Year of the Golden Dragon (9 page)

The man sneered. “Young Chen is very delicate.”

Hong Mei glanced around for help. Surely there was someone who could –

The man breathed heavily as he began to circle around her. He was so near she could feel his clothes brush against hers. “No one is able to assist Young Chen, for no one is able to see Young Chen at this moment.” He pushed his large, flat nose into her hair and sniffed. “Young Chen smells like ancient herbs,” he whispered into her ear.

Hong Mei’s skin crawled.

The man only chuckled, his open mouth giving off the putrid smell of an open sewer.

Trying to breathe only through her mouth, Hong Mei managed to speak. “I can see you are a man of great importance. May I ask your name, sir?”

The man smiled gleefully, showing his teeth, cracked and stained. “Indeed, you are a Chen.” He rolled his head on his thick neck from one side to the other, stretching. The closure of his mandarin collar looked as if it was about to burst open. “Master Chen was also fond of flattery.”

Master Chen?

“Master Chen was once a virtuous and true friend of Black Dragon,” the man said, pushing the sunglasses up higher on his nose.

Hong Mei barely heard him as she stared at the man’s fingers. The nails were so long and sharp that his fingers looked like talons.

“Is Young Chen listening to Black Dragon?” he asked, glancing briefly over the top of his glasses.

Hong Mei felt a jolt in the centre of her forehead. She thought she might vomit and quickly covered her mouth with both hands.

“Black Dragon is dreadfully sorry,” the man said. “Black Dragon failed to remember that Young Chen is a mere girl.”

Hong Mei tried to keep her emotions in check, but her face turned red, giving her away.

The man stopped laughing and his face suddenly twisted. As he ran a rough tongue over his cracked lips, he grabbed one of her arms and said, “Black Dragon’s precious treasure is near. So near that Black Dragon can hear it calling.”

Hong Mei’s arm felt like it was on fire. It bubbled and burned inside Black Dragon’s grasp.

“It is nearly time for Black Dragon and his beloved broken stone to come together once again. If Black Dragon were as selfish as humans, Black Dragon would simply
take
the jade back and forget the promises made in the past.”

Promises?
Hong Mei took huge gulps of air and imagined coolness racing through her body to where his talon-like fingers held on.

“But that is not how Black Dragon thinks. Black Dragon does not only think of Black Dragon. It is true that Black Dragon has acquired some nasty human traits over the centuries; one of them being restraint.” He growled and let go of her arm.

Hong Mei looked down in horror to see the nylon jacket melted and her new sweater singed. She could see her skin showing through, raw and blistered.

“Black Dragon has waited more than two thousand years for this reunification. Black Dragon will
try
to resist the cries of his jade until the appointed hour.

“Farewell, then. No doubt Young Chen has seen enough of Black Dragon’s power – for now.”

Black Dragon turned and slunk away, unseen by the crowd.

Hong Mei gritted her teeth and focused all her energy on the burn. It was torture. She looked up to see a child staring at her sleeve. Hong Mei winced as she took her jacket off and draped it over her arm, hiding the festering blisters. She’d have to think of a healing spell later. Right now, she needed to catch up to Ryan and Alex. But how could she possibly know where they were going?

The crowd pushed in front, behind and on both sides of her. Everyone was moving in different directions. She strained to hear Mandarin in the voices of people passing by, but caught only a few words. All she could hear was Cantonese, and she couldn’t understand that dialect.

And English? Hong Mei dreaded the thought of trying that out. She’d only ever spoken English during her lessons at school. Would anyone in Hong Kong understand her?

Hong Mei started to nibble on one of her fingernails. She noticed, but chewed anyway.

Did Madam Ching know about Black Dragon and how dangerous he was? Was this really
the
Black Dragon her father was so obsessed about? She had to focus on Madam Ching’s plan.

