[FEATURE] Four Chapters from Murder in the Maloo: A Tale of Old Shanghai, Translated by Paul Bevan
Paul Bevan (translator). Murder in the Maloo: A Tale of Old Shanghai, Earnshaw Books, 2024. 226 pgs.
Editor’s note: Readers interested in the background to Murder in the Maloo: A Tale of Old Shanghai and the choices involved in bringing it into English are warmly invited to read translator Paul Bevan’s accompanying essay, “There Is Never Anything So Difficult That It Cannot Be Resolved”, published alongside these four chapters in Cha. Bevan would like to thank Graham Earnshaw of Earnshaw Books for giving permission to reproduce the following four chapters here. We join him in expressing our gratitude.
Chapter Four
Under the Green Willow the Stone Ding Tripod is Lifted,
And At a Ceremony on the Bund New Disciples are Initiated.
Let us continue to relate how Chai Jiuyun invited Ma Yongzhen to drink wine and play penghu in the boudoir of the high-class courtesan, Hua Baoqin. Ma Yongzhen didn’t know how to gamble, so he invited Miss Hua to play in his place. The courtesan’s skill was considerable. On this day her luck was good and the pieces were in her favour. After completing eight rounds of wahua her winnings were calculated. Altogether she had won thirty-three silver dollars, and more than sixty small silver coins. The entire sum was bestowed on her, and she stood up to thank Ma Yongzhen with a smile and a demure nod of the head. Neither of the penghu tables had finished their games. One table still had more than one round, and the other had two rounds yet to play. Chai Jiuyun then laughed and said: “Today it has been a rare treat that your distinguished person has been able to grace us with your presence. In my considered opinion, it would be most desirable to invite your worthy disciples to join us. I don’t know if you have any thoughts on this, Brother Ma.”
Ma Yongzhen thanked him repeatedly, but out of politeness declined the invitation. Chai Jiuyun insisted, so Ma Yongzhen could only give in to his wishes. Chai picked up a writing brush, ink-stone and ink-cake and wrote out the invitations. He asked for everybody’s names and Ma Yongzhen told them to him, one by one. When Chai had finished writing, he called the male servant “the turtle” over and instructed him to deliver the invitations to Ma’s residence in Sinza Road. In a matter of minutes, the six disciples had arrived. They announced their names in turn and the servants at the brothel brought them tea and tobacco. The games of penghu were now over and everyone rose to ask the names of the six new arrivals.
This is a social custom and is just for show, according to convention. The information just enters the east ear and comes out of the west ear. They are questions that might as well not be asked, and answers that might as well not be given at all.
Chai Jiuyun invited everyone to be seated and naturally gave way for Ma Yongzhen to sit in the seat of honour. This was the first time Ma Yongzhen had ever drunk wine in a high-class brothel like this. How could he know the established practice in places such as this? Ma Yongzhen thought to himself: “I am usually asked to take the seat of honour but I had always imagined that the seat of honour was the one that faces south. Now I see Chai Jiuyun’s friends taking their places one by one in the seats facing south, while my disciples and I are being directed to be seated in the row opposite. I simply don’t understand it. Could it be that this is the custom in Shanghai? I have no way of knowing. In the end, perhaps it’s better to play along and show ‘false courtesy’.” He thought about it and decided that would be best. Ma Yongzhen and his disciples with “false courtesy” took their seats with the others.
Hua Baoqin poured a cup of wine for all the guests in turn. Ah Jin offered tobacco to each of them, and Chai Jiuyun suggested that everyone should invite their favourite courtesans to join them. The ten guests who had been initially invited, were all old local Shanghai bosses, so of course they had their regular female companions. As for the outsiders, Ma and his followers, how could they possibly have their own women to call on? So, Chai Jiuyun acted as matchmaker and called for two women entertainers, known as “young masters” to accompany each of the seven guests. Presently they arrived in single file, entering one after the other. The regular companions took their seats behind their usual guests, while the “young masters” who had been called on by Chai Jiuyun, greeted him and relied on his instructions as to where they should be seated.
The musicians arrived and began to perform. The huqin fiddle player played the huqin, the dizi flute player played the dizi and there were others who played the lutes, the pipa and the yueqin. In no time at all “pearls and jades”, beautiful women of outstanding talent, were present all around, having brought along with them a refined atmosphere heavy with the scent of flowers. Even those Twelve Beauties of Jinling from the noble families in The Dream of the Red Chamber, when they gathered together before the jade lantern screen to play that guessing game, were not as glorious and splendid as this. For Ma Yongzhen and his six disciples, it was as if they had entered an enchanted world and their souls had departed their bodies. Their vision was blurred, and their minds in utter confusion. No wonder people say, “Shanghai is a heavenly land of fairies and the Buddha”. Today they really had arrived in the land of the Buddha and had met with fairies from the heavens above.
They certainly didn’t want to think about returning to Shandong and eating the local fried bread there. Here, endless cups of wine were raised in honour, and course after course was served, each one the rarest of foods, with delicious flavours and remarkable bouquets. To delight the ear was the music of the silk and bamboo ensemble, a pure and elegant sound. After a while, the musicians left the stage and the courtesans departed, by which time the clock on the wall had already struck two. Then, the guests began to leave, one after the other. Ma Yongzhen asked Chai Jiuyun his address so that on another day he might return the invitation. He departed and his disciples followed on behind, walking together in one large group. Chai Jiuyun saw them off to the top of the staircase. Of him returning to the room and talking with Hua Baoqin we will say no more.
The master and his followers set out on foot, but they did not know the way home, so they called for seven rickshaws to take them back to Sinza Road. Giving thanks to the kindness of Chai Jiuyun, strangers had come together by chance and had unexpectedly entered into deep friendships, while paying no heed to social status. Suffice it to say, as the saying goes—“Within the four seas, all men are brothers.” For the moment nothing more shall be said of this.
