Si Teng (Rattan) – Prologue

Prologue

July 1937, Shanghai.

In those days, the most talked about topic on the streets and in the alleys was the Marco Polo Bridge Incident. Whether you were a rickshaw puller, a dancer at the Paradise Club, or a gambler at the racetrack, everyone was passionately discussing the incident, their faces flushed and saliva flying as they argued. Everyone had become an expert on current affairs and military affairs.

Take Jia San, the rickshaw puller, for example.

In the past, he was a sly and opportunistic fellow, always trying to curry favor with the police and flattering foreigners. He didn’t even know which side of the Huangpu River Peking was on. But now, suddenly, he was full of opinions about the current political situation and the relationship between China and Japan. His fellow rickshaw pullers suspected he’d been talking to teachers and patriotic students lately, and he was just repeating whatever he’d heard.

One rainy evening, the streets were flooded. Several rickshaw pullers went to their usual Yangzhou restaurant to eat. Before they even wiped their shoes, Jia San was already arguing with someone.

The reason was that one of the rickshaw pullers said that a customer he had picked up that day mentioned that the Japanese were eyeing Shanghai with hostile intent.

This was terrible news! Although the newspapers said the Marco Polo Bridge Incident shocked the world, the actual fighting was happening far to the north. Here in the south, they hadn’t even heard a gunshot. But now, the Japanese were supposedly eyeing Shanghai!

So Jia San started spouting off about what the president’s office would say, acting as if Chiang Kai-shek had just called him personally.

—”The Japanese attacking Shanghai! That’s impossible, even if you think about it with your little finger!”

—”The Shanghai concessions are full of foreigners! Ask their emperor if he’d agree to it!”

—”Shanghai is so close to Nanjing, and the Chairman lives in the Presidential Palace—how could he allow an attack?”

—”Madame Sun lives in Shanghai! Who is Madame Sun? She’s Madame Chiang’s sister! Would Madame Chiang agree to an attack on Shanghai? Peking is different; the Chairman has no relatives there, so if they attack, so be it…”

Finally, Jia San won a round of drinks, downed half a bottle of liquor, and after the rain stopped, he staggered out, dragging his rickshaw, still slurring his words and making threats: “Japan? I could blow them to smithereens with one fart…”

***

Jia San had a bad habit: once he got drunk, he’d always veer off course, regardless of right or wrong. The more he drank, the more carefree he became. As his wife said, one bottle of liquor and he could drag the rickshaw all the way to the Qinhuai River.

His head was spinning; he vaguely remembered walking along the Huangpu River, then the rickshaw was bumping and jolting as if it was falling apart, and then suddenly he collapsed and fell asleep.

He woke up in the middle of the night. It was July, but the night air was still cool, and his stomach felt cold against the ground. Jia San opened his eyes and smelled mildew. He cursed inwardly, “Damn it, I really got drunk this time! Isn’t this the closed-down Huamei Textile Factory?”

It wasn’t unusual for Chinese-owned factories to close; after all, foreign goods were cheap and good. His vision was a bit blurry. Jia San stared at the base of the wall at the corner in the distance. The moon shone brightly, casting a pale light on the shadows. A woman had just rounded the corner…

A woman?

Jia San suddenly snapped to attention, sitting up abruptly and rubbing his eyes. He looked again at the corner.

It was quiet, eerily so.

Could he have imagined it?

No, it was definitely a woman. High heels, at least three inches, slender and pointed, with pearls on the toe—sparkling, shimmering. Jia San had heard that Madame Chiang Kai-shek, Song Meiling, wore high heels with pearls stolen from Empress Dowager Cixi’s coffin when she married. Many Shanghai ladies imitated her, adorning their shoes with precious stones.

He could also see her white ankles, slender calves, and the hem of her cheongsam fluttering against her legs. The embroidered patterns were darker, hard to see in the dark, but he knew they were intricate, characteristic of a wealthy family.

He couldn’t see any further. He was lying down at the time, staring blankly at the corner. He hadn’t even registered those slender feet passing by.

After thinking it all over, Jia San felt he had struck gold.

He hadn’t personally witnessed this, but he had heard about it several times. Many wealthy women, wives or concubines, felt lonely and sought companionship outside of their homes. Hotels and public places were too crowded and risky. Some bolder ones would venture to abandoned factories or houses in the suburbs. Experienced people advised him that when encountering such situations, don’t disturb the couple; having a man around made things difficult. It was best to keep an eye on the woman, wait for her to be alone, knock her unconscious, and then take whatever valuables she had—gold earrings, jade bracelets, etc. Unearned wealth came unexpectedly, and opportunity knocked at unexpected times. If you were bold enough, you could even try her charms—these women often engaged in shady activities, and they wouldn’t dare make a big fuss if they were wronged. Besides, it was pitch dark; how would she know who it was?

