Memoirs of a Courtesan

She was wrong, of course. But how could she have guessed that my life was not my own and that it had been strategically mapped out by others?

‘Shadow, I’m not as much in control as you think.’

‘I doubt that.’

After a pause she blurted out, ‘Camilla, do beauty and talent give you the happiness you’re looking for?’

Again, what a question. She must know that a pretty young girl like me would not really be in love with the old, puny, monkey-faced Lung.

But she’d never learn the truth from me. I threw her question back. ‘Shadow, how about you? Does your beauty and talent give you happiness – or trouble?’

We both laughed.

She raised her glass to tap my cup.

‘Let’s just hope that fate has a worthy purpose in granting us our beauty.’

I had my agenda, but what was hers?

As we resumed sipping our drinks and munching the delicacies, she asked, ‘Camilla, what made you want to be a singer?’

Of course my training had well prepared me to cover up such matters. I never told anything but lies about myself. The Art of War says, ‘To guard yourself, hide your secrets below nine layers of earth.’ In other words, others should know as little about you as possible.

‘It was my mother’s dream to be a singer; that’s why she sent me to take singing lessons.’

‘And your father?’

‘Oh, he died when I was a baby. My mother never talked about him. I guess it was too painful.’

‘Are you living with your mother?’

‘No, she’s in an asylum.’

‘Oh, how terrible! What happened?’

‘She became insane and can’t take care of herself. She’s much better now, being cared for by professionals. That’s why I have to work hard, to pay for her care.’

I had just made up another elaborate lie. I’d better remember to whom I told which story about my nonexistent parents – in case it mattered.

‘I’m so sorry. It must be very difficult for you.’

I changed the subject. ‘So, will you come to hear me sing at Bright Moon?’

‘Of course. I’ve been wanting that for a long time. I just didn’t have the connections to get in.’

‘Don’t worry. Just come tomorrow at eight, and I’ll tell the manager to let you in.’

The meeting with Shadow wore me out. So the following morning I arrived early at the winged-goddess statue by the Huangpu River. As usual, I went behind the gigantic column so I’d be left alone to practise. The sun had already risen over the wide river that seemed blissfully oblivious of the troubles and miseries of the human world. Staring at the peacefully rippling water always calmed me. What I loved most was that, though I would whisper my secrets to the river, it would never betray me by spreading them.

After I finished my vocal gymnastics, I turned around to watch the bustling boulevard. Vendors screamed their breakfast offerings: Wholesome soy milk! Tasty green bean soup! Sizzling scallion pancakes! Crispy fried dough! Extra juicy pork buns! Competing to be heard, street urchins shouted at full throttle: Leisure News! Heaven Daily! Flower Moon News! Pleasure Talk News! Idleness News! Amid the din, fast-walking businessmen with serious expressions lugged bulging briefcases, maids followed housewives carrying their shopping bags, children in uniforms headed towards school, coolies staggered under heavy boxes as they headed towards the piers …

The collective qi, or energy, of this city always fascinated me. Though pulling in every direction, the resulting cacophony created a strange harmony, chaotic yet orderly. As I watched the people and their intersecting lives in this dusty world, a song I’d written escaped from my lips:

Everyone has parents, but I don’t.

Where are you hiding, dear Mama and Baba?

When, if ever, will we meet?

Would we recognise each other,

Or merely rub shoulders as we pass?

Unexpectedly, a deep and mellow male voice rose beside me, singing the famous song ‘Looking for You.’

You are the floating cloud in the clear sky,

The fleeting star at midnight.

My heart is caught in a pool of passion.

How can I hold myself back,

Hold myself back from looking for you …

His voice sounded as if it could lure a lark down from a tall tree. When he finished, I could almost see the sad notes lingering above the rushing river, reluctant to end their melodious incarnation on earth. I felt strangely drawn by the singer’s unseen presence behind me. When I turned, I found myself under the scrutiny of Master Lung’s son.

‘Hello, Young Master Lung.’ I quickly pulled myself up from the well of my dangerous sentimentality. ‘I never imagined … what a beautiful voice you have.’

Did he blush, or did I imagine it?

‘Good morning, Camilla … May I call you Camilla?’

‘Of course, Young Master.’

