8 Chapter 7 - The Harbor Shrine

All of Nine: If the host of dragons thus appearing were to divest themselves of their heads, there would be good fortune.

---Book of Changes

"When the Chinese suspect someone of being a potential troublemaker, they always resort to one of two methods: they crush him, or they hoist him on a pedestal."

— Lu Xun

///////////

Jia Xu toned out the impassioned pleas of the White Cloud Association's Chairman as he was dragged out of her office.

"Make sure he leaves the city by nightfall," she called after him. The shaman dragging him by the armpits nodded an affirmative.

Feng Xia shifted uncomfortably next to her. Jia Xu let her stew for a few more moments before speaking.

"Something bothering you?"

Feng Xia sighed and then sighed again. "Chairman, they were well within their rights to issue a challenge, weren't they? Don't you think that kicking them out of Canton is a bit too much?"

Feng Xia was still too young and rash overall, but Jia Xu didn't think Feng Xia would not understand this. Just in need of a reminder. She sighed. "Feng Xia, how many shamans are there in this city?"

"Well over fifty thousand," Feng Xia replied almost immediately. Jia Xu nodded.

"How many of them answer to the Shaman Council?"

Feng Xia paused, calculating the changes after the latest batch.

"About twenty thousand," Feng Xia said, giving up on a specific number.

"And how many shamans are in the White Cloud Association?" Jia Xu looked at her pointedly.

"...Under twenty."

"Exactly. I evicted 18 shamans to maintain control over twenty thousand. Shamans from all over the country, and even neighborhood regions flock to Canton, a good chunk of them to the Shaman Council. If my orders are not respected, exactly how would we keep the peace? You of all people know exactly what the difference a single shaman can make on the battlefield, and how that danger multiplies exponentially with any additions. Fifty thousand shamans in this city, Feng Xia. If I have to be excessive, I will be. That's the price we pay for power."

"So it's for you, not for the Flying Dragons," Feng Xia said, unable to keep the unhappiness from her voice.

"For us," Jia Xu corrected her, "for this city. Whether it pleases the Flying Dragons or not is trivial and you know it, so don't be stubborn, alright?"

"But other people don't know it!" Feng Xia said, "They were so arrogant to begin with, if they see this move as an attempt to appease them they'll get even bolder, and people will let them!"

"That's why I'm taking the necessary precautions," Jia Xu smiled. "Selva will help with that. I'm sending him to Hong Kong." Feng Xia looked at her in confusion.

"Think strategically," Jia Xu continued, "We need leverage over the Flying Dragons, and the reports tell me that there's a good chance we'll find it in Hong Kong." She held up a hand, silencing Feng Xia's questions as a knock rang on the door.

"Come in," Jia Xu called. The young man entered and bowed deeply, straightening to meet her eyes with a solemn look.

"Selva, it's good to see you again. You've done wonderfully this time as well," Jia Xu greeted him warmly. Especially in not smacking the life out of the White Cloud shamans, that was for sure.

Given the pompousness and flair for drama those shamans had, Selva had done well in keeping his cover as their driver without hitting someone with a chair and accusing them of hating Andy Lau. Selva's stoic mask fell away as he gave a crooked smile.

"It wasn't half bad, Chairman. I just spent most of it playing Angry Birds and watching Indonesian soap dramas. I could recommend some really fun ones if you're interested, there's even a few with evil twins and stuff." Selva smiled.

Jia Xu smiled fondly. "Well, I'm afraid you won't have much time to watch them for a while." Selva straightened, eyes flickering to the photos on her desk. Jia Xu gestured at the screenshots from the grainy surveillance footage.

"The Flying Dragons you met yesterday, I have good reason to believe they first surfaced in Hong Kong. Even though your old job has only just ended, I feel reluctant to impose a difficult task on you so soon, but this is important."

"It's no problem at all, Chairman," Selva looked at the photos with interest, "They were definitely interesting enough. Playing detective on them will be fun."

Jia Xu chuckled lightly. The young man had a love for the unknown and obscure that made him particularly attentive to detail. If anyone could uncover something on the Flying Dragons, it would be the otherwise unassuming Selva. "Good," she said, "Is today too soon to start?"