When it came to the following day, after lunch Ma Yongzhen went out to take a stroll with his disciples. From Nicheng Bridge they walked west, taking a roundabout route to Foochow Road (known locally as Fourth Avenue), and were just passing the intersection with Hoopeh Road when they saw a weeping willow, drooping under the weight of countless silken catkins. Behind that verdant tree was a small pavilion, under the eaves of which hung a small horizontal plaque on which the words “Weeping Willow Terrace” were inscribed. Below this, was a single line of smaller calligraphy, which read: “Inscribed by the Old Master of Cang Mountain in spring, on the banks of the Huangpu River, Shanghai.” This was the place where master Yuan Xiangpu, also known as Yuan Zuzhi—grandson on his mother’s side of that renowned poet from the reign of the Qianlong emperor, Yuan Zicai, better known as Yuan Mei —composed poetry, wielded the paintbrush, quaffed good wine, savoured fine tea, conversed with friends, and delighted in reading.
All manner of trees grow in the port of Shanghai, but only in this one place could a green willow such as this be found. With things physical, it is scarcity that renders them remarkable, and Weeping Willow Terrace was considered to be a pure and elegant place amongst the noisy and bustling world of Shanghai. Independent scholars, literati and writers, intellectuals and poets, and those bureaucrats who had been exiled to Shanghai, frequently came here to pay their respects to Master Yuan. Ma Yongzhen, on the other hand, was a worthy hero of martial arts circles. His speciality was to talk of the spear form, and the complex movements associated with the Shaolin staff, but when it came to the sayings of Confucius, or quoting from The Book of Songs, or trying his hand at the subtleties of poetic rhyme and metre, there would be much shaking of heads and holding of noses, as if the listener were afraid to smell the foul stench of farts. Having said this, even though he didn’t know the marvellous mysteries of literature and poetry, he was able to admire elegant scenery as much as the next man.
Ma and his followers wandered about in admiration in the shadow of the Weeping Willow Terrace. It really was too much to take in all at once. There was a surfeit of spectacular things to behold so they were reluctant to depart that wondrous scene. All at once, by a fence the colour of cinnabar, they came across an enormous stone ding tripod incense burner lying on its side amongst the luxuriant and fragrant grass. Everyone imagined this ding must once have graced the halls of the palace of the gods. Of its three original legs only two remained, and one of those was half broken off, so it was lying on its side in the grass. Ma Yongzhen saw it and was overjoyed. Laughing heartily, he said to his followers: “We have been in Shanghai, if you count on your fingers, for two weeks already and have clearly been neglectful of our training. Why don’t you all come over here and we’ll see who can lift this ding, as a way of exercising our sinews and muscles.”
When they were in Shandong, Ma’s followers practiced with the Shaolin long staff every morning, and at night they polished their swords. Lately, they had found themselves with little to do, and were beginning to feel rather impatient. Literature and martial arts are much the same. For example, when one hasn’t read a book for a while, as soon as one sees a remarkable edition of a fine old book, one cannot help but pick it up, leaf through, and read from it aloud. Likewise, martial men, when they see a weapon, must pick it up, test its weight and hold it in their hands, in order to determine their strength that day. The assembled disciples heard what their master said and were itching to get started. Not one of them did not cheer and joyfully applaud. After a moment they raised their hands in agreement. Putting aside their status and rank, and making no distinctions with regard to seniority, they came forward to lift the ding in whatever order they pleased. Among those six men, although the strength of each of them was out of the ordinary, there were those who had specific talents and those with particular strengths. There were those who could only lift the ding to chest height, and could lift it no higher. There were those who could lift it to their shoulders but had to fling it straight back down again; there were those who lifted it as high as their eyebrows and then suddenly had to let it drop. There were those who lifted it with both hands up above their heads, at which point their arms would begin to shake. Meanwhile, the number of passers-by kept growing, and the area around Daxing li and Xinmin hutong, in the vicinity of Foochow Road, became overcrowded with curious spectators. It just so happened that at that time the landowner upstairs, Master Yuan Zuzhi, was entertaining honoured guests by hosting a poetry contest, when he heard the sound of shouting and cheering coming from down below. Leaning over the railings he spied a crowd of stout fellows who looked as if they hailed from distant parts. They were taking it in turns to lift the ding, and testing their strength to see who could lift it highest. He thought to himself that this was really quite remarkable, and the martial prowess of those from the north was far superior to the literary achievements of those in the south. He observed those five stout fellows, taking it in turns to lift the ding, and competing to see which of them had the strength to lift it highest. Last to come forward was a man of about forty years of age. He was the tallest and sturdiest of them all. First he performed some boxing moves on the grass and practiced his kicks and sweeps, then he took off his shirt and jacket, while someone came forward to retrieve them from him. The man became more and more energetic in his display of martial prowess. Valiant, and full of vigour, his whole face showed to all that he was expending a considerable amount of energy. He reached out his right hand to grasp the looped handle of the ding, then, extending his left hand, he seized the opportunity to drag it towards him. All eyes were transfixed on that stout fellow lifting the great ding high above his head, straightening his arms then bending them again at the elbow, lifting and lowering, several times in a row, just as he wished, as if there were nothing to it and he was expending no energy at all. Of the surrounding onlookers, not one was not cheering and shouting his praise, just as if he were a great star performer, like that famous player of female roles, Zhou Fenglin when he sang “Jumping the Wall”, from the Romance of the Western Chamber, on the Kunqu opera stage. But today it was as if that stout fellow had sung more marvellously than Zhou Fenglin ever had, and the cheering was even more formidable than it had ever been in the opera house. Even that group of sour-faced, wretched old scholars up in the Weeping Willow Terrace – those “poetry loons”, “monsters of poetry”, “slaves to poetry”, and “poetry ghouls”, who prefer to refer to themselves in more favourable terms, as “poetry immortals”, “poetry buddhas”, “poetry lovers”, and “poetry sages”—even they, on the other side of the railings, wiped their noses and lifted their long wispy beards to the side to shout out in approval. The man lifted the ding five times in a row without breaking a sweat, or becoming in the slightest bit short of breath, before gently placing it down in its original place and putting his shirt and jacket back on. This man was Ma Yongzhen, and all eyes were now fixed on him. He and his followers idled about for a while before going about their business, and the spectators followed them for a short time, before breaking off and heading home, but we shall speak no more of this.
