I do not own Inuyasha or the characters. They belong to Takahashi Rumiko.
A/N: This idea came to me a few weeks ago, and since then, I've been working furiously on this story. I didn't want to post it up initially, but my laptop of five years is in falling in and out of a comatose state, and I figured it was better to do something about the countless word documents in it before the poor machine dies on me.
Also, I would like to dedicate this chapter to a few lovely friends of mine, namely Madison, Electric and EagleFeathersInMyHair for previewing and giving me their opinions on this story. Electric has created a lovely picture out of my sketch for this story, and I would appreciate it greatly if you can spare some time to take a look at the picture here:
http://dokuga.com/gallery?func=detail&id=3977
Set in Shanghai in the 1930s, this story will revolve around themes of a forbidden love between a Chinese songstress at a nightclub and a Japanese mafia member. It will involve social issues of interracial hostilities, cultural differences, language barriers and the Sino-Japanese war, better known as World War II to many of us.
It will probably be the last time I am doing a long story, so I am giving this my all. Hope you will enjoy this as you've enjoyed Wisteria, The Third Parties and Happily Ever After.
~ Shanghai ~
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“Night Shanghai, Night Shanghai, you’re a city that never sleeps…”
He took a long drag on his Tuscania cigar, appreciating the better quality which common Parejo cigars could never offer. The lingering scent of oak was a unique blend of creaminess and spiciness, something he had never experienced before. It was pleasant and unique, just like the rest of Shanghai.
He had never been to this part of the world prior to this trip, and he had to admit; Shanghai was really living up to its reputation of being the Paris of Asia. Prosperous and vibrant with heavy influence from the West, Shanghai was nothing like what he had always imagined it to be. He had expected to see a place filled with Chinese and perhaps other Asians just like himself, but no, there was a sizeable and growing population of Caucasians, Indians and Middle Easterners. The economy was bustling, the land was in a state of rapid modernization and popular culture was rapidly taking roots in the local society. The 1930s was indeed a golden period for this place.
He had spent his entire life in Japan, and while Japan had its fair share of entertainment districts, they did not have anything which could be compared to the place in which he currently was.
“Glamorous lights are lit, music starts, song and dance flourish.”
Golden Phoenix Lounge was the first place of entertainment those Chinese men brought him to, probably in hopes of impressing him, and true enough, they had succeeded. It was very different from the nightclubs he was used to in Japan, and he was not only referring to the language difference. The songs, the atmosphere, the clients, the performers…everything was different. He knew not a word of the Chinese language or Shanghai dialect, but while he might not exactly understand the lyrics of the song reverberating within the smoky, fragrant air inside the lounge, he could appreciate the visual pleasures very well indeed.
Prior to the singing performance he was currently watching, there had been acrobatic performances as well, one of which had impressively merged acrobatics with music. The performers had danced around a huge drum as traditional Chinese music played, skillfully beating the large instrument while executing seemingly-impossible acrobatic moves with grace. He had never seen such a performance in Japan, and it had been an eye-opener for him.
“Look at her; she welcomes you with a bright smile, but who would understand the misery within her heart? Such night life is merely for making a living!”
Standing in the center of all the oriental opulence, bright gaudy lights, trumpeting music and the pungent fragrances of alcohol and cigar smoke, was a girl. Slender and petite, she was dressed in a form-fitting red cheongsam with gold embroidery of pussy willows and plum blossoms that ended at her mid-thigh. Every movement she made as she danced and sang into the microphone on the stand caused the slit in the side of her cheongsam to split, revealing the creamy skin of her thigh. Such were the delights of the Chinese cheongsam, he mused. The Japanese kimono was elegant and definitely comparable to the cheongsam in terms of their multitude of exquisite prints, but it was nowhere as effective in accentuating beautiful, soft, feminine curves.
The large crimson rose in her hairdo contrasted starkly against her hair and complimented her cheongsam well, but did nothing to steal the limelight from her face. Her visage was small with large doe eyes, a pert, small nose and perfectly rouged lips. It was her face which drew him in like a spell, he realized, as he chose to exhale in that moment. The hazy tendrils of smoke from his cigar enveloped her lithe form in his vision, and gave her a delicate ethereal touch. Now he finally understood the alluring charms of such places of entertainment, and why it was that there were so many men who couldn’t stop visiting.