Selva grinned, glimmering with excitement as he lightly bowed. "Not at all, Chairman." Jia Xu nodded in approval, handing him the folder. Answers would appear soon enough. She was sure of it.

/////////

Feng Xia followed her tracking spirits towards where Joyce was squatting on the river bank and playing with a water-spirit. Feng Xia hadn't bothered hiding her energy signature, knowing it would be futile if the Flying Dragons didn't want to be found.

She had no idea how Selva would even go about uncovering something they didn't want the Shaman Council to know. But in this case, Joyce and Spade had allowed the tracking spirits to follow them to the river without trouble.

"Hey, Feng Xia," Joyce called out cheerfully. Feng Xia nodded back. Jia Xu had insisted that she continued acting as liaison even after the humiliating incident with her tracking spirits, pointedly telling Feng Xia there was no need to disguise her dislike of the pair.

After all, the two were more likely to trust someone who didn't try to get on their good side. That was probably also why Hengshan had sent Pania. Whether they had sent their equivalent of Selva, or even knew to investigate in Hong Kong, was a whole other question that she wouldn't be worrying about.

"It's pretty cool by the river, isn't it? Really nice breeze," Joyce said. The girl wasn't wearing her shaman robes, donned in a light tunic, loose pants, and a pair of flip flops, open toes curling away from the water. However talented Joyce was, she certainly didn't care much for dignity.

Or manners, for that matter. It was a good excuse for Feng Xia to promptly forgo all formalities and jump straight to her questions.

"I heard you defeated the White Cloud shamans," Feng Xia said, "How did you get through their wards? They're known for being very skilled in that regard."

"Huh, are they? I wouldn't really know, I don't use wards myself," Joyce tilted her head to one side.

"Impressive that you can tear through them just fine," Feng Xia's voice dripped with sarcasm.

"Yeah," Joyce didn't seem bothered in the slightest by the hostility, "The real wards are the friends we made along the way."

Feng Xia frowned. "That doesn't make any sense."

"Um, how about...the real wards were inside you all along?" Joyce tried again. Feng Xia stared at her blankly.

"Wow, ok," the teen seemed to be at a loss for words. "Um, so how's your day so far?"

Feng Xia shot her a look of how-dare-you-ask-when-you're-the-source-of-my-suffering. Whatever hope she had for the day to take a better turn dissipated like water droplets on a griddle. It would take Selva's Indonesian soap dramas and a six-pack beer to salvage her mood, which was growing increasingly crabby at Joyce's awkward attempts at conversation.

Joyce weighed the look on Feng Xia's face and raised her eyebrows. "Ok, wow. Sorry." She didn't sound sorry at all. The teen bounced on her heels, waiting for Feng Xia to continue the conversation.

When Feng Xia made no move to reply, Joyce sighed. She ran a hand through her messy tangle of a ponytail that resembled a torn up piece of fishnet and reached into her sleeve for a stack of cards. "Fine, how's this, do you want to see a card trick? Choose any card and I'll turn it into an Ace."

Feng Xia let out an impatient sigh. "Where's Spade?" she demanded. Joyce slipped the cards back into her sleeve.

"He went to buy a drink from the vending machine, line at the convenience store's too long," Joyce said, promptly giving up any further attempts at conversation.

Feng Xia peered down the street at a familiar blonde figure smacking the side of a vending machine like it was an old television on its last legs. He finally freed his drinks after body-checking the machine, heading back with an annoyed scowl.

"Heads up!" he called, pitching a herbal tea canister at Joyce's head like he was playing in a baseball season finals. Spade caught sight of Feng Xia, scowl briefly becoming even more annoyed.

"Greetings," he said in a tone suggesting he didn't want to greet her at all. Feng Xia gave him a curt nod.

"Let's skip the formalities and get to the point," Feng Xia said.

"Let's not," Spade shot back. She glared at him.

"I just wanted to tell you that the White Clouds Association has left Canton, and that the Shaman Council does not condone their actions. That, and that there's a job if you're willing to take it," Feng Xia snapped. "Does that satisfy you? Or do you want to go the whole route of dancing in circles anyways?"