‘Camilla, my name is Jinying.’

I smiled, glancing at the crowds along the Bund. ‘What are you doing here so early in the morning?’

‘Listening to your singing.’

We looked at each other in silence for a moment before he spoke again. ‘Camilla, when I was watching, I saw the sun’s rays splashing all over you. I really thought I’d seen a goddess. Or an angel.’

If only he knew. If I was an angel at all, it would be to his father – as the angel of death.

He went on. ‘When I saw you, I could only think of Botticelli’s Birth of Venus.’

So he was already visualising me naked, my private parts covered only by long, flowing hair!

‘And your voice, heavenly and golden like the sun …’

I was not going to let him change the air by the river from foggy to romantic, so I responded matter-of-factly, changing the subject. ‘Young Master, how did you know I was here?’

‘I like to come here and watch the river. Last week I saw you practise. You were so absorbed that I was afraid to interrupt you.’

‘You don’t have to work?’

‘I just got my law degree and wanted to stay in America. But my father sent me a telegram saying that he was not feeling well and needed me to come home. So he lied to get me back here. At first I was furious at him, but now I’m happy.’

‘Happy, why?’

He blushed. ‘Anyway, it is the will of heaven …’

Yes, it is also the will of heaven that your father will soon die through my efforts.

Oblivious of my secret thoughts, he spoke again. ‘But I don’t want to be a lawyer. I only want to sing and play the piano. Camilla, I’m so glad that we share the same passion.’

I didn’t respond. So he went on. ‘May I take you for a morning coffee or tea?’

‘I’m afraid not.’

He made no effort to hide his disappointment. ‘You have something else to do this early in the morning?’

‘Not really, but I just met you. Besides, I don’t go out to cafes with men … Someone will see us and set off gossip.’

He protested. ‘You’re friends with my father, so it’s not like I am a stranger.’

‘Young Master, I am a very busy woman. I wish I had the luxury for chit-chat or wind-and-moon talk over a cup of bitter Western coffee or sweet Chinese tea. Besides, gossip is the last thing I need in my life.’

‘But—’

‘Sorry, I’ve got to go.’

‘Wait a minute,’ he said, then took something from his pocket. ‘Can you at least sign this for me?’

It was the fan I’d thrown into the audience the other night. ‘It was you who caught this? And you kept it?’

‘Of course! How could I have thrown it away?’

I quickly signed the fan and turned away.

As I walked, I felt his eyes drilling small holes through the morning fog into my back.

The young master incident threw me off balance, and it was not until much later that I regained my composure. He wanted friendship, something I could not allow myself to have.

Or maybe more?

How complicated this could turn out to be. I was bedding the father, while the son wanted me in his bed? When father and son competed for the same woman, would they destroy each other? Or would one step aside? If so, which one? That would be interesting to know. If Lung found out about his son’s advances, would he get rid of him? What if instead Lung thought that I had seduced his innocent son – would this be the end of me?

Now my mission to eliminate Lung faced two obstacles instead of one: Shadow and now the young master. But was Jinying really an obstacle or just a nuisance? Perhaps he could be distracted … by Shadow?

Conveniently, Master Lung told me he’d be out of town with Mr Zhu for a meeting. I grabbed the chance to invite both Shadow and young Master Lung to my show at Bright Moon. But I couldn’t invite the son without the father’s suspicion.

So I told Lung, ‘I’m very disappointed. I’m going to debut a few new songs, and I really want you to hear them!’

‘But you can sing them for me when I’m back, right?’

‘Of course, but that won’t be the same.’

‘How come?’

‘Because this is the premier, and your presence gives me lots of face!’

‘All right, all right …’ He paused to think, then cooed, ‘What if I send my son to represent me?’

Wonderful.

That evening onstage, I followed Madame Lewinsky’s advice to pick one person in the audience to focus on. To my alarm, my eyes, with wills of their own, went straight to meet Jinying’s. Just then the pianist hit the first note for ‘Night-time Shanghai.’ Throughout my whole performance, the gangster’s son’s eyes never left me. Not even to appreciate the sensuous Shadow sitting right next to him.

After finishing my act, I went to sit at their table. The young master poured me champagne. I took a delicate sip, appreciating my two handsome guests.

‘I hope you two have been getting to know each other?’

