Harbor City Rose, 1955

Down-on-her-luck true heiress * illegitimate son of a shipping magnate

At the welcome banquet, society ladies wore the latest Parisian taffeta, their heels sinking into Persian carpets sent by the British consul. The jasmine pomade behind Guan Suining's ears mingled with the fishy smell of Sham Shui Po. When she reached the seventh Roman column, she saw Fu Jiuming heading alone toward the back garden. His dark green velvet suit brushed past the jacarandas, like a lone wolf dragging moonlight behind him.

At last, her chance had come. She set down her champagne flute and hurried after him.

Beneath the wisteria trellis, the daughter of the Huang shipping family "accidentally" spilled her champagne, her rose-red skirt billowing toward Fu Jiuming like a bloody wave. Guan Suining recognized the move from the "Drunken Beauty" routine at the Paramount Ballroom. Three years ago, before her family fell on hard times, she had seen a more elegant version on Avenue Joffre.

"Ninth Master Fu, watch out!"

She darted forward, the cheap flower pin in her hair brushing the man's Adam's apple. With her left hand, she gathered her skirt to catch the spilling wine. With her right, she pulled off Miss Huang's lace shawl. "The night's chilly and the dew is heavy, Sister. You should put something on." Her Suzhou accent wrapped around Hong Kong slang, carrying the undercurrents away into the night fog over Victoria Harbour.

A cold glint flashed in the corner of Fu Jiuming's eye.

He noticed the shortened hem of her qipao. The indigo-dyed cloth, which should have reached her ankles, had been cut to calf-length, and at the slit she had embroidered half a copy of Dwelling in the Fuchun Mountains in Suzhou style.

"May I ask your surname, Miss?" he asked deliberately in English.

"My surname is Guan, as in 'Guan Guan Cry the Ospreys.' I teach Mandarin." She gently took his hand and wrote the characters for "Suining" on his palm. As her fingertip traced his lifelines, Fu Jiuming felt the callus at the base of her thumb, a mark left by years of hard labor.

The sound of breaking glass suddenly rang out from the banquet hall.

Seizing her chance, Guan Suining returned the champagne-soaked shawl to Miss Huang. "Use brandy to get the stain out." As she turned, she revealed a burn scar on the back of her neck, shaped like the anchor-chain emblem used by the smuggling boats off Lamma Island. Fu Jiuming suddenly clasped her wrist. His Oxford accent carried the blade-flash of Kowloon Walled City. "Teacher Guan, tomorrow at eight. I'll be waiting for you to teach me 'Guan Guan Cry the Ospreys.'"

Guan Suining's pupils contracted. She thought, It worked!

In a golden age where roses danced with spears, they sailed on lies, smuggling true feelings across a sea of desire.

Theme: I decide my own fate, not Heaven.