"If you didn't want to use formalities, you could have just sent a message. Or told Joyce. No need to address both of us unless you specifically want to go that route," Spade snapped back.

He glanced at Joyce, who was struggling with the metal lid of her bottle. "Let me," he reached out for the bottle and pried it open with a key. He briefly glanced at Feng Xia. "Is that all?"

"I need a decision about the job," Feng Xia said.

"Then give me more information about it. We don't take anything political."

"Political? You must think very highly of yourself if you think we'd involve you."

"We certainly do."

"So you're definitely going to be a jerk about this?"

"Takes one to know one, doesn't it?"

"You could just text the info to us and we'll give you a reply that way," Joyce jumped in. "No need for all the formalities or slap-fighting-by-proxy like a matriarch and her bitchy daughter-in-law. You could just do all that with emoticons, you know. Don't you have Line?"

Feng Xia retrieved the file folder from her sleeves in a disdainful gesture. "The information is here. The contact information is in there too, if you can't come to a decision now."

Spade took it gingerly. "Right, well, you'll hear from us soon enough." She shot him one final glare before she whirled on her heel and left, feeling their eyes on her back as she moved into the crowd. It was definitely a bad day.

/////////

"Why don't you let me plan the meals for tomorrow?" Joyce whined in Spade's ear. He sighed and shifted away from her as much as the cramped subway seat would allow.

There wasn't actually anyone next to them on either side, the passengers leaving a berth of space between them as they politely pretended not to notice there were empty seats there.

Joyce was dressed normally enough; her oversized clothes making her look like she had raided her father's closet. Spade's closet, if they wanted to be precise. But he had dressed properly so that if someone raised a challenge at least one of them would look halfway decent.

He had hoped it would save them some hostility if some poor prick didn't exactly want to be beaten by someone wearing what were more-or-less pajamas. Or at least lessen the number of glares from someone who had a bone to pick with them, like Feng Xia, who was certainly straightforward enough to make Jia Xu's intention of clear communication obvious in a somewhat cringe-inducing way.

But if Feng Xia didn't like them, half of it could probably be blamed on Joyce's questionable teenage sensibilities that would have set off alarm bells for anyone, and Feng Xia had only seen the fashion and air circulation aspects.

In terms of food, Spade was surprised that Joyce even had the face to ask about meal-planning considering her last attempt, when she had immediately picked the oiliest foods she could think of and got deep-fried egg tarts. For breakfast.

Spade had aborted the plan there and then, mind flashing to every Joyce-inclusive plan that didn't make it past phase one. The chaotic energy was so deep-rooted there that he was almost certain her plan for making an alternative version of pizza with available ingredients would have brought the house down. Looking at the tools she'd produced for the job, he had silently congratulated himself on a job well done.

"Because you'll just choose something ridiculous," Spade said. "Like the deep-fried egg tarts. The poor lady was horrified when you asked for them. Also, you never pick anything that requires properly cooking, and I don't mean just using fire-hazards to heat things up. Just because you don't like chopping vegetables doesn't mean you get to avoid using them." Joyce sighed.

"Well, someone has to raise our risk of heart disease and it evidently isn't you," Joyce crossed her arms. "For god's sake, you eat like an old man."

"I eat like a healthy, sane adult who won't drop dead of blocked arteries at the ripe old age of thirty-four," Spade said flatly. He glanced at her gangly limbs. "Your teenage metabolism will fail you soon enough. Then you'll know."

"Next stop, Tai Koo station," the rail announcer said, "Tai Koo station, transfers available to Line 2, bus connection to Foshan."

They stood up as the train pulled to a stop, Joyce following Spade out as the crowd parted for him. He looked around the brightly lit station, finding the exit that would take them closest to the fruit shop.

He made a quick itinerary in his head; the trick to it was not telling Joyce the next step until they were taking it, for some reason it would make the plan exempt from derailing into chaos. 'Fruit shop, set up the internet router he'd just bought, read Feng Xia's file, negotiate with the Shaman Council, make dinner,' he ticked through the items in his head.

"I want a bazooka," Joyce said in a contemplating tone. Spade stopped dead in his imagined tracks of preparing a stir-fry and shot her a suspicious look. Better not to ask, he decided. If the gods were merciful she wouldn't get a chance to commandeer one anytime soon.

