1. Light of Lanterns

     The aroma of jasmine clings to me. I am standing outside the flower boat, Fa Ming's, the notoriously infamous floating brothel of which I am employed.
     It's late evening. I can hear shop-goers murmuring along the waterfront in the rows of sampans and eating boats, dim lanterns flickering through thin cloth walls.
     Fa Ming's is presented as though it is only a well-to-do restaurant, with a menu and talented cooks imported from Singapore to Hong Kong. The dining area is beautiful, with intricate murals of women and cranes bathing in the hot springs of a mountain, fancy decorations like painted lanterns and porcelain animals, and many silk cushions and bamboo tables. The girls of the flower boat serve those who come to eat. It is like an audition at times, and if the customer likes a girl, he follows her to one of the many love rooms on the boat after he has eaten. It is an excellent way to attract customers. Fa Ming used to say that we serve the world's two most favourite things: food and sex.
     Fa Ming often had clever things to say. He said imperial women must talk with their voices and clothes to impress men, but us, his girls, we only had to use our bodies to have the best conversations.
     Fa Ming's favourite girl was Ru. I smile to think of her. She had been so beautiful back then, but she is still dazzling today. Ru has spent many years of her life living in Hong Kong, and she knows English. Fa Ming had her coerce the visiting Englishmen to visit his brothel, and with them they brought their pounds and dollars: strange, foreign money. Ru dealt with the money and the finances; she was smart. I often used to wonder why she worked in a brothel. She may have loved Fa Ming, but how anyone could love Fa Ming, I did not know.
     I watch as a man enters the eating area of the boat. He is rich; or at least, he wants people to think that he is, because he wears a silk robe and brown leather shoes. Most men who come to Fa Ming's wear traditional black silk shoes. I myself am wearing silk slippers, adorned with embroidered birds and flowers. My feet are big, as I was never wealthy enough to have practiced foot-binding- though many girls who work with me have the 'lotus feet'. I see them sometimes through half-opened doors, wrapping their small, grotesquely pointed feet. I turn away at their quiet grunts of pain; the blood stained bandages.
     The restaurant inside Fa Ming's is softly humming with activity. Girls are inside, serving their customers.
     I have today off. Because I have been working at Fa Ming's for so many years, I get better pay and more time off than girls who have just started working. I save my days off for relaxation, or, when fortune lets it, time with him.
     Many have misconceptions surrounding my line of work. Many would call me a w***e, a poor conniver who has turned to a desperate job to survive. Not me. I make money from the desperate, and in turn live a life quietly by the sea, with a fully fed stomach and a rich, handsome man who visits me. I would not say that my job is easy, but I could very well be working in factories or living as a miserable, trapped housewife to a Manchu noble. What I value most is my freedom. It's what I live for. As a woman, I know I'm one of few who has attained it.

     I know that he's coming tonight. My chest tightens and I ignore the urge to smile like a schoolgirl. He visits Guangdong usually once a month, to let his crew spend their wealth, which more often than not all goes to brothels and taverns and opium dens. He likes to drink, but as the captain of his ship, he's usually the most responsible. He's visited me only twice before, but already I feel like a young girl with a crush. It's rare that I develop feelings for anyone, let alone a notorious pirate lord. His money may have something to do with it.
     A chime of laughter draws me from my daydreams. As Ru's second-in-command, I have the ongoing duty of making sure the girls are taking care of our customers to the best of their abilities. I am about to turn and make my way to the restaurant area, when I hear a chuckle.
     "You always appear exceedingly mysterious in the moonlight."
     I see now the speaker: a young man, perhaps younger than me, with dark eyes and long braided hair. He wears a wide rice-picking hat, as though he has come from the inland fields and not the Southern Seas. I recognise him.
     "Cheung Po Tsai," I say, with a charming smile. I swallow disappointment. I had hoped the captain would be the first to visit me, not his fleet commander. "Has the crew of The Tiger landed already?"
     Cheung Po flicks the lit butt of his cigarette into the gently heaving ocean. "We arrived at Macau port an hour earlier," he says. "Already his crew have taken beds at Xang's Tavern, with plenty of women to keep them warm through the night."
