Foul Lady Fortune
: Chapter 6

When Rosalind walked into Golden Phoenix, a server spotted her immediately, nodding a greeting and pointing down the hall to let her through. Though she had never exchanged more than a few words with the people behind the counters, she was a regular at this restaurant, because Dao Feng called almost half their meetings here, and always in the same private room.

It seemed like bad covert work, in all honesty. With just one leak, there could be someone waiting to kill them.

Which was precisely what Rosalind assumed when she entered the private room and a dagger flew at her head.

Rosalind ducked just in time to avoid the blade. It sank into the wall with a heavy thud, metal trembling after it made its landing. She whipped back up, a snarl on her lips.

Only it hadn’t been an attack.

“See?” her handler said. He grinned, but he was not speaking to her. “She’s good.”

Rosalind yanked the dagger out of the wall, testing it in her grip. She had half a mind to throw it back at Dao Feng, but there was no telling if her aim would go wide, and she didn’t want to look like a fool, so she simply placed the blade upon the nearby table.

“What is the meaning of this?”

Though there was no danger, there was indeed someone else in the room—another agent. The young man looked incredibly familiar, though Rosalind couldn’t fathom why. One corner of his mouth tipped up when he met her gaze. He looked nonchalant, lounging on the chaise with his legs stretched out and his ankles crossed, one arm along the back of the seat and the other swishing a wineglass. The tickling in her memory wanted to indicate that perhaps they had met before, but Rosalind had seen too many faces coming and going during her time as a dancer at the Scarlet burlesque club, and this agent looked exactly the type to frequent them.

“Merely making introductions in the most efficient way possible,” Dao Feng replied. “This is Hong Liwen, but—”

“But I go by Orion,” the boy interrupted in English. “Enchanté.”

Orion Hong. Now that she had a name, she suddenly knew why his face was familiar. His brother, Oliver Hong, was her sister’s mission partner. She had spent days doing a background check on him, digging into everything she could replace the moment Celia gave her his name.

Rosalind’s eyes flickered to Dao Feng curiously, but Dao Feng didn’t look like he was preparing a trap for her. As far as her Nationalist identity went, Rosalind was Janie Mead. She might already know of this Orion Hong, but he knew nothing about her.

“Charmed,” Rosalind said. She strolled toward him, speaking as flatly as her natural cadence would allow. Orion’s accent had come out British, but his French was also flawless. Rosalind had been taught English by a Parisian. One slipup while she spoke and he would hear her as Rosalind, not her alias.

She came to a stop before him and extended her hand to shake. “Janie Mead. Nothing else.”

He clasped his hand into hers, shaking pleasantly. His fingers were cool to the touch.

“You get my Chinese name, but I don’t get yours? Doesn’t seem fair.”

The very first matter she had stumbled upon during her research was how the Hong family lay in shambles. General Hong, his father, had been accused of treason some years back, and though Rosalind wasn’t one to talk when it came to treachery, at least she had only strayed against family allegiance; General Hong had been investigated for taking bribes from Japanese interests, though he had eventually been cleared by the Kuomintang’s upper echelons. Still, it had done its damage. Lady Hong left him, packing up for the countryside, allegedly with another lover. His eldest son defected to the Communists when civil war broke out, disavowing the whole Nationalist party for being corrupt.

Amid all the scandal, however, it was still the middle son who got the most press attention. Gossip columns loved talking about the children of prominent Nationalists, and when Rosalind ran a search for Hongs, all she could replace was Orion, Orion, Orion—a known playboy in the foreign parts of the city who had slept his way through half the student population at Shanghai’s top academy before graduating to become a full-time philanderer.

It was a good cover for being a covert operative for the Nationalists, she supposed.

Though that didn’t stop him from being only a part-time philanderer.

“You don’t need my Chinese name,” Rosalind replied. “It’s reserved for my enemies before I eradicate them from mortal existence. And the elderly.”

Orion lifted a dark eyebrow. The move was practiced, accompanied by his humoring expression and a single lock of hair that had come loose from his combed style with an assumed casualness.

