“I need it!” Her growl falls apart into a sob. “Please!”
And in these words I hear all that Sing has lost. No matter how many times Mama-san brought a belt across her back, no matter how many men ducked in and out of her bedroom, Sing always managed to stay strong. Always dreamed.
I need it.
I.
Need.
It.
Her words echo and swell and flood, become the blood and marrow of this dark hall. So loud that I don’t hear the footsteps that bring Fung to my side. He looms over me like a nightmare — a shadow stretched extra long. There’s a syringe in his hand and a twist on his lips. His eyes are dark, dark, like the lumps of spent coals my mother used to dump behind our shack.
My body is all tremble, waiting for his shout or the quick slap of his hand, but Fung does neither. He stares a moment longer. The dark, dark eyes and the dragon above them betray nothing.
“You should go back to your room,” he growls.
I obey. Walk back to my bedroom and its window full of bars.
There’s no room for dreamers here. No room for risk.
And there’s no room for me out there. Not really. As I told the boy: I can’t go home, not even to see my sister. My father is waiting there, with a thirst and an itch and an empty wallet. He’d sell me again and my mother would watch again, her bruised eyes heavy with tears.
And I don’t even know where the sea is. Or what I would do if I managed to reach it.
The ambassador does not make my heart sing, but I know every freckle on his body. I know his favorite dish is eel sautéed with mushrooms and bamboo shoots. I know he always hiccups three times in a row. I know he is the youngest child of two factory workers. I know that he’ll still give me the apartment.
The boy won’t even tell me his name.
I bury my head deep in my pillow, but I can still hear Sing. Her screams barrel through the door, punch into my eardrums like metal chopsticks. Haunt me with all the possibilities of needles and failure, what the unknown might actually cost.
Maybe I really am my mother’s daughter.
JIN LING
At first I think I’ve died. I open my eyes. Find my body swaddled in white cloth. Clean and crisp, like a burial shroud.
The room around me is nicer than anything I’ve ever seen. The floor and the ceiling are glossy, dark wood. Electric, rice-paper lanterns cast soft halos of light onto sparse, sleek furniture. Even the walls are pieces of art — painted with cranes and stunted fir trees.
It’s not until I try to move that I realize I’m alive. The pain is still there. Hot and white. By my shoulder blade. There’s a throb in my neck, too — reminders of all the places Kuen’s knife went. Something tugs my hand and I realize there’s a needle taped just under my skin. A clear tube snakes out of me, going all the way up to a full red bag. Blood.
I rest my head back on the pillow. Blink at the rafters. If one thing’s certain, it’s that I’m not in the Walled City. No place there is this nice. So how did I get out? How am I even alive?
“Oh good. You’re awake.” My thoughts are interrupted by a man’s voice. A brassy one, like a temple gong.
I recognize him immediately. The way he stands in the doorway, shoulders set, is the exact same. There’s no hood, but I know it’s the man who met Dai at the edge of City Beyond. The one with the money.
“How are you feeling?” The man stays by the sliding door, hands tucked behind his back. I have to squint to see the finer details of his face. I’m not used to so much bright light.
“Confused.” I keep scanning the older man’s features. He’s not pudgy or disfigured, like Longwai. He has wrinkles, but his face is sharp and sly. Like a fox studying a chicken coop.
Dai looks just like his father.
“I’ll get the nurse.” The man starts to turn.
“No — wait,” I call out, and immediately regret it when the pain flares. “Is Dai here?”
The name does something to the man. Changes him. He no longer looks so sharp — the difference between the hunter and the hunted. He turns out the door, trying to hide it.
I wait in silence, wondering if the man will come back. I flex my hand, stare at the bag of blood. The thick red looks weird, hanging in a pouch, far from bodies and hurt. Almost like the sauce Mrs. Pak puts on her chicken dishes.
It takes me a moment to recognize Dai when he walks in. He’s dressed like a rich man: white shirt, pressed pants, hair combed out of his face. He looks as if he belongs in one of those giant metal skyscrapers. All he needs is a briefcase.
But then he shoves his hands into his pockets and I remember who Dai is. The boy who sits on rooftops, his feet dangling, baiting fatal heights and concrete endings. The boy who spends hours under Longwai’s knife, waiting for me to run back. The boy of scars and secrets.
Dai walks all the way to the edge of my bed. I know what he’s going to say. I can tell by the way he’s looking at me, eyes wary.
“You’re a girl.”
“And you’re rich.” My reply is thick, terse. I can’t believe that, after all the things he’s kept from me, he’s actually angry.
Dai shrugs; his fists stay deep in his pockets. There’s something tucked under his arm. Something long and flat and the same color as my boots. I can’t get a good look at it, because he’s turned away. He isn’t looking at me or the mess of tubes around the bed. He stares at the fancy room. Stuff that belongs in a museum. “Didn’t have much choice in the matter.”
“Neither did I.” I feel a scowl coming on. “Sorry to disappoint you.”
“I…” He licks his lips, digs for the right word. “I’m impressed, actually. That’s not an easy secret to keep.”
I don’t know what to say, so I close my eyes. My side is full of throb and pain.
“Why did you hide it?”
One eye opens, giving me a view of Dai’s clean-cut face. His lips are almost a frown, which means his question is serious.
Talking hurts, but I do it anyway. “You’ve seen what happens to girls in that place.”
“I mean… why did you hide it from me?”
“Same reason you hid all this, I guess. We all have our secrets. Had,” I correct myself. “Besides, would it really have changed anything?”
His lips press together and he gives a small shrug. “So why do you want money to buy time with one of Longwai’s girls? What do you really need the cash for?”
Dai’s questions come fast. Rapid-fire bullets. They make me uneasy. I don’t like being the one who gives up all the answers. I shouldn’t be. Not when Dai’s biggest deception is all around us.
“I’ll tell you only if you give me some answers.” Lightning pain forks into my side. I grit my teeth. Wait for it to pass. “Where are we? Who are you?”
I expect him to dodge my questions. Like every other time. Instead, Dai tugs a high-backed wooden chair over to my bed. He sets what he was carrying down on the floor. And just for a moment I glimpse it. A book.
“It’s a long story.” He perches himself on the lacquered wood. It doesn’t look comfortable.
“That’s good. Seeing as I’m stuck here.” I lift up my needle-stuck hand, wave it at him. The scarlet tube coils with the motion. “You want answers, you got to give them.”
Dai sighs. It’s a heavy sound, full of years and silence. Something he’s carried for a long, long time. Something he’s ready to put down.