Gunpowder Alchemy (14 page)

I tried to follow his example but coughed violently as soon as the liquor hit my throat.

“
Heaven and Earth
,” I sputtered, my eyes watering. The stuff tasted worse than Physician Lo's bitter ginseng brew.

“You have to drink it slowly.” Chang-wei patted me on the back, which was as ineffective as his advice.

“I
did
drink it slowly,” I managed between coughs.

The other patrons were staring. I waved Chang-wei's hands away and forced myself to sit up even though my throat was still burning. I was met by a pair of blue eyes, clear as the sky.

Standing over me was the strangest man I had ever seen. I had heard the
Yangguizi
had blue eyes and golden hair, but the few I'd caught a glimpse of so far had been darker in coloring. I had just dismissed the tales of ghosts as an exaggeration, but this man was startlingly fair skinned. He was dressed in a waistcoat similar to what Yang had worn. The material was gray and somber, though his demeanor was anything but. His lips were parted in a grin that bared teeth and spoke of familiarity.

Chang-wei stood to greet him. Instead of bowing, the foreigner reached out to clasp his hand and spoke in a torrent of
Yingyu.
But the absolute shock was when Chang-wei responded back with equal fluency.

“Mister Burton doesn't speak the Canton dialect,” Chang-wei told me after inviting him to take a seat across from us.

“Not true, Chen,” Burton replied cheerfully in flat yet passable Cantonese. “After five years, even a barbarian can learn.”

He faced me and affected an exaggerated bow. “I am called Dean Burton.”

Burton told of how he had gradually picked up the dialect as part of his business, which I discerned was some sort of trading house. Chang-wei shot me a look when I asked him pointedly what goods he traded.

“Tea and silk,” Burton replied readily, taking a drink of what had originally been my drink, but which I gladly relinquished.

His Canton dialect was rough and my ability to decipher it incomplete, as I was unaccustomed to hearing it from a foreign tongue, but the gap didn't seem to deter Burton. He proceeded to direct his conversation to me as often as he did to Chang-wei.

“Your country is very beautiful,” the foreigner said. “I feel quite at home here now.”

“It is good to hear that you've been made to feel welcome,” I said with some effort.

“Are you from Shanghai, Miss Jin?”

“No, sir. I was born in Peking.”

“Ah, the capital. It would be”—he paused to search for a word—“most fortunate to see the palace one day.”

“Foreigners are not allowed in the Forbidden City,” I reminded him coolly. “Nor are most commoners.”

I wondered if he had ever gone beyond the boundaries of the settlement. Here the foreigners had built a replica of their homeland. A part of me couldn't forget that Burton was here because my father had fought and failed to prevent the Western invasion, but I tried my best to remain polite.

“I hear that John here has seen it.” The foreigner grasped Chang-wei's shoulder in a brotherly manner. “You must be more important than we thought.”

I was taken aback by the mispronunciation of Chang-wei's name. Burton called him that repeatedly as if they were longtime friends.

My overwhelming impression of the foreigner was that he was
big
. Not so much in size. He was only a little taller than Chang-wei, but everything about him somehow seemed larger. His face, his hands, how loudly he spoke. Every expression appeared exaggerated, as if he held nothing back.

“How did you and John come to know each other, miss?”

“This is considered polite among Western people,” Chang-wei interjected with a note of apology. “An exchange of personal yet inconsequential information.”

“But isn't it quite consequential how we know each other,” I replied, voice lowered.

“That is the difference between us. We consider most personal matters quite private, while they . . . don't necessarily feel the same.”

The foreigner's attention darted back and forth between the two of us. “Hey!”

The utterance was a foreign one, but translated easily.

“Can you speak a little slower? I'm a
gweilo
after all.” Burton followed his protest with another grin.

“I have come here for an important matter, Burton. You've heard of the gangs of rebels in the south?”

His smile faded. “Not gangs, John. An army.”

“I think you must be mistaken.”

After that, the conversation proved to be too tricky in broken Cantonese. Chang-wei switched to
Yingyu
, and I was left adrift in the flood of gibberish.

“The washroom is in the back.”

I looked up to see our hostess standing over us. Chang-wei and Burton only spared her a glance before continuing their discussion.