Shadow smiled. ‘We were too busy watching you and listening to your music.’

Jinying nodded.

‘Young Master—’

‘Please call me Jinying.’

‘Jinying, have you been making conversation with our beautiful Miss Shadow?’

‘Yes, we’ve been discussing your wonderful voice.’ He sipped his champagne and went on. ‘Camilla, when you sing, you are so spontaneous, hitting those high notes so effortlessly.’ He eyes searched mine like a miner looking for gold. ‘I know how hard you must work to achieve this.’

I sighed inside. The last thing I needed was for Lung’s son, of all people, to have a crush on me. If only he would switch his infatuation to Shadow. But my idea of getting him and Shadow together looked to be a bust.

What to do? All I could think was to try one last time.

I raised my glass, and we all toasted to one another. After that, I said to the magician, ‘Shadow, when you have your next show, please let me know, and I’ll definitely go.’ Then I turned to Lung’s son. ‘Jinying, you will be stunned by Shadow’s impossible magic.’

He smiled politely at the magician, then turned to me. ‘Sure, Camilla. Let me know, and you and I can go together.’

It was hopeless. Didn’t he worry that his father would discover his feelings for me? Surely he did not imagine that his father would be willing to share his mistress. I really didn’t need this; my life was complicated enough. But how could I get rid of him?

Just then I felt a pat on my shoulder. I turned and saw, to my surprise, Madame Lewinsky’s kind face smiling down at me.

Before I had a chance to say anything, my teacher was already speaking. ‘My darling Camilla’ – she winked at me, tilting her head towards Jinying – ‘congratulations. Your singing has improved so much!’ She leaned towards me and whispered into my ear, ‘I can feel your genuine emotion now.’

I asked, ‘You think so?’

She nodded. ‘Absolutely. I’m a woman, I can tell you’re in love.’

‘No, I’m not. No, no.’ My voice rose.

She smiled tenderly, like a mother at her daughter. ‘Camilla, trust me. I know these things. You’re fighting it, but you don’t need to. Just relax and give yourself some time, won’t you, my darling? Love is the most wonderful thing that can happen to a woman. If you want to talk about it, I’m all ears. Just pay me a visit.’

I paused before I said, changing the topic, ‘Madame Lewinsky, why didn’t you tell me you’d be here, so I could have sent you a ticket in advance? Please sit down and chat with us for a while.’

She shook her head. ‘I’ve got to go, but nice to meet you and your friends.’ Eyes sparkling with mischief, she again whispered into my ear, her head nodding towards Jinying, ‘He’s a really nice young man, and I can tell he’s madly in love with you. Remember, once your bird of youth has flown, it will never come back.’

After that, she cast another appreciative look at Jinying, turned back to wink at me, and left.

Jinying poured more champagne into my glass. ‘Who was that lady?’

‘My singing teacher.’

‘Then you should have introduced her to us.’

I explained that she was in a hurry, but the young master continued. ‘Maybe I should also take lessons from her.’

Alarmed, I exclaimed, ‘Oh, no, I am sure she is all booked!’

PART TWO

6

Life Between the Two Gangs

Among the city’s numerous black societies, the two most powerful, headed respectively by the warlords Master Lung and Big Brother Wang, were the Flying Dragons and the Red Demons. However, the Flying Dragons were always a few steps ahead of the Red Demons in their various ‘business enterprises’ – gambling, prostitution, opium, ‘protection,’ kidnapping and loan-sharking, as well as smuggling guns, gold, US dollars and medicines in, and national treasures out. Ironically, as the two gangs competed in illegal dealings, they also vied in doing charitable works.

My boss, Big Brother Wang’s, lifelong obsession was to destroy Lung so he could replace him not only as the richest and most feared boss of the Shanghai underworld but also as its most respected philanthropist.

That was how I came onto the scene – a minuscule screw wriggling between the city’s two most powerful machines.

Wang’s plan was to apply the famous meiren ji, beauty strategy or honey trap, one of the Thirty-Six Stratagems. Simple in principle and timeless in effectiveness, it involved sending beautiful women to eliminate anyone from lord to emperor. Twenty-five hundred years ago, during the chaotic era known as the Warring States, King Goujian of Yue used it to defeat King Fuchai of the State of Wu.