     "Zheng decided upon Xang's, over Fa Ming's?" I ask, hoping I sound more mildly interested rather than moderately distraught. Captain Zheng brought us days of invaluable business each month.
     "Only for one night," Cheung Po assures me. "They will be here by noon tomorrow."
     I ease, leaning against the bamboo railing. We will get our money.
     "If that's the case, Cheung Po," I say, "then why did you come here by your lonesome?"
     He glances to the flower boat. "I feel as though I would be cheating on Fa Ming," Cheung Po chuckles. I make an expression of amusement.
     "Fa Ming cheated on many of his lovers, and they cheated on him right back. Dishonesty is the name of the game," I say.
     "You're right," says Cheung Po, and he comes closer to me. He smells not altogether unpleasant, which is unusual for a pirate. He must have showered before coming here. "I didn't come here out of guilt."
     I match his closeness, and our chests are almost touching. I look up at him. Though he's younger than me, he's still taller. I don't let it intimidate me.
     "I intended to see you," he says, his voice softer. Something kicks my heart, and I think of Zheng. What would he think of his first mate exchanging whispers with his girl by the seaside? Then I almost laugh, because I am not his girl. I am a dragon in business; successful; quick-witted and clever. An entertainer of the corrupt officials and nobles of Middle Kingdom; a woman with riches of her own; and I can have any man that I want. I extend my arm and take Cheung Po's hand in mine.
     The dreaded pirate, Cheung Po Tsai, or Cheung Po the Kid. A deceiving title, because there is nothing about this man that seems childish or immature. He leans into me, and I tip his wide-brimmed hat to the side to hide us from any onlookers. I feel his open lips against mine, hot breath against my cheek. His body is hard and rough against my silk robes. His hands are on my waist, holding me close. His breath comes low and quick, and I feel him twitch against my stomach. My leg brushes his, inviting his lower body closer to me. His hips move against me, and I gasp.
     Suddenly, there's a burst of noise. Both of us turn to the source. A group of Manchu noblemen stagger out from Fa Ming's restaurant, cheeks rosy. Their traditional queue ponytails swing from side to side as they walk on drunken, uncertain feet to the wharf. Their voices are boasting and raucous, jokes met with uninhibited laughter. The nobles can be as loud as they want. They have nothing to fear here, except maybe pirates.
     "Think of how easy it would be for us to slit their throats now," Cheung Po says under his breath. He watches the nobles with dark, calculating eyes. He reaches for his sword, and I grab his wrist.
     "You can't," I tell him. If there is a mass slaughter outside of Fa Ming's, it had the potential of drawing too much unwelcome attention. Not that I wouldn't like those men dead on their faces.
     One of the nobles, a portly man with a small cap over his ponytail, catches sight of Cheung Po and I. Cheung turns his head away from the group of drunken officials. I keep my gaze trained on them, but bow my head slightly when they come nearer.
     "You, boy," the round official barks. I stare at his sandals. Leather soles: expensive. "Keep your w***e indoors. We don't want to scare the nice families who come to the wharf to enjoy a meal." His slurred order is met with laughter from his noble friends, and they carry on past us. I watch them go.
     "As if any nice families are out at this time," I murmur. Cheung Po slides his hands down my waist and over my hips.
     "What do you think? Should we take the noble pig's advice?" His hands find their way to my lower back, then lower. "Get a room indoors."
     I smirk at him, and let him take me inside Fa Ming's. No one looks twice at us; we're simply a commoner and a w***e going to a private room. Once we're alone, he can't keep his hands off of me. I know it's been a while for him. Being at sea without a woman's touch must be difficult, I imagine. He kisses my lips, then my neck. I go over his tattoos with my hand, which looks pale against his sun-beaten skin.
     He makes love to me in the dark room, on the soft cushions. I feel close to him when he kisses me, closer than I feel with my usual customers. I know it's probably foolish. He's a boy with needs that ache for slaking, but it helps that he has a pretty face.