“Are you trying to be funny?”

“Are you laughing?”

He tilted his head back, letting the lock of hair shift away from his eyes. “I could be.”

Rosalind didn’t bother with any further retort. It had been no less than a minute since she’d met Orion Hong, and he already watched her like he was planning a conquest ten steps in advance. She had half a mind to tell him to give up before he wasted his time. Rosalind didn’t feel physical attraction the way everybody else liked to talk about it, didn’t understand the idea of looking at a stranger and feeling ensnared by their gaze. A temporary fascination, fair enough, but true desire to engage in pursuit? With her, that had always taken something more: an understanding, a friendship. It was highly unlikely that Orion Hong had that kind of patience when she knew exactly the type of person he was: Beautiful. Arrogant. Conniving. In this decade, who wasn’t?

Orion was still holding on to her hand from their exchange of pleasantries. Rosalind tugged away, making a switch to Shanghainese so she didn’t have to keep straining her accent.

“As I asked so kindly before, what is the meaning of this?”

While Rosalind and Orion were engaging in their back-and-forth, Dao Feng was standing by the window, gazing out onto the street pensively. For a moment, he did not say anything to Rosalind’s question. He simply held his hands behind his back, scrunching up his Western suit. When the soon-setting sun streamed in, his graying hair ran white, aging him past his years.

“Have you heard of the murders happening in the city?”

The newspaper from this morning flashed in Rosalind’s head. There were murders every day in Shanghai, and many more that went unlogged in official records. French Concession, International Settlement, native Chinese land—when they were all governed by different hands and no one bothered communicating past their jurisdiction, a body disappeared was a body forever lost. For these murders to be captivating everyone’s attention so thoroughly…

“The drug-induced ones?” Rosalind asked. “What are we thinking, new gang running products? The streets have gotten a little hungry for leadership since the Scarlet Gang merged into the Kuomintang.”

Dao Feng narrowed his eyes.

“No,” he said. “The media decided these were recreational drugs used with murderous intent, but they are not drugs at all. They are lab chemicals.”

On the chaise, Orion had shifted to sit upright. He did not interrupt. He merely swung his legs down and rested his chin in his hand.

“Lab chemicals?” Rosalind echoed. Her skin prickled. The very lab chemicals that ran in her bloodstream seemed to perk to attention, rushing to the surface to listen in. “What sort?”

“We don’t know,” Dao Feng answered. “Information doesn’t move that quickly, and we have agents in different parts of the country still working. What we do know is where it’s coming from. Preliminary intelligence shows the killings are linked to a Japanese business sponsored by their government: Seagreen Press.”

“Wait, this is why you kept me here after I reported in?” Orion finally interjected. He threw his leg back onto the chaise. “Are you issuing a new mission? Old man, we just finished investigating another Japanese business. Couldn’t you have waited a single day?”

Dao Feng shot him a scathing look. “Do you think the Japanese are waiting patiently before swallowing our country into their empire?”

Orion set his wineglass down. He harrumphed. “You’re keeping me away from the Green Lotus during peak business hours.”

Rosalind lifted a brow. Dao Feng shook his head in exasperation.

“Seagreen Press,” her handler tried again. “At home, they do media imports. In Shanghai, they run a newspaper for fellow Japanese residents. Their objectives?”

Dao Feng reached for something lying on one of the chairs, then tossed it in Rosalind’s direction. This time she didn’t duck; she reached out and caught the newspaper smoothly.

“Imperial propaganda,” Dao Feng finished.

Rosalind turned one of the pages. Then she turned another, flipping through quickly. “I can’t read any of this.” It was all in Japanese.

“Exactly.”

Dao Feng came and snatched the newspaper away, despite Rosalind’s cry of protest. He dropped the papers in front of Orion.

