Free The Nine Fold Heaven by Mingmei Yip Page A

consuming his shrimp, chicken, beef, or whatnot, I took the chance to look around.
    The room was decorated with old charts and paintings of Chinese junks. A wooden shelf was filled with books, held in by an elastic cord. On one wall was mounted a miniature Chinese dragon boat.
    The dragon boat reminded me of what I had read about the Chinese luxury boats of the past. The wealthy would invite a select few to enjoy their aquatic paradise. The guest list might include close friends, celebrities, high monks, talented scholars, beauties, and honest merchants. The last category always amused me. If there are “honest” merchants, are there also “sincere” spies like me, “on the house,” or on the boat, courtesans, “compassionate” gangsters? What about “spiritual” monks, who ate meat, drank wine, and seduced women?
    These rich people’s boats were lavishly decorated with lanterns, ribbons, and latticed windows. In these pleasant surroundings, the honorable guests would engage in sipping aromatic tea, or expensive wine, dancing, doing calligraphy, reciting poetry, and meditating on the ever-changing waves. The boats were given names based on their unique shapes, like Gourd or Banana Leaf, or poetic images, like Swallow’s Garden, Jade Pavilion, Pine Grove....
    I wondered, in a past life, was I a courtesan entertaining on one of these luxurious boats? Had my past karma led me to be gliding over the water with a high official on his beautiful yacht? I inhaled the clean air, imagining myself living in the purity of tall mountains, far away from this dusty world. But sadly, reality always paints a different picture.
    My life was a boat drifting on a limitless expanse of water—when would it land on the shore?
    Miller seemed to be enjoying himself so much that he was oblivious to my sadness. As we ate and drank, he rambled on about the city and the sights we were passing. I mostly listened, fearing the more I talked, the more chance I would reveal more of myself than was prudent. I didn’t want to spoil this seemingly pure, innocent encounter. Or was it? Maybe he had more in mind than simply rescuing a poor orphan girl from her horrible fate.
    But I put this out of my mind for the moment as the rocking of the boat, soothing in its monotonous rhythm, gave me a sense of peace and security. It was a little cooler now, and the setting sun was casting golden highlights on the waves. Feeling mesmerized and nostalgic, a song involuntarily slipped from my mouth.

    Everyone has parents, but I don’t.
Where are you hiding, dear mama and baba?
When, if ever, will we meet?
     
    Would we recognize each other,
Or merely rub shoulders as we pass?

    To my surprise, after I finished, my host was blinking back tears.
    I asked. “Edward, are you all right?”
    He took a small meditative sip of his wine, then softly put down the glass. “It’s your singing. It makes me sad, for you—and also for myself.”
    “How’s that?”
    He spoke slowly, his tone sad. “I also consider myself an orphan.”
    I was surprised to hear this and quickly put on a sympathetic expression. “What do you mean?”
    “My parents were missionaries in Shanghai years ago. When I was fifteen, our house burned down and they were killed.”
    “What a horrible accident!”
    “It wasn’t an accident; it was murder.”
    “Murder! But who would want to murder harmless missionaries?”
    I was not at all sure that missionaries are absolutely harmless, and didn’t feel much about his parents, since I would never meet them. But I knew I should sound sympathetic.
    He shook his head, his blond hair glistening under the yacht’s yellowish light, rendering him still handsome but now sad, and vulnerable.
    “It was gangsters.”
    My heart skipped a beat. “They were killed by gangsters?”
    What I really wanted to know was whether they’d been killed by the Flying Dragons or the Red Demons.
    He split a bitter smile. “My parents did nothing but preach God’s good