The Painter of Shanghai Read Online Free PDF Page B

are still some details to settle,’ Master Gao says, and spits something onto the floor.
    This is a practice Uncle Wu condemns as outmoded, unsanitary, and uncultured. But he doesn’t say so now. What he says, very mildly, is, ‘We understand that.’
    Xiuqing fixes her eyes on the little teapot, on its picture of the Yellow Mountains in indigo. Pinnacles soar toward the handles; narrow rivers wend their way up the spout. When she pours, it’s as though the yellow river water comes to life and splashes into her cup.
    Master Gao wipes his hands, then climbs to his feet. ‘If all is as you say, I believe we can use her. The Hall used to take only younger ones. But recently we’ve changed our policy. Too much money invested. Girls of this age – how old is she?’
    ‘Fourteen.’
    The man nods. ‘A bit old, but still young enough to learn. If she’s obedient.’
    Xiuqing waits for her uncle to tell the man that she’s already learned what she needs to embroider. But he just says, ‘Oh, she’s very obedient, my niece.’
    He begins folding and unfolding his newspaper, and Xiuqing watches ink spread like soot over his fingers. The man indicates the serving woman with a jut of his chin. ‘Zheng niangyi can handle the details and contract. If everything’s in order, she’ll take her over this afternoon.’
    The woman looks up at the sound of her name. An eye skims Xiuqing, narrow and assessing. The other is cloaked in a moist white veil that fits the cornea like a shield.
    Master Gao scratches himself between his legs, strolls around the table. ‘More loans,’ he reads over Uncle Wu’s sloping shoulder. ‘They’re yanking at their own balls, this fancy Western-style government. Why do we need wider streets?’
    ‘I suppose for the automobiles.’
    The man snorts. ‘No one’s going to be able to afford even a jackass if this keeps up. We’re going to owe everything to the damned long-noses.’ He frowns. ‘I hear, by the way, that we share a friend.’
    ‘Yes. Master Fang,’ her uncle says in a tight voice. ‘I did mention that he sends his greetings.’ Xiuqing looks up. Master Fang, she knows, owns Uncle Wu’s favorite opium den and the house that adjoins it, where men buy girls (‘Buy them for what?’ she asked Lina once. But the maid just pressed her lips together).
    ‘I’m thinking of someone else,’ Master Gao says. ‘Merchant Deng? From Chibi.’
    Her uncle blanches. ‘Ah yes. We met aboard the Crying Loon. ’ He stands reluctantly, wringing his hands in a smudging self-caress. ‘We had a very interesting discussion.’
    ‘He’d very much like to finish it,’ Master Gao says meaningfully.
    Xiuqing sees her uncle swallow hard. Then – stunningly – the other man reaches out and puts his hand on her shoulder. Easily. As if she’s his daughter. Or a wife.
    Xiuqing looks to her uncle. She waits for him to speak. But he just shifts from foot to foot like a nervous schoolboy.
    ‘Perhaps,’ Master Gao says, rubbing Xiuqing’s neck gently, ‘you can stop by and see him. On your way back home.’ His fingers smell like smoked fish. Xiuqing stares at her uncle, so wide-eyed that her lids ache. Help. Help me.
    But Wu Ding is looking at his hands; he seems finally to have noticed the inkstains. ‘Certainly,’ he says, accepting a hot, damp towel from the old woman. ‘I was planning to do that. In fact, I was going to go buy my ticket tonight.’
    Tonight? Xiuqing’s pounding heart skips again. Her uncle said he’d stay here for a few days. They would see the town together. Make her introductions. Then he’d take her to a fine, final meal before he went home. Just for a few weeks…
    ‘Good,’ says Master Gao. He lets his fingers trace her ear. Then, abruptly, he steps away, throwing two coins on the table. ‘I’ll send a runner so he’ll know to expect your visit.’
    After he leaves, her uncle sits back down heavily. ‘Jiujiu?’ Xiuqing asks quaveringly.
    He stares into his