Official Release Date: October 17, 2019
Pre-order available on Amazon

Smoke billowed into the darkened sky. Still stunned, Clark ran to the platform where the local train had carried away Xu Hong-Lie only moments ago. The moon peered out from behind the gray clouds floating across the heavens above. Its faint rays could not defeat the arrival of night and he couldn’t see what was happening from afar.

Clark swung around and grabbed the station agent’s arm. “What happened?”

The man’s mouth dropped open. He was still gawking at the sight.

“What happened?” Clark shouted.

The station agent shook his head. “I don’t know.”

Clark let go of the man. Pushing aside all the passengers and people roused by the explosions, he ran toward the station depot to the ticket window. Inside the depot, the station master cried out into the phone, “What? . . . What? The freight train to the Kailan Mines blew up? . . . Ay-yah! Disaster!”

Clark’s eyes widened. A layer of sweat dripped down his back.

The dynamite. Their plan.

If the train exploded, how would the resistance fighters follow through with their plan to blow up the mines?

“How many injured?” the station master asked the person on the other end of the line. “Did anyone die?”

Clark moved closer and put his hand on the ticket counter. His heart hammered.

“You don’t know yet?” The station master turned toward the wall.

Clark shook his head. No. No.

Xu Hong-Lie. His trusted, capable right hand. His most reliable friend. What happened to him?

The station manager’s voice ebbed. Clark’s trembling hand fell from the ticket counter to his side. He took a shaky step backward and might have fallen if it weren’t for the stranger in a conductor’s uniform who called his name. “Young Master Yuan.”

The stranger’s voice prompted him to focus. Instinctively, his fear for Hong Lie switched to fear for himself. Without answering the man, he stiffened his chest. How did the man know his name?

“Come with me.” The stranger held out Clark’s small suitcase and the Agatha Christie novel which Clark had dropped when the train exploded. Subtly, he glanced about them and whispered, “Dai Li sent me.”

Clark exhaled and his body eased, but he remained silent and stood still. Why should he believe this man?

The man took a coin out of his pocket. He flashed it at Clark to show a split-second glimpse of a triangular symbol. Clark recognized the insignia. Wen-Ying wore the same one on her necklace. It was the secret sign of Tian Di Hui, the Heaven and Earth Society—the underground resistance group waging terroristic attacks against their enemy.

Clark took his book and suitcase.

“You have to leave now. Your train to Peking is arriving.” The man tossed his head away from the crowd. “Follow me.” He started toward the platform where Clark had been waiting earlier.

Still not moving, Clark asked, “What about the explosion? What happened? What about . . . ”

The man gave him a firm look to signal him to shush. “I don’t know. Even Dai Li doesn’t know yet. I received a call instructing me to make sure you get on your next train. You’re to check into your hotel as planned. When you arrive, someone will be in touch.”

The train to Peking chugged on its track. The rumble of the engine grew until it drowned out the buzz of human voices. Clark gazed out ahead. The shriek of the train’s horn warned him to move. He took one more look at the scene behind him, then followed the man.

They reached the platform and Clark stepped up into the car. The man stopped and muttered, “See you again.” He turned and hastened away.

Clark made his way onto the train. Alone, he sat gripping his novel. The train pulled away from the station and he looked out the window into the black void. The train’s wheels clacking against the tracks thwacked his ears and he could not form a single coherent thought.

* * *

In his room at the Grand Hôtel des Wagons-Lits, Clark lay on the soft damask duvet covering the bed, trying to listen to music on the radio and calm himself. The sweet voice of singer Zhou Xuan crooned from the speaker across the room, but it failed to soothe his mind. He reached out to the nightstand and turned the knob to change the station. It was no use. The bouncy notes of Mozart’s “Little Night Music” ascending and soaring exasperated him even more. He felt like an ant in a burning wok, circling in search for an escape and unable to stay still. Why was there an explosion? Did the Japanese discover their plan? Where was Hong-Lie now? Was he dead or alive? What became of their plot to disable the Kailan Mines?