“Wine does not intoxicate, but people get drunk by themselves all the same…”
She continued singing melodiously, her large, round eyes sparkling in the flashing lights of the lounge’s interior. He found himself watching her lips as they parted and closed like the rouge petals, yet intrigued by the fact that he could understand not a word of what she was singing so passionately.
“Sesshoumaru-san,” The man sitting by his side called out rather loudly over the music, before talking to their translator in Chinese.
The young translator then turned to him and asked in Japanese, “Mr. Zhao asks if you are interested in that lady performing on stage, Sesshoumaru-san.”
“She is attractive.” He commented, not taking his eyes off her.
“You have excellent taste in women, Sesshoumaru-san. That girl is the most popular songstress here at Golden Phoenix.” The stocky young man translated accordingly. “Her name is A-Lee, though she is better known as the Shanghai Warbler.”
(A/N: ‘A-Lee’ is Kagome’s name in the Chinese version of the anime and manga, and for those who understand the language, her name is written as 日暮籬)
“The Shanghai Warbler…” He allowed her title to roll off his tongue like a little tune. It did not come as a surprise; she was indeed blessed with a rich, clear and sweet voice like that of the songbird. “I have long heard that Shanghai boasts extraordinary beauty; the best of the Orient, they say. Apparently, it is not merely groundless hearsay.”
Sesshoumaru paused to give the translator some time to put across what he had said to Zhao in Chinese, quietly noting the way the older man chuckled almost lecherously and nodded in agreement.
“The girls are not only beautiful; they are very talented as well. In fact, Sesshoumaru-san should visit Golden Phoenix again in the near future to hear A-Lee sing. The lively song which she’s singing is arguably the most popular song in Shanghai right now, but you should hear her sing ballads.” Zhao continued, raising a thumbs-up sign at Sesshoumaru as the translator spoke simultaneously beside Sesshoumaru’s ear. “The Shanghai Warbler did not earn her name for nothing; that girl could practically draw your soul out of you with her voice when she performs melancholic ballads.”
“That calls for a second visit.” He commented in reply, a wisp of a smile lingering on his lips. He would like to see how this petite woman had the ability to draw souls, especially when he didn’t think of himself as having a soul any more.
Seeing that the handsome Japanese was revealing the slightest hint of interest in what he had to say, the Chinese merchant enthusiastically continued with a suggestive raise of his unruly bushy brow, while the translator translated accordingly.
“He says that if Sesshoumaru-san likes her, he can make some arrangements for the girl to be sent to your hotel room tonight. There’s nothing money cannot do.”
Pulling the cigar out from his mouth with a smirk on his lips, he shook his head subtly. It was almost revolting; how eager these dirty old men were in relating everything to the carnal pleasures. Some other men might have been grateful, but he never believed in buying sex. He never sought sex; sex came to him. It was ironic though, for the girl on the stage chose to extend her hand in the direction of the audience as if in invitation, while fanning her plush feather fan coyly.
“Tell him I appreciate his kind intentions, but that wouldn’t be necessary.”
Zhao appeared almost incredulous, and leaned in the smirk lecherously again. “Don’t you want to have a taste of…Chinese delicacies?”
Sesshoumaru simply shook his head.
But in order not to give the other man the impression that he was offended in the least, he wrapped his fingers around the stem of the tulip glass by his hand and raised the glass of cognac in the Zhao’s direction. Glasses clinked like a whisper in the surrounding music, and the earlier embarrassment on the older man’s face disappeared to be replaced by hearty manly laughter.
Sesshoumaru’s eyes returned to the woman singing on stage, observing the way her tight cheongsam creased with every sensual sway of her body to the rhythm of the music. The song was surprisingly nice, and it seemed to be a song which every Chinese present in the club knew by heart. He even saw the occasional Caucasian humming and nodding to the beat as the charming female continued her performance with dignified grace and professionalism.
That was perhaps why he did not accept the Chinese man’s easy offer – the woman up on the stage did not seem like a common whore. Yes, she was beautiful and definitely dressed up to impress the male patrons of the night club, but at the same time, she was performing professionally. Her melodious voice hit all the high notes of the song beautifully, which was probably the result of long hours of practice and training.