Ma and his followers returned to the residence, and from that day on, the three words that make up the name, “Ma Yong Zhen” became known to everyone. From the time he lifted the stone ding his fame gradually spread from the few to the many. People began to learn of this event, and what is more, Chai Jiuyun’s followers extolled Ma’s virtues far and wide and began to have frequent dealings with him. Shanghai now had a Ma Yongzhen and he wanted to make a real name for himself there. Hoping to stand out from the crowd and to show himself to be a good fellow, both magnificent and extraordinary, he thought that the best way to achieve that would be to take on more followers and thus consolidate his power. He discussed this with his old disciples at a tea party at the Wusheng Pavilion teashop, and all agreed it was a fine idea. Ma devised a plan to spread the word. As it happened, Ma knew of a disparate group of naïve youngsters, who he was hoping might become his disciples.
If you want to know what happens next and whether a disciples initiation ceremony is held please read the following chapter.
Chapter Seven
Yellow Beard is Thrice Thrown to the Ground,
And Scrofulous Bai Gathers Volunteers at Yidongtian.
Let us continue to relate how Ma Yongzhen mounted a martial arts tournament at “the number six spring in all under heaven” where he performed to the assembled crowds. The audience numbered into the thousands, and even into the tens of thousands. Shanghai has always been a place where people gather together from all points of the compass, with Chinese and foreigners living side by side. One of these foreigners was a French strongman. Because his facial hair was a bright shade of yellow he was known by the name, “Yellow Beard”. This Yellow Beard was more than eight chi tall, his hands were the size of those large palm-leaf fans widely used in Shanghai in the hottest months of summer, and he was so big and strong that he could carry a pair of oxen under his arms. He had been in Shanghai for seven or eight years and had never met his match, among foreigners or Chinese alike. Now he saw that Ma Yongzhen had arranged this tournament and was inviting people to compete. He made his way through the crowd, and looking directly at Ma Yongzhen with his sparkling green eyes, removed his hat and clasped his hands together in a half-Chinese, half-Western form of greeting. Ma Yongzhen couldn’t understand what he was saying, but amongst his new disciples there was a man called Zhao Gongbi, who went by the Water Margin name of “Long Armed Ape”. It turns out that he had been born into a family who tailored Western clothes, so he was able to speak pidgin and could get by in English. Zhao Gongbi and Yellow Beard exchanged a few words and Zhao relayed what was said, making clear the reason for him coming forward. From this, Ma understood that his intention was to challenge him to a friendly bout. Zhao Gongbi continued to act as interpreter between the two parties and translated their conversation, which turned out to be not much more than an exchange of pleasantries and self-introductions. The two sides were like a marriage of the deaf and dumb, both just nodding their heads and flashing knowing smiles, clasping their hands together in greeting, and doffing their hats. As a result of Zhao’s explanations it was understood that this foreigner simply wanted to test his strength against Ma and was not looking to fight in anger.
The two men stood firm on the grass, then they began to pace around, their feet hovering just above the ground, circling three or four times, before coming to a halt. Then, gathering their strength, both men raised their right hands, and, grasping that of their opponent, they began what was in effect a sort of wrestling using the arms alone. By this time crowds of spectators were surrounding them on all sides, and several thousand eyes were focused on just these two men. Now, when looking at them walking in circles as if wading in water, squeezing their hands together, in this simple contest, the crowd could not help cheering loudly and clapping their hands to spur them on. Yellow Beard squeezed Ma Yongzhen’s hand in a downward motion, and used all the strength he could muster to keep it down. Ma Yongzhen’s hand was now turned over but he remained unflustered, and thought nothing of it. When Ma lifted his hand a little, to test his opponent’s strength, he thought to himself that the foreigner really did have something about him, and should certainly not be underestimated. Yellow Beard did all he could to push Ma Yongzhen’s hand down further, hoping to push him to the floor, but how could he have known that Ma would take the opportunity to borrow his opponent’s strength when it was at its peak, and push upwards, to flip his hand right over. Yellow Beard’s hand was now beneath Ma’s, so he seized the opportunity to try and turn over Ma’s hand again. But, how could Yellow Beard endure Ma Yongzhen’s superhuman strength! His hand was turned over, his wrist was hurting terribly and he could not struggle free. He promptly lost his footing, and as soon as Ma Yongzhen let go of his hand, Yellow Beard tumbled over onto the ground. Try as he might he could not get up, and spectators on all sides were clapping their hands and shouting in approval. Yellow Beard was thoroughly embarrassed and turned a deep shade of red under his blonde beard, while his bright-green eyes darted about like two luminous dragonflies. He set his eyes on Ma Yongzhen and let out a hearty laugh in order to hide his nerves. Yellow Beard had taken a tumble, he was embarrassed and was becoming increasingly resentful. Although he was in awe of Ma’s martial skill, he was far from happy, so he came forward to fight again. Ma Yongzhen remained calm and unflustered. He already had the upper hand and was in a winning position, so he had the courage to fight with renewed vigour. As before, they exchanged some polite formulaic niceties and again these were translated by Zhao Gongbi. Though Uncle Beard had a smile on his face, and said a few polite words of admiration by way of formality, he was actually quite furious. He now stretched out his hand, the size of a palm-leaf fan, and as round as a large bulb of garlic, in order to grasp hold of Ma Yongzhen’s hand again. Before coming forward Ma Yongzhen clasped his hands together in front of him and bowed to Yellow Beard. They then set about pacing around the arena again, once, twice, in a circle, hand in hand. The crowds were now bigger than ever, the more they gathered together the more cramped everything became. The circle of people was becoming smaller and more compact, so much so that eventually it might have become impossible to hold the contest at all. Ma’s disciples were afraid that if this escalated into a real fight it would be hindered by this overcrowding, and members of the audience might even get hurt. One of the disciples was a tall stout fellow, whose nickname was “Golden Wings Brushing Against Clouds”. He came out into the centre of the arena, and, according to the practice of those who sell herbal remedies and martial skills in the world of Jianghu, he addressed the spectators on all sides, clasping his hands together in front of him and bowing, while smiling from ear to ear.