Orion sighed, smoothing out the front page. “Socialite Inherits Forgotten Fortune, Pledges Funds to—”

“Here is what we’re going to do,” Dao Feng interrupted, not letting Orion finish. “The agency is hiring. Domestic help, because it’s better for taxes, and new blood too, preferably youths right out of school so they can pay them less. Two positions have opened up—one interpreter assistant and one reception assistant—so we’re pulling some strings and sending you both in. There is a whole cell within the agency responsible for planning these poisonings, following instructions from their government to destabilize the city. Root out the cell, we make arrests, Shanghai lives happily ever after and doesn’t get invaded like Manchuria.”

Rosalind’s head jerked up. The explosion on the tracks last night. The frantic scramble among the constables to use the Scarlet Gang as a scapegoat before their national Chinese troops were blamed. Rosalind had looked into it this morning after breakfast—the part of the railway that had taken the blow was indeed owned by the Japanese. She wouldn’t be surprised if their own officers had planted the explosion to manufacture Chinese incompetence and provide a reason for marching in.

“Manchuria was invaded already? I—”

Dao Feng shot her a sharp look, his eyes swiveling to Orion once. Rosalind swallowed the rest of her words, taking the warning in stride. They would discuss this later: Orion Hong didn’t need a briefing into her last task.

But it did raise the question about why he was here in this room at all, being assigned a joint mission with her. Not to mention why Rosalind was being roped into a long-term intelligence operation. She was an assassin, the one sent in for quick kills and targeted hunts. Infiltrating a company and replaceing foreign threats—she could do it, sure. She had been trained to catch information and take on new covers.

Nevertheless… why?

“I think that about covers everything,” Dao Feng concluded. “Questions? Comments? Concerns?”

“Yes,” Rosalind said. She jerked her chin at Orion. “Why can’t you send him in alone?”

Dao Feng shook his head. “These are tense times. The country is still in a civil war, even if Shanghai does not feel the effects as heavily as the countryside. Look at how many Communist spies were caught these last few years because they were one young man living alone and it incited suspicion.”

Rosalind blinked. “Wait one moment—living alone as opposed to—”

“What does it matter how Communists were caught?” Orion, meanwhile, was asking. “We’re not Communists, and the Kuomintang are the ones doing the catching. Just put me into an apartment under an alias and let me be.”

“The whole Kuomintang doesn’t know about you, Hong Liwen. Unless you want our covert arm exposed to the greater party.”

Orion pursed his lips thoughtfully but did not argue. It was a loose excuse, and Rosalind folded her arms, her eyes going to the newspaper in front of him again. They had brought her into a mission where her skill set did not entirely align. Which meant maybe she was not there wholly for the mission but to watch over the one who was capable of fulfilling it. In this city, if you knew a language, you had associated with its culture in some way or another. If Orion spoke Japanese and his father had been suspected of being hanjian some years back…

“What did you mean,” Rosalind tried again, “when you said Communists were caught by living alone?”

Dao Feng waved his hand at her like she was slow for not understanding. “Your cover stories must make sense, after all. If Hong Liwen is entering the workforce under a different name, he cannot remain living in his father’s house.”

Now Orion was catching on to Rosalind’s confusion. “So… I shall be living alone?”

“No, no. As I just said, that is too suspicious.”

“Then…” Rosalind exchanged a glance with Orion. He was equally puzzled. “Where is he living?”

“With you.”

The room fell silent. Rosalind thought she had misheard. “I beg your pardon?”

“Sorry, did I skip that part? You’re getting married. For this mission, the two of you will be abandoning your present code names and becoming one combined operative. Welcome to the covert branch, High Tide.”

Rosalind choked on her spit. Orion’s expression brightened, practically manic as he hopped to his feet. “Oh? You should have opened with that.”

“That is surely unnecessary,” Rosalind wheezed.

“Your new workplace is three streets away from your current place of residence,” Dao Feng said to Rosalind. “Taking on a married couple cover gives you the excuse to be a little odd and closed off while you are still getting comfortable. It gives you the excuse to debrief with each other during your lunch breaks and not appear suspicious. It gives you a built-in partner while you discuss with your colleagues their allegiances to their government and discover whether they formulated the plan to kill your people across the city. We might be a little scattered in our war effort, but we are nevertheless professionals who have considered our plan of action very thoroughly.”