It was along the lines of those thoughts that he figured she was most probably not selling her body, and he had no intention of buying it anyway. He might have been interested in spending a willing night with her; she was an attractive woman after all, but he was not here in Shanghai for leisure. There were much more important things for him to see to, and those priorities definitely came first.
Frivolous fun was not for him.
The song came to an end, and applause erupted across the floor as the charming songstress smiled and took a step back from her microphone stand. She bowed, before straightening her back to wave to the audience. Then the lights on the stage dimmed, and his eyes followed her lithe form as she walked to the side of the stage to disappear behind the curtains.
Politely, the translator conveyed his host’s intention of sending him back to the hotel where he was staying, and Sesshoumaru nodded in courteous acknowledgement. He had enough of activities for now, and all he wanted to do was go back, shower and rest. There were more things to do the next day and he needed his energy. Snuffing what remained of his cigar in the ashtray on the table; he pushed his chair back and stood up.
Walking alongside the short, plump Chinese merchant, they made their way past the tables on the floor of the lounge. He noticed how the other patrons were casting discreet, curious glances at them, and the fear betrayed by their stiffened postures told him they knew of his identity.
Their attires might be a giveaway, and after all, which normal man had a gang of armed men in suits walking obediently behind him? He fought the urge to smirk as a skinny man sporting a goatee caught his gaze accidentally and practically shuddered before evading his eyes. If he was looking for some harmless fun, he might have gotten one of his men to go over to the table to smash a bottle of wine, just so he could witness the person’s reaction. But he had had enough of entertainment for today.
The melody of the vibrant music lingered in his ears like a fading echo as he stepped through the doors of the lounge onto the brightly-lit streets of Shanghai. The chilly autumn air was punctuated with the voices of roadside stall hawkers, the rumble of rickshaw wheels running over the asphalt and the sounds of a nearby cobbler hard at work with a hammer.
Still keeping his phony smile on his broad face, the Chinese merchant continued making small talk, as if determined to make Sesshoumaru feel the extent of his hospitality. It did not come as a surprise to him, for his own business and survival depended very much on how well he managed to bootlick.
“Sesshoumaru-san, the car will be here in a few minutes…” The translator conveyed apologetically, while the merchant looked down the street impatiently for signs of approaching vehicles. “Mr. Zhao asks if you would like to have a drink in the meantime from one of the roadside-”
A first gunshot shattered the casual, bustling atmosphere in the streets of Shanghai into screaming smithereens. Shrieking with fear, the civilians either threw themselves flat onto the ground or squatted with their hands above their heads, trying desperately to keep out of harm’s way as the gunshots came in rapid succession.
“Damn,” He cursed under his breath. He should have known; the entire day had progressed too smoothly to be true, and there were bound to be rival gangs who would try to stir trouble. Another resounding shot rang out, and he instinctively reached for his own pistol, which was always secured at his waist, concealed by his trench coat. Pulling it out, he fired two aimless shots in the direction where the enemies were coming from, simply to scare them so as to stall for time.
“Sesshoumaru-sama, we have to go. The situation’s not to our advantage.” One of his men shouted in Japanese, before they all sprinted rapidly in the other direction. The Chinese merchant, Zhao, was positively spluttering with fear as he lumbered along with the help of his men, escaping as quickly as his stubby legs could carry him.
Ducking to avoid the whizzing gunshots, Sesshoumaru turned and fired a shot at one of the men who were hot on their heels. The morbid splatter of blood and the resounding thud of a body hitting the pavement told him he had hit his target. Yet there was no time for feeling triumphant; one of the men was down but there were still many of them behind. He was unable to gauge the enemy’s strength, and logic dictated that they had to escape while they could.
A loud gurgle came from somewhere near him, and a sideward glance told him that one of Zhao’s men had been shot right in the chest. The man stiffened, before lurching forward as if in slow motion, eliciting a disturbingly feminine shriek from the obese, middle-aged merchant.
The relentless gunshots continued coming their way, shattering the wooden pushcarts of unlucky roadside stalls lined up by the side of the main street. Lifting his arm to shield his face from flying splinters, Sesshoumaru knew that they could not keep this cat and mouse chase up for too long, especially when Shanghai was a foreign territory. The members of the enemy gang had obviously come prepared with the intent to exterminate them, and experience allowed him to gauge from the frequency of the gunshots that he was in a very perilous situation indeed. Beads of perspiration were rolling down from his temples into his eyes, and he blinked furiously, reaching back at the same time to send a few more shots in his enemies’ direction.
