About Ghosts

by Olivia Lorenz
48 pages / 18800 words
Available file types - lit, pdf, prc, html

Hua Mu Yun is a cynical ex-soldier, damaged by the chaotic battles of China's warlords era. Unable to stand human contact, he's become a criminal, denying his more honorable past. Leng Ruo Fei is the spoiled and beautiful darling of the Peking Opera. Trained as a dan (female impersonator), his voice brings people to their knees. Adored by many but loved by none, Ruo Fei desperately wants to believe that real heroes ˆ not fake ones ˆ exist.

Thrown together during a Triad attack on an opium den, Mu Yun and Ruo Fei must face their own demons as they begin to fall for each other. Can opera offer Mu Yun an escape from war-torn reality, or is a relationship between a gangster and a dan doomed to fail in a tragedy worthy of the stage?

Sample

Hua Mu Yun puts on his gloves. He does it carefully, with military precision. Once encased in the supple black leather, he flexes his fingers; the gloves creak slightly. He reaches inside his jacket and takes out his gun, looking at it with an emotion akin to affection. He’s had this gun since he left the army. The warlord he’d fought for has no use for guns now, and although Uncle Wu offered him the best of the new American guns smuggled into Shanghai, Mu Yun still prefers this one.

He opens it and checks the barrel, spinning the chambers so that the cartridges click and slide. He can smell the grease he uses to keep the gun clean. It’s a reassuring scent, familiar and trusted. He tucks away the gun and goes out onto the street, walking through the unfamiliar city with the arrogance of a stranger.

He hates Peking. It’s too cold here. The way the people speak, their accent, irritates him, and the locals mock his southern dialect, pretending they don’t understand. There’s an air of ineffable sadness that hangs over the city, a feeling of displacement. The people on the streets seem to be waiting for something, but nobody knows what it might be.

Mu Yun is not here for sightseeing, but he goes to stare at the shell of the Forbidden City. Even scarred by fire, it looks vast and monstrous, impossible to ignore. He wonders if it should be torn down or allowed to stand. When a street-vendor selling sticks of peppered meat asks what he thinks of imperialism, he doesn’t answer. Mu Yun doesn’t like having opinions on things. He’s found to his cost that it’s dangerous to express one’s true beliefs.

These days, he follows the commands of another. Mu Yun supposes he should feel pleased that Uncle Wu asked him to take care of this business. Instead, he feels annoyance. He doesn’t like going far from Shanghai. Travel reminds him of the war, and the war reminds him of failure, and from there on he always feels rage and self-loathing and confusion.

Only the gun is real. It has never let him down, never abandoned him. He feels safe with it in his hands. He knows who he is when he holds it. He knows what he is, and what he has to do.

Mu Yun stamps his feet as he waits for the local men to arrive. Tian’Anmen Square is vast and empty even when it’s full of people. A kite flies overhead: a bright red stream of paper shaped like a dragon. He watches it and wonders if it’s an omen. He rubs his gloved hands together. It’s so damn cold he can feel the chill of the air through the leather, but that’s not why he’s wearing gloves. He’d wear them even if this was Hainan and the sun was shining all day long.

He wears gloves so that he doesn’t have to touch. He wears gloves to absolve himself of responsibility. And today, Mu Yun knows he needs all the absolution he can get, because today he intends to kill.