Jia San decided to assess the situation first: if he could handle it, he would, but if it was someone he couldn’t mess with…

Unearned wealth was valuable, but life was even more precious.

***

He circled the area first, confirming that it wasn’t a gang boss with his mistress, with bodyguards outside. He was also 80% sure the man inside was a gold-digger—in such a remote place, he hadn’t seen any cars, let alone a fancy one!

No black taxi either—private taxis hired by individuals were required to be painted black to distinguish them from regular taxis—this mistress was really something! She didn’t dare use her own car, and how did she get here wearing those high heels?

Jia San had a general idea of ​​the situation, and his courage grew. He turned the corner, pondering whether to catch them in the act and blackmail them or play it safe and wait for the woman to be alone.

***

The factory grounds were very quiet. Moldy silk reels were piled against the wall. The workshop gate was chained and locked; no one would enter here.

This was strange. He checked the alkali room, acid storage, and warehouse—no one. It didn’t make sense. He hadn’t seen the woman leave the same way she came in; there was only one entrance and exit. The area was well-protected with barbed wire.

Sweating and agitated, he stood in front of the workshop door, one hand on his hip and the other fanning himself vigorously: “There are only two possibilities: either I’m seeing things, or something supernatural is happening.”

“Probably just seeing things,” he thought, “My wife was right, drinking that strange liquid never does any good.” Jia San slumped down, his head hanging low, leaning against the door.

With a creak, the door opened.

The rusty hinges creaked loudly as the heavy door slowly swung open, casting a warm, yellowish light onto the outside, precisely illuminating Jia San in a strange, eerie light.

Jia San didn’t dare move, his Adam’s apple bobbing nervously, his eyes wide open. He wasn’t a child; he knew something was very, very wrong.

—The door was chained and locked from the outside; how could it have opened so easily?

—Those doors must weigh at least a hundred pounds; just the sound of the hinges creaking showed how much effort it would take to open them. How could they open themselves like that? If someone had opened the door, wouldn’t he have heard their breathing?

—If there was a light inside, some light would have shone through the cracks. How could he not have noticed anything from outside?

—And it was so cold behind him, not from fear, but genuinely cold…

Jia San stood frozen for a moment, then turned around. He couldn’t escape his fate, but deep down, he still harbored a glimmer of hope: he was just a simple rickshaw puller; such a dramatic scene couldn’t possibly be about him. The vast factory hall was shrouded in a hazy, crimson light. In the dim surroundings, something seemed to be moving…

Jia San swallowed, taking a few steps further inside…

He finally saw clearly: a woman was hanging upside down, her ankles bound. Her long, loose hair trailed down, not quite touching the ground. A pool of dark red blood was spreading on the floor. Between the tip of her hair and the ground, he saw a pair of satin high-heeled shoes—pointed-toe with a pale pink pearl on the tips. Her feet were snow-white, her calves plump and smooth. Above them, a cheongsam skirt, embroidered with vines symbolizing prosperity and fertility, draped gracefully.

Another woman stood behind the hanging corpse.

Jia San was stunned. He had lived for over thirty years, with countless “mentors” who taught him deceit, flattery, and all sorts of underhanded tactics, but no one had ever taught him how to handle a situation like this.

If a large clock stood there, its three hands would be frozen, time and the complexities of the world suspended, awaiting some event to break the stillness…

The event that broke the stillness was two strange, thumping sounds. Two thick, pointed objects, made of some unknown material, pierced through the ribs of the hanging corpse. The body swayed in the air, and dark red blood, tinged with black, dripped slowly from the wounds, soaking the clothing, flowing down her neck, and into her tangled, wet hair. First, it dripped slowly, then flowed like a stream, joining the pool on the floor.

Jia San shrieked and turned to run. Outside, the night was dark, a bright moon shining. He was just a few steps from escape when suddenly, a loud bang rang, and the two doors slammed shut. The sudden slamming shut of the heavy door created a strong gust of cold air, making Jia San’s face tremble.

The surrounding area fell into a deathly silence. After what seemed like an eternity, the sound of high heels finally broke the stillness.

Click, click, click.

***

On 13th August 1937, the Battle of Shanghai erupted. The abandoned Huamei Textile Factory was leveled by Japanese air raids.

In late April 1949, the Nationalist army’s Yangtze River defense line was breached. Between April and May, the People’s Liberation Army launched a general offensive against various districts of Shanghai. The ruins of the Huamei Textile Factory became a battleground.

Time passed, and the site of the Huamei Textile Factory underwent many changes: a school, a stadium, and shops were built there. By 2013, it had become a neighborhood park surrounded by residential complexes. In December, smog was common, with PM2.5 levels soaring. Despite experts repeatedly advising people to stay indoors and keep windows closed during such weather, the elderly who loved morning exercise would still wear professional anti-pollution masks and enthusiastically practice Tai Chi in the park.

…

The story begins in the winter of 2013.