Chinese Cinderella and the Secret Dragon Society by Adeline Yen Mah

Author:Adeline Yen Mah
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780141928289
Publisher: Penguin Books Ltd
Published: 2004-08-31T04:00:00+00:00

12

The Mission

We set off by train at first light on Friday 17 April, accompanied only by Grandma Wu. During the journey from Shanghai to Ghuchow, we were given a private compartment by a trusted guard. As soon as the train left the station, he closed the curtains and locked the door, giving us total privacy. ‘I have checked,’ he said. ‘You are safe. No Japanese aboard.’

‘Who is he?’ I asked when we were alone.

‘I only know him as Agent 0108,’ Grandma Wu said. ‘It’s better not to know anything more in case we’re questioned by the Japanese.’

From time to time, one of us would part the curtain to peek at the terrain we were travelling through. Outside, it started to rain. The countryside was relatively flat and all we could see through the mist were endless rice paddies. Here and there we saw men and oxen pulling primitive-looking wooden ploughs to till the fields. Every inch of land appeared to be cultivated. Sometimes we passed clusters of houses in the distance that looked like villages.

Most of the people on the train seemed to be farmers and small businessmen. There were a few women travelling with their children. Thankfully, we did not come across any Japanese soldiers. Whenever the train stopped at a station, swarms of peddlers would approach and try to sell passengers their local produce, handicrafts and foodstuffs. We left our compartment only when absolutely necessary and avoided talking with anyone.

The train pulled into Chuchow later that afternoon. The town was surrounded by a wall and criss-crossed by cramped streets filled with pedestrians, wheelbarrows, rickshaws, pedicabs and bicycles. We saw no trams, but there were a few buses and motor cars. Outdoor stalls occupied every nook and corner of the large square surrounding the train station. Grandma Wu led us to a noodle vendor and bought each of us a steaming bowl of hot noodles, topped with bean-curd sauce. She handed us chopsticks and we ate standing up. While we were eating, a hot-water seller in the next row of stalls asked me in a loud voice, ‘Little Sister! Would you like to buy a nice cup of freshly boiled water to drink?’ I shook my head just as he pointed to a sweet-gruel seller who was beckoning me with his hand. As David and I approached, he murmured something.

‘Excuse me,’ David said. ‘We didn’t hear you. What did you say?’

This time the sweet-gruel seller answered in a distinct voice, ‘Chu sui san hu, Chu sui san hu.’

David and I looked at each other dubiously. Was this gruel seller in baggy trousers, dirty apron and cloth shoes our contact in Chuchow? But there was no doubt what he had just said. And he had said it twice. Then I heard David take a deep breath and say, ’ Wang Qin bi Chu,’ four times in rapid succession.

The man’s response was immediate. ‘Come with me!’ he said. He unpinned his apron and said something to a woman behind him. With

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