He switched off the radio. Above the dresser, the gilded French clock showed the time to be one in the morning. He watched the second-hand tick for a while, then shifted from his side onto his back. If the country weren’t at war, he could easily fall into a deep, peaceful sleep on this opulent bed with these plush pillows under his head. The company that owned this hotel took pride in ensuring the same luxuries continued when their guests on the Orient Express arrived.

What was happening next? He stared at the ceiling and clasped his hands under his head.

The elegantly engraved golden telephone on the desk remained silent. The conductor at the Hai River station who urged him to get on the train—if he really were a conductor—told him someone would be in touch. He’d been lying here for over an hour. His shirt and pants were all wrinkled.

A light knock on the door nearly stopped his heart. He bolted up from the bed and went to open the door. Instantly, his hope of receiving news vanished. A woman in a silk qipao tilted her head and smiled at him. She placed her hand on her hip and gazed seductively at him with her half-closed eyes. A strong whiff of perfume forced its way into his room, but the scent was not unpleasant.

Annoyed, Clark scowled. What was this? A hotel of this class should be more vigilant in keeping prostitutes out. Had the Japanese occupation corrupted Peking so much that solicitation of hotel guests at night was now acceptable even here?

“Go away. Not interested.” He started to close the door.

“Wait.” She pushed the door and held it open. As she did, the KMT emblem of the blue sky and white sun with the twelve rays of white light flashed from her silver bracelet.

Clark looked at her, a bit stunned. “You’re . . . ?”

“Juntong,” the woman said. “Would you let me come in?”

Slowly, Clark opened the door again. The woman from the Chinese secret police sauntered in, swaying her hips as she walked. Clark was expecting a man, not a woman who, at first glance, looked like a harlot.

The woman dropped her large purse on the sofa. Her wayward air toned down as she turned around. “I’m Ming Zhu.”

Ming Zhu—luminous pearl. A beautiful name. Clark doubted it was real. He closed the door and invited her to sit, then took a seat himself on the other side of the coffee table. “Did Dai Li send you?”

Pearl nodded. “I’ll be your primary contact from now on for all your dealings with him.”

“You’re a Juntong agent?” Clark asked, still feeling a tinge of doubt.

“Yes, but that’s not something you should ever mention again,” Pearl said. She adjusted her bracelet and hid the secret sign. “I’m one of the girls at the Garden of Apricots.” She smiled proudly with a lift of her head. “It’s Peking’s number one playground for wealthy and powerful men.”

“Is it?” Clark watched her cross her legs, the deep slit on the side of her skirt revealing her smooth skin. This made sense. Pearl could probably coax more secrets and information from their enemies than Juntong’s other regular operatives, provided she could be trusted. And she could slide in and out of places without raising attention, like she was doing now. Making her his main contact was a brilliant move.

“You should come for a drink.” She lightly bit her lower lip.

Clark ignored her invitation. “Do you know what happened to the train going to Kailan? Were we found out?”

“No.” Pearl stared back at him, her eyes now serious. “It was the Communists. We’re not the only ones trying to sabotage the short army. The Communists came up with a dumb scheme to blow up the local train to scare the Japanese demons. Their little game ruined our chance to shut down the mines. We had to abort everything. The Japanese are now on high alert. We won’t be able to try again.” She took a pack of cigarettes out of her purse, lit one up, and blew out a frustrated puff.

Clark sagged in his seat. Chinese people. This was precisely their problem. They were like a basin of loose sand. Even now, with the Japanese trampling over their land, they could not unite. The left hand didn’t know what the right hand was doing. They were wrecking their own resistance efforts.

“What about Xu Hong-Lie?” he asked. “Do you have any news about him?”

Pearl raised her brows. “The whole train blew up. Those Communist yokel bandits. Their grenades set off the loads of dynamite it was carrying. Dai Li’s contacts with the emergency rescue operation didn’t report finding any survivors. The passengers who died must have all turned into human slag. I think . . . he more likely met a violent end than luck.”

Clark dropped his face into his hands. This was all his fault. If he hadn’t convinced Xu Hong-Lie to come on this mission, Xu would still be alive. Now what was he to do? How could he break the news to Hong-Lie’s parents? Or Uncle Six? Uncle Six dedicated his whole life to serving the Yuan family. His nephew’s death was now his payback? Clark raked his fingers through his hair. He wished he himself had died in Hong-Lie’s place.

