When the meeting ends, I collect the empty glasses quickly, willing Longwai and the book to stay put until I can follow. The glasses clink together, their purple-red rims jostling for space on my tray. I try to move slowly, but in the cabinet’s reflection I see Longwai heaving to his feet, the ledger wedged firmly in both hands. He starts walking to the far hall, in the direction of the stairs. I stash the glasses in the bottom of the cabinet, still coated with the stick of plum wine, and follow.
I’ve never been upstairs before. In fact, I’ve only seen the actual staircase twice. It lies at the end of the east hall, by the door to Mama-san’s room. It spirals like my nautilus shell, up and up, into the dark.
I hang, uncertain, at the edge of the hall, waiting for the master to disappear to the second floor before I make my move. Every part of my body shakes as I push myself down the length of the hallway, farther into the dark.
I don’t know if I can do this.
Deep inside there’s a pull, a line of cowardice tugging, begging me to go back to my room. To sit on my bed and wait. To apologize to the ambassador and accept his offer. To apologize to Yin Yu. To tell the boy I can’t do what he asks of me. To be my mother’s daughter. To keep enduring.
But I remember the demon behind the ambassador’s eyes, and I know things will never be the same between us. Even if he never bruises me again, every single touch will remind me of the night he made me bleed.
I silence every fear and keep walking, all the way down the shadow-drenched hall, all the way up the stairs. The door at the top is cracked open, streaming browned-gold light over the staircase. The air here smells different, heavy with mildew, leather, and ink. Scents both rich and spoiled. They catch in my throat as I rap my knuckles against the doorframe.
The door swings open. Longwai is behind it, his bulk filling up most of the doorway. Beads of sweat dot his brow, and his chest balloons with thick breaths. His eyes cloud and wrinkle at the sight of me. Girls never climb these stairs.
“What are you doing up here?” His words are tight and precise, as if they were cut out of him with a knife.
“I–I wanted to speak with you, sir.” I bow a little as I say this, catch a glimpse of his room under the curve of his armpit. An entire wall of weapons — swords, pistols, rifles, knives. My eyes flick back and forth. No book.
My bow lasts longer than it should. I’m all too aware of this as I rise, feel Longwai’s scathing study.
“I’m busy. Any problems you have should be brought to Mama-san.” He waves a hand down the stairs. The movement creates another brief glimpse. I catch sight of a bed and a screen full of bright moving pictures. His television. Still no book.
“I—" My mind hurtles, searching for words and excuses that might keep me here. Give me enough time to spot that elusive ledger. “I can’t go to Mama-san. I can’t trust her with it.”
Longwai frowns. “Is that so?”
My heart screams profanities in the form of beats. I’m not a spy, nor was I meant to be. The lies I have to feed the dragon, the ones I spent hours thinking of, feel slimy and rotten. Like something he’ll spit back out.
I offer them up anyway.
“She likes to play favorites.” I stand, ever so slightly on my tiptoes, trying to get another glimpse. There are no colors in the drug lord’s bedchamber. Almost everything is black or some drab shade of brown. The furniture, the floor, the wall hangings. The only bright things are the television screen and a tankful of fish. These cast the entire room in a ghost light.
Finally, I catch it. The faintest glimpse of red. It’s only a corner of something, poking out of a gaping desk drawer. That has to be it.
“Most people do.” The master’s booming voice snaps my eyes back to the floor.
“It’s… it’s Yin Yu.” I stumble over my own terrifying words. My veins clog full of guilt, as if the very blood in them has stopped. “She — she’s jealous that I’ve taken over her tasks. I’m afraid she’s spreading rumors about me to Mama-san. And I’m afraid that you or the ambassador might hear something bad about me. Something that isn’t true.”
“You think Osamu is paying for the quality of your character?” His mouth turns into a smile, then spoils into a sneer. “That I’m running some kind of etiquette school?”
I shake my head and push out more small, small words. “I don’t want to end up like Sing.”
“Then don’t,” Longwai says. “Is that all?”
“Y-yes.” I take a step back, only to remember that the stairs are close. My heel hangs off the edge. At this point it might even be a mercy if I fell back. A few scrapes and bruises seem preferable to the way Longwai is staring at me now. Like a piece of meat.
“Don’t bother me again,” Longwai growls.
“Thank you, sir.” I bow again, catch another look at the book. It’s still there, wedged into the drawer.
Longwai grunts and closes the door. I navigate the stairs with coltish knees. They knock and shake with each step. Halfway down I pass Fung, who watches me with his dark, dark eyes. The stairs are tight and our shoulders brush. I have to shrink all the way against the wall to let him pass. We’re so close he can’t not see me shaking.
But the gangster doesn’t say anything about it. His only word is a half-grunted “careful” before he keeps climbing, without looking back.
I did it. I spotted where Longwai keeps his ledger. I took the risk.
Jin Ling would be proud.
My heart is so swelling and full — with thoughts of my sister, the boy, the sea — that I forget about washing the dirty glasses in the lounge. I keep walking straight up the north hall. Past the tomblike silence of Sing’s room. By Nuo’s and Wen Kei’s and Yin Yu’s closed doors. All the way to the end.
6 days
DAI
When I was younger and needed a place to think, I’d sit by the carp pond. It was one of my mother’s indulgences — a reminder of her home country — installed at the rear of the house where an entire wall of glass looks out on the rock garden. Part of the pond stretches inside the house. The other half juts beneath the glass, into the yard of carefully raked gravel.
Koi swim to the edge of their small world and back again: fire white and liquid amber, scales shimmering. Their movement is smooth and streamlined, like some sort of jeweled hypnosis. It puts my mind at ease.
Whenever Hiro was tired of reading through his endless sets of encyclopedias, he used to come down here and toss coins into the water. They spun through the ripples — comets of silver, copper, and gold — down into the seaweed’s tangled green. He never did hit a fish.
Hiro. I breathe in and dip my fingers into the pool. My confession to Jin — Jin Ling — was the first time in a long time I’ve said his name, or even thought it. I’ve spent so long trying to erase and forget. Cramming him into the world of nightmares. Trying to cut all ties with everything and everyone.
My brother’s ghost is all over this house. Whispering if onlys in my ear. If only I’d listened to him. If only I’d been a better brother. If only…
I spent seven hundred and thirty-eight days in Hak Nam, doing anything I could to get out and find a way back home. But home isn’t what I need. Talking to Jin — Jin Ling — telling her my sad story, only drove this truth deeper into my skull. A fancy mansion on Tai Ping Hill won’t fix me. Trying to forget won’t fix me, either. It will never earn my brother’s forgiveness. Silence the ghosts…
I push my hand in deeper, the waterline up to my wrist. The koi scatter, scales streaking like torches in a night sky. I wonder if Hiro’s coins are still at the bottom, hiding beneath years of algae and fish shit.