A few metres away stood a massive wall of glass. Hong Mei made her way toward it, gaping at its unbelievable size. She felt someone bump her, hard enough that she nearly lost her footing. Hong Mei saw that it had been one of two young women walking together. Both of them were slim and wore stylish clothes. The slightly taller one glanced back over her shoulder at Hong Mei. She thought the stranger was about to apologize, but she merely flicked back her long, jet black hair and raised one eyebrow in disdain. Hong Mei heard her say something. It sounded like “country bumpkin.”

Hong Mei sighed. Even perfect strangers made fun of her. She couldn’t imagine asking anyone for help.

Turning back to the glass she looked out at the night. Madam Ching had told her to use the Chen clan’s legendary skills. For anyone in the know those were, of course,
gong fu
and their inherited second sight. This, she realized, was why her father had trained her so hard. Had he known that she would feel so scared and alone? Why hadn’t he warned her? She guessed he had and that was why they took him away. He’d been so worried he seemed crazy.

It had been a long time since she’d practiced, but she now concentrated on the special breathing Baba had shown her. Filling her lungs and stomach completely, she slowly contracted her torso, pushing all the air out. She imagined her mind clearing of all thoughts, making way for new images. Hong Mei closed her eyes and began to focus. The roots of her hair started to tingle and she felt the faint tickle on her neck. It was working! Shapes began to form in her mind’s eye, but the vision was still unclear.

Inside her head, she saw streams of coloured lights rushing past. Vehicles honked and there was the smell of diesel and automobile exhaust. Were the Wongs in a car?

Yes. As usual. She saw more clearly as the vision unfolded. There were lights on the dashboard of a car. Then, she made out the image of a silk-tasselled lucky charm hanging from the driver’s mirror. She heard the excited chatter of several people talking at once. Was it English? No, Chinglish – a combination of Chinese and English. Someone was trying to speak Cantonese. There was laughter. She saw a hand reach over and turn the knob on the radio. Canto-pop music drowned out the passengers’ voices.

Next she saw blackness. Was it sky? Tall steel beams stretched high into the inky night and enormous steel cables draped from one towering post to another. Lights of other vehicles flashed and buzzed past intermittently.

Was it a bridge? Yes, that was it! The Wong family was on the suspension bridge she’d seen pictures of. The bridge linked the island where the airport was and the mainland.

Her eyes flew open. She’d try to catch up to them on that bridge. But what if she couldn’t, then what?

Frantically looking around, she saw symbols for taxis, buses, ferries and the underground train. She’d only taken buses and trains, and those were between her village and Beijing. The Wongs were in a car. She’d never catch them by riding a bus or train. What should she do to get to the bridge where they were?

Hong Mei took a breath and made herself stop panicking. In a second she decided that it would be better to take a taxi and follow the same route they had taken. Her mind made up, Hong Mei raced in the direction of the taxi sign. It wouldn’t take the family long to cross the bridge. Could she catch them before they got to the other side?

When she got to the taxi rank, she groaned at the long line of people. This was obviously no time to be polite, though. Throwing her shoulders back, she began nudging and bumping her way between people while trying not to let anything touch her burned arm. At the front of the line was a young couple holding hands.

What was she going to do? She couldn’t just leap in front of them and steal their taxi.

It was time for some help from Mama’s teachings. She mumbled a quick spell of love over the couple and they immediately began to kiss and grope one another. As the crowd of Chinese stared in disapproval, Hong Mei used the diversion to slip into their taxi.

“Where to?” the driver barked at her in Cantonese, frowning into his rear-view mirror.

She didn’t understand him, but guessed. “The bridge,” she said in Mandarin. “Please. Go fast. It is important. Very important!”

He snorted, but began driving. “Of course
bridge
. Everyone must take bridge,” he said, eyes darting at her reflection. “You look Chinese. Why you no speak Chinese?” he asked in English.

“Wo shuo Jungwen ba! Wo huei shuo Hua Yu,”
Hong Mei responded.