“What will I say to his family?” Clark asked, a rhetorical question to no one in particular.

He raised his head. What would he tell Hong-Lie’s family indeed? They were supposed to be in Peking for a business trip. How would he explain to his friend’s parents why their son had disappeared and would never come back?

“That question, at least, we can resolve,” Pearl said. She put her cigarette on the ashtray and took an urn out of her purse. “You will delay your return to Shanghai for three days. When you go back, you’ll tell everyone Xu Hong-Lie died in a car accident. You’ll tell them the Japanese won’t let you bring the body back. Therefore, you had his body cremated. You had to stay longer in Peking to make the arrangements.” She put urn on the coffee table and pushed it toward Clark.

Warily, Clark reached out for the urn. He flinched when his fingertips touched its surface. “Whose ashes are these?”

Pearl shrugged. “It came from the morgue. I didn’t ask. Dai Li told me to bring it to you, so I did. Take it back. It’ll do as an explanation. No one will know the difference.”

No one will know the difference? Clark imagined himself delivering the urn to Hong-Lie’s family. A pang of sadness came over him. The poor parents. They lost their son, and they couldn’t even mourn his dead body. They’d be mourning a pile of ashes of a stranger.

Pearl softened her voice. “A person who dies can’t come back to life. Don’t be distressed anymore. The only thing you can do now is to continue our resistance against Japan. If we can revive our country, then Xu Hong-Lie’s death won’t be a waste.”

Clark closed his hands around the urn. Yes. He had to give his all to help the resistance. Xu Hong-Lie gave his life. Clark himself could not give anything less until the day the Japanese were gone. And then, Hong-Lie’s death would mean something.

“I have to leave.” Pearl closed her purse. “Do as I tell you. In three days, go home and attend to your company’s business as usual. In a few weeks, I’ll come to Shanghai and find you. Now that the Japanese army has chased away Big Ear Du and his Green Gang, Shanghai’s wide open for new business. I’m bringing a group of sisters down there to open a new place. It’ll be even bigger and more beautiful than the Garden of Apricots. It’ll be a paradise. There’ll be a garden of exotic plants, a fish pond for guests to fish in, even an indoor hot spring. We’ll serve the finest wines money can buy. Also, we’ll have the most beautiful girls. More beautiful than girls in any other houses.” Pearl’s eyes lit up. The excitement on her face nearly had Clark convinced that her only aim was to open Shanghai’s number one brothel.

But then, she stared at him and whispered, “We expect a lot of new Japanese clients and their Chinese friends to come. Military generals, officers, principals of the new puppet government.”

Clark understood immediately. What better way to deceive and spy on the enemy than through a brothel?

“Setting up something new in Shanghai’s current climate won’t be easy,” he said. “I guess you have support behind you?”

Pearl smiled but didn’t answer. Her eyes gleamed with the confidence of someone with all the right cards up her sleeves.

“I really must get going.” She rose from her seat and walked to the back of his sofa. “Even though I know how much you wish for my company to last till the morning.” She ran her hands softly down his chest. He turned around and stood up. She crinkled her eyes and smiled, then let herself out.

After she left, Clark locked the door and returned to the coffee table. The urn sat there, holding the ashes of their failed plan.

Pearl’s cigarette burned to the butt. Its ashes crumbled into the tray. Clark’s mind returned once again to the Hai River station, when Hong-Lie boarded the local train to the Kailan Mines. He still couldn’t believe that would be the last time he saw his friend alive.

He wasn’t a man of superstitions. He never took it seriously when his mother told him stories of ghosts and spirits. But now, he wondered. Was Xu Hong-Lie’s soul wandering along the Hai River, lost and forever searching for his way home? Would his spirit drift along for eternity, seeking to know why he was left behind in a foreign town he never knew, only to be trapped in another dimension in which he would never find any answer or peace?

Clark closed his fists. This thought tore his own heart and soul to a thousand shards.

— End of Preview

Shanghai Yesterday is now available for Pre-Order on Amazon