Peach Blossom Pavilion (48 page)

I was intrigued by the many transformations of my woman lover. Last night she'd been a dandy in a Western suit gliding on a dance floor, today she was a traditional Chinese scholar reciting poems to his ghostly lover. But all these were as a man. How would she have looked as Fung's bejeweled concubine?

Life in the city with a rich, runaway concubine-cum-famousopera-diva was quite different from that with a penniless Taoist monk on the mountain. When Teng Xiong didn't have to perform, she'd take me to elegant restaurants to try out famous dishesPeking duck, pig's intestines, shark's fin, sea slug. With warm, full stomachs, we'd ride in a rickshaw to appreciate the city's night life. Sometimes she'd stop the coolie to let us off in front of a tea house. Then we'd go in to relish scalding tea and high-pitched singing by girls with flirtatious smiles and graceful hand gestures. Yet I was always aware of something missing. I thought often of the phrase by the Tang dynasty courtesan Yu Xuanji: It's easier to find priceless treasures than a loving man. With Qing Zhen, I'd had the loving man, but not the priceless treasures. With Teng Xiong, I had the treasure and the loving, but no man. Perhaps the Buddha had it right: There is no end to desire.

So, while I lamented fate's malice, I enjoyed Teng Xiong's love and my regained luxury. Yet my life still seemed far from blissful. Though I'd been too busy at Peach Blossom, during my time on the mountain, I'd learned that having too little to do is not much better. So now living with Teng Xiong for two months, I decided I must find ways to keep myself occupied. Teng said I could also join the opera troupe if I liked. If I didn't, she'd have enough money to support us both. I did not want to just live off her money, so I decided to join the troupe. Although I'd been taught something about performing in Peking opera, I did not have the training of a professional actor, only a semiprofessional singer. Besides, the big roles were already taken by successful actresses like Tinkling Bell, and none of the others were eager to have competition for their parts. So I was only assigned to minor roles like a maid, an old woman, a page boy, sometimes even a low-class prostitute. I was paid, but one night's performance brought me less than one of my favored guests would have tipped my maid. Worse, while playing a maid or a page boy, I had to watch Tinkling Bell flirt and lean her small, shapely body close to Teng Xiong's tall, boyish one. I could not but fear that this broken bell was trying to seduce Teng Xiong. If she succeeded, who'd take care of me, how would I survive?

Even though I wanted to hold on to Teng Xiong, I could not stop thinking about Qing Zhen. At first I thought if I joined the opera troupe and kept myself busy working, I wouldn't have time to think of him. But I was wrong. Qing Zhen's image kept slipping into my mind, not only in quiet moments when I was reading or musing, but even while performing onstage. And of course during lovemaking with Teng Xiong.

And so I'd not quite escaped from the mountain prison because Qing Zhen's ghost never left me. My body was with Teng Xiong but my mind was still with the monk. Often when Teng and I were dining quietly together, I could almost see my monk lover sitting between us, staring sadly into my eyes. Maybe he was really there, for he'd told me his alchemy could render people invisible! I would also imagine what he might be doing. Perhaps he simply continued to live the same life-meditating, playing the qin, experimenting with alchemy, and writing talismans-but without me. I felt sad to think that I might have spoiled the spiritual practice that was his duty to his father. But even worse was when I imagined that he might not be lonely at all because he might have already seduced another girl for his practice of balancing the yin and yang.

When I imagined all the positions he'd carry out with the other woman and the variegated ways he'd move his tongue and long fingers all over her body, a heat would gather around my chest until a moan erupted from my mouth. During these moments, I felt a strong urge to run back to him and take him from this new lover who could never give him what I had. But, of course, I'd never mustered up the courage, fearing that he might get furious at me and kick me out, or worse, his attention completely focused on the other girl-who might be even prettier than me-simply ignore me.

When my imagination had calmed down, I thought, even if Qing Zhen did forgive me and take me back, how could I spend another winter in his bare "temple"? If I left Teng Xiong for him again and then wanted to come back, I could hardly expect her to forgive me a second time. Unable to make any decision, I continued to live with my lesbian lover while tormented by desire for a Taoist monk.

