The Nine Fold Heaven. Mingmei Yip
finished, Abigail said, “Oh, I need to bring you some clean towels. Stay here, ma’am, I’ll be right back.”
After she left, I splashed water on my face, neck, shoulders, and, enjoying being alone for a few moments, raised my arms and legs and bent them into the perverse, titillating poses I’d used in my contortion act. I wanted to feel daring, as if I were really the pampered hostess of this grand mansion.
Just when I was arching my back with abandon, the door opened and in plunged the Consul General himself!
I tried to grab something to cover myself up, but there was nothing nearby except my arms.
The handsome general looked completely stunned. “Oh, I’m sorry! I didn’t know that Emily took you here. So sorry.”
In fact, I’d have been sorrier if he missed the chance to see me naked. Because now that he’d had a glimpse of what I had to offer, I guessed he’d be like a leashed dog, straining to grasp its dream bone. But if it turned out that I did not need his help, our encounter would be but a memory to unsettle his solitary nights.
Just then Abigail came back with the towels and Miller withdrew awkwardly. With a barely suppressed smirk, the maid held out a towel to dry me. She must have sensed that I was not the least embarrassed. Of course, she could not know that I was the famous skeleton woman who would have sex with a man—or woman—even in the most perverse, contortionist positions. I was sure she could have no idea of the wicked skills that my young body had been forced to learn in order to seduce and captivate Master Lung. After she had finished drying me, Abigail held out a robe and helped me into it. Then she led me back to my room, where Emily was waiting.
“I hope you had a nice bath, dear,” she said in her motherly voice.
I thought: Instead of treating me like a child, she should start to worry for her boss!
Refreshed by the bath, I put on makeup, then slipped into the new dress.
The governess gave me an admiring look as I inspected myself in the mirror.
“Miss Chen, the dress looks very nice on you. But what a tiny waist! When you eat, where does all the food go?” She laughed and added, “How can I have a waist like yours?
I was pleased that I could still inspire appreciation, but I feared this might be unduly risky. What if some of the Consul General’s guests recognized me as the Heavenly Songbird with her famous twenty-one-inch waist? I could only hope that my new hairdo—short, straight, and with bangs covering my forehead—would also cover up my true identity. But they still might recognize my voice. All I could do was omit the high notes that I was famous for.
As a last touch, on my head Emily placed a large hat with a solitary pink flower. She fussed around until the hat slanted in an artistically balanced and pleasing angle. Good. Because this hat would also shield part of my once-celebrated face.
But I was still thinking, would it turn out to be a terrible mistake to have come here? However, it was too late to act, or rather, to not act—like the hidden dragon in the beginning of the Book of Changes. So all I could do was go with the flow. Hopefully, like the hidden dragon, when the right time came, I would soar to the nine fold heaven.
Emily led me down into the main hallway, then out to the garden. Even I could just glimpse the interior, its glittering chandelier, gold and marble pillars, and fresco-like oil paintings proclaimed to all that this was the abode of power.
The twilight lent the garden a dreamy quality. Flowers nestled in luxuriant vegetation gave out intoxicating fragrances. Colorful lanterns hung in midair like stars descending to Earth for the pleasure of us mortals. A small live orchestra, partly hidden under sprays of pink blossoms, played soothing tunes. Guests, all foreigners, clustered here and there, sipped champagne, nibbled at hors d’oeuvres, and chatted. A few spotted me, politely nodded, then went straight back to their interesting—or obligatory—conversations. Suddenly, I thought, despite all this luxury, how boring this kind of life must be, after the initial thrill.
Emily excused herself, then Miller materialized beside me and handed me a class of champagne. He scrutinized me from head to toe and then back from toe to head.
“Jasmine, you look absolutely stunning! And smell intoxicating,” he exclaimed, then cast me a suspicious look. “What kind of perfume did Emily give you?”
“There’s no perfume, sir. I was born with this natural fragrance.”
“Is that so?” He studied me with an unbelievable expression. “I never heard of a person with natural fragrance. Is that possible?”
I smiled, without negating or affirming.
“You are a unique young lady, you know that, Jasmine?”
“Thank you, Mr. Ambassador.”
“Edward, please.”
“Yes, Edward.”
Just then a five- or six-year-old, very cute little boy dashed to the ambassador and rubbed his head against the man’s leg.
“Daddy, when can we eat?”
Miller caressed the boy lovingly, then turned to me. “Jasmine, meet my son, Henry.” Then he said to the boy, “Henry, say hello to Miss Jasmine, in Chinese.”
Henry smiled shyly. “Ni Hao, Jasmine, Ah Yi?” (“How are you, Aunty Jasmine?”)
I smiled back, touching his cheek. “I’m fine, Henry. You’re a very handsome boy.”
“Wo zhidao, Ah Yi.” (“I know, aunty.”)
I turned to his father. “Edward, your son is such an adorable little boy!”
The father smiled proudly.
I asked, “So, Henry is already learning Chinese?”
“Yes, in school.”
“He is hen ke ai.”
“Daddy, what is henkeai?” Henry asked his father in English.
“That means you are very lovely and likeable.”
The boy turned to give me a big smile. “You henkeai, too, Aunty Jasmine.”
Edward laughed as he affectionately patted his son’s head.
Henry pulled at my dress. “Aunty Jasmine, please come play with me!”
“Henry, Jasmine Ah Yi is too busy to play with you now. She needs to get ready to sing for us.”
“But, Daddy, I want to play with henkeai Jasmine Ah Yi!”
Edward turned to me, “I hope you don’t mind. I’ll be back in a moment.”
The ambassador left to greet the distinguished guests who kept streaming into the garden. I was relieved that none of these people was likely to recognize me—they were mostly foreigners, probably rich businessmen, influential politicians, prominent professionals.
Henry pulled out two plastic cars from his pants pocket, put them on the ground, and made roooom, rooom noises.
Seconds later, Emily appeared and said to the boy, “Henry, stop bothering Miss Chen, let me take you to the kitchen.”
Then she turned to me. “Excuse us, Jasmine, I need to get something for Henry to eat. He’s hungry.”
Happy to be left alone for a moment, I began to walk around discreetly to see if I could eavesdrop anything useful.
A bespectacled gentleman with a hat and suit said loudly, “When will the shipment of cigarettes arrive in Hong Kong?”
Another one in a suit and bow tie exclaimed, “The Charter bank has just doubled its profit and its stock keeps shooting up!”
Yet another one described to his lady friend how he had his portrait done by the first Chinese oil painter in Shanghai.
Except for a