I peeked between the slats of the rattan shutters and saw a dragon-shaped, black-and-white cloud outlined clearly against a bright blue sky. A brilliant rainbow in red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo and violet arched out of the dragon’s mouth.
‘The dragon!’ Master Wu exclaimed. ‘Symbol of the Society of the Wandering Knights! It can soar up and fly into the sun or dive down and touch the bottom of the ocean. It can wander at will to visit every corner of the universe or remain hidden among the waves. What a good omen that a dragon should appear in the sky at this moment. On the very day of the Dragon Boat Festival, no less!’
After the boys left, Grandma Wu and I made 100 steamed baos (() buns filled with cabbage and minced pork), for our forthcoming journey. We dressed in our peasant clothes and packed the buns and our belongings in backpacks. By 10 p.m. we were ensconced in a large removal van on the street outside Bridge House, with Grandma Wu at the wheel and me hidden inside.
My heart raced as the hands of my watch approached 10.15 p.m I pressed my body flat against the back panel of the van and felt my tongue sticking to the roof of my mouth. I could see through a small rear window. The surrounding streets were still packed with revellers enjoying the remaining hours of the Dragon Boat Festival. At 10.10 p.m., Master Wu and the boys positioned themselves at street corners, mingling with the crowd.
At precisely 10.15 p.m., four emaciated men dressed in prison clothing clambered awkwardly over the rear wall of Bridge House and slid down a rope, one after another. A murmur went through the throng, followed by a hush. Everyone stared. It gradually dawned on people that these were inmates breaking out of jail. I wanted to scream out words of encouragement to the airmen, but knew I mustn’t!
To my surprise, nobody tried to halt their flight. Instead, everyone seemed to be on the side of the escapees. Some onlookers even stretched out their arms to offer a helping hand. Master Wu suddenly stepped forwards, and I heard him say, ‘Ivanov!’ A fifth man poked his head above the wall and scrambled down. He led the prisoners quickly to our van. Grandma Wu had the engine running. Exhaust fumes billowed out from the exhaust pipes. The crowd dispersed as if on cue, leaving the road clear for us to make a quick getaway.
At that moment, I heard the sound of boots pounding the pavement behind us. Someone called out, ‘Japanese patrolman!’ All at once, David took a sling out of his pocket and catapulted a pebble into the air. It shattered the solitary street lamp and plunged the street into darkness. As our van pulled away, our headlights caught Marat and Sam raising a length of wire they had tied to two trees. The lone Japanese pursuer tripped and sprawled on to the ground. No one moved to help him back on his feet.
David sprinted forwards and hurled himself at the patrolman, who launched a flying kick at David’s head. Quick as a dragon striking, David caught the soldier’s ankle and twisted it. Propelled by his own momentum, the man lost his balance and fell heavily a second time. As he lay there stunned, the boys scattered in different directions and vanished into the crowd. They would take different short cuts and make their own way to the ‘safe house’.
Inside the van, Ivanov introduced us to Chase Nielsen, Jake DeShazer, George Barr and Bobbie Hite. Robert Meder, the co-pilot of The Green Hornet, was so sick that he’d been unable to escape with the others.
Ivanov and the airmen struggled into the uniforms we’d brought for them as we sped through the empty late-night streets to North Szechuan Road. Everything went according to plan. Master Wu unlocked the back gate and Grandma Wu parked inside the garage. The men had a quick wash and a rough shave in the bathroom of the empty house. The three boys soon joined us. It was touching to see Marat and Ivanov together. They embraced and helped us burn the prisoners’ uniforms in the living-room fireplace.
Although pitifully thin, Ivanov and the four airmen looked impressive in their new German officers’ uniforms. We got into taxis, driven by our agents, for the short ride to the Bund. No one challenged us or gave us a second glance as we boarded two sampans. We were ferried directly on to a large junk anchored in the middle of the Huang Pu River, weaving between the many colourful boats that had taken part in the Dragon Boat Race earlier. Their bows were painted in brilliant colours and flags flew from the top of their masts.