The number of casualties on his side was rising in positive correlation to the passing seconds; every stride he took was accompanied by a cry of pain and a sickening thud against the stone pavement. He would have to think fast if he wanted to go back to Japan alive; he had never been afraid of dying, but at the age of twenty-six, he had plenty to live for. Another agonized cry rang out from behind him, and his head whipped back to see one of his followers staggering behind him.
“Mushi!” He called out, reaching out for his injured comrade to steady the latter. They might be triad members, but there was an unbreakable code of loyalty and brotherhood binding all of them together. The bug-eyed young man was one of the sons of his faithful right-hand man, Jaken, and like his father, was almost loyal to a fault.
“Hang in there.” Sesshoumaru whispered urgently, gripping the young man’s arm tightly to jolt him. His eyes were already at half-mast, and that was a not a good sign. Valiantly, he fought hard to run ahead, but the rapidly spreading patch of red at his left chest told both men that it was going to be a futile fight.
With lips that were rapidly losing color, Mushi forced a small smile and said, “I can’t make it, Sesshoumaru-sama…run…”
“What the hell are you talking about??” He asked through gritted teeth, voice shaking with the painful emotions which he was fighting to suppress. “We are going back to Japan together. Don’t you dare die on me; I will never be able to face your father.”
“You are surprisingly…wishy-washy for a powerful man…Sesshoumaru-sama…”
“You’d better stay alive so I can bash you up for that, Mushi.” Sesshoumaru continued between heaving breaths as he dragged the fatally injured young man along, trying to run as fast as he could.
Mushi smiled wistfully and shook his head dismissively in the first and final act of disobedience to the man he had sworn loyalty to. “I am…not important. But you are…run while you can…Sesshoumaru-sama…and…” The bug-eyed young man smirked while wrenching his arm out of Sesshoumaru’s grip in a burst of strength, before pulling out his own pistol. “Tell old Pops I love him, and tell him…to take care of Mom.”
“No!”
“Just go!” With that said, Mushi turned around bravely to face the approaching enemies, firing wildly to take down as many of the enemies he could. Trying to fight the growing ache in his chest as he watched Mushi’s gradually shrinking form jerk morbidly with every gunshot he received, Sesshoumaru continued running as quickly as his legs would take him. A morbid splat of a bloody, battered body against the stone pavement behind him told him the inevitable had happened. He would not let Mushi die in vain, he swore, before whispering for his comrade to rest in peace. He would not let any of those men who had given their lives die in vain. Their deaths would be honorable and meaningful.
To do so, he would have to stay alive.
He sprinted with renewed determination, but had not taken more than five steps when white-hot, searing pain shot through his side, blinding him for a second. His body stiffened and lurched a few steps forward while he cursed under his breath; the sudden shock had rendered him unable to think for a moment. Drawing a few hungry gulps of cool air into his burning lungs, he tried to regain his composure. The white multitude of stars in front of his eyes was fading rapidly and a quick glance at his side confirmed his suspicions. He had taken a bullet in his side, and the deep crimson soaking through his white shirt and black striped vest told him this might not be easy to recover from.
But still, he had to live. Dying was not an option if he wanted to avenge his friends.
Trying to tell himself that it was merely a gunshot wound, Sesshoumaru fought to run ahead. He was lucky; the bullet did not hit him in the chest, and while it hurt like hell, there was no rush of metallic blood within his mouth, indicating no backflow of blood within his gastrointestinal tract. He would survive this; there was nothing he had not survived in the past. He had been through too many life and death situations ever since he had chosen to walk this path.
The scent of blood and slightly burned flesh in the air was growing and what had been a bustling street filled with night life was now a brightly lit yet desolate sight. There was no one in sight; everyone must have gone into hiding. The men came to a crossroad, and Sesshoumaru knew that the only way out of this fix was to split up into groups to confuse and throw the enemy off their backs, even if it was only temporary.
