The Nine Fold Heaven. Mingmei Yip

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      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 and now let her rest so we can all eat?”

      A few still called out for an encore, but soon everyone was eating and absorbed in their chatter. Edward came up to me, took my arm, and steered me through the crowd, past a grand living room into another spacious room filled with books.

      “Jasmine, what can I say? Tonight you conquered everyone’s heart.”

      I smiled but said nothing.

      “Jasmine . . .” He paused, looking uneasy.

      “Yes?”

      “I would like to know you more.”

      I didn’t respond, and he went on. “I can tell from your singing that you’ve suffered immensely. And I hope you can trust me enough to open up your heart. Of course I don’t mean now since we’ve just gotten to know each other. But I hope we can be friends.”

      Again, I smiled but didn’t respond.

      He lifted my hand and pressed his lips against it. “I can tell you’re exhausted not by your singing, but by the emotions the songs brought back to you. You don’t need to go back to the orphanage tonight; you’re welcome to spend the night here. There are ten guest rooms and I can ask Abigail to prepare one for you. If not, I can take you home. But then you have to wait for a while till all the guests left.”

      But, of course, I was not going to stay. Keeping men in suspense creates mystery and increases desire. This is one of the Thirty-six Stratagems, yuqin guzong, “release in order to capture.” More to the point is the Ming dynasty’s Guide for Whores, which says, “Wives are less tempting than concubines, concubines are less tempting than prostitutes, prostitutes are less tempting than someone else’s wife, but most alluring of all is the woman you failed to seduce.”

      The more doses of mystery you feed a man, the harder he’d fall for you. But why was I even thinking about this? The reason I returned here was to find my true love, Jinying, and our son, Jinjin. Maybe that was my training, or even my nature, that I’d try to seduce any man, or woman, who might be useful to me.

      Can a woman love more than one man at the same time? Well, why not, considering what men do? Chinese history is filled with famous scholars who deemed themselves fengliu caizi, “followers of the wind,” artistic men who bestowed their love on not just one, but a whole entourage of talented, beautiful ladies.

      A good example was the Ming dynasty scholar Qian Qianyi, who, bored with his dull wife, took for his concubine the beautiful and brilliant Liu Rushi, who not only graced his bed but helped him compose his books on Chinese history. Then there was the high official Hong Wenqing, ambassador to four countries, who took the courtesan Sai Jinhua, a politically brilliant woman who once saved the Empress Dowager from an invading army. And many men whose inamorata may not have been particularly talented but brought them happiness anyway. And yet all these men did not entirely lose their affection for their first wives, who, after all, had run their households and borne their children.

      Unlike the first wives selected by the man’s parents, these women were spirited and unconventional. They interacted freely with men, enjoyed wine, traveled on horseback, could entertain by singing, dancing, or playing musical instruments—and excelled in the arts of the bedchamber.

      If a man can love different women, why can’t a woman have more than one love? Not because she doesn’t want to, or cannot, but because society will denounce her. And worse, her own man-poisoned mind will not let her.

      But I was not a proper, decent, or married woman. The rules didn’t apply to a rootless, homeless, relentless skeleton woman like me. So I could follow my heart’s desires wherever they led me.

      But on this occasion, following my heart meant stringing Miller along for a while longer. So when the party finished, I politely turned down his offer to stay overnight at the consulate but СКАЧАТЬ