We sat in the main cabin of the junk and Grandma Wu served the baos we had brought, while Master Wu brewed tea. There was a breeze, and the junk travelled steadily westwards towards Chungking. By the light of a small oil lamp I took my first proper look at the prisoners. I was horrified to see how ill they really were. They seemed over-whelmed by everything that had happened to them.
One of them asked me, ‘What’s your name, little girl?’
‘My Chinese name is Ye Xian but my English name is CC,’ I answered shyly.
‘I’m Jacob DeShazer, but my friends call me Jake,’ he said. I saw that his arms and hands were covered with angry boils. ‘On behalf of the five of us, I want to thank all of you from the bottom of our hearts for risking your lives to rescue us.’
‘It’s nothing,’ I said. ‘I hate the Japanese. They killed my aunt.’
He looked at me for a long time before he spoke again. ‘I did plenty of thinking in that prison. The Japanese, they sure haven’t treated us decently. They tortured and starved us, and even executed three of us on trumped-up charges.’
He shut his eyes for a moment. ‘My body’s wrecked, and I could spend the rest of my life hating the Japanese. But hate is not erased by hate. There’s no doubt in my mind that Japan will lose this war. Should I spend the rest of my life pursuing revenge? Or should I try to do something bigger, something that will live on even after I’m gone? The only way of turning the tables on those who did us wrong is to do them good.
‘Your life is just beginning. Take my advice, don’t live out of hatred. It won’t make your life meaningful.’
‘What are you going to do now that you’re free?’ I asked. ‘Will you go back to America and start a business?’
‘No way,’ Jake said. ‘These last few months, I’ve been wondering what will happen to the Japanese after they lose the war. They’re so convinced that they’ll win; it’s going to be a big blow to them when they lose. But what if they should discover Jesus and the power of forgiveness through losing the war? In that case, their military defeat would turn out to be their greatest victory.
‘When the war is over, I’m going to train as a missionary. I’ll go to Japan, if I can, and teach the Gospel among the Japanese people. I hope to bring them peace.’
Everyone was silent for a long time as we mulled over his words. Then Marat said, ‘My brother, Ivanov, and I are Muslims. Sam is Jewish. David is a Christian like you. Grandma Wu is a Buddhist and CC doesn’t know what she wants to be yet. Your intentions may be good, but what if the Japanese people are happy with their own beliefs?’
‘That’s a good question,’ Jake replied.
‘Isn’t religion an accident of fate?’ Marat persisted. ‘Ivanov and I are Muslims because our mother was a Muslim. Sam’s father was Jewish and David’s parents were Christians. Grandma Wu’s parents were probably Buddhist…’
‘Religion is, indeed, an accident of fate,’ interrupted Master Wu. ‘It’s my opinion that when we adopt the belief that our lives are ruled by a higher authority, we shouldn’t limit that authority or give it a name. The ancient philosopher Lao Zi wrote a book about this 2500 years ago. The Book of Tao (the Way).
‘I believe it’s wiser not to ask what this religion or that religion might be, or the name of this god or that god; but simply to think of Heaven, to cultivate a right attitude towards Heaven, without focusing on specific names. The essential beliefs of the major religions don’t differ very much. The variations we notice are often the result of our own narrowness of vision.
‘If you look at a bouquet of flowers and focus your gaze on a single red bloom, you won’t see all the other blossoms. When your eye is not fixed on any one flower, and you face the bouquet with an open mind, t
hen all the flowers become visible to you. But if a single flower alone holds your eye, it will be as if the remaining flowers are not there.’
‘Marat, Sam and I have had many arguments in the past because of our religious beliefs,’ said David. ‘Each of us thinks his religion is the best and only true religion.’
‘You three aren’t alone!’ Grandma Wu said. ‘Throughout history, there have been religious wars. Although I am a Buddhist, I agree with my son’s concept of the Tao of Heaven. Unless all of us can accept that fundamentally there’s no difference between the various major religions, our world will never be at peace.’