I also could not stop thinking about Mother. Though she might be near me, I had no idea where. Several times I'd traveled by car and sedan chair to the many temples on the Western Hills only to return home with a saddened heart. After several months, I finally stopped trying to look for her, though I tried not to give up hope completely.

I'd been living with Teng Xiong for a year. As time went by, somehow I knew this life could not go on forever. Though the days with Teng seemed to pass easily-we performed, discussed arts, dined in elegant restaurants, rubbed mirrors-I sensed that as a "wind sweeping through the pavilion heralds a rising storm in the mountains," something bad was going to happen. Recently Teng Xiong seemed less indulgent in buying me gifts. When we had sex, her performance lacked the passion she'd shown before. It was she who had used to please me in bed, but now I'd become the one who'd try to satisfy, even arouse, her. Was it Tinkling Bell? Was Teng Xiong now thinking of leaving me for her?

Whenever I would ask her if something had gone wrong, Teng Xiong would simply say, "Don't worry, Precious Orchid, everything is fine."

But deep down I sensed some disaster was lurking around the corner. I could almost feel its prickly texture brushing against my arms, causing my hair to stiffen.

One night after we'd made love, I pressed Teng Xiong to reveal what she'd been keeping from me.

"All right," she sat up and looked me in the eyes, "Precious Orchid, but please don't get upset-"

This was the first time I sensed fear in her voice. "Teng Xiong, after all these misfortunes, you think I can't take one more?"

Her eyes were sad, but her tone was firm. "I'm afraid we have to go our separate ways soon."

The statement dropped in the room like a bomb.

I sat up, startled. "What do you mean?"

She remained silent, her fingers nervously wringing the bed sheet.

I pressed. "Do you not ... love me anymore? Do you now love Tinkling Bell?"

"Of course I love you. And I don't care at all about Tinkling Bell." She paused, then, "It's that I ... I'm afraid I might get killed."

"What?" While I felt a chill splash down my spine, my voice soared toward the ceiling. "What happened?!"

"I think my husband has tracked me down."

"Your husband? You mean my favored guest Big Master Fung?" I pulled the bed sheet up over my chilled shoulders.

She nodded.

"Are you sure? How do you know?"

"I've been followed."

"Teng Xiong, why didn't you tell me earlier?"

"Because I didn't want you to worry. Besides, only recently have I been quite sure of it."

"How?"

"I've noticed in the audience a pair of eyes that follows me everywhere. At first I thought it must be some devoted opera fan. But then I noticed that instead of admiration, the eyes are full of spite. This man is not an admirer, but someone who comes with an evil purpose." She stared at me intently. "Remember that man with a missing finger in the supper club?"

I nodded.

"You thought he was sent by your Mama and De to follow you, and I assured you that he was not. I should have realized then that he was sent by my husband to track me down."

"But Teng Xiong, you're disguised as a man, so how can they-"

"Precious Orchid, I work in a female opera troupe and I was an opera singer before Fung took me as his concubine."

"Oh, my heaven! Do you think they've also noticed me as your lover?"

"I don't think so, not yet. But that's what I worry about." Teng Xiong's fingers kept twisting the bed sheet, which was now all crumpled over her body like a mummy's wrapping. "People in Shanghai thought you ran away with a man, and I can't see how anyone would know about our real relationship. But Fung's underlings are relentless, and sooner or later they'll find out."

"Oh, my heaven! But how do you know it's Big Master Fung?"

"Who else?"

A long silence. Teng Xiong spoke again. "Precious Orchid, I meant to tell you earlier, but just didn't have the heart." She swallowed hard. "Now I have to quit the opera troupe and leave you before it's too late."

"Teng Xiong, I'll leave with you."

"No." She looked so determined that my heart sank. "After they've verified my identity, I'll be in big, big danger. I don't want you to be involved in this. Fung is capable of anything." She cast me a penetrating look. "He was a warlord before he turned businessman.

The word sent a tremor across my chest. "A warlord? You've never told me that."

She ignored me and went on, "Not only had he killed innocent civilians, he even shot his own daughter."

I blurted out, "My father was also murdered by a warlord!"

"Your father, how?"

"The warlord didn't actually kill him, but had him executed."

Although I'd let Teng Xiong explore my body like an adventurer setting foot on new territories, remembering my mother's farewell warning, I'd never told her about how Baba had died.

