Memoirs of a Courtesan. Mingmei Yip

‘Master Lung, you’re so funny! Because these two mediocrities are only here to make us appreciate the following show.’

      He hit his fist on the table, causing a small earthquake. ‘You’re damn right, Camilla. What do you eat to get so smart?’

      ‘All the meals granted by you, Master Lung.’

      He laughed, and the earthquake shifted to his belly. ‘Good, Camilla! That’s why you’re my favourite!’

      I could only hope that that would last – until my mission was completed.

      ‘Thank you, Master Lung.’ Though I feared his impatience if he were bored, I silently prayed that Shadow would not be my match in beauty or intelligence.

      But Master Lung would be the one to judge. And unfortunately men’s opinion about women is unpredictable and subject to change, like a child’s in a toy store, or a woman wandering the aisles of the expensive department stores on Nanking Road.

      Still smiling, Lung playfully pinched my hip. I pretended to fend off his ambush by hitting his arm flirtatiously with my hand.

      He cast me a curious look. ‘Where’s the painted fan I gave you?’

      That was the fan I’d thrown towards his son the other night. To be courteous, I should have invited the young master tonight. But I hadn’t because I didn’t want him here to further complicate things or to be another distraction to my goal.

      I responded. ‘Didn’t you see that I threw it to the audience? I guess someone must have caught it.’

      ‘Next time, don’t throw my fans away.’

      ‘Of course not, Master Lung.’

      As if on cue to save me from more chiding, a burst of loud drumming rolled out as multicoloured lights criss-crossed the stage. A quiet fell over the hall as people anticipated the long-awaited act. Soon a black-tuxedoed man entered from the right side of the stage.

      ‘We want Shadow and her magic!’ someone shouted.

      I smiled inside. Any performance is a form of seduction. Playing hard to get is always a winning strategy.

      With his white-gloved hand, the master of ceremonies tapped lightly on the microphone, then cleared his throat. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Ciro Nightclub!’

      A round of applause burst in the packed hall.

      ‘Are you ready for our mysterious guest tonight?’

      Another burst of applause as the audience shouted a collective, ‘Yes!’

      ‘Are your eyeballs ready to be astounded?’

      An even louder ‘Yes!’

      ‘All right, so now be prepared for Miss Shadow’s impossible show. If you saw her daring stunt last week at the Customs House, I can assure you that tonight’s show will be even more astonishing.’ He paused for a moment.

      ‘Okay, everybody, let’s hear a loud welcome for the incredible Miss Shadow!’

      The MC strode off the stage as another fusillade of drumming burst from the orchestra. All the lights dimmed in the hall except those onstage. An unworldly silence seemed to stretch into infinity. Then, to everyone’s surprise, instead of the much anticipated appearance of Shadow herself, there was only a pair of red shoes floating in the air!

      My heart sank. If she could think of this, she might actually be able to outshine me.

      I cast Lung a secretive glance and found that his eyes were protruding more than usual. He must have found her intriguing, if not downright attractive.

      More gasps and exclamations sprinkled the hall. Now we only saw one bare foot, toenails painted bright red, like drops of blood from a slaughtered chicken.

      I could see that, like me, the magician knew how to create a presence. I wondered, was she also well-versed in Sunzi’s The Art of War and the Thirty-Six Stratagems?

      Then she materialised on stage, and immediately a collective gasp exploded in the hall. Just as at the Customs House, she had not a stitch on her entire body! The men laughed and cheered, and the women gasped.

      My hear sank another notch.

      Shadow had a voluptuous figure, her full breasts jiggling like tofu, with a firm, if generous, bottom atop muscular legs. Her face was rounder than mine, with a high forehead and two painted-on, crescent-moon-shaped eyebrows. Her hair was pulled back tightly like a ballerina’s, but slithered down her back. Sizing her up, I had to admit to myself that I could not compete with her athletic physique. But so far I had been able to rely on my narrow waist, long legs, slim, girlish figure and innocent eyes. ‘Like a beautiful maiden walking out from an album of exquisite paintings’ – that was how the entertainment newspapers in Shanghai described me.

      A few seconds passed as the audience – at least those who sat close to the stage in the first three rows – realised that the magician was not naked but wearing a tight, flesh-coloured tunic. Some men emitted a disappointed, ‘Huh!’ and a few women, ‘Thank old heaven!’

      Shadow began slow dance movements to the dreamy music from the orchestra as the red shoes floated teasingly in front of her. Then she paused, hands on hips.

      She made a face, chiding the shoes, ‘Oh, you terrible little twins. Now come back to Mummy!’

      The shoes shook but came no closer. Looking annoyed, she reached to snatch them, but they playfully bounced away.

      ‘Come back, good girls, come back to Mummy …’ Shadow cooed as the shoes kept backing away like playful toddlers, advancing and retreating until Shadow suddenly slapped them down onto the floor.

      Then a gasp of shock came from the audience as a pool of blood appeared around them – just as had happened in front of the Customs House. She shook her fist at the shoes, then put them on and exited the stage, leaving a trail of blood in the shape of a zigzagging snake.

      There was an explosion of laughter and applause.

      My heart was now grovelling on the floor. Damn this Shadow who was trying to steal away my mystery, my show, my life!

      When Shadow reappeared, she was wearing a traditional magician’s outfit: black tuxedo, white gloves and tall hat. She did some usual tricks, like pulling rabbits out of her hat, but with great flair. For her finale, a large glass bowl filled with black ink was wheeled onto the stage, and a scroll was hung up next to it. With a graceful movement, Shadow dipped a huge brush into the bowl, then splashed the Chinese character for fish onto the scroll. She took down the scroll, wrapped it around the bowl, then whisked it away, to reveal the bowl now filled with fish swimming in clear water.

      Spectacular as this was, I knew she must have even more spectacular illusions yet to come.

      She would be the talk of Shanghai, stealing the limelight from my show. I had to put a stop to this.

      Get close to yourself; get closer to your enemy. If Lung was going to fall for her, it’d better be under my eyes.

      I turned to the gangster head. ‘Master Lung, why don’t we invite Miss Shadow to our table for a drink?’

      Lung nodded, looking excited. ‘This Shadow is pretty good, isn’t she?’

      Fifteen minutes later, a stunning Shadow floated to our table, trailed by flashing eyes and heated whispers. Her dress was light purple with swaying green willows, making me dizzy. For Chinese, the willow symbolises rootlessness. Was that the impression she intended to give? A mysterious magician whom no one could pin down?

      Gao immediately stood up and pulled out a chair for her.

      Lung smiled, his eyes traversing her body like wild horses galloping in a meadow.

      After Gao went back to his table, Zhu spoke to the magician for his boss. ‘Miss Shadow, what a show!’ Then he introduced us.

      ‘Thank