The Valley of Amazement

  That is the story everyone knows, but I like to add a happy ending. It goes like this: The fisherman is about to drown himself when he spots the same pretty maiden on the riverbank, eating a peach so enormous she has to use both hands to bring it to her cherry lips. She waves to him, and together they sail through the grotto to Peach Blossom Spring. Nothing has changed. The maidens. The peach trees. The weather. The contentedness. The fisherman is again young and handsome—and, of course, looks remarkably like the host of the party. The maiden looks like you.

  When I recited this ending, I mentioned the erotic pleasures the lucky man would enjoy. Everyone knows them. Swimming with Goldfish, Tasting the Watermelon, Climbing Higher on the Peach Tree. Often they were the ones I already knew that the host loved. But, of course, you should not include these details while you are still a virgin courtesan. Maybe next year. As I accompany you on the zither, my playing will help you know what you say next: a bit of glissando to signal the surprise arrival, tremolo for mounting passion, a sweep over all twenty-one silk strings for the return to the past. During the next few weeks, I will train you to deliver every word with precise gestures of your face and body while still looking natural and spontaneous, as if the story is unfolding before you, as if all your emotions are genuine and unexpected. You will learn to use an innocent girl’s melodious voice, with its sweet trills up and down, its hesitant pace, or a mounting rush of pleasurable release.

  There is another quality to a superior performance. Some girls perform with mere skill but without emotion. They may be masters of technique, but they wear a frown of concentration. I call that style “Looking at the Arrow and Not the Target.” So boring. After three minutes, the men are hoping the story will soon end so they can return to a more boisterous evening.

  Another style is called “Plucking Your Own Heartstrings.” That kind of beauty closes her eyes and appears to be caught in another world. Her face beams with pleasure, and she might raise her eyebrows a little or smile to herself to show she is pleased with the way she is playing the music. So conceited.

  I call the third style “Floating Together in Ravishment.” This is the one you’ll learn. Think of the story as I tell you what to do. You’ll start with your eyes partly open, your lids still weighted by dreams, and as your eyes drift side to side to take in the surroundings, they meet your host’s. Try that now. No, no, slowly move the eyes. If you move them fast like that, you look suspicious. Next, you will look at him fully with a longing gaze. Then let your eyelids fall halfway closed again—too much, that looks like you are asleep. Look as if you have entered paradise together. Let your mouth relax, your lips part—not that far. Now keep your eyes on him as your face flushes with uncontrolled pleasure. Suddenly, you gasp—softly with pleasure not fright—and you show uncertainty—no, no, not a frown—a questioning look that changes to acceptance of fate. With this dream of him in your eyes, you are being swept away. You’re an innocent girl, a little frightened because you don’t know where you are going. Close your eyes, breathe quickly, warble uncontrollably to match the zither’s tremolo. Then close your eyes and say “Ah!” with ecstasy that devastates your senses. That means you should wear a slightly painful expression, as if you have died, but it’s a small pain, a temporary death, so don’t move for a few seconds. Don’t grit your teeth. The pain is what you feel in your heart. Finally, let your face relax, and when your dreamy eyes meet his, he won’t be able to loosen his purse strings fast enough in hopes he’ll win your defloration.

  Understand that the story of Peach Blossom Spring is not simply about the desire for immortality. It is also about the secret place in a man’s past that now eludes him, the place where he felt the most alive. When he thinks of it, he realizes his life has been barren and lonely. He is sentimental, regretful, and keenly aware of elapsed years.

  His nostalgia may be for a lurid episode from the days of his youth. That is typical. What romance did a married cousin initiate? Or was it an older girl who seduced him? What did he see when he wet his finger and made a hole in his young aunt’s paper window? Was she with his uncle, his father, or a boy his age? What did she do when she caught him? Did she punish him? Did he enjoy his punishment? What erotic memory does he now rely on to reach the heights?

