“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”:
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.
With the newspapers under my arm, I set out for a walk in the crisp Shanghai air, hoping to clear my mind. I was still hungry, so I stopped at a street vendor selling fresh-out-of-the-boiling-wok doughnuts. The snack looked fresh and golden. Just what I needed: a fresh start and an golden opportunity! After I paid, the vendor wrapped the doughnut in an old newspaper, then handed it to me. Soon I was savoring golden hotness, both in my hand and my mouth. Then, when I had finished and was about to throw away the paper, I saw the word Camilla—my name.
Heart beating fast, I unfolded the paper and read the headline:
After an intensive investigation, Police Chief Li has announced that the famous nightclub singer is now hiding in Hong Kong. But even if Li is right, the police cannot arrest her because China has no jurisdiction in the British Crown Colony.
Police believe Lung has been killed because he has not been seen in Shanghai since the shoot-out in his secret villa.
Master Lung’s Harvard-educated lawyer son, Lung Jinying, refuses to say anything about his father, or his mistress, Camilla. He says he knows nothing about the shooting, except what he’s read in the newspapers. But Chief Li is sure the son knows a lot more than he is saying—
Damn. The rest of the article was cut off, just at this crucial place. I looked at the dateline: It was more than two months ago, three weeks after my escape. But no more news. It seemed I would have no choice but to see if Jinying was holed up in his apartment.
It was good that Police Chief Li thought I was still hiding in Hong Kong when I was actually back in Shanghai. As in the saying, “The most dangerous-seeming place may actually be the safest.” But not always. To go to Jinying’s place would really be dangerous, but I knew I would go there anyway. But I waited until midnight before I took a tricycle rickshaw to my lover’s flat.
My first worry was the police would still be watching, even though it was unlikely after three months. So I kept my disguise as a man, wearing a suit, glasses, a hat to cover up my hair, even a mustache. I was well aware that the chance Jinying would be staying in the same place after all that had happened was close to zero, but I had to see for myself—and even if he was long gone, I might find a clue as to his whereabouts.
I sighed with relief that there were no police, nor any pedestrians near Jinying’s place. Looking at the building, bittersweet memories rose up in my chest. This was where Jinying and I had first consummated our forbidden love, despite my being his father’s mistress—with little lost Jinjin the result.