“You asked me where you could find the washroom,” the woman prompted. The silver dragon curled around her ear gleamed as she turned her head. “It's in the back.”

“I didn't ask—”

With a bow that was more like a curt nod, she went to see to the next table.

Perturbed, I stood and politely excused myself before starting toward the back of the parlor where the hostess had directed me. She caught me with a glance over her shoulder before continuing with her rounds.

Chang-wei had warned me not to trust anyone, but compared to the white-skinned trader, this young woman didn't seem like a threat. Still, I remained wary as I slipped past the mock altar and the golden bodhisattva.

The washroom was near the back door. I had just entered the tiny chamber when the door swung open once more to admit the hostess. She leaned back against the washbasin, her jade green dress pulling taut over her figure, and folded her arms as she scrutinized me from head to toe.

I straightened. “What is this game you're playing?”

She turned the jade bracelet about her wrist once before bothering to reply.

“Elder Sister.” Her gaze passed over my brocade jacket and down to my slippers. “It's obvious that you have a proper upbringing. I can hear it in how you speak. Especially in how you command that bureaucrat out there. Unless he happens to be besotted with you.”

I could feel my face heating. “He's not besotted.”

Her eyes narrowed at that. “Oh? Do you know your lover is a Western sympathizer?”

“He is certainly not my . . . not that.”

“Chen is aligned with the
gweilo
.” She was relentless. “I've seen him arm in arm with them more than once.”

“That's none of my concern.”

I tried to push past her, but she took firm hold of my arm. “You don't know anything about him, do you?” There was no animosity in her tone. “As one woman to another, be careful. The
gweilo
have come here to get rich; every last one of them. Some of them run opium, but there are goods worth even more than that. The men they can barter away as laborers, but the girls—especially the pretty ones . . .”

My blood chilled. Yang had accused the foreigners of poisoning us with opium to gradually turn us into a land of slaves, but we could also be enslaved without opium.

“You don't look to be Chen's mistress,” she continued. “And it's obvious you aren't from Shanghai. There's no family to come looking for you if you were to disappear.”

Suddenly all of Burton's polite conversation seemed sinister, inquiring where I'd come from, what had brought me here.

“Chen Chang-wei is a longtime friend of our family. I trust him.” Did I? Of course I did. My instincts had chosen him over Yang out in the middle of the ocean.

“Then be wary of that man, Burton.”

I started out into the parlor, but the woman stopped one more time to turn to me. “My name is Ming-fen. You may not believe me, but I speak to you as a friend.”

“Jin Soling,” I replied in turn.

“Be careful, Miss Jin. Newcomers to Shanghai can quickly disappear.”

When I returned to the parlor, Burton had risen to take his leave. I stood back as the men shook hands and the foreign businessman departed.

Chang-wei appeared bright eyed at my approach. “Mister Burton has offered to hire bodyguards to take us to your village.”

“I don't trust him,” came my immediate reply.

He was taken aback. “I do trust him.”

Ming-fen, my newfound guardian, watched with interest from the table in the corner. I could imagine how the cautionary tale she told me would play out. To her, I looked like a young woman lured into the arms of the lover only to be abandoned to the wolves in Shanghai. Sadly, I suspected it was a common occurrence in this port city.

“Mister Chen, do you truly believe that your associate has become wealthy by purely trading tea and silk?”

“I believe he deals in many goods in the course of his business,” he replied stiffly.

I glared at him. “
Chang-wei
.”

“I understand Burton likely has his hands in opium and there are plenty of our own countrymen who have done the same. But Mister Burton and I have established an understanding. He is an ally here in this city. One of the few I can trust to help us.”

I told him about Ming-fen's warning. Rather than dismissing my fears, he listened to me patiently.

“I can guarantee Burton is not involved in the coolie trade, Miss Jin.”

“And the armed escorts he's hiring? Do you know anything of them?”

“He has contacts that I unfortunately do not have. Remember that you were the one willing to seek out less reputable parties to get you home.”

It seemed like so much bravado now, lost in this strange settlement without a friendly face in sight. Chang-wei knew how to survive in this new place that had become our homeland, and I did not. Sadly, the one lesson I was learning quickly was to turn a blind eye when a blind eye was needed.

Otherwise there was nothing to see but rage and sorrow. And defeat.