  Remember also that a grown man may have nostalgia for his ideal self. He was supposed to leave a legacy of high morals so his descendants would worship him for the lofty reputation he built. Few men are capable of preserving their ideal self. If he is a scholar, what philosophical principles were sacrificed to ambition? If he is a banker, what oath of honesty was dirtied by favors? If he is a politician, what civic-minded policies were destroyed by bribes? You must cultivate his sentimentality for moral glory and help him treasure his myth of who he was. And when you do, he will not be able to let you go for at least a season or two.

  You are too young to know yet what nostalgia truly means. It takes time to become sentimental. But for the sake of your success, you must quickly learn. When you touch a man’s nostalgia, he is yours.

  PATRONS AND CHEAPSKATES

  As a courtesan, you must work toward the Four Necessities: jewelry, furniture, a seasonal contract with a stipend, and a comfortable retirement. Forget about love. You will receive that many times, but none of it is lasting. You can’t eat it, even if it leads to marriage. And unless you become famous, you would become another of many concubines—and not Second Wife, but maybe Fourth Wife, Fifth, Sixth, or worse. You would have to eat whatever the man’s first wife chooses. When you think of retirement, consider what will still provide a small bit of the freedom you now enjoy. You could do no better than to be the madam of a house like your mother’s. You may hate her now, but that has nothing to do with your freedom and comfort in later years.

  To gain the Four Necessities, you must be popular, desired by many suitors who give you costly gifts. You must be as clearheaded, firm, shrewd, and quick-thinking as a businessman. You offer no bargains, and you never accept anything less than what you are worth. I will let you know what that is after the first year of your defloration. If you do not follow my advice, you will lower your value, and even my efforts may not be enough to lift it up again.

  My duty is to increase the competition among suitors before Madam decides who will enjoy the privilege of deflowering you. I will attend all your parties, all your calls to other houses. I will hint to your suitors that you have others vying for your favor, and I may mention the gift you are wearing—a hairpin of diamonds, a ring of imperial green jade. Each week you will wear jewelry that is a bit more valuable. These are things I may have to loan you. I might say that your favorite color is green, and thus jade and emeralds are your favored jewels. Do not contradict me and say you love pink. That kind of truthfulness is stupidity and will lead to gifts of flowers. Some suitors must be drawn in gradually, no matter how wealthy. Even the wealthiest man may have had frugal beginnings. Habits remain. When he has provided enough gifts to prove his sincerity, I will prepare the boudoir and let him know he is welcome to have tea with you after the party. Only serious suitors will be invited—and for tea only, perhaps a song. They’ll see a hint of the inner chambers where they might lose their minds.

  We will develop a language between us, using our eyes and eyebrows, the small movements of our fingers on fans and collars. You will know when to be subtle so I can be clear. When I mention Mr. Wu’s party, I am taking you away. When I mention Mr. Lu on Pebble Road, you will know that the man who is eyeing you is Vermillion’s suitor. I will single out men of generosity. When a man’s desire for you increases, so will his gifts. When gifts increase, so does your worth, and when your worth increases, so will the favors Madam bestows. Bring in a rich patron, and she will call you Daughter. When you have no patron, no suitors, and no callers of any kind, she will declare you a parasite and threaten to kick you out.

  I tell you these things so you can avoid the pain of truth later. Our world is full of temporary promises and guile. It is necessar
ily so. We are not evil people; this is just how we survive. There are only a few steps that separate success from failure. Understand this and you will not suffer from disillusionment as often as I did.

  You will have favorites among the suitors for your bud: the charming ones, the handsome ones. I will try to nurture those. But the madam will choose whoever she feels is the best for your defloration, the one who offers the most. If it is a man whom you find distasteful, I will ask Madam to let you have a little fun with the next. That way, if a man is odious, you’ll remember that better is yet to come.

  Just remember, the first week is the most profitable. After that, you’re no longer a virgin. Interest in you falls, the gifts are less. That always happens to young beauties. Once they’ve sold their inexperience, no one wants the rest of their inexperience. But you will surprise everyone. That’s what I’m teaching you: to use your brain as cleverly as you use your hips and mouth.