Rosalind needed to sit down. This was too much. It would be impossible to hide Fortune’s strange eccentricities with someone in her space twenty-four seven. No sleeping, no injuries—all of that was a part of Rosalind’s identity, not Janie Mead’s. If Dao Feng did not fully trust Orion, then why should Rosalind?

Before she could speak another word in protest, however, the door to the private room opened, and a waitress stuck her head in, gesturing to Dao Feng that he was needed. Dao Feng excused himself, but Rosalind was fast to follow, slipping through the door just before it could close.

“Dao Feng,” Rosalind hissed in the hallway. “Have you lost the plot? Why would you give me this assignment?”

“You are needed,” Dao Feng answered patiently, waving for the waitress to go on ahead. “You’re a very skilled operative—”

“Stop. I don’t want your practiced spiel,” Rosalind cut in. She cast a look back at the private room. Usually she couldn’t hear anything from the hallway when she was sitting at the table inside, so she could only hope Orion wasn’t pressed right to the door eavesdropping. “I work for you to rid the city of White Flowers. I work for you to purge out the enemies who are actively harming Shanghai. I don’t work for any other reason.”

Dao Feng tipped his chin in agreement. “Correct. And on this mission, I am sending you in to replace the city’s enemies. I don’t see the problem.”

“The problem is that you trained me to kill them. Not make lists. Not to root out a terror cell or whatever else is going on—”

At this, Dao Feng finally looked to the private room door in concern, then took Rosalind’s elbow and walked them a few steps away from it. When he frowned, the crow’s feet at his eyes deepened; sometimes he reminded Rosalind of Lord Cai, who also used to look perpetually in concentration when her cousin was bringing him information he didn’t want to hear.

“Listen to me, Lang Shalin,” Dao Feng said, lowering his voice. “Hong Liwen is a very good spy. He’s effective. He has one of the highest success rates among the covert branch. But this isn’t an easy assignment. There’s too much about it that doesn’t make sense, and the reason for that might involve hanjian. We might have a cover-up. We might have defectors in the Kuomintang. You know how the Japanese are: they bury themselves in the shadows long before they act in the light. And…”

He trailed off. Rosalind’s jaw tightened.

“And you don’t trust Hong Liwen,” she guessed.

“I trust him, to an extent,” Dao Feng corrected. “But I trust you most. Everyone in this city can be swayed for a price. You, however—I don’t think anything under this city’s sky could buy you over once you’ve set your mind on something. I need you to have a hand in this. Give this operation a few months of your time. I promise there will be White Flowers to cull after it.”

Rosalind pulled a strand of her hair around her finger. The fight left her shoulders, her posture sagging.

“Well,” she said quietly. She shrunk a little more. “What if I’m not a very good spy?”

Dao Feng flicked her on the temple. Rosalind reared back, snapping “Ouch!” but his quick glare stopped her from saying more.

“I didn’t raise you with so little confidence.”

“What? You didn’t raise me at all.”

“Of course I did. I birthed you as Fortune. Now get back in there and speak to Hong Liwen. I will only be a moment.”

Dao Feng hurried into the main restaurant, and Rosalind huffed, pivoting back toward the private room. She opened the door and stepped inside, mouth thinned into a line. Immediately, Orion hopped to his feet again, ready to speak.

“Don’t,” Rosalind interrupted.

His mouth snapped closed with an audible sound. “I didn’t say anything yet.”

“It was a pre-warning. I’m trying to think.”

Orion crossed his arms. “You’re very grumpy. I expected my wife to be less grumpy.”

“I”—Rosalind barely managed through her gritted teeth—“am not your wife.”

“Not yet. Do you think they’ll make us a fake certificate, too? I’ll get you a ring. What do you like? Silver? Gold?”