***

Burton arranged for a room in one of the hotels along the river. Stone steps led up to the front entrance, which was graced by a pair of carved lions. Unlike the guardian lions I was accustomed to seeing, these were lions of the West, large and shaggy haired.

I stood back from the desk as Chang-wei spoke in a foreign tongue. There was some problem, and the exchange went on for longer than I had anticipated. At one point, the clerk's voice rose loud enough for me to hear.

“
No Chinese allowed
,” he said, breaking out in the Canton dialect.

I tensed, but Chang-wei remained unfazed. He continued in a firm and composed manner. All I could discern from Chang-wei's response was Burton's name, but apparently that was enough for the clerk to begrudgingly hand over a key.

Chang-wei took my side as we ascended the staircase and spoke apologetically as he worked the key into the lock. “There is only one room. He assumed we were husband and wife.”

He said nothing of how the clerk had tried to refuse our entry, but it must have been a source of shame for him. For a clerk to treat an imperial official, even a minor one, with such rudeness was unheard of. The foreign concessions stood on Chinese soil, did they not?

But I let the matter die for Chang-wei's sake, since he'd chosen to control his temper. It wouldn't do to complain when living off of someone's charity.

It also wouldn't do to complain when I saw that our room took up an entire corner of the second floor. It was the size of my family's house in Linhua, with a decadently large bed and a canopy overhead. Chang-wei made a point of avoiding the bed with his eyes.

The true luxury, however, was in the adjoining compartment.

“A bath!”

I had difficulty containing my awe. In Linhua, the bath was a large wooden tub set in a storehouse that had to be filled by hand with buckets. Most of the villagers frequented the public bathhouse where they took the trouble of supplying and heating water.

Here, the washroom contained a porcelain tub connected to a network of brass piping that snaked into the wall. Seeing it, I was nearly ready to apologize for ever doubting Dean Burton.

“Use this lever here.” Chang-wei pointed to the metal arm at one end of the contraption and explained the controls for hot water as well as cold.

I was almost more interested in figuring out the clever system of pumps and water wheels that fed the pipes than actually taking a bath. Almost more interested.

Chang-wei worked the lever, and steaming water flowed into the tub only minutes later. Then he left me in privacy so I could sink into the tub, washing away the layer of grime and salt accumulated from the ocean voyage. It was hard to imagine that just that morning, we were aboard a ship.

After I was scrubbed clean, I stepped out of the washroom to see Chang-wei at the desk by the window. He was turned away, head bent to read from something hidden in the palm of his hand.

He had set the bamboo screen outside the washroom door for me. A package wrapped in brown paper had been placed upon the bed.

“What is this?”

Chang-wei didn't turn. I saw his throat moving as he swallowed. “I don't know.”

I opened the wrapping to reveal a blue
cheongsam
dress embroidered with white flowers. There was also a tunic and a pair of loose trousers.

“Burton,” Chang-wei replied before I had a chance to ask. I saw there was another package for him beside his arm. “He runs a store in the settlement along with trade routes.”

I was grateful to change out of my battered clothing. There was silence on the other side of the screen as I fastened the frogs that ran along the shoulder of the tunic.

Even turned away, with the screen separating the two of us, these close quarters were unsettling. My heart beat faster and I took a deep breath before stepping out from behind the screen.

“If you will excuse me,” Chang-wei began hastily.

“Of course.”

We navigated past each other, me to the window and him to the washroom, all without meeting each other's eyes once. It was a wonder we didn't collide, we were trying so hard not to make eye contact. His sleeve brushed against mine as he rounded the corner of the bed.

I pinned my hair while listening to the metal creak of the lever and the rush of water. Then I allowed myself to think of my brother, something I hadn't done for a few days. I wondered if Tian was keeping up with his studies, if Nan was able to keep him fed. I wondered if Mother had come out of her stupor long enough to worry that I was away for so long.

Most of all, I hoped the rebels hadn't raided our village. Another few days, a week at most, and I would be home.

I started to nod off with my head propped onto one hand at the desk when the washroom door opened. Just as I had, Chang-wei disappeared behind the screen. When he came out, he was dressed in a loose steel gray robe; notably finer than the one he'd been wearing before.

It was the first glimpse I'd had of Chang-wei's hair loosened from its braided queue. Quickly I turned away, but I heard his tentative approach.