  In the House of Vermillion, all the hosts for parties and dinners will be rich, just as they were at Hidden Jade Path. The guests of hosts—maybe they are, maybe not. That’s where my skills come in. I can quickly find out. Since we’re part of a new flower house, we must depend at first on Vermillion’s fame and following to establish our reputation as first class. So never steal her patrons or I’ll hand you the silken cord by which you can hang yourself. News of the House of Vermillion has already been reported in the mosquito press, and the madam will ensure that there is more to come. The tabloids love exciting gossip—and scandal even more. There’s always some story about a bumpkin who claims he was fleeced by a dishonest courtesan. I think most of these accusers are simply cheapskates who thought they could throw down a dollar and get their stem caressed just as they did by a cheap whore at an opium flower house. Or they think that love in a courtesan house is truly love, and they claim later they were betrayed. But some courtesans are genuine connivers. And if they are caught, that spells the end of their careers in Shanghai. They would have to move to another province to attract unsuspecting clients. I despise their kind. They make men think all flowers are pickpockets of the heart. You won’t find any courtesans like that in this house, so don’t you become one.

  I will get you off to a quick start by spreading good rumors in the tabloids. The editor of the most popular mosquito daily is a former lover of mine, and because I did not charge him for many of our trysts, I can ask him to put in a favorable word. We may have to make something up in the beginning. “A well-known shipping magnate said that the virgin courtesan at the House of Vermillion is worth an early look-see before she makes her official debut.” That will add intrigue as well as make it clear that you are with a first-class house, not the kind that charges one dollar for this, two dollars for that. That’s what the old bustard did, and it lowered us to a second-class house and encouraged customers to bargain for sex. Here, we don’t go back and forth on the price. It is three dollars for a party, and it does not include riding on the stem. No argument.

  The extras at the House of Vermillion will cost slightly more than most places. Your mother did the same, and it is a good strategy. If the prices are higher and the beauties are higher class, a man feels all the more privileged. Vermillion has stocked French wine and special virility mushrooms. A good host would never deny his guests the fine wine just recommended by his courtesan. But she should never make the cost of saving face so high that a man must go elsewhere to show how generous he is. One man reviled a greedy house to the press, and as a result the house lost most of its business and had to close so it could start a new life under a different name. The man’s factory later burned down, and, fortunately for the reincarnated house, no one could prove the disaster was related to a grudge.

  At the party next month, there will be two beauties to stand behind each guest. The host of the party or Madam will make those arrangements. Whichever man you are assigned to, keep in mind that he has no special rights to you. If he tries to sneak a hand onto your leg, move back, and apologize for being too close. Even so, you should be attentive to his needs—more wine, more tea. They expect to be pampered, and other men will notice if you are too lazy to do so. If he is playing the Finger Guessing game with the other men and he loses, he may give the penalty cup of wine to a beauty to drink.

  I know that often happened in your mother’s house. But do you know why? Why does the man not enjoy the wine himself? To stay clearheaded while gambling? No, he enjoys having a woman take the punishment for him. After all, a little cup of wine is not like a beating. But it weakens her a little, makes her drunk so she loses her calculating ways, especially in the boudoir. That’s what they think, anyway. They don’t know how cunning we are. When the beauty accepts the cup, the beauty next to her exchanges it for an empty one, then empties the wine into a vase. Have you ever wondered why there are so many vases and spittoons about the place? Do you now see why it is unwise to make enemies with the other beauties of the house? You should practice this sleight of hand many times. I don’t want you drunk and sick. That would make a lasting impression.

  To entice a guest with your eyes, wait until the man stares at you. Look past his gaze before returning your eyes for only a moment. As the night progresses, let your eyes linger, longer each time, and let your smile grow, so his confidence does as well. Forget that demure technique of casting the eyes downward and pretending to be flustered. That may have worked ten years ago. These days, fake coyness just makes a man confused. You don’t have to be brazen, but your meaning should be clear. Some of my clients reached the heights through eyes alone. You think that’s victory? Ha. Once the stem shrinks to normal, the man is no longer urgent. He’s content to go home.