“Will you stop speaking—”

“It’s okay that you’re grumpy. I think it’s very cute—”

Rosalind suddenly picked up the dagger that Dao Feng had thrown at her, taking aim. She had thought it would make a mighty fine threat, that Orion might flinch when she raised her arm, but he only grinned, straightening his posture. Their eyes met. His had a wild sort of glee in them, as if he were saying, Please, go on. I dare you.

The door to the room opened again. The dagger clattered back onto the table.

“All right. Come with me, you two.”

Dao Feng was already gone before he could get a response. Rosalind was first out the door, Orion close on her heels. Despite how quickly she walked, she did not catch up with Dao Feng until they were outside Golden Phoenix, and that was only because he was taking another message from a soldier in uniform.

A car was parked by the sidewalk.

“Get in,” Dao Feng instructed.

“Where are we going?”

Orion was already opening the back seat door, gesturing for Rosalind to go ahead.

“It is a short trip,” Dao Feng replied in a non-answer. He slid into the passenger seat. “They made it convenient for us, it would seem.”

Quickly, Rosalind pulled at the fabric of her qipao, ducking through the open door and sliding along the back seat, biting down on the inside of her cheeks. As soon as Orion slammed his door closed, the chauffeur was driving, rumbling through the French Concession and down Rue Ningbo, passing municipal offices and police stations.

They had entered the Chinese parts of the city. And Rosalind had an inkling of what they were being taken to see.

The car stopped. To the left side, there was a small crowd gathered around an alley, flocked with their shopping baskets still clutched to their chests. She guessed there had to be an open market somewhere nearby, but Rosalind hadn’t been to these areas much lately, and the stalls and vendors had moved around too much for her to be sure.

Dao Feng got out of the car. Rosalind and Orion followed suit, both of them quiet now, feeling the tension on their skin that spoke of trouble, the heaviness in the air that spoke of danger. When Dao Feng walked toward the crowd, it parted to show soldiers standing guard by the alley, keeping onlookers back by the threat of their rifles.

The soldiers stepped aside for Dao Feng. He was not in uniform, nor identifiable in any other way, and yet there was barely a nod exchanged before his path was cleared, letting him disappear into the alley.

“Are we supposed to follow?” Orion asked.

“Evidently,” Rosalind muttered, hurrying forward.

The alley walls were tall enough to block out the sun. A chill swept her neck as she approached Dao Feng and the dead body he was crouching beside.

Its limbs were splayed in all directions. Its head was lolled to the side at an awkward angle to its neck. This was a rush job—whoever made the kill had been working fast, no time to catch the victim and set them down.

“You see this?” Dao Feng asked. He reached for the body and lifted an arm. The skin had already turned a sickening shade of white, so that the circle of red at the crook of the corpse’s elbow practically glowed. “An injection site. Too thick to be from the needle of addicts. Far too bloody and weeping to be a reaction to any normal drug, not when most in this city have been safely circulating since the foreigners brought them in.”

“We already believe you,” Rosalind said. She felt vaguely nauseated. It was ironic, she knew—a squeamish assassin. “What is the purpose of this?”

“Merely a reminder alongside the frightful bickering I was hearing earlier.”

“It was not bickering,” Orion countered quietly. When Rosalind tried to observe him out of her periphery, she found his hands to be wringing at his sleeves. He couldn’t take his gaze off the body, a greenish tint of disgust marring his expression.

Dao Feng let go of the corpse’s arm. It flopped onto the concrete ground with a pitiful clunk. It didn’t even sound real.

“The papers have reported two. By our count, it is more than ten, stemming back months—perhaps years—prior. I am sure there are others waiting to be found too, knowing how many alleys and nooks curve in and out of Shanghai. Don’t think you have a simple task because we have already found the source killing these people. Play your hand before all of them are caught, and they simply re-form to start again. Play your hand before pulling out every foul imperialist root grown into the soil, and they will merely sprout anew when the conditions are right and the sympathetic gardeners return.”

Rosalind shifted uncomfortably. As did Orion, going as far as to take a step back when Dao Feng stood suddenly, seeming far taller than his usual height.

“So,” he said. The sun disappeared over the horizon. “Are you ready to get to work?”