The Nine Fold Heaven. Mingmei Yip

was insignificant—either a maid, a young cousin, or maybe even a mistress. And if I were a mistress, then people would politely pretend I did not exist. For my part, I was in accord with the saying, “It’s better to be silently seen than loudly talked about.”

      Soon, I became bored listening to the rich and powerful, because I had no interest in politics or business. So I sat down by a corner and sipped my drink. But my hope for a few moments of relaxation was broken by hearing a plump man with a bulbous nose talking loudly to his small group of listeners.

      “I’ve heard that the execution will take place on Sunday at the execution ground outside the city.”

      A plump woman exclaimed in her high-pitched voice, “Oh, how horrible! Who’d be the unlucky guy?”

      “I forget his name, but it’s some gangster.”

      My heart almost stopped at the word gangster. Because they were, in a way, my people. I was trained by them, surrounded by them, worked for them, and made love to them—until I finally succeeded in ruining some of them. But now I had to run away from those I had not ruined.

      One of the group, a man holding an elegantly carved walking stick asked, “What did the poor chap do wrong?”

      “Who knows? Maybe he didn’t do anything wrong at all. Just bad luck. But you know, I plan to go have a look. I’ve never seen an actual execution. It’s my opportunity, since the Chinese are so uncivilized as to do it in public. Anyone care to join me?”

      A gangster was to be executed. I needed to know who it was. But I kept quiet about my rather morbid curiosity. Then I was thinking. Could this man be someone I knew? Could it be Master Lung? Unlikely, for either he was now burning in hell or, if alive, hidden away, tasting the bitterness of his own karma. And it certainly wasn’t Big Brother Wang, because I’d just seen him at Bright Moon Nightclub, gloating at Lung’s specially reserved table. What about Gao, Lung’s bodyguard and my one-time lover? This thought sent a chill down my spine.

      Then the chill spread through my whole body when I suddenly realized—I, too, was wanted by the police for murder! Would the ax fall on my head, too, someday?

      I took several gulps of my champagne, though hardly in a celebratory mood. Then I thought of my host and decided I’d better capitalize on my good luck at having been “rescued” by him. Because, if I were headed for serious trouble, who better to have on my side than an influential foreigner?

      Just then Miller came over to me. “Jasmine, sorry that I’ve been neglecting you. There are so many people I need to greet. Now, can you sing us a few songs when appetizers are served?”

      I hoped this was not the only purpose that he’d invited me here—to provide free entertainment. I thought he genuinely appreciated my singing, but hoped that his interest in me did not stop there.

      I scrutinized the guests again. Some already eating their salad, while others still chatting with drinks in their hands. As far as I could tell, there were no Chinese at the party. Feeling relieved that no one would recognize me, it was time to show off my singing, the better to lure the Consul General further into my skeleton net.

      “All right, Edward. What do you want me to sing?”

      He pointed to the live orchestra under the sprays of pink blossoms.” I already told them you sing Carmen beautifully, so they’re prepared. After that, I hope you can also sing a few Chinese songs. As you see tonight, most of my guests are British, French, and American. Some are new here like me. I’m sure they’d love to hear something local and authentic.”

      Talking, he led me to stand in front of the orchestra. Before anything could be said to introduce me, the players had sounded the first notes of the aria.

      I half closed my eyes and meditated. Seconds later, I sank my qi to my dantian, then drew it back up to my chest and head before I delicately exhaled the first words. I did my best to make it sound innocent, vulnerable, and heart-melting like a baby’s breath.

      Love is a gypsy’s child,

      It has never, ever, recognized the law.

      If I love you, you’d best beware!

      The bird you hope to catch,

      Will beat its wings and fly away. . . .

      Love stays away, making you wait and wait.

      Then, when least expected, there it is!

      While I continued to sing, before my eyes reeled bitter memories like a flickering silent movie. I remembered Lewinsky’s warning that love might jump out at me from behind a corner, when I least expected it. Once I’d felt so hopeless about life that I attempted suicide, and Jinying rescued me from drowning in the Seine. When my little Jinjin, whom I’d never met, came into my dreams to comfort me. But now only three months later, they had vanished. Were they all hiding in this sleepless city—or were some already residing with the King of Hell?

      Remembering, I sang with such passion and depth that they even surprised me.

      When I finished, enthusiastic applause broke out, and for the first time in months I had the thrill of being the center of attention again. Bowing and scanning the audience, I saw Edward clapping especially loudly, looking like a teenage boy struck by the lightning called “love.” Now I had no doubt that he had fallen for me. A pretty orphan with a beautiful voice.

      At a corner, Emily and little Henry smiled happily as they clapped. I caught tidbits of conversation from the few in the front table.

      “Who is this Chinese girl?”

      “She’s so good; how come we’ve never heard of her?”

      “How did our new Consul General find her to bring her here?”

      But instead of enjoying the attention, I could only hope these rich and privileged foreigners would forget about me soon after the party.

      Edward spoke up. “Now some Chinese songs please, Miss Chen.”

      All the guest ganged up with him. “Yes, we want Chinese songs!”

      Someone shouted, “What about ‘A Wandering Songstress’?”

      I felt a wave of anxiety. Was it coincidence this man asked for my signature song, or had he seen through my disguise?

      I smiled coyly to the audience. “Sorry, ladies and gentlemen, I don’t think the orchestra plays anything Chinese.”

      But I was wrong.

      The young conductor piped up. “We can do a few, at least the ‘Wandering Songstress’ and ‘Nighttime Shanghai.’ ”

      Someone exclaimed, “Sing it!”

      Since I didn’t have a choice now, I again rooted my qi in my dantian and filled every word with a bittersweet melancholy.

      At the edge of the sky and farthest corner of the sea,

      I search and search . . .

      My love, I remember you played the fiddle as I sang.

      In the days when we were of one heart and one mind.

      Now I long for my homeland, in the far north.

      Tears streak down my hollow cheeks,

      Thinking of our happier days together. . . .

      Singing, I watched Edward’s mesmerized expression and the happy faces on the others. Then I segued into “Nighttime Shanghai” to bring my performance to a cheerful climax.

      As I was completely immersed in my singing, suddenly a light flashed from the audience, blinding my eyes. Distracted, I made a wrong note. Fortunately, most people turned to see where the flash came from and didn’t seem to notice my mistake.

      Finally, I finished. As I bowed, the audience shouted out for more.

      But Edward stood up and said, “Ladies and gentleman, let’s thank Miss Jasmine Chen for her wonderful performance