“Everyone listen to what I have to say,” he began. “Today, Master Ma and the foreigner are testing their fighting skills. Please make room for them so that things don’t become too cramped, otherwise I’m afraid someone might come to grief. Please show your respect in this, so as to avoid any risk of injury. Otherwise, do not say that you didn’t bring it on yourselves; don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Having given this polite warning, he bowed again, clasping his hands in front of him, and left the arena to rejoin the crowd. At this time Yellow Beard’s hand was on top of Ma Yongzhen’s and he was using all the strength he could muster to try to push Ma down, and hoping to bend him over. By this time, Yellow Beard was not as strong as he had been just a few minutes before, as he had already suffered a fall, but with all his might, and for all he was worth, he still tried to bend Ma’s arm all the way down. But Ma Yongzhen was not an easy opponent to defeat and he used all his strength to resist, while at the same time hoping to flip him over as he had done before. But this time it was more difficult to topple him. Yellow Beard clenched his teeth and his face went a bright shade of red. He raised his body to its full height and used all his strength to follow Ma’s palm with his own, hoping to make him fall to his knees in pain. But how was he to know that this Ma man’s speciality was to borrow strength from his opponent and direct it straight back towards him! Ma took advantage of Yellow Beard’s sudden rush of force, and striking while the iron was hot, first lowered himself down, then immediately rose up again to his full height. Although Yellow Beard’s power was formidable, how could he possibly resist Ma Yongzhen’s superhuman strength and offer any defence to this at all! Just as when one stone is used to strike another, the bigger its size the more it will shatter. Now, everything happened so quickly. As Ma lifted himself up to his full height, Yellow Beard was brought along with him, his tall, massive body was thrown off balance, and he became unsteady on his feet. Ma Yongzhen raised his left hand and struck Yellow Beard firmly on the shoulder, while at the same time allowing his right hand to suddenly relax. Yellow Beard staggered back ten paces, just as if oil had been smeared on the soles of his feet, and he could not help himself from flipping over like an acrobat in the Peking Opera, ending up with his legs pointing straight to the heavens, and his back glued firmly to the ground. People all around cheered with one voice, shouting their approval. Ma Yongzhen’s face glowed, while Yellow Beard’s was completely drained of colour. Yellow Beard had fallen on the grass and he was now so stiff that he was finding it difficult to right himself. Everyone laughed heartily, and Ma Yongzhen stood up straight in the arena, as proud as could be. Yellow Beard was both embarrassed and angry, but with great difficulty he finally managed to right himself. Now, paying no attention to his meagre ability in the martial arts, or to how weak he had become, he charged forward for all his life was worth, hoping to finally demonstrate who was buck and who was doe. Ma Yongzhen thought it rather funny that this foreigner simply couldn’t understand that it was he who was in charge here, so he came forward again to cause some suffering.
Don’t blame him for that. If an army threatens attack, the defending general must stop it; if a raging fire approaches, water must extinguish it.
At this point, Yellow Beard felt that he must at all costs swallow Ma up in one final mouthful. He crawled up from where he’d been lying on the grass, raising up his fierce jade-green eyes, waxy yellow beard, red swollen face, and sweaty black hairy back, and made a ferocious dash for Ma Yongzhen. Without as much as a by your leave, without even waiting for Zhao Gongbi to translate the formal niceties, he raised his fist and aimed it directly at Ma Yongzhen’s chest. Then, using the martial arts attack known as “Black Tiger Steals the Heart” he tried to land a punch. Keen of eye and swift of hand, what sort of person would Ma Yongzhen be if he hadn’t seen this coming. Without waiting for Yellow Beard’s fist to land, he raised his own right hand, and with the move “The Iron Eagle Pounces on the Tiger”, he deflected Yellow Beard’s punch. While deflecting the punch he raised his fist and performed, “The Hungry Wolf Swallows the Lamb”. Then Ma lifted up his left hand and followed with the move “The Bee Enters its Nest” to welcome Yellow Beard’s face head on. Yellow Beard pulled back his left fist and hit out with his right, hoping to plant a punch on Ma Yongzhen’s arm. With legs bent and with perfect balance, Ma Yongzhen took one step back, then utilised peng “ward off” – the first of the 13 methods,—to deflect Yellow Beard’s fist. This peng, quite unexpectedly, looked like nothing more than the sort of thing a child might use against an adult, but nevertheless Yellow Beard sprang off to a distance of more than ten feet away. Now, unsteady on his feet, he ran uncontrollably backwards, patter, patter, patter, patter… staggering back to a distance of another ten feet, then, having completely lost control of his legs, his whole body crashed to the floor. The spectators on both sides were cheering and applauding, dancing on the spot, clutching their bellies and laughing uncontrollably.