Not until now. I blurted out everything about my past.

When I finished, Teng Xiong's face was as white as the bed sheet. "Oh, my heaven, I believe Fung was the one who had your father executed!"

It took me seconds to absorb this revelation. Then my heart began to beat like hailstones pounding on a windowpane. "Are you sure?"

"Yes. Because I was there that night. I witnessed the whole incident." She blinked hard, as if by so doing she might wipe the horrible images from her mind. "It was a horrendous sight. The three were entangled, struggling to get the gun. Finally the girl succeeded in snatching it from Fung's hand. The fiddler-your father!-tried to snatch it back but she kicked him in the groin. Then Fung grabbed the gun back. His daughter seemed to go insane. She jumped on her father and started to scratch and bite. The fiddler tried to disentangle them. And that's when the gun in Fung's hand went off and it shot the girl right between her eyes . . . " Teng Xiong pointed at her third eye. Her other eyes looked as horrified as if she were the one who'd been shot.

I lifted her hand from her face and held it. "So the girl didn't shoot herself but was shot by Fung?"

Before Teng Xiong could reply, I told her what people believed to be the "truth"-that the warlord got drunk and raped his daughter. Humiliated, the girl grabbed her father's gun and shot herself. When she was struggling with her father for the gun and everyone stood by in horror, my father-the fiddle player-tried unsuccessfully to pull them apart and snatch away the weapon.

Teng Xiong said emphatically, "No, the girl didn't shoot herself. Fung shot his own daughter."

An explosion burst inside my head. I could almost see my voice leap out in the air, splashing like blood all over the wall. "He also murdered my father!"

A long silence followed during which I was too stunned to utter a word. I couldn't comprehend that Big Master Fung, my favored guest, who turned out to be Teng Xiong's husband, was also the warlord who'd had my father executed. I'd traveled all this way only to discover that the person whom I'd been looking for had been right in front of my eyes for all these years. I'd slept often with my father's murderer!

My throat felt dry; my hands trembled, and my mouth kept muttering, "Oh my heaven! "

Teng Xiong reached to hold me. "Please calm down, Precious Orchid." Then she released me to take the pot and pour us tea.

I sipped slowly, ignoring the burning sensation in my mouth. "I had no idea . . . he was my customer for all these years, but he never said anything about himself or his family."

A long pause, then Teng Xiong cast me a meaningful glance. "Was he nice to you?"

"In a way, yes. He was generous in buying me gifts."

She searched my face. "You know why he was nice to you?" She plunged on, "Because you reminded him of his daughter. Like you, she had two dimples. But hers were much deeper, so deep they almost looked like two iron brackets imprisoning her. But," Teng Xiong sighed, "her real prison was her father's obsession. Fung loved his daughter too much for a father."

"Then he raped her?"

"I'm sure he did. Sometimes I think he might have killed her on purpose.

I was shocked to hear this. "But why?"

"Because she was getting older and might reveal what he had done to her."

Some silence, then I reached to touch her.

Teng Xiong caught my hand and kissed it. "Since the first day I'd entered Fung's household, I thought of running away. After seeing him shoot his own daughter, I knew I had to. We knew he'd kill anyone who leaked a word about what had really happened." She paused, then spoke again. "Since his daughter's death, he's declined rapidly."

"Why is he not in trouble?"

"Because he's still very rich. It's not easy to eliminate a person whose safes spill enough gold to blind your eyes." Teng Xiong searched my face. "Precious Orchid, your father was a brave man. Too brave for his own good."

In my mind's eye, I saw Baba, blindfolded and hands and feet locked in thick chains, being escorted to the execution ground. His feet were dragging, not because of fear, but because the chains were heavy and cutting deep into his flesh. Blood and pus oozed from the ankles where I could smell rotten flesh. The King of Hell was impatiently waiting for him with sharp-nailed claws. Yet Baba's expression was calm, even proud. Because his conscience was clear. His only wrong was doing something right-refusing to be contaminated by the evils of the human heart.

The executioners lifted their rifles and aimed at Baba. To them, he was just another target for their daily practice. Another unknown victim among a half-billion Chinese. Baba's eyes flickered under the blindfold. His lips moved. But nobody knew what he was thinking or trying to say at his last moment in the red dust.