King Wu won the first battle, and so King Yue sent him ten carts of priceless treasures as tribute. But cleverly he also included eight of the most beautiful women in his state as peace offerings. As intended, King Wu and his ministers became so immersed in dalliance that they neglected state affairs. Tipped off by his spies, King Yue sent his army and easily defeated King Wu. Though Wu offered Yue his country and all its treasures, the victor was merciless. Wu was ordered to commit suicide in front of the very women who had brought about his ruin.

Even the most cunning man becomes a fool for a beautiful woman. Friends’ warnings fall on deaf ears. Men blind themselves to the schemes behind the pretty face and the poisons in the beloved heart. When clothes come off, thinking stops.

My job was simple in principle, though not in operation. It was to win Lung’s complete love and trust, then lure him to a place where the Red Demons gang could assassinate him. Of course I’d been told to do the murdering myself should the right situation arise. But this was really chiren shuomeng, crazy dreaming – pure wishful thinking on their part.

Because before every time I was allowed inside Lung’s bedroom or hotel room, I’d be stripped naked and searched thoroughly by Gao, his head bodyguard. I was even asked to jump up and down in case a weapon – small knife, razor, poisonous pill – had been hidden inside my vagina. Of course he’d also scrape my mouth for possible pills wedged between my teeth. Was I humiliated? No, because acquiring a thick skin was part of my training. I had learned not to be distracted by pointless feelings such as humiliation or embarrassment. These things were just part of the job, along with the singing and dancing, except that this part was in private, with only one admirer instead of a hall filled with them. But it was boring, not to mention tedious.

Whenever I came out of Lung’s room, Gao would look flushed and embarrassed. His eyes would be filled with bitterness or sadness, depending on what he’d heard – cow-slaughtering cries or puppy-beating whimpers – from my fake orgasm. Like the young master, the head bodyguard seemed to have stepped onto a dangerous path by falling for a woman he’d be better off pretending not to notice.

Anyway, even a beggar on the street in Shanghai would know that to assassinate Lung would be as difficult as to get a virgin pregnant. Lung, Zhu and all the bodyguards were extremely cautious. Gao, though, might be different, because of his crush on me. Sometimes I wondered, if I became his lover, would he kill Lung for me? But to imagine this was pointless; to seduce the bodyguard under Zhu’s sharp eyes was as likely as a baby crawling out from a virgin’s narrow gate.

Warlords, though powerful, were not invulnerable, since many ended up being assassinated. Some, however, managed to live to die in bed. But survival required constant vigilance. It was rumoured that Lung had a double who would travel in his limousine, while the boss himself went by another route. So to eliminate Lung was no simple matter. It was also rumoured that Lung wouldn’t trust any Chinese tailor for fear that he might be an assassin in disguise. Scissors in the back during a fitting were not unknown in Shanghai.

I was Wang’s means to discover his rival’s defense tactics, his daily routine, where he entered and exited, his secret hiding places, who of his guards were the most formidable. And the grand prize: Lung’s bank account.

Most of spying is not exciting but tedious, though still very dangerous. I was supposed to put together a complete list of Lung’s contacts: his close friends, relatives and all who worked for him or did business with him. Not only those in the underworld but those supposedly above it. This also included a list of the spies who worked for Lung and who, ironically, might turn out to be my boss, Big Brother Wang’s, most trusted men!

Like Lung, Wang always had an ominous feeling that he was marked for assassination. Of course the most likely source would be the Flying Dragons. So I was to try to find out who was on up Lung’s assassination list and how high up Wang was. Eliminating Lung had been Wang’s goal from the moment he became a gang head. He just hadn’t yet figured out a good plan – until his underling Mr Ho had discovered me in the orphanage.

After winning the title of Heavenly Songbird last year, I was given a luxury apartment inside the French Concession. This included a maid and a driver, but I knew full well that their real jobs were to keep track of me for Wang. I made good money, but unfortunately Wang took his half and most of the rest for ‘safekeeping.’ He knew that if I had my own money, his hold on me would be weakened. Though I was free to go places within Shanghai, I couldn’t just disappear. Wang repeatedly warned me that his gang men were everywhere, so he would know everywhere I went and everything I did.

