Hong Kong Young Writers Anthologies Fiction 4567 | Page 332

The New Tales of Old Shanghai
True Light Girls' College, Wing, Ip - 15
I
remember how I gawked at the piece of jade lying in its natural glamor on top of my trembling palm,
perfectly polished and carved in delicacy, its iridescence shining through the thin layer of dirt that laid atop its
glossy surface with time and through the air surrounding me. I took a moment to appreciate its fascinating
beauty, completely oblivious of the glimmering hostility sparkling within the stone. I was, as a dumbfounded
child, utterly aware of the danger I was holding in my hands, and I examined the jade with curiosity as it
continued to glow in its own color, brighter and brighter with each passing second. I was fully petrified at that
point, and I watched in amazement as it blazed with a piercing bright white light, forcing my eyelids shut until
my consciousness decided to turn its back on me. That was how it all started. That was how I ended up here.
I sit, leaning against a worn-out wall in one of those quaint streets in the city, furrowing my eyebrows at the
perishing sunlight that bathes my glistening torso in a pool of faint orange. I want to go home, I mumble
mentally, but quickly retort upon myself as though struck by a painful revelation once again.
But this is home .
I slowly get up from the ground, with feeble feet as I stare off into the distance. My home should be somewhere
near that far-off alley— if it still stands.
It took me a long while to finally figure out what happened. This piece of jade, which I acquired from the
Temple of the City Gods, carries a certain sort of unexplainable magic that enables me to experience the future
world, decades from that I am from. This is the era where the defensive walls that surrounded the city have been
torn down, where tranquility has been replaced by crowds and noises. This is a new era for the Old City of
Shanghai, and I am still desperately trying to comprehend what a confusing mess this place I call home has
become.
I drag my feet along the pebble path, towards the boulevard with reminiscence from my childhood frolicking
wildly inside my brain as pieces of scattered memories. I miss the sweet scent of home. I miss leaning back on the
rattan chair and quietly admire the stunning antiques that stand in pride and elegance, inside the artifact shop that
my family has been running for years. That is where I truly belong, and I would be heading straight to home
regardless of the circumstance— as taught by my mother.
I shuffle, my bare feet landing harshly against the rock on the path with each step I take. Flashbacks of what
happened inside the temple strikes me like a lightning, I grimace at the memory.
It was another ordinary morning in the Old City of Shanghai. The shrill calls of early birds tore the city’s serenity
apart, and my eyes fluttered open at the piercing sound. I climbed out of bed and down the rusty ladder,
adrenaline rushing through my veins as I rushed out of the artifact shop downstairs and towards the narrow alley
into the warmth of the dawn. I dashed along the streets in a flurry, eventually stopping by the Temple of the
City Gods. The temple is one of my favorite spots to be wandering in in solitude. The remaining sticks of
incense, half buried into the ashes with burnt tips inside the golden tray, swayed in devastation as the morning
breeze caressed their withered form. Wisps of turbid smoke lingered in the wintry air, and I followed its lead as I