By now it was already past six o’clock, and the time set aside for the tournament had been exceeded by half an hour. The disciples began to tidy up the arena. Yellow Beard had already suffered enough after his third fall. The people of Suzhou have a saying, “once, twice, but not exceeding three times”, in this case, implying that if three times were exceeded, things would most likely take a turn for the worse. Now he had been toppled for the third time, Yellow Beard dragged himself up off the ground as fast as he could, and scurried off in the direction of Bubbling Well Road. At the same time, many thousands of spectators were departing in continuous succession, going their separate ways, north, south, east, and west. High up in the sky the crows were cawing, dancing around in circles and flying in the light of the setting sun. The group of disciples mounted their horses and squeezed through the crowds, shouting out for them to make way for Ma Yongzhen, while they escorted him from the tournament arena. In the Tingsong Pavilion, a small rural teashop by the side of the Bubbling Well, they washed their hands and drank some tea. Some people who had not yet gone home formed a crowd at the front of the teashop gates and were idly chatting away. Some were saying how heroic the Chinese people are. Some were saying that if foreigners are insulted they always take revenge. Others, picked up on this and were saying that because Yellow Beard had suffered no serious injury it would be unlikely to come to anything. Everybody had their own opinions on the matter. Ma Yongzhen drank tea for a while, paid the bill, then, with his disciples following close behind, rode slowly along the road, taking a roundabout route past the front of the gates of both the Zhang Garden and the Yu Garden, then on towards Jessfield Road, and Carter Road, where they made a detour, passing the Sampan Factory Bridge at Markham Road, before finally arriving at Sinza Road. For the whole length of the ride, those who had watched Ma’s fight with Yellow Beard at the Bubbling Well, now saw him passing in front of their homes, so, naturally they huddled together in groups of threes and fours, pointing at Ma, and expounding on the extraordinary abilities of the people of Shandong. Ma Yongzhen observed this as he rode along. Even though he didn’t catch all of what was said, he certainly heard more than half of it, and considered it all to be just over-exaggeration and unwarranted praise, so he was not altogether happy about it. Little did Ma know, just now, while the fight had been in progress, watching on from within the crowd was a local ruffian who went by the name of Scrofulous Bai. Scrofulous Bai had got increasingly angry as he watched Ma Yongzhen’s display, seeing it as nothing but unruly and wild behaviour. He went back to gather his followers together to hold a tea party at the Yidongtian teashop, with a view to one day facing down Ma Yongzhen.
If you want to know what happens next please read the following chapter.
Chapter Fifteen
Wine Imbibed, Ma Yongzhen Takes Tea with Courtesans,
And Chai Jiuyun Laughs Out Loud in a High-Class Brothel.
Let us continue to relate how Ma Yongzhen and Chai Jiuyun descended the Lunghwa Pagoda down to its lowest level. It was so dark that Ma Yongzhen couldn’t even see the five fingers of his hand when he lifted it up in front of him.
“Oh my heavens! It’s so dark down here!” He exclaimed.
“Don’t make such a fuss, the lowest level of a pagoda is always like this,” Chai Jiuyun playfully chastised him.
They fumbled around in the dark for a while and eventually managed to find their way out through the main door. Then they went round the back of the tower to the place they had seen the falcons, but all that remained were a few wastrels tidying things away. They noticed a man holding four falcons. Others had more than they could possibly carry alone so they had hired others to help move them. By now the spectators had all departed when they saw there were no more falcons being flown.
“Brother Ma, let’s go home too! Look at the sun setting over the tops of the trees, sinking slowly, as if it were about to vanish behind the legendary Yanzi Mountains. The revellers are dispersing and returning to their homes. Each of them holding sprigs of peach blossom in their hands, delighted and overjoyed, showing to all that they have been strolling among the peach trees at Lunghwa.”
“Alright, let’s go home then!” Ma Yongzhen conceded.
They retrieved the horses from under the willow tree. Ma Yongzhen mounted his horse, straightened out the reins, and struck the horse lightly on its rump with his riding crop. The horse bent its front legs, straightened its back legs, raised its tail up in the air, and with a loud and determined snort, set off in the direction of the setting sun, the sound of its hooves changing as it skipped over the short grass and smooth sand. Chai Jiuyun followed on behind. Ma Yongzhen, rode swiftly at a gallop, without pausing for rest, and before long he arrived at his Sinza residence. He dismounted and his followers came to take the horse away and unsaddle it in the stables. After a while Chai Jiuyun also arrived.
“Why the delay?” Ma asked.
“I bumped into someone I know at Nicheng Bridge. As we passed each other he called out to me, so I got down from my horse and chatted with him for a while. That’s the only reason I was late getting here.”
“Let’s go in and rest for a while,” Ma suggested, and Chai Jiuyun followed him indoors. Though the house was small, it was always kept clean and tidy. Upstairs was Ma Yongzhen’s bedroom and his disciples slept in the wings. At the front was the reception room with a kitchen at the back, and there was a paddock and stables in the open ground behind the house. Chai Jiuyun made himself comfortable and the disciples brought in tea, and poured two bowls of hot water for them to wash their faces.
“Today it is a rare treat indeed to be honoured with your presence,” Ma Yongzhen said when they had refreshed themselves. “Brother Chai, please join me for a meal.”
“There is no need for such formalities, let’s go out to eat,” Chai replied. Noticing the clock had already struck seven Ma Yongzhen agreed, and taking Chai Jiuyun by the hand, he led him out of the door.
They called for two rickshaws to take them to Foochow Road. On arrival at the entrance to the Daqingguan restaurant, they paid their fare, went inside, walked up the central staircase and found somewhere to sit. The waiter came over to greet them and Ma Yongzhen invited Chai Jiuyun to order the food.
“Just bring a few dishes as you wish, there is no need to discuss it,” Chai Jiuyun told the waiter.
“A few fresh dishes will be fine,” Ma Yongzhen agreed.
The waiter nodded in approval and shouted their order downstairs. After a short while he brought over the food and drink to them and they proceeded to pour wine and chat away with gusto.
After a while, Ma was starting to feel a little restless. “Drinking this ‘mute wine’ is no fun at all,” he said. “Let’s play a drinking game. That should liven things up a bit.”
So the two men began their game, shouting out numbers and comparing how many fingers they were each holding up. They continued to play until neither was able to drink another drop.
“Brother Chai, tell me, who did you come across at Nicheng Bridge?”
“You know him too. Scrofulous Bai’s second in command, Lu the Lackey.”
“What did Lu the Lackey want with you?”