Yet life as a nightclub singer was incomparably better than in the orphanage. I now had a comfortable apartment, which was decorated in a mixture of Chinese and Western styles. The Chinese elements – calligraphy, landscape paintings, antique furniture and vases – were there to impress on people, especially the refined ones, that I was not just a singer but one steeped in traditional culture and taste, perhaps from a prominent family. The Western decor – velvet curtains, soft sofas with silky coverings, a gilded and latticework clock and oil paintings showing classical scenes – was to show that I was also cosmopolitan.

To others I was the beautiful, sophisticated woman who had it all. But I was well aware that Big Brother Wang didn’t pay my rent because he liked my singing, but to keep me under his control. My amah and cook, Ah Fong, and driver, Ah Wen, who did almost everything for me, were also his spies. The best I could do about this was, from day one, to tip them generously, hoping they would avert their eyes or keep mum when I needed them to.

Unlike most gangsters, Lung favoured talented women. With me it was singing; before it might have been speaking a foreign language, horseback-riding or even flying a plane. For him, women like us were like a rare Ming vase, while others were but ordinary kitchenware. No doubt this was Lung’s way to compensate for starting out as a shoe-shine boy.

Now that Lung had finally fallen for me, I had to work steadily to complete my mission, because the boss of the Flying Dragons gang would not stay long with any woman. No flower blooms all year long. No matter how enamoured he was with her, Lung believed that any woman who’d warm his bed for too long would bring bad luck, polluting his bedchamber and harming his business. That was why the sudden appearance of Shadow worried me. I did not want him to be thinking of her as my successor.

But with or without Shadow, my situation would likely be lose-lose. Mission successfully completed, I’d have served my purpose. And as in the Chinese saying, ‘After the rabbits are caught, the hounds will be cooked.’

That was the inevitable fate of spies. I had read that, in China’s Harbin province, one time the Japanese sent a prostitute-spy to seduce a Russian general so as to steal his map. On this map were marked the soldiers’ positions, their planned route of attack, and their supply lines. Succeeding in stealing the map, she was able to send it to the Japanese embassy. But the Japanese never sent anyone to rescue her. Instead, they referred to her as ‘the sakura blossom without root’ and abandoned her to die alone in a prison in Siberia.

If I did not begin to plan for my escape, I was sure to end up being another sakura blossom without root, if not in Siberia, then in my own homeland. Not in a prison but sprawled in a back alley, bobbing in the Huangpu River or rotting in a well. Or, as the story was told of one of Lung’s former mistresses, fed to tigers …

Someday, probably soon, I would need to escape. I would need a plan, and I would need money. So I tried my best to save. Although I didn’t get to keep much from the nightclub, I got expensive gifts from admirers, most generously from Master Lung, who had been pampering me with American gold pieces, fur coats and lavish jewellery. Of course my boss, Wang, knew about the gifts, but he could not take away those from Lung, who might notice that they were missing. Meanwhile, I tried to waste as little as possible on frivolities like the theatre, movies, high tea or amusement parks.

However, even if I had the money to escape, where would I go? I had neither relatives nor real friends. I knew great danger was approaching, but all I could do was wait for the right moment to act. As the sages tell us in the three-thousand-year-old Yijing, or Book of Changes, ‘If you step on the tail of a tiger but use extreme caution, you will be fortunate in the end.’

When you first glimpsed him, Lung looked quite ordinary. This was in fact a gift from heaven that enabled him to conceal his astute mind and scheming heart. But, despite his small stature, Lung could inspire fear. His dealings were of extreme complexity, but, unfortunately for me, he seemed to keep everything in his head. No one had any idea of his many business dealings. His routes were untraceable, his hiding places unfindable and even his facial expressions gave away nothing.

Lung’s gang, the Flying Dragons, took its name from the Book of Changes. The name was appropriate because Lung himself was like a dragon, whose body is always half revealed and half hidden by clouds. Lung heeded well the advice of The Art of War, ‘See all, but stay hidden.’ According to the Book of Changes, there are three kinds of dragons. One soars to heaven and leads the world; one hides in the field and waits for the auspicious moment to act; one becomes arrogant and ends up in bitter failure. The first one is the leader, the second the sage, the third the loser.