  Watch out for cheapskates. They may come as guests of the host. A country cousin, an old schoolmate, the kind who’s used to second-class houses or worse. You can tell who they are because they don’t know the rules. They woo courtesans who already have patrons. They think they can bed a beauty the first night. They don’t bother to tip attendants or maids. That’s the worst. I’ll be quick to excuse you from such parties, announcing that you have a call chit for a party hosted by the ever-useful Mr. Wu on East Prosperity Road. But some of the cheapskates may be newly rich and don’t know our customs. For those I have a pamphlet, which many beauties use: Li Shangyin’s “Advice to Men Visiting Flower Houses.” Tried-and-true for hundreds of years. A man should not brag about the size of his stem. He should not make false promises. He should not piss in front of the courtesan. And so on. I added that a man should give generous tips to maids and attendants. Why not? It saves everyone time and embarrassment.

  The guests to really watch out for are tagalongs who are disreputable. Some of them have manners of the highborn, but they’ve gambled away their family’s wealth. Or they burned it up into opium smoke. They come bearing jewelry they’ve stolen from their mothers or sisters or wives. (Nothing would follow after they’ve disbursed those.) Worse are thieves who took jewelry from the boudoirs of beauties they lured with their lies. They carry stolen bracelets and rings from one house to the next. A friend of mine lost her entire retirement savings to just such a thief. We all thought he should have had his stem cut off and fed to the dogs, and the madam of the house thought so, too. She hired gangsters to track him down, and let’s just say that they fed that dog much more than his stem. I will always be on the lookout for scoundrels and thieves. If I steer you away from a man, that may be the reason. Never question what I do or you’ll be on your knees for thugs and their friends as repayment for the help you didn’t want.

  There are tempting young men—rich, handsome, but spoiled and heartless, too. They show off to their friends. They toss out gifts—jeweled hairpins to this flower, bracelets to that one. They woo so passionately that the beauties vie among themselves to have them stay the night. Those beauties dream of making them their patrons. They give them everything in one night, but the next day those young men are courting another. They want only to trample as many flowers as they can
. They compete and brag about how little time it took. They describe the pudenda, as proof they entered her gates. This is why I require a courtship of no less than a month. You may have only three or four intimate suitors during this period, and only those who might become patrons. These three or four will keep you busy enough.

  There is another kind of suitor I will help you avoid. They are like stallions and never seem to exhaust themselves. As soon as they’re done, they’re ready to mount you again. With them, you will have no strength to rise in time to take tea with the first-time guests, the new opportunities. You will not look your best when you take carriage rides. And you know what the mosquito press will say. Is the flower Violet wilting and about to fall?

  A man’s manners may be impeccable until he is in your bed. There is a type who thinks he can order up any kind of sex, like dishes on a menu. He brings his pillow book to ask for the outlandish positions he’s illustrated in the back. It’s one thing to lash a beauty’s arms to the high corner of the bed and quite another to hang her upside down like a monkey from the chandelier. They don’t care if the chandelier crashes down or an arm is twisted loose from its socket. I know of one girl who fell on her head, and afterward she put her clothes on backward and never said two words that made any sense. The house couldn’t keep her, and I don’t know where she went.

  The most dangerous is the Lover of Bloodcurdling Screams. He would just as soon poke a pig and your mother. Most of those men go to streetwalkers. But the wealthy ones can afford to torture even a famous beauty. He loves to give a woman pain—and it does not come from a few slaps on the buttocks. The conceited girls are his favorite. They refuse him at first and are lured by his money. The innocent ones are entranced from the start. He can only be satisfied when he sees a beauty’s eyes bulge when she has no breath to cry out for help. A few years ago, that happened to a courtesan in the House of Vitality. She was young and naive, like you, only seventeen. She knew everything—no one could tell her what to do. The demon encouraged her haughtiness. He asked to be her humble servant. He came laden with gifts and threw a banquet in her honor. The attendant invited him into the beauty’s boudoir. In the morning, the attendant found her dead and went insane. I won’t describe what the monster did. I can already see you’re sufficiently scared.