But there were some loose ends that needed to be taken care of here, since we might never be able to return to China. Most important was drawing out the money sitting in Master Lung’s bank accounts. I now regarded this as taking an inheritance, rather than as theft. With the old master in the world beyond, the money belonged to the young master, Jinying. No doubt if Jinying applied his legal knowledge to taking this to court, we would eventually get the money—if we were not assassinated first, and after substantial deductions for bribing the judge and other officials involved. I had survived by being practical, so I decided to simply take the money and run.
The next day, I used Wang’s chop to sign the documents necessary to transfer the money to the account I had opened in Hong Kong. Of course, the transaction might not have been so smooth had I not slipped a thick envelope across the bank manager’s desk. There was still much more than enough for Jinying and I. So to gain merit for Wang and Lung to get better treatment in hell—and lessen the chance of their ghosts coming back to harass me—I arranged to give substantial sums to charities, including Compassionate Grace and Sacred Heart.
I assumed that Big Brother Wang had already died—the herbalist who sold the toxic herb powder was well-known for the invariable effectiveness of his concoctions. Yet, I could not find any mention about him in the newspapers. Then, shortly before our ship was about to carry us away from Shanghai, I opened the Leisure News to read:
We have just been informed from a reliable source that Big Brother Wang, of whom we have often written in this column, has passed from the underworld to underground. Can the big boss scare the King of Hell? Will the gang wars continue in the realm of the dead? That might be interesting to watch, but we prefer to stay in this world for now. Too bad we can’t place bets on this one!
All of us Chinese believe that red is the luckiest color. Who doesn’t wear red on New Year, give out red envelopes of lucky money, and write auspicious sayings on red paper?
But the “red” in the Red Demons’ name did not bring good fortune to Big Brother Wang, who has early departed for his immortal’s journey. All Shanghai remembers his lavish sixtieth birthday banquet that ended with a bang—actually, many bangs, from a shoot-out. Wang escaped intact, but sickened and died after a few days.
The gang members have been keeping it secret, hoping to continue to use his intimidating name for their various extortions.
The rumor goes that Wang died of food poisoning. But no one else at his table got sick. We’ve heard that he ate a steaming fish on the plate that had been magically transformed on the stage from one swimming in a bowl. Could there be a poisonous relationship between the two fishes? And what about the young couple sitting next to Wang—what were they doing there? My pink-clad girls and myself will try to find out.
Who will be our next number one boss? Place your bets now!
I really had to salute the nerve of this gossip columnist, who did not hesitate even to make fun of a dead person. Didn’t she fear his ghost’s revenge, or that she would offend her superstitious readers? How had she come to suspect that Wang’s death had something to do with the fish? Was she about to reveal the identity of the “young couple”? This possibility was yet one more reason to speed up our departure from Shanghai.
Now that Jinjin had come back to his mama, he no longer appeared to scold me in my dreams. But then I had another kind of disturbing dream.
Under the mysterious moon in a deserted area, like a wandering ghost I slowly approached a red-roofed temple. When I was near its entrance, something sparkling on the ground caught my eye. The object seemed to beg me to take a closer look. It appeared to be a watch with its two hands merging in one indicating midnight. But when I looked closer, I was shocked to see that the watch was worn on the wrist of a severed hand!
I screamed, but my feet felt too paralyzed to run. They were rooted to the ground like the entangled roots of a thousand-year-old tree. As I was wondering what to do, a bald head, shiny in the moonlight, leaned out from the temple door to study me. I couldn’t see the man’s face, but realized from his bald head that he must be a monk.
He asked politely, “You all right, miss?”
I pointed to the ground. “There’s a—”
He interrupted me. “I know, I left it there.”
“Oh…” I felt a jolt. “Do you know what… that is?”
“Of course I do. It’s cold outside. Please come in for tea, if you want to know what it is.”
Hypnotized by his magnetic voice and moonlight-reflecting bald head, I entered the temple.
Inside, two candles burned passionately, as if enjoying their fiery suffering. The monk’s face was hidden in shadow, but I could tell he was square-jawed with nice teeth.
He signaled me to sit, then began to prepare tea. Only then did I notice he used only one hand—the other was missing.
I exclaimed, “Master, your arm…”
“I left it outside.”
“Oh, heaven!” I was terrified. “You chopped off your own hand and left it outside… why?”
But he answered calmly, “I didn’t want to know the time, but I couldn’t get my watch off. So as not to be attached to time, I chopped off my hand with the watch and tossed it outside. Now I’m in peace.”
A most bizarre reason for mutilating oneself! But I knew that sometimes monks or nuns burn off a finger or even a whole arm to offer to the Buddha.
I tried my best to act and sound calm. “But, master, why don’t you want to know time?”
“Time is an illusion. Where I am, there is only the time of no time—”
Completely puzzled by the monk’s “time” talk, I interrupted. “Master, maybe your time is an illusion, but mine isn’t. It’s already past midnight. You are lying. Of course there is time, so there must be a reason that you say it doesn’t exist.”
He raised his arm but realized that both his hand and watch were gone. A heavy sigh escaped from between his lips. “Miss, you’re the first person who is able to see through me right away.”
But instead of telling me the truth, he handed me a cup of tea.
I took a leisurely sip, then blurted out, “Master, this is not tea but heavenly dew!”
“Yes, it is. But I won’t bother by telling you how I climb high mountains to gather it.” He took a sip and sighed. “I want to tell you why I am suffering…”
Before I could respond, he was already speaking. “I did this because of the woman I love. I know I will never again see her beautiful face or feel her heartbeat next to mine. It will never happen, so time means nothing to me.”
“Master, if you don’t mind my impudence. Why don’t you love someone else instead of wasting your time waiting? There are so many beautiful women in the world….”
“Miss, you don’t understand love. Haven’t you heard, ‘After you know the Cang sea, no other water will feel the same; after you experienced the clouds on Mount Wu, no other clouds could even be called clouds’?”