“Haven’t you heard?” Asked Chai.
“What about? Lu the Lackey and I are on opposing sides. He is Scrofulous Bai’s man, and he and I have nothing to do with each other.”
“That’s right, Lu the Lackey is not on your side. He told me that Scrofulous Bai has called on the Axe Head Gang, and they will be coming to look for you.”
“What! Scrofulous Bai plans to put out a hit on me? That’s ridiculous. It would be like trying to crack a stone with an egg. What is this Axe Head Gang anyway? However formidable they may think they are, I, Ma Yongzhen, will never be afraid of them. This is just Lu the Lackey telling fibs. He is trying to put the frighteners on. It’s like, as the saying goes—‘a dragon-fly shaking a stone pillar’. He’s simply overestimating his abilities. Don’t give it another thought.”
“Even though what Lu the Lackey says can never be trusted, this time we should at least pay it some heed. Scrofulous Bai has suffered a serious humiliation, and will not be willing to let it lie. He will cast aside all concerns and gather together the Axe Head Gang to fight to the death with you, if I’m not very much mistaken. There is a well-known saying—‘It is hard for one man to defeat four people; they are many and their hand is strong.’ Your abilities as an individual are great indeed, but you will not be able to defeat them, as they are many in number. I think, my friend, you need to be very careful indeed.”
“Brother Chai, I am indebted to you, and thank you for your concern. How could I not give my thanks to you! But I am not boasting, and please do not laugh at me when I say that in the end there is absolutely no possibility that they would be able to defeat me. Ordinarily, it would take ten or twenty men to even come close to beating me.”
“Brother Ma, your martial skills are legendary and you are indeed very brave. But if they choose to play dirty and mount a secret attack, you really must be on your guard. There is a saying—‘it is easy to dodge a spear in the open, but hard to guard against a hidden weapon’.”
“Quite right, secret attacks and hidden weapons must indeed be guarded against,” thought Ma to himself .
The two men ate their fill, drank much wine and ended up feeling rather tipsy. They called the waiter to bring two bowls of rice to finish off the meal, and once they had polished those off, they paid up and went downstairs. Outside, darkness had descended, and the streets were ablaze with lanterns. Everywhere was bustling with excitement as people crowded the streets, their colourful clothing resembling fine-patterned brocade as they rushed to and fro like shuttles in a loom.
“Brother Ma, how about we take a stroll in that direction.”
“Let’s go to watch an opera! What do you think?”
“What has been advertised on the billboards today?”
“I’m not sure either”, said Ma Yongzhen. “In truth, watching opera is nothing but a little ephemeral excitement. It is over in no time.”
“But this is no fun at all, either,” Chai Jiuyun said. “How about we go to a bawdy house and drink some tea?”
It turns out Ma Yongzhen didn’t care one way or the other, but strolling around without a definite goal didn’t appeal to him either, so he agreed to go.
“Let’s visit Hua Baoyu’s establishment in Puqing Li, off Stone Street, and have some fun,” Chai Jiuyun suggested.
“Very well then! Why don’t we go there on foot?”
The two men set out for their destination and in no time at all they arrived at Puqing Li, off Stone Street (that is Fuhkien Road to you and me). They entered Hua Baoyu’s place and the male servant, the “turtle”, announced their arrival. Chai and Ma walked up the staircase, and found the maidservant Ah Hong had already come out to greet them.
“Boss Chai, ya aint bin ‘ere fer ages. Please come in n’ put yer feet up.”
Chai Jiuyun nodded his head and entered the room with Ma Yongzhen. On entering, Ma looked around at the furnishings. There was a day bed made of hongmu wood, inlaid with enamel, which was hung with a light green, fine silk, mosquito net. It had a canopy and borders of crimson satin and the entrance to the bed was hung up with silver hooks. On the bed itself sat two neatly folded crepe silk quilts. A vase of flowers, a chiming mantel clock, and things of that nature, sat atop the hongmu dressing table, which stood against the wall, and along the adjacent wall, under the windows, several tea tables and elegant folding chairs were placed. Amongst these was a hongmu wood penghu games table. Everything was scattered around and laid out in exquisite taste. Chai Jiuyun and Ma Yongzhen sat down and Ah Hong brought over some tea and tobacco.
“Would ya Adam and Eve it! She ain’t ‘iden, I swear. Miss ‘as gorn ert singin’ and aint come back yet. Boss Chai, I’m weerly sowwy.” Ah Hong changed the subject: “And what’s va Monica of vis ‘ere noble genttwmen?”
Ma Yongzhen was given no chance to reply before Chai Jiuyun jumped in. “He is Ma Yongzhen of Shandong, the same who thrice toppled the foreigner Yellow Beard.”
“Ah… so you’re Boss Ma, vat stout yeoman. No wonder you’re such a fine figure of a man. Take a butchers at ya muscles, so firm and strong.”
Ma Yongzhen heard Ah Hong speak with the mellifluous flow of the local language, but understood not even half of what she said.
“What did she just say?” Ma asked Chai Jiuyun.
“She said you’re fine figure of a man and she wants to marry you.”
“Is that true…really?”
“Of course it’s true. Would I lie to you!”
Ma Yongzhen was delighted to hear this. “Will you act as matchmaker?” he asked excitedly.
“If I act as matchmaker, how are you going to repay me?”
“I’ll invite you to my wedding.”
Chai Jiuyun heard this and laughed out loud. The maidservant was standing at the side leaning against the table. A Shanghai girl through and through, she couldn’t understand Ma’s northern accent either, so chuckling nervously she asked Chai Jiuyun: “Boss Chai, what is Boss Ma sayin’? Why ya larffin so lardly? What funny fing were ya tellin’ ‘im just now? Do us a favour, tew’ me and make me larf ‘n all!”
On hearing Ah Hong say this, Chai Jiuyun laughed even louder. Clapping his hands together, he just couldn’t stop himself. Ma Yongzhen and Chai Jiuyun carrying on in this way made her even more curious.