‘One can get to the same destination via many different paths,’ Master Wu said. ‘The Tao of Heaven is the source of our conscience. It manifests itself through kindness, morality and clarity of judgement. When people acquire the Tao of Heaven, it becomes part of their nature. They become virtuous and happy.’
The boys looked at the airmen and then at one another. ‘Allah is great!’ Marat finally conceded. ‘I never thought of it your way before, but I agree that we can reach Allah by taking different paths.’
‘Right!’ agreed Sam. ‘The goal of all religions is the same. It is the realization that God is in our mind.’
As our junk sailed briskly westwards along the Yangtze River, I couldn’t help but think of Big Aunt and my father. So much had happened since that first afternoon, when I watched the boys’ acrobatic show and David had pulled his card out of my ear.
I left the cabin and stood at the bow of the junk, feeling sad and alone. I knew that Grandma Wu hadn’t yet shown Ah Yee the photos of the massacre at Nan Tian. Now that I was on my way to Chungking, there was no need to tell Ah Yee or my father that I’d been murdered by the Japanese.
I ached for my family. Big Aunt was gone forever, but what should I do about my father? Would I ever see him again? Would he remember he once had a daughter who adored him? What should I do?
Our junk was pulling away further and further from die lights of Shanghai towards Chungking and freedom. Freedom! The word rang sweetly in my head over and over. I thought of my last evening at home: how Father had allowed Niang to open my letter from Big Aunt without my permission; how he had remained silent through-out my inquisition; how he had not intervened, even when she slapped and berated me. It was as if he no longer had any will to voice his own opinion. Did it really matter to him whether I lived or died?
A voice behind me said, ‘What are you thinking?’
I turned and saw David, Sam and Marat. I wondered who had spoken. Then David said, ‘I know it’s terrible to lose your Big Aunt, but remember you will never be alone again. You are our Little Sister, a fellow member of our Dragon Society of Wandering Knights. Besides, we need you for our future missions. This is just the beginning.’
‘I was wondering what to do about my father.’
There was a short silence, then Sam said, ‘Maybe this will help you. It’s from a book of Jewish writing called the Zohar. “Honour your father and mother, even as you honour God, for all three were partners in your creation.” ’
‘Why don’t you telephone your dad when you get to Chungking?’ Marat said. ‘You’ll be safe from the Japanese there. He must be worried about you. We hate to see you sad like this. Now that we are fellow members, your pain has become our pain.’
I thought of phoning my father. But the image that came to mind was my meeting him at the front door of our house when Ah Yee brought me home from the academy. How awkward and tongue-tied we both were. There had been so much I wanted to say… but the mood and circumstances were all wrong. And in the end I had said nothing at all.
No. I needed to communicate with him in a different way. It should happen on an auspicious day of my choosing: a special day dedicated solely to telling him what I longed to express. I would wait for the right moment and place, and search for the necessary words to convey all that was buried within my heart. Hopefully, if I was very lucky, I’d be able to give him my truest explanation… and he would understand.
‘Because of your friendship and advice,’ I said. ‘I now know what I must do. When we get to Chungking, I’m going to write my father a letter. In it, I’ll tell him about Big Aunt’s murder, and everything I’ve been unable to say since Niang came into our lives. I’ll also try to put in my heart and spirit. Perhaps such a letter will bring him consolation and solace… and me too, in the writing of it.’
Sam nodded and took out from his pocket his piece of yellow silk. The four of us held hands and chanted in one voice, ‘We are in China at this moment in history for a reason. We are here to make a difference. We are children of destiny who will unite East and West and change the world. The future belongs to us!’
Historical Note
Chinese Cinderella and the Secret Dragon Society is a fantasy based on a true incident that took place in China during the Second World War. To understand the story’s historical background, we need to go back to the first half of the nineteenth century.
My grandfather Ye Ye () was born in Shanghai in the year 1878. He told me that his father, my great-grandfather, was born in 1842, the same year that China lost a war against Britain known as the Opium War. As a result of the peace treaty, five port-cities along China’s coast were placed under foreign rule. In treaty-ports such as Shanghai in the 1940s, we Chinese lived as second-class citizens under the British, French, American, Japanese and other ‘conquerors’.
