a
Tang-ko
, Glorious Dragon often played host in Bright Crystal’s house and extended his hospitality.
Glorious Dragon hated General Chin and his stranglehold on Crystal’s life. He and Bright Crystal joked about their clever deception, but anxiety always clouded their passionate love. Out of sheer outrage, he wanted to shout and punch everyone associated with the general. He chuckled to himself when he remembered the fireworks outside Prosperous Dream. Yes, he had hit the general where it mattered — his pocketbook. There were many factions in the underworld. It would be natural for the general to suspect foul play from a competitor. People could not possibly link him to the fire. No one would suspect him even if he had been seen there. He was with his sister — a woman with a reputation for righteousness. Everyone knew her to be a whetstone, ever ready to sharpen a sword in defense of virtuous living. He smiled at his cleverness.
He stepped off the streetcar near the esplanade on the Bund of the International Settlement area that operated as a British port. Concrete and steel buildings housing the Hong Kong and Shanghai Bank, the Cathay Hotel and the Customs House with its clock tower dominated the Bund. A cool breeze from the Hwangpo River soothed him. Pale young sycamore leaves fluttered over the paved promenade. He strolled under the trees and lit a cigarette. Lingering on the walkway, he watched the river traffic. All manner of watercraft plied the waterway at his feet: sampans festooned with laundry and larger boats loading and unloading rice, vegetables, and furniture. Coolies squatted to smoke and food vendors clustered around the wharves. Farther out, the masts of large junks contrasted with the sturdy funnels and cables of ocean liners, warships flying flags of many nations and cargo ships anchored in deeper water. His own life was a mirror of this harbor. He straddled the East and the West — the nobility of his sister’s household and the duplicity and adventures of his life here. Feeling calmer, he remembered he could not tarry. He must be on his way to order the finest Kaoliang — potent whiskey made of sorghum. Prominent persons from the Chinese and European business communities would be attending Bright Crystal’s party that evening.
Glorious Dragon walked briskly to the wine shop. He tasted and selected the liquor for delivery to Avenue Joffre. On his way to his bachelor apartment on Seymour Road, the scent of frying bean curd wafted through the air and hit his nostril. He ordered a string. The vendor’s sweaty face grinned with pleasure as he fished out three cubes of golden crispy bean-cakes from the pot of boiling oil. With the fried bean-cakes nesting in the wire-basket ladle in one hand, he threaded a straw through the cakes with the other. He laid down the ladle, brushed red chili pepper sauce over the cakes, and served the bean-cakes dangling them over a piece of brown paper.
Walking and eating the hot cakes from the straw, Glorious Dragon cupped his chin with a handkerchief. The crunchy, spicy fried skin of the bean curd tingled in his mouth; the warm, soft texture of the interior soothed it.
“Ah, the earthy joys of street food!” he exclaimed out loud. The vendor nodded and laughed. “Ha, ha, ha!” Dragon walked away thinking of the glistening crystal and silverware of the Western table and mumbled, “My West Ocean friends would be aghast to learn of my activities yesterday!”
B RIGHT CRYSTAL’S HOUSE on Avenue Joffre glittered with festive lights. “My Blue Heaven” played softly on the record player in the living room. It could have been a house in Hollywood but for the aroma of Chinese cooking — soy sauce, ginger and garlic, five-spice and sesame oil — wafting through the cool evening air.
Shanghai had developed and consumed energy like a hungry lion. Dragon wanted to take advantage of the city’s needs and bring in more generators. At a time of looming war and
Tang-ko
, Glorious Dragon often played host in Bright Crystal’s house and extended his hospitality.
Glorious Dragon hated General Chin and his stranglehold on Crystal’s life. He and Bright Crystal joked about their clever deception, but anxiety always clouded their passionate love. Out of sheer outrage, he wanted to shout and punch everyone associated with the general. He chuckled to himself when he remembered the fireworks outside Prosperous Dream. Yes, he had hit the general where it mattered — his pocketbook. There were many factions in the underworld. It would be natural for the general to suspect foul play from a competitor. People could not possibly link him to the fire. No one would suspect him even if he had been seen there. He was with his sister — a woman with a reputation for righteousness. Everyone knew her to be a whetstone, ever ready to sharpen a sword in defense of virtuous living. He smiled at his cleverness.
He stepped off the streetcar near the esplanade on the Bund of the International Settlement area that operated as a British port. Concrete and steel buildings housing the Hong Kong and Shanghai Bank, the Cathay Hotel and the Customs House with its clock tower dominated the Bund. A cool breeze from the Hwangpo River soothed him. Pale young sycamore leaves fluttered over the paved promenade. He strolled under the trees and lit a cigarette. Lingering on the walkway, he watched the river traffic. All manner of watercraft plied the waterway at his feet: sampans festooned with laundry and larger boats loading and unloading rice, vegetables, and furniture. Coolies squatted to smoke and food vendors clustered around the wharves. Farther out, the masts of large junks contrasted with the sturdy funnels and cables of ocean liners, warships flying flags of many nations and cargo ships anchored in deeper water. His own life was a mirror of this harbor. He straddled the East and the West — the nobility of his sister’s household and the duplicity and adventures of his life here. Feeling calmer, he remembered he could not tarry. He must be on his way to order the finest Kaoliang — potent whiskey made of sorghum. Prominent persons from the Chinese and European business communities would be attending Bright Crystal’s party that evening.
Glorious Dragon walked briskly to the wine shop. He tasted and selected the liquor for delivery to Avenue Joffre. On his way to his bachelor apartment on Seymour Road, the scent of frying bean curd wafted through the air and hit his nostril. He ordered a string. The vendor’s sweaty face grinned with pleasure as he fished out three cubes of golden crispy bean-cakes from the pot of boiling oil. With the fried bean-cakes nesting in the wire-basket ladle in one hand, he threaded a straw through the cakes with the other. He laid down the ladle, brushed red chili pepper sauce over the cakes, and served the bean-cakes dangling them over a piece of brown paper.
Walking and eating the hot cakes from the straw, Glorious Dragon cupped his chin with a handkerchief. The crunchy, spicy fried skin of the bean curd tingled in his mouth; the warm, soft texture of the interior soothed it.
“Ah, the earthy joys of street food!” he exclaimed out loud. The vendor nodded and laughed. “Ha, ha, ha!” Dragon walked away thinking of the glistening crystal and silverware of the Western table and mumbled, “My West Ocean friends would be aghast to learn of my activities yesterday!”
B RIGHT CRYSTAL’S HOUSE on Avenue Joffre glittered with festive lights. “My Blue Heaven” played softly on the record player in the living room. It could have been a house in Hollywood but for the aroma of Chinese cooking — soy sauce, ginger and garlic, five-spice and sesame oil — wafting through the cool evening air.
Shanghai had developed and consumed energy like a hungry lion. Dragon wanted to take advantage of the city’s needs and bring in more generators. At a time of looming war and
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