The Nine Fold Heaven. Mingmei Yip

expensively suited men talked intensely with animated gestures. Children ate ravenously under their parents’ doting eyes.

      He asked hesitantly. “Did he . . .”

      I again dabbed my eyes without replying.

      “Jasmine, how can I help you? If you tell me his name and address, maybe I can use my position to do something.”

      “No, I’m all right, Edward. He bothered me, but never . . . more.”

      He looked a little relieved. I was pretty sure he’d already fallen for me even further—just in less than an hour. So my flair for scheming and lying had not turned rusty even though I’d stopped practicing for three months. Now I might as well make the most of his compassion. As the Chinese saying goes, “When there is wind, open your sail to its fullest.”

      I went on. “The master threatened that if I dared tell anyone, he’d tell his wife that I’d tried to seduce him.”

      “Oh, how horrible. I’m so sorry . . .”

      “So I just left without saying a word to anyone.”

      Again, he reached to squeeze my hand with his big one. “What were you doing when I saw you?”

      “I had just finished an interview for another tutoring position. Then when I walked back to the main street, a man robbed me.”

      “Are you hurt?”

      I pathetically shook my head.

      “Poor girl, how sad you had to go through all this!” He hesitated before he blurted out, “Do you have a place to stay?”

      Would he invite me to stay at his place? But I didn’t want that, because then my freedom to go anywhere anytime would be limited.

      “Don’t worry, Edward, the orphanage is housing me while I look for another job.”

      “There’s plenty of room. The house provided by the consulate is huge. Besides, I have my son, Henry, and my governess, Emily, who’s a very nice lady and takes very good care of me and my little boy . . .” He paused for seconds, then continued, “Since my wife left me.”

      I was curious to know about his son and what had happened with his wife, but didn’t want to seem too inquisitive.

      He spoke again. “I’m thinking . . . would you consider teaching Henry Chinese?”

      I was not going to waste my time that way, but I couldn’t think how to turn down what for “Jasmine” would be a generous offer. So I gave an evasive answer. “Thank you, that’s a very nice offer. But I’m afraid I would do a bad job. I’ve never taught a foreigner Chinese.”

      He looked disappointed and was silent for a few moments. He sipped more coffee, then asked, “Can you give me the name and address of the orphanage so I can take you back later?”

      I quickly made up a name. “It’s Compassionate Light, a few miles outside Shanghai. So you needn’t bother to take me all the way home. Besides, I can’t be seen coming back with a man, especially a foreigner. But if you like, I can contact you.”

      “Please, I’d love to see you again, Jasmine.”

      Just then my favorite Western song—Carmen’s “Habanera” taught to me by Madame Lewinsky—wafted into my ears.

      Without thinking, I sang along softly with the lyrics.

      While I sang, the Consul General looked at me as if I’d transformed into a different person, or maybe even an immortal descending onto this Red Dust.

      When I finished, he exclaimed, “Jasmine, I didn’t realize you have such a beautiful voice! How did you learn to sing so well?”

      “Thank you. From my father. He was an English and music teacher. In the orphanage, musicians also come to coach the girls singing and dancing so they can perform for charities during holidays and festivals. Since they think I have a good voice, I’m the only girl they allowed to sing solo.”

      He took a long, meditative sip of his coffee, then said, “I have a garden party next week. Would you like to come and sing for us?”

      “But—”

      “Don’t worry, if you can come, I’ll make sure you’ll feel at home.”

      Should I accept the invitation so I could meet some more important people there? But I might also run into someone I didn’t want to see!

      Before I made up my mind, my head was already knocking like a pecking bird. “Thank you, Edward. I am honored to be invited to sing at an ambassador’s house.”

      “Ambassador or not, I’m also like anyone else. Good, so it’ll be next Wednesday at six in the evening. I’ll ask my driver to pick you up. But you have to give me the address of the orphanage.”

      “Please don’t. I can go to your place by myself.”

      “Can you at least give me their phone number in case I need to contact you?”

      Reluctantly, I wrote down the phone number on a napkin and gave it to him. “But, Edward, please don’t call and get me into trouble. I’ll call you two, three times a week, how’s that?”

      He didn’t look very happy. “All right, if that’s what you want.” Then he wrote down a phone number and the name Emily Andrews. “If you call, dial this number. Emily is the governess and takes care of my personal stuff.”

      “Thank you. But, Edward, I don’t have any decent clothes to wear. . . .”

      “Don’t worry, I’ll tell Emily to find a dress for you. Just arrive an hour early at four-thirty and show the guard my card.”

      He picked up the card, signed it, then gave it back to me.

      Back in the hotel that night, I couldn’t decide if it would be good luck or bad luck to sing at this ambassador’s party. But I knew it wouldn’t be bad to know someone that important. Anyway, if it turned out that I didn’t need him, I could just waft away from his life like a summer breeze. And he’d find another girl, possibly on the street like me, or wherever his karma led him.

      After my encounter with Edward Miller, I kept thinking I should disappear from his life now when he was unlikely to go looking for me. But the opportunity seemed too good to pass up, so I decided I’d go sing at his garden party and hope my luck would hold.

      Waiting for Wednesday’s party, I didn’t do much except lie around in my hotel room, consume food, and read the Shanghai newspapers. I was almost disappointed that there was nothing about the gangs or myself. Had even my die-hard fans already forgotten about their beloved Songbird? Or had another pretty, talented girl been discovered to take over my place at the Bright Moon Nightclub? I decided to visit my former establishment to see if I could find any news of my old acquaintances, possibly even Madame Lewinsky.

      Bright Moon, Shanghai’s most fashionable and expensive entertainment establishment, was located in the International Concession between Yuyuan Road—the Fool’s Garden—and Fanhuangdu Road—the Emperor’s Crossing. The nightclub had a gaudily lit circular façade topped with a torchlike cylindrical tower. Inside was a huge hall with tables surrounding a polished dance floor. Above was a mezzanine from which the VIPs could watch those equally rich but less important.

      Though three months had passed—which seemed like an entire incarnation—nothing seemed to have changed inside the fashionable nightclub. Under the chandeliers, an impeccable Filipino band was playing a waltz tune. The richest and most powerful continued to have a good time side by side with the most evil, chugging down expensive wine or liquor and scraping their mirror-polished shoes on the nightclub’s famous glass floor. But there was one curious fact. As the men aged, their women remained forever young—still beautiful, flirtatious, and scheming.

      I asked to be seated in a far corner shunned by the glitterati so I could observe without being observed. That everything looked so familiar after all that happened