Hong Kong Young Writers Anthologies Fiction 4567 | Page 32

“You traitor!” Ah’Huang could no longer suppress her outrage. She was a famished lion, pouncing on her prey.
Vengeance burned from the depths of her eyes as she delivered a forceful punch on Xi’Wen’s nose. Blood spurted out like
a fountain. Before Ah’Huang managed to regain her composure, Xi’Wen delivered yet another blow in Ah’Huang’s
stomach. The two dancers rolled on the ground as a catfight developed, blood staining the white marble floor.
Without warning, a pair of thick arms separated the two rivals. Ah’Huang, her face smothered in fresh blood,
looked up and met Mrs. Zhang’s glare. There was a moment when Ah’Huang believed Mrs. Zhang could save her. She was
her so-called daughter, after all. She was about to smile when Mrs. Zhang slapped her smartly across her cheek. Ah’Huang
could not react. Her cheek burned, the incessant stings penetrating her heart. All the colour drained from her face. Ah’Huang
looked around- everything was dead white, except for the glaring scarlet of her qipao .
“You are a Jap. You do not belong here.” Tears tumbled down Mrs. Zhang’s round face, her fists clenched until
veins popped. She hissed, “Get out now. Or you will regret it.”
Hugging her stomach with a trembling arm, Ah’Huang crawled out of the nightclub. Her qipao was torn and
stained with bloody patches. Her vision was blurry, her nostrils filled with the pungent smell of blood. She could not bear it
anymore and collapsed on the grimy streets of Shanghai.
An outcry arose somewhere down the road, but Ah’Huang could not heave herself upstraight. A few gunshots
followed, and Ah’Huang’s heart missed a beat. A trampede of soldiers marched up the road, entering the nightclub. They did
not seem to have noticed Ah’Huang. Squinting her eyes, she scrutinized the field caps the soldiers were wearing. They had
a star. The Japanese had arrived in Shanghai.
Shrieks and wails shattered the glass windows of the nightclub. The soldiers came out of the nightclub within a few
minutes, their bayonets dripping with blood. Ah’Huang realised they were grinning. A chill travelled down her spine. To her
dismay, the soldiers noticed her as they were about to enter the neighbouring nightclub. One soldier cracked a smile and
raised his bayonet, ready to strike.
“No, no! I am Japanese!” Ah’Huang cried in desperation. For once, she was relieved she was not Chinese. “Watashi
wa nihonjindesu! Watashi wa nihonjindesu!” Stunned, the soldier lowered his bayonet. They eyed her from head to toe,
exchanging nervous glances with one another. Ah’Huang shivered as a bead of blood dropped from a bayonet onto her
qipao .
A general crouched and stared straight into Ah’Huang’s eyes. “Anata wa hontōni nihonji (Are you really Japanese)?”
Ah’Huang thought she would say “yes” immediately. The word remained at the tip of her tongue, refusing to be
sounded. She tried mouthing the word, but it was to no avail. Was she Japanese? Only her blood proved so. Was she
Chinese? Her blood betrayed her. Who did she want to be, then? She had no answer. Flashbacks of her mother and father
flooded her vision, and yet they were quickly replaced by the memories of Mrs. Zhang and the nightclub. She glanced at her
treasured qipao , now battered and weary. She had to resist the urge to laugh. Everything seemed funny to Ah’Huang.
Yesterday, she was the Chinese Red Blossom, the lead dancer of a famous nightclub in Old Shanghai, a wife doted by a
billionaire. Today, she was a pathetic Japanese, a social outcast, a rejected wife. Wasn’t it funny how a night could turn one’s
life upside down? Everything was just like a meteor. Fleeting. Transient. Intangible.
She stared at the general. His eyes were pitch black; an abyss she could not fathom. She mustered up courage from
nowhere and broke free, sprinting for her life, ignoring the indignant hollers behind her. She ran as far as her worn feet could
carry her, she kept running, running, running. She needed to escape from Shanghai, from her background, from her life.
Ah’Huang dropped to her knees as she panted for breath. The floor was rugged and damp. Following her gaze, she
realised a large stretch of sea extended in front of her. Delirious, a string of sniggers bubbled out of her mouth. The sniggers
soon grew into chortles, and within a few moments, Ah’Huang found herself guffawing uncontrollably. She stared straight
into the sea and felt welcomed. Without a second thought, she strode to the edge of the harbour, and leapt.
There were no tears, no screams, no movement. A scarlet qipao floated in the Old Harbour of Shanghai, and all was
serene.