Hong Kong, 15 years ago
“You are not thirsty,” Sally muttered to herself.
Summer in Hong Kong was a cauldron, and the girls had been training outside all morning. The noon sun beat down like a hammer, bending the air into visible waves that flowed across the packed earth of the courtyard. Sally squinted and tried to concentrate on what Master Xan was saying, his form distorted by the shimmering air.
“You have all been here five years.” His voice boomed off the walls of the enclosure as he turned and faced the perfectly straight line. Twenty girls ranging in age from nine to fourteen watched as he moved down the line, pausing to make contact with every one of them. “And soon, you must choose a path.”
Sally stuck her tongue out, trying to catch some of the sweat dripping off her brow. As she concentrated on a promising bit of moisture at the end of her nose, her eyes crossed and she momentarily forgot about Xan. The drop smacked dead center on her tongue just as she realized everything had gone very quiet, as if the girls standing next to her had stopped breathing. Looking up she saw Master Xan had reached her spot in the line, only to find Sally crossing her eyes and sticking out her tongue.
Sally turned her head slowly to her right, looking to her best friend for guidance, but Jun’s eyes were twice their normal size, her eyebrows so high they practically floated above her head. Whether in shock or fear, she was useless.
Sally took a deep breath and locked eyes with Xan. With a somber expression firmly in place, she bowed her head slightly, keeping her gaze steady. Neither coy nor defiant, just respectful.
Barely eleven and Sally already understood the power in a woman’s eyes.
Xan’s scar seemed to jump even though his face didn’t move, a signal that usually meant he was angry or about to burst out laughing. Sally could never tell the difference. But today Xan merely held her gaze, his eyes boring into Sally as if he could read her mind. After a moment that seemed a lifetime, Xan nodded once and looked away, apparently satisfied with what he had seen. As Xan turned his back on the line of girls, Jun reached out and squeezed Sally’s hand tightly. Sally squeezed back and released the breath she’d been holding.
Xan pointed directly in front of him.
“At the end of this courtyard is an exit.” He gestured toward a small wooden door. “Six months from now, you may leave.”
Sally snorted under breath. And go where? All of the girls were orphans, this school the only family they’d had for five years. Most of them had never known the outside world, even as children, and certainly not the streets of Hong Kong. Sally couldn’t think of a single girl who had talked about leaving.
Xan motioned to the right and the girls turned as one, looking at a massive circular door set into the high stone wall of the inner courtyard. The door was ten feet in diameter, made of red lacquered wood elaborately carved, dragons and tigers intertwined with butterflies and cranes. The carvings became progressively more complex and dense as you neared the center of the circle, creating a sense of movement that bordered on vertigo, as if the door were some sort of vortex pulling you to the other side. At the exact center were two door handles, each one a half-circle painted black. Two Chinese characters had been carved deeply into the wood, one on each handle.
“This is the path of joy and sorrow,” said Xan, naming the characters. He paused before continuing. “Beyond this door awaits a life of pleasure and servitude.”
Sally leaned closer to Jun and whispered. “The path of hair and make-up.”
“Intimacy and deceit,” intoned Xan solemnly, his back to them.
Jun whispered back. “Kissing and telling.”
“Spying and screwing,” added Sally, both girls suppressing a giggle.
Xan turned to face the line again as both girls forced a frown and looked straight ahead.
Xan gestured to the red door again. “This is the path of consorts and concubines,” he said, his voice suddenly quiet. “Some of you may think the life of a concubine is exotic, and you might be right. But do not think of it as a romantic life.” He paused and looked meaningfully at each of the girls. “If you choose to go down that path, you will be chosen by someone.” He paused again for effect. “But you will not get to choose that someone in turn.”
The girls shifted uncomfortably, staring at the ground between their feet.
“And you might find yourself living with one person,” Xan continued, his voice even more quiet but no less clear, “yet working for another. A consort hears many things. Many secrets.”
Xan looked up at the sun and squinted, sweat beading on his forehead. The girls remained silent.
“If you choose the path of joy and sorrow,” he said, as much to himself as the girls in front of him, “one day you will be called. And you will have to answer.”
Sally turned to look up and down the line. Everyone already knew which girls would choose that path. Whenever a class was given time to themselves, certain girls would break off into pairs or small groups and run to their favorite part of the compound. For Sally and Jun it was always the obstacle course or the dojo. For some girls it was the theater and the room full of costumes. For others, the kitchen or music hall. After five years each girl had mapped out her future, whether she realized it or not.
And Sally knew the instructors saw everything. This speech was part of the tradition of the school. A ritual, nothing more.
Xan turned his back again and raised his left arm, gesturing toward the opposite side of the courtyard. Set into the wall was another circular door, this one painted black with red door handles forming the inner circle, once again marked with Chinese characters. Equally elaborate carvings covered its surface, the tigers and dragons intertwined with swords and symbols that looked like shuriken, or throwing stars. The same optical illusion of the carvings made the girls lean forward unconsciously as they studied the door. Sally felt herself pulled by the gravity of the images.
“This is the path of life and death,” Xan said, his voice regaining its previous timbre.
Sally felt herself tremble with excitement.
“Beyond this door is a life of power and control,” Xan continued.
Sally and Jun held their breath.
“Discipline and despair.
“Judgment and justice.”
Sally gasped at the last word.
Xan turned, locking eyes with her as he finished. “If you choose this path,” he began, seeming to speak directly to her, “you will come face to face with your darkest self.”
Sally met his gaze, her face expressionless.
“You will have control over how you do things,” he said deliberately, “but not over why you do them.”
Again he looked up and down the line, unblinking despite the sweat in his eyes. “Your life may be your own, but your conscience will belong to someone else.”
Sally’s nostrils flared as she breathed in deeply. She felt lightheaded and thought she might faint. Xan’s words seemed no more than whispers, as if Sally were hearing his thoughts instead of his voice.
“If you choose the path of life and death,” he said, “there is no turning back.”
Sally stared at the black surface of the door and felt herself being drawn inexorably to the other