“You in Hong Kong now. We use Cantonese. If you no speak Cantonese, you must use English.”

“Thank you,” Hong Mei said. “Thank you for the advice.”

Peering into the night at the other taxis, Hong Mei realized how unlikely it was that she would catch up to the Wongs. The bridge was huge and obviously very new. There were mostly red, green and blue taxis with a few other cars mixed in. How would she find the one vehicle carrying Alex and Ryan?

She closed her eyes and started taking the same deep breaths she’d tried in front of the glass wall. Hong Mei focused only on the rise and fall of her breath, trying to lengthen each one into the next. The pain in her arm began to recede. The pleasant tingling of her scalp and neck returned.

An image began to form in her mind. There were streets, narrow and crowded with people and vehicles. Above them flashed neon lights and blinking billboards of every colour, shape and size. Some ran up the sides of buildings, others blinked on and off in store windows. In the space above the sidewalk, higher than a double-decker bus, hung flashing neon signs in bright pink, yellow, red, blue, orange, green and white. Yes, if white could be whiter than white, it was when it was in neon, Hong Mei thought. She knew Nathan Road in Kowloon was famous for its neon lights. Were these streets of Kowloon that she was seeing in her head?

She continued breathing slowly and evenly, letting the gorgeous vision take over.

The leather smell of the inside of the taxi faded and was replaced with – sulphur? Yuck! Her body swayed and she imagined feeling a fine mist on her face. Light rain? The softness of the taxi seat disappeared and was replaced with a feeling of hard wooden slats. Was it a bench? She made out other people sitting around her.

Ah! It was a boat – a passenger ferry.

She saw signs written in both English and traditional Chinese. “Beware of Pickpockets” and “No Spitting.”

She saw another sign. What did it say?

Star Ferry Corporation.

The Star Ferry! The boat that ferried people between Kowloon and Hong Kong Island. The Wongs must be headed towards the Star Ferry.

She opened her eyes and sat forward.

“The ferry terminal,” she said in English. “Take me to the Star Ferry.”

The taxi driver looked into his rear-view mirror and said, “Okay. Which side you want? Kowloon or Hong Kong?”

“I’m not sure.” Hong Mei’s eyes pricked and she bit her lip to stop it from quivering. “I only know I must go to the Star Ferry.”

The driver frowned. “You only young girl. Why you alone? Where is your mother and father?”

“Oh, they couldn’t come,” Hong Mei lied. “I am here to surprise my cousins.”

“Well,” the driver said. “You lucky you not
my
daughter.”

He gestured behind him to the seat pocket in front of Hong Mei. “You look at map. It show you Hong Kong Island, Kowloon, ferry and tunnel.”

“There is a tunnel between Kowloon and Hong Kong?” Hong Mei asked as she opened the tourist map.

“Three tunnel!” the driver said. “But you say you go to Star Ferry. You no need tunnel.”

Okay, Hong Mei thought. I don’t need to use a tunnel, but I still have to figure out which Star Ferry terminal I should go to. She looked at the map and found the airport on Lantau Island. She ran her finger along the bridge they were just nearing the end of. It was connected to a smaller island and then the New Territories and Kowloon.

She saw the snaking lines of tunnels on the map and the letters, mtr. That made sense. Madam Ching said it was easy to get around on the Mass Transit Railway, or mtr as everyone called the subway.

Hong Mei looked above the area called The New Territories. To the north was the rest of China. And in the northern part of China was Beijing. She swallowed.

She was a long way from home.

Clearing her throat, Hong Mei said, “May I take this map?”

The driver shrugged. “It is for tourists. Take it.”

After a moment he said, “If you my daughter, I tell you to telephone cousins. Surprise no good.”

Hong Mei smiled. He was gruff, but kind.

“You are right. Surprises are not such great ideas.”

Seeming satisfied, the taxi driver turned the radio on and filled the car with the twanging sounds of Chinese opera.