“Split up!” He roared, no longer caring too much if the non-Japanese speakers understood him or not. On cue, his remaining men sprinted in different directions, ducking to avoid the bullets whizzing past them. Gritting his teeth, he hurriedly made the decision to run down a darkened alley between two rows of shop houses. His feet hit the stone pavement in an erratic, frenzied rhythm while he clutched his side with his right hand to staunch the blood flow and alleviate the burning pain in his raw, bloody flesh. Using the thick fabric of his trench coat to soak up his blood, he cast urgent glances on the ground he had sprinted on to search for spots of crimson. It would not do him any good to leave a bloody trail for his adversaries.
He could hear rapid footsteps from somewhere far behind him, and while he’d hate to admit this, they would catch up with him sooner or later. Hyperventilating with the sudden trauma and stress his body had received, he felt himself grow increasingly lightheaded, and his strides were no longer as fast and decisive as they had been. His limbs were experiencing a numbing sensation from both the blood loss and the hyperventilation, and soon, Sesshoumaru was staggering forward like a crippled man, barely able to support his own weight.
A few more staggering steps forward was all he could manage before he lurched forward limply to lean against a brick wall at the juncture where the alley he was on met the entrance to another. Heaving hard, he gritted his teeth in agony as he mentally prepared himself for certain death, cursing the fact that he was to die in a foreign land alone in a dark, filthy alley from a gunshot from an adversary.
It was then when he heard a sharp feminine gasp, and his head snapped to the side to meet a pair of taupe orbs sparkling with horror and astonishment. The eyes that held his so intently broke the eye contact between them, following along the length of his body to take in the dreadful sight of his grotesquely blood stained garments. He blinked once to clear his blurring vision; the woman in front of him was oddly familiar, but he could no longer think coherently. But when her rouged lips, slightly pearlescent where the few beams of light that flooded in from the main streets caught them, parted in what was to be a shrill scream, he summoned the last remnants of strength within himself to push her against the wall on her back, and raise his left hand to cup it over her mouth.
“Shhh.” He hushed, unable to speak a word as he watched those large, expressive eyes widen with terror before her lined and colored eyelids lowered ever so slightly in silent compliance. Her body which had been fighting his grip, relaxed gradually when she seemed to realize this gravely wounded stranger held no intention of hurting her.
It was then when they both heard it; the unmistakable sounds of commands shouted noisily in Chinese down the other alley. While he did not comprehend a word of what they were saying, the woman in his hold seemed to do so, as he could see from the flash of realization across her face. He could vaguely make out the way her eyes had darted to the side before they returned to meet his, trailing down to where his wound was, as if she had grasped the situation.
Sesshoumaru did not know what she was thinking, and his weakening body left him with no choice but to trust this stranger who had so fatefully crossed his path on this autumn night where blood had fallen like rain. Her hands tugged at his arm insistently as if to coax him into releasing his grip on her, and it was when he complied that she gave him a reassuring nod, arranged her hair and her clothes hastily. Then she lifted her chin and walked out slowly in the direction he had come from, poised and relaxed as if she had not met him at all.
Lips parting in a soundless gasp as a fresh wave of raw throbbing ache assaulted his wound, Sesshoumaru collapsed onto the cold brick wall, sliding down slowly into a sitting position with his legs stretched out limply in front of him. His head drooped forward and he gritted his teeth as he fought to regain consciousness, drifting in and out of a sleepy haze.
The woman disappeared around the corner and it wasn’t long before he heard a piercing scream from her that jolted him into attention from his injury-induced daze. His ears strained to pick up hints of sounds, but all he could catch were conversations in rapid Chinese. There were thunderous male voices and a clear, sweet female voice, and the rush of urgent footsteps was soon heard again. But unlike earlier when they had been closing in on him like vicious, starved predators, the footsteps against the stone pavement seemed to be fading further and further into the distance.
A few moments passed in silent uneasiness, and he realized he could neither hear the outraged threats from his adversaries nor their footsteps. They were gone, he realized weakly, before the clicking sounds of feminine heels against stone grew louder and louder.
Over the hypnotizing rhythm of the clicking heels, he heard a feminine voice speaking to him urgently. But it was all in Chinese, and he did not understand a single word of what the woman was going on and on about. Her voice…it sounded so warm, yet so far away. A small hand gripped his tightly, squeezing his fingers. That was his final coherent thought before his eyes caught sight of gold embroidery against red satin, and his world went pitch black.
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To be continued...