“Boss Chai, what’s so funny,” she asked again. “What’s va egg yoke ya just told ‘im?”
Chai Jiuyun repeated the question to Ma Yongzhen and thought it even funnier than before.
If you want to know what happens next please read the following chapter.
Chapter Seventeen
Lu the Lackey Eggs On Cheng Zimin,
And Scrofulous Bai Plans to Murder Ma Yongzhen.
Let us continue to relate how Lu the Lackey and Cheng Zimin went to the opium house. When the servant saw Cheng Zimin arrive he bid him good morning. For the sake of politeness Cheng Zimin asked if he had eaten, and with the courtesy required of him, the servant replied that he had. Cheng Zimin talked as he walked, and when he reached the couch he sat down. The assistant came over and lit the opium lamp, and Cheng laid down on the couch and asked him to prepare a few pipes for him.
Cheng Zimin took several drags to satisfy his craving and suddenly everything appeared calm and radiant, in contrast to just a moment before when he had felt so absentminded. He called the servant over and instructed him to go out and buy him a bowl of noodles, and at the same time spoke to Lu the Lackey:
“Brother Lu, you say you have a matter to discuss with me. Please go ahead and tell me what it is.”
Lu the Lackey told him about the matter concerning Scrofulous Bai and Ma Yongzhen.
“I have heard people speak of this Ma Yongzhen,” said Cheng Zimin. “At Weeping Willow Terrace he lifted the stone ding, then he toppled Yellow Beard three times, and held a ceremony to induct new disciples. I have wanted to cross paths with him for a while now. It is because of him that the brotherhood has lost face in the International Settlement and French Concession.”
Lu the Lackey fully understood what Cheng Zimin was saying. What type of person was he if he wasn’t able to rely on his wits to live from day to day, and his own version of “tact” was his one and only strategy. Now, hearing what Cheng Zimin said, he followed the lead that had been given to him.
“Brother Cheng you are right. We have dominated old Shanghai for these twenty or thirty years, and have gained considerable prestige. How can it be that Ma Yongzhen scurries down from Shandong, lives here for less than half a year, and starts to throw his weight around, while behaving absolutely atrociously. If he were to live here for more than a decade, just imagine! No doubt he’d want to be king of Shanghai. The standing of that Ma man increases all the time but we are losing face by the day.”
Cheng Zimin nodded in agreement as he ate his noodles.
“If Scrofulous Bai loses face it means that you too lose face,” Lu the Lackey suggested craftily. “The fact that that Ma man recently bullied Scrofulous Bai may at first appear to have no rhyme or reason behind it. In the future, though, it will be difficult to avoid him bullying others. If it goes on like this, when all ruffians on the Shanghai Bund have been insulted by him, our paper tiger will be ripped apart and in the end we’ll be scorned by outsiders, and will no longer be in a position to ply our trade.”
When Lu the Lackey had said his piece, Cheng Zimin became quite furious. He sat back on the couch and in a rage smoked several pipes of opium in a row. He thought about this for a while and realised that this matter did indeed concern him very much. If he and his business were to be thrown into confusion by that Ma man, all the ruffians of Shanghai would lose face, and what he has to say at “tea parties” will mean nothing at all. So he put the pipe down on the tray by his side, took a sip of tea, and shut his eyes to ponder the matter. Meanwhile, Lu the Lackey was thinking to himself that so far he had proven really rather successful in persuading Cheng, and if he were to provoke him just that little but further he would be ready, and the plan will have been a resounding success. With a flick of the wrist he unfurled his fan, and, using it to shield his lips, he leaned closer to Cheng’s couch, while in lowered tones he whispered: “Brother Cheng, I have heard something else on the streets that concerns what that Ma man has been saying, but please don’t be angry at what I tell you.”
“Come along, tell me quickly. Enough of this humming and hawing. Why all this hiding your head and revealing your tail? Anyway, what you want to tell me was not said by you, so why should I be angry with you! I hear infuriating things from morning to night; I don’t know how many times a day I’m made to feel angry.”
“I know you are a patient man,” Lu the Lackey continued. “If you were not a patient man how would you be able to take on responsibility for so many important matters?”
“Just say what you have to say. Don’t beat about the bush,” Cheng Zimin insisted.
“That Ma man is spreading rumours all around. He has even had the cheek to say, apparently in the most sarcastic of tones: ‘What is that Axe Head Gang; who is that Cheng Zimin! If one day they were to fall into my hands I’d soon teach them a lesson, and really give them something to think about’.”
“Are these words really true?”
“Of course they’re true. Would I lie to you! It is common knowledge now.”
Cheng Zimin slammed down his pipe in a rage. “That Ma man really is despicable,” he shouted. “How dare he insult me in this way! It’s just as if he were trying to bait the star-god, Tai Sui. Let’s turn this all back in his direction and see what he’s really made of.”
“Do you need to prepare for this,” Lu the Lackey asked deviously, “or would it be better if you were to make the first move?”
“If one is to make a move, of course it is best to do so first, rather than waiting for the other party to act, and taking revenge after the event. Would that not put us at a disadvantage?”
“A surprise attack is naturally the way to do it,” Lu the Lackey agreed. “To strike and take advantage of his ill-preparedness, and take a ‘chance’.” This final word he said in his best Shanghai pidgin.
“Adequate preparations must first be made and only then should we make a move”, suggested Cheng Zimin. “That way we will certainly not come to grief. Furthermore that Ma man is a formidable opponent, so it is best not to look on him too lightly.”
Lu the Lackey said “yes” to everything he suggested. Verbally he agreed with him, but within his heart he was just delighted to discover that Cheng Zimin had actually fallen for his ruse, and his plan was certainly turning out to be a success… that is if he doesn’t go back on his word. When he looked at the time it was already after six o’clock. At this time in spring when the days are getting longer, the setting sun is hovering over the western mountains. If this were winter, when the days are short, by this time it would be time to light the lamps.