“Miss Jin, I apologize—” He held out a comb in one hand, which I saw from the corner of one eye. “If I could request your assistance.”

Despite his formal tone, I could hear the rasp in his throat. My pulse jumped and, for some reason, my hands would not move.

“If this is unacceptable to you, I can ring for a valet.”

“No,” I said, rising quickly. “I can help.”

It would be even worse to admit that being so close to him unnerved me so.

We arranged ourselves with him sitting in the chair while I stood behind. He reached over his shoulder to give me the comb, and my fingers trembled as I took it. For an entire minute, all I could do was hover with the comb poised in the air.

Chang-wei needed his hair braided back into the traditional queue that all male subjects were required to wear. I had done so for Tian a number of times, but he was my brother as well as a boy. For a man such as Chang-wei, this was certainly an intimate service reserved for a wife or a trusted servant.

I thought I heard him let out a breath as I sank my comb into his hair to part it. It was thick and nearly as long as mine, falling down past his shoulders. Seeing Chang-wei with his hair unbound rendered him vulnerable. At the same time, he appeared inexplicably unrestrained and masculine. I tried not to think of the contrast as I began to braid the three sections together, taking care to keep the queue even.

“Yang Hanzhu cut his hair,” I said partway through the process. I don't know why that particular thought came to mind, but I had felt the need to say something and break the silence.

“Yang?” He sounded annoyed that I had brought our mutual acquaintance up. “I saw he had done that and knew then he was beyond reach.”

Yang could never join with the crown prince or work on behalf of the empire. Once a man's queue was cut, he could never return as a subject to the throne. It was an uncompromisable symbol of loyalty.

I finished tying the end of the braid and stepped away.

“Thank you,” Chang-wei said simply.

He turned the chair around to face me. With nowhere else to go, I sat down on the bed. The mattress was padded and soft, sinking low beneath me.

“Yang believes that certain opium shipments have been specifically engineered to be more addictive.” I didn't reveal the other part, when I'd stumbled upon the opium addicts kept inside cages.

“I don't see why that would be necessary. The drug is addictive enough in its pure form.”

“Yang claimed to have seen strange effects of opium usage. He told me he was searching for a cure.”

The corner of his mouth twitched. “That sounds like the man I remember. His ideas were always grandiose.”

It was easier to look at Chang-wei now. He was composed and formal. Yet I couldn't forget the feel of my fingers running through his hair or the sight of his back to me, broad shoulders tensing beneath my touch.

I kept on talking because I needed to keep talking. “Maybe Yang had a point. Fighting against ships and guns won't free us as long opium holds our land captive. That isn't the battle we should be waging.”

“Ships and guns allow the
Yangguizi
to force opium upon us,” Chang-wei argued.

“
Opium addiction
is what allows the
Yangguizi
to force opium upon us.”

His jaw hardened, and for a moment I thought he would berate me for being obstinate. Instead, he sat back in his chair, hands folded before him thoughtfully.

“Whenever the Ministry had a problem to solve, your father used to bring a group of us together. Even if our area of expertise seemed unrelated. And not just department heads, but junior members as well. Yang's expertise was in alchemy; mine was mechanics. I was the youngest in the entire ministry and had yet to earn any respect. Your father's rule was that no one could take insult if someone disagreed, no matter what rank he was. The arguments would often continue late into the night,” he recounted wistfully. A moment later, he became serious. “I need you, Miss Jin.”

“M-me?” I stammered.

“Someone like you,” he amended, to my disappointment. “Someone who is willing to argue with me. After your father was demoted, the Emperor promoted men who were better at giving the answers he wanted. Or perhaps the men who were promoted had learned to say what the Emperor wanted to hear in order to keep their heads.”

Chang-wei had only been nineteen when he passed the exams and joined the Ministry. Only one year older than I was now. Eight years had passed since then, but Chang-wei seemed to have lived eighteen years in the interim. He seemed so worldly and experienced to me. His knowledge put the narrowness of my concerns to shame. I was dragging him away from an important duty to the empire so he could help me get home.

But fish could only see the water they swim in. And I, too, had learned from my father's example. The only way to keep one's head was to not stick it out too far. The empire rewarded loyalty by asking an even greater sacrifice. And it kept on asking and demanding more until there was nothing left to give.