"What fruits do you want to eat?" he asked.

"I want peaches, they should be pretty cheap in this season, right?" Joyce paused, "A t-shirt cannon would be better, less likely to blow someone's head off."

Spade counted to ten in his head, praying for the gods to have mercy on him. They stopped at the fruit store, Spade methodically going through his mental list while Joyce chatted with the store owner.

Much like many of the other storekeepers they had met, old Ms. Chao had quickly taken a liking to Joyce's teenage irreverence, a rare quality in a war-torn country where any corner you turned might be hiding a shaman or a machine gun.

"Even though a peeled orange is fine, a peeled lemon just looks so weird," Joyce said, holding up a lemon as if it was an artifact from the First Emperor's tomb. Spade nudged her aside to ring up the purchases.

The first time they came, Joyce had immediately begun discussing what would happen if all pigeons in the city magically turned into ducks. Ms. Chao had dubiously stared at the girl as Joyce continued imagining the possible impacts on the local food industry.

But by the time Joyce was asking if lemons would taste good with roasted pigeon, the old woman was looking at her with the eyes of a doting but exasperated grandparent whose grandchild couldn't pass a single math test but had finally gotten more than two problems correct.

"Come on Wednesday, I'll save you fresh lychee," Ms. Chao called after them. Spade revised his mental list, putting the file from Feng Xia before the internet router. He would leave that to Joyce.

"You take care of the internet router," he said, handing her the box as he unlocked their door. She tucked it under her arm.

"Finally, I can watch my stress-relief Wakaliwood movies," Joyce said, slipping under his arm to enter. "I want to find this world's equivalent of Who Killed Captain Alex. Life just isn't complete without a few cinematic masterpieces."

Evidently, it also hadn't been complete without swivel chairs, according to Joyce's impassioned declaration in Shanghai, spoken as she sped down the hall in a chair that was more a safety hazard or hit-and-run weapon rather than an office staple as Joyce had claimed. He looked dubiously as a series of crashing noises sounded from the living room.

"What's happening there?!" he shouted. Joyce's head emerged from behind the couch.

"Nothing, all good here, go look through the files or something. You wouldn't know what's happening here anyway, you'd be using a VHS if I let you."

Spade ignored what he recognized as a jab at his age and began looking through the files.

The disappearance of a shrine at the harbor, one that had simply disappeared off the face of the earth. But then it had resurfaced briefly outside a casino, on a hill at the edge of the city, and even on a goddamn boat, but never for more than an hour.

He shook his head. This was political in a sense since the shrine was popular with sailors and was managed by the Shaman Council, which desperately wanted the harbor demographic under their wing. But it wasn't political enough for them to turn down the job.

After all, it sounded a little ridiculous to tell Feng Xia that they wouldn't face off a shrine with a mind of its own and a sudden spark of wanderlust because it would be too political.

"Internet's on," Joyce said, giving herself a round of applause and shooting him a dirty look when he didn't join in. "Are we going to work or am I clear to start finding this world's equivalent of Kung Fury?"

Spade pinched the bridge of his nose. "We're going to the harbor, probably better to talk with the people involved before we take the job. There's a few things I want to confirm first." He glanced at Joyce's outfit. "Wear the uniform, alright?"

Joyce ignored him, plodding over the floor to look at the folder. "Is that the guy we're talking to? What's his name? Uh...Kajio...Salehrad?"

"Looks like it," Spade said. "They didn't even give us a photo, just his insignia. A Persian young man with plain features? That could be a quarter of the people in the harbor! Whoever the hell wrote these descriptions should meet me in the parking lot, my sword would have a lot to say."

Joyce shrugged, "Maybe the person was being racist, you know like how they say they can't tell Asians apart? Maybe it's like the Asian version of that?" Spade stared at her.

"They could have at least given us the hair and eye color, racist or not," he said. Spade sighed, closing the folder and reaching for a peach. "Whatever, let's have some fruit first."

///////

The harbor was cooler than the rest of the city, the salty sea breeze mixing with the smell of food vendors and engine oil. Looking around her surroundings, Joyce grinned broadly at the familiar sight of blue waves and globs of seaweed. She wiggled her toes in her flip flops, letting the wind tickle at her feet.