“Let’s talk more about this tomorrow. I must go back to discuss it with Brother Bai.”
“Very well! This matter should most certainly be discussed with Brother Bai. After all, he is the boss, and I am only the hired help.”
“Everyone is doing their utmost so that the brotherhood doesn’t lose face.” Lu the Lackey said as he stood up, promising to see him again tomorrow. Cheng Zimin nodded his head without raising it from the pillow, said goodbye, and agreed to meet him the following day. Lu the Lackey hurried directly over to the Yidongtian teashop on Pakhoi Road. As he went up the staircase he saw that all was still and there was not even a single gang member to be seen. So he asked the waiter if Scrofulous Bai had already left.
“That is correct,” the waiter replied. “Boss Bai said if you want to see him now, you should go to his house.”
Lu the Lackey showed that he understood. He went back down the staircase and called for a rickshaw to take him directly to the French Concession. When he arrived at Scrofulous Bai’s house he got down from the rickshaw, paid the fare and raised his hand to knock on the door. Inside, the servant enquired who it was and opened up when it was clear he was no stranger. Lu the Lackey walked into the reception room and saw that Scrofulous Bai was just in the middle of eating dinner.
“You have been gone so long!” Scrofulous Bai said to him rather impatiently. Lu the Lackey told him everything that had happened in the opium house, after which Scrofulous Bai invited him to join him for dinner. Lu the Lackey’s tummy was rumbling, so, without standing on ceremony, he sat down to eat.
“Would you like a drink?”
Lu the Lackey refused without saying a word, and continued to stuff two bowls of rice into his mouth, one after the other.
“Eat a little slower. You’re not robbing anyone now!”
“I always eat a little quicker when I’m hungry.”
“Since Cheng Zimin has agreed to the plan we must make preparations.”
“Naturally! Even though Cheng Zimin has agreed to help,” Lu the Lackey suggested, “the matter in hand has everything to do with you saving face. This is your battle.”
“Yes! Quite right. As always, I would be grateful if you would please go and engage Scabby Crabby, Eely Mudskipper, Siguan Bloodspitter, and Sanbao Headsplitter.”
“Of course we should invite them, but last time they went to so much trouble for nothing. This time, of course, they may not be so willing.”
“The imperial court does not send forth hungry soldiers,” Scrofulous Bai answered briskly. “Of course this time we must spend a little money on them.”
“If that’s the case, I’ll invite them for a meal tomorrow, and we can tell them all about it round the dinner table, face to face. There is no way they will not agree to it.”
“While you’re about it, you should invite Cheng Zimin as well.”
“If we are to invite Cheng Zimin it will have to be at night. He doesn’t get out of bed until three or four in the afternoon, and even then has to satisfy his opium craving. How about meeting at eight or nine o’clock?”
“Nine o’clock is too late,” said Scrofulous Bai.
“Of course nine o’clock is late, but if we want Cheng Zimin to come, it will have to be at eight or nine.
“May I trouble you to deal with this tomorrow?”
“Of course I’ll deal with it, but please don’t mention that word ‘trouble’. I assure you it is no trouble at all. Your business is my business. There are no distinctions to be made between us.”
“We can’t allow that Ma man to escape,” said Scrofulous Bai. “He holds too much power in his hands now.”
“It will be best to hit him at a time when he’s on his own, so we can demonstrate our might. To strike first will be the strongest move. In that way we can catch him unawares.”
“Last time it was I who suffered at his hands,” Scrofulous Bai said. “We must guard against that happening again…at all costs.”
“Last time nobody had any weapons and that’s why we suffered at his hands. This time we’ll have axes galore and of course we’ll not be the ones to suffer.”
“Now, even if that Ma man were a Buddhist deity with three heads and six arms, he would not be able to defeat us.”
“Even mighty heroes and stout upstanding fellows would not be able to clear this hurdle,” Lu the Lackey added.
The two men talked as they ate. When Lu the lackey had finished three bowls full, he stood up, took a sip of tea and wiped his face. Then he sat down again for a moment before finally getting to his feet and bidding him farewell.
“Where shall we meet tomorrow?” Scrofulous Bai asked.
If you want to know what happens next please read the following chapter.
How to cite: Bevan, Paul. “Four Chapters from Murder in the Maloo: A Tale of Old Shanghai, Translated by Paul Bevan.” Cha: An Asian Literary Journal, 18 Sept. 2026, chajournal.com/2026/09/18/murder-in-the-maloo.
Paul Bevan is a Sinologist, researcher, literary translator, curator and lecturer. From 2020 to 2023 he was Departmental Lecturer in Modern Chinese Literature and Culture at the University of Oxford and Retained Lecturer in Chinese at Wadham College. From 2018 to 2020 he worked as Christensen Fellow in Chinese Painting at the Ashmolean Museum, Oxford. He is currently a Research Associate at the School of Oriental and African Studies. Paul’s latest book Shanghai’s Shadow Waltz – From Hollywood to Hongkew: A New-sensationist Fantasia is soon to be published by Earnshaw Books. This looks at popular song, dance band culture, and film, as they relate to the writings of the ‘New-sensationist’ authors during the 1930s. Paul continues to explore aspects of Shanghai popular culture in his latest research project ‘Hollywood in Shanghai’. To date, in addition to many book chapters, journal articles and translations, he has published two monographs: A Modern Miscellany: Shanghai Cartoon Artists, Shao Xunmei’s Circle and the Travels of Jack Chen, 1926-1938 (Brill, 2015), and Intoxicating Shanghai: Modern Art and Literature in Pictorial Magazines during Shanghai’s Jazz Age (Brill, 2020). John A. Crespi’s review of the latter calls attention to the translations embedded in the book: “Featured within the book’s densely informative analyses are translations of four modernist short stories. [These] in themselves contribute significantly to modern Chinese literary studies…”. [All contributions by Paul Bevan.]
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