang turned. “Prepare yourself, then. If I can, I will find this Auntie Three. The ox-headed demons are coming.”
“How do you know?” I ran after him, suddenly fearful of being left again.
“It’s better if you don’t know. Now, the door will open shortly. If I were you, I would take off some of that unsuitable jewelry.”
With that, he was gone. Hastily, I plucked the pins from my hair, braiding it again into my usual schoolgirl plaits. The formal robes I wore were completely unsuitable for running, let alone riding, and I cast around frantically for my servant’s clothes. They were gone, however, and my own pajamas had not reappeared as they used to. A new fear seized me. Had Amah stopped taking care of my body? Whatever it was, there was no time to waste. I stripped off the outer robes, thankful at least that I had a pair of loose trousers under the trailing garments. The shoes were impossible: thick heeled and clumsy with ornate toes. I would have to go barefoot.
Sooner than I had expected, I heard a shout outside. There were thumps and movement, as though people were milling around beyond the door. Then silence. Suddenly the door opened with a quiet click, as though someone had unlatched it. I bolted into the corridor. It was empty except for Er Lang.
“Go that way,” he said. “I’ll delay them.”
“What did you do?”
“Set some fires,” he said laconically. “Paper houses burn well, if you know the right way to go about it. I’ll try to find your friend Fan on the plains. Now, run!”
Chapter 29
I think I shall always remember that mad journey. The twisting corridors, the endless suites of empty rooms. It was well that I had memorized Auntie Three’s map, otherwise I would surely have been lost. Indeed, sometimes I still see that house in my dreams and fear that I shall never leave it. At one point I ran through the very banquet hall that Lim Tian Ching had decked out for our engagement, so long ago it seemed. The same crimson banners and lanterns still hung there; the long tables still piled with festive platters of fruits and flowers that did not decay. When I passed the spot where he had toasted our impending nuptials, my heart shied like a nervous horse, but there was no one there. In that, Er Lang had been as good as his word. I didn’t know how he had accomplished it, but there was not a soul in that part of the mansion.
When I reached the banquet hall, I threw open the sliding doors and ran out into the night. I knew from Auntie Three’s map that if I could get out into the grounds, there was a good chance I could follow the outer wall and reach the kitchen quarters. Outside, the ground was rough and uneven. I slipped several times and wished heartily for shoes, but it was too late. I would have to run on, even if my soles were shredded to the bone.
There was no moon and no stars in that dead world, just the
deepening of the sky as though the curtain was coming down on a play. At last I reached the outer courtyard of the kitchens. Whatever had stricken the rest of the mansion, the kitchen at least seemed immune. I could hear the clang of pots and even the barks of the cook as he presided over his puppet servants. I strained to hear whether Auntie Three was with him. Could she have gone to look for me? Slipping through the gate, I dashed across to the servants’ quarters and fumbled my way into my room, not daring to light the oil lamp. I called out softly to my little horse, but there was no response. In growing dismay, I pushed aside the barrier of screens to find that she was gone.
I choked. How could I possibly traverse the plains without my steed? Perhaps Auntie Three had taken her. She’d said she would wait for me near the back gate, although it was long past the time we had agreed on. I ran, my breaths coming as heaving sobs. When I reached the gate, a small figure detached itself from the shadows. It was Auntie Three.
“Li Lan! Are you all right?” she asked.
I nodded, barely able to speak. Something was wrong, however.
“You must go!” said Auntie Three. “Your horse is here outside the gate.” Then she asked, “Why do you look at me so strangely?”
“How do you know my name?” I asked.
“Your name?”
“I never told you my name. I said I was girl number six when I arrived.”
In the faint light, Auntie Three looked stricken. Pressing a hand to my aching side, I continued, “You called me by my name earlier as well, when you found me in Master Awyoung’s quarters. I didn’t think about it at the time.”
“Does it matter? You don’t have time for this.”
“Of course it matters! How do I know if I can trust you?”