A familiar insignia caught her eye. Joyce squinted, shielding her eyes from the sun to look at the young man wearing it.

"Whoa," Joyce said appreciatively. An olive-skinned young man with a ponytail and the looks of a K-pop idol hopped off the ramp of a ship, turning to say something to the captain. He might as well have emerged from a shoujo manga, complete with the flower and light filters.

"What?" Spade asked. He squinted in the direction she was looking at, eyes catching on the silver insignia. "Oh. Good going, that's the guy we're looking for."

Joyce felt a rush of outrage. "They said he was a Persian young man with plain features. What about him looks plain to you? Are they blind? Do they live somewhere that this guy ranks as plain? Where the hell do they live and how do I get there?!"

Spade patted her shoulder gently. "Some people are just born with bad taste," he said. Joyce turned to look at him, surprised by the deliberate casualness of his manner.

Spade was watching the young man more intently than she had. Joyce had gone into ogling mode to try and figure out exactly which member of her favorite K-pop band the man resembled, but Spade was on a whole other level; if there were background music available, she was sure it would be something ballad-y about first love by Harry Styles. Joyce elbowed him sharply.

"Hey, if he's 24 that's close enough for you to go for it without looking creepy," she hissed. He returned the elbow with enough force to make her wince.

"Shut up," he said, eyes still on the not-idol. Joyce nudged him again.

"Seriously, dude. You're not that much older, you could totally go for it. Maybe you'll be less crabby."

"I'm crabby because of babysitting duty, not for lack of a lover," he said drily. Spade abruptly snapped his eyes away. "Shit, he noticed. Is he looking over here?"

Joyce watched the man walk towards them with the born grace of a model. Damn these dockworkers are lucky.

"He's heading here." Spade made a strangled noise. She patted his arm comfortingly.

At the very least, Spade was still nicely decked out in his Flying Dragon robes, looking untouched by the heat that made hair and cloth cling to the skin like a lonely toddler who had just gotten up from an afternoon nap.

She, on the other hand, looked like she had lost a fight with a washing machine, and her half-hearted attempt to keep the outermost robe of the Flying Dragon outfit on had her dripping with sweat. She had the robe rolled up to her armpits, leaving her arms exposed to the sun. Between her reddening arms and badly tied sleeves, she looked like a lobster being prepped for sale.

"He's pretty, isn't he?" Joyce said, taking the last few moments outside of the man's earshot to wheedle Spade once more.

"Shit," Spade said hoarsely, "I'd give him my bank account." Joyce burst into delighted cackles.

"I was going to ask if you were enjoying the harbor, but it seems I have my answer," the man's voice rang out in a clear baritone that had Spade gulping and if Joyce ever let him live this down her last name would not be Lee.

"Yea," Spade choked out, ignoring the wheezing noises from Joyce as she waved, "Nice harbor. Lots of water."

The man smiled, eyes twinkling with amusement, and if anyone was ever going to be described by that phrase it would be this guy, Joyce decided right there and then, because those were some nice eyes and they were twinkly.

"I've never heard that one before," he said, "Kajio Salehrad, pleased to make your acquaintance."

"Spade," Spade said, still looking a little dazed, "Really nice to meet you." Joyce held back a snort.

"I'm Joyce Lee," she said. Kajio gave her a dazzling smile. It gave her a feeling like she was watching a band perform and the lead singer had just tossed his water bottle at her.

"Well met, my friends. You must be here about the shrine?"

Spade noted mutely. Kajio nodded, visibly looking relieved.

"That's wonderful, I'm afraid the spirits have put us in quite a hard spot this time. Please follow me to the office, I'll entertain you with some tea," Kajio offered, and Joyce paused half a beat so Spade could politely refuse until Kajio insisted, but the blonde man stood uselessly and did not offer anything.

"That's fine, no need to trouble you," Joyce said in his stead.

"No, I must insist. After all, I think we'll have quite a lot to talk about," Kajio said. Spade snapped back to reality and gave his acceptance properly, the back of his neck a light shade of red. Joyce smirked, quickly snapping a photo with her phone as she trailed behind them.