The best areas of Shanghai were turned into foreign settlements (also called Concessions), which were governed by foreign consuls according to foreign law. Disputes were judged according to British law in the British Settlement (also named the International Settlement) and French law in the French Concession.
In 1911, when my Ye Ye was thirty-three years old, China underwent a revolution and the imperial Manchu court in Beijing (Peking) was overthrown. Sun Yat-sen became president and proclaimed China a republic. After Sun’s death in 1925, General Chiang Kai-shek became China’s leader.
Despite the change of government, China remained weak. Meanwhile, Japan was pursuing a policy of military expansion. In 1931, Japan invaded Manchuria in north-east China. Six years later, in July 1937, Japan declared war on China. For the next four years, Japan took control of China’s coast but did not invade the foreign Concessions. Chiang Kai-shek fled up the Yangtze River and moved his capital to Chungking, a city 800 miles west of Shanghai.
On 7 December 1941, Japan bombed Pearl Harbor in Honolulu and declared war on the US and Great Britain. A few hours later, Japanese soldiers marched into Shanghai’s International Settlement, eventually interning all British and American residents. Since France had fallen to Japan’s ally Germany one year earlier and Shanghai’s French Concession was under the administration of Vichy France, the Japanese did not intern the French.
To govern China’s occupied territories, Japan set up a puppet regime headed by Wang Ching-wei. However, many of Wang’s Chinese troops resented the Japanese and secretly sided either with Chiang Kai-shek or the Chinese Communists.
My father bought a house in the French Concession of Shanghai in 1942 and spent the next six years there. I went to a French convent school two miles from home and walked to and from school every day. Many of the scenes described in this book were culled from my memory.
On 18 April 1942, sixteen US bombers under Jimmy Doolittle took off from the aircraft carrier USS Hornet and bombed four Japanese cities. None was shot down. The Ruptured Duck and another plane crashed into the sea near the island of Nan Tian. All ten crew members survived the crash, but the pilot of The Ruptured Duck, Ted Lawson, had to have his leg amputated.
Other crewmen were not so lucky. Eight men from two other US planes were captured by the Japanese after their planes crashed in Japanese-controlled territory.
After the raid, the Doolittle raiders, as they were known, became famous throughout the world. For the first time in the history of Japan, the sacred motherland had been violated and bombed by
the enemy. In their fury and humiliation, the Japanese unleashed a savage attack on the defenceless Chinese people for helping the airmen.
The bloodbath began on 15 May 1942 and went on for three months. To seek revenge, 148,000 Japanese troops were sent into Zhejiang Province. Countless numbers of Chinese were killed when Japanese planes dropped anthrax spores as well as fleas infected with bubonic plague on the hapless populace. Many who died had never even heard of the Doolittle raid.
‘When the Japanese finally withdrew in August 1942,’ the historian David Bergamini wrote in his book Japan’s Imperial Conspiracy, ‘they had killed 250,000 Chinese, most of them civilians. The villages at which the American fliers had been entertained were reduced to cinder heaps, every man, woman and babe in them put to the sword. In the whole of Japan’s eight-year war with China, the vengeance on Zhejiang Province would go down unrivalled…’
An outraged Chiang Kai-shek sent the following cable to the US State Department in 1942: ‘After they had been caught unawares by the falling of American bombs on Tokyo, Japanese troops attacked the coastal areas of China where many of the American fliers had landed. These Japanese troops slaughtered every man, woman and child in these areas – let me repeat – these Japanese troops slaughtered every man, woman and child in these areas, reproducing on a wholesale scale the horrors which the world had seen at Lidice* but about which the people have been uniformed in these instances.’
This book is a fantasy and describes the rescue of the crew of The Ruptured Duck from Nan Tian Island by four children who were members of a secret resistance society. The children also engineer a break-out of four captured US airmen from Bridge House, an infamous Japanese prison and torture chamber. Although these children are characters from my imagination and never existed in real life, their backgrounds are historically accurate. Children of mixed race were called za zhong () and were very much despised in Shanghai during the 1940s.