Funny excerpt from Chapter 4

It was a hazy dawn. Swirling silver mists were veiling the streets; the dew on the green leaves was twinkling; and the air came fresh from the south. The sun had just risen above the far mountains when I reached the eastern gate of Shanghai. Suet-foong was already there, all saddled up and ready to go. Her horse was strong and powerful - a splendid, clean-limbed animal with its glistened black coat, braided mane on its proud neck, and its long tail gliding in the wind; it could give Flash a run for his money!

"You are punctual," I said, looking at my watch. It was 6:50 A.M. We were supposed to meet at seven.

"It's in the genes," replied Suet-foong. She was clad in a leather coat over a sweater and black pants - she seemed to like wearing pants. "Anyway, I have to get up early today to inform my landlady of my long absence and arrange for one of her servants to check on my studio. Luckily, she lives just a couple of blocks away. At the same time, knowing what a money-grubber she is, I paid her the next two months' rent in advance with the two hundred dollars you gave me and kept the rest inside my saddle bag - I feel uncomfortable leaving all that money inside an unoccupied shop."

"Didn't your landlady ask you where you are going on such notice? I suspect she is a nosey-parker; all landladies are."

"Yeah, you are right, she is. I cooked up a story that I have to rush back to Xi'an today because I received a telegram informing me that my mom is seriously ill."

"You should just tell her that you are going for a holiday with the man you love. It's much simpler and it's the truth."

"Hardy ha-ha," she laughed sarcastically.

"Come on, don't be shy. Let me hear those three magical words that would make me float on air on this fine morning."

She kept quiet.

"Well?" I persisted.

"Go hang yourself."

The land, steep and imposing, dwarfed the four of us as snaked through the wilderness. At times it seemed like one misty dreamscape with its endless vista of canyons, trees, and snow peaks. On top of that, the air smelled like a breath mint.

For many hours we rode our steeds in a canter with me leading the way. It was like we were flying with our four-legged companions lending us the wings we lacked. I felt so free - there is nothing else like it in this world. I looked over my shoulder and saw the wind playing with Suet-foong's silky long hair that glowed in the morning sun as it trailed behind her. At the same time I was ogling at her breasts; due to her horse's rocky movement, they were bouncing like jumping jacks.

"What are you doing?" she asked, pulling up beside me.

"Riding, what else?"

"Don't lie! You are looking at my boobs!"

I blushed. "Okay, okay, so I did. Sorry."

"No need to apologize," she said with a smile. "So, do you find them irresistible?"

"Not really."

"Can I believe you?"

"No," I replied, unleashing a face-splitting grin at her.

Be entertained by the above funny excerpt and many more in "Snow Phoenix and Me" by Arthur T. Y. Foo, available now in Amazon.com and Kindle!

Hilarious, poignant, and filled with wonder, it makes a great Christmas gift for your loved one.

SNOW PHOENIX AND ME

Hilarious, poignant, and filled with wonder, it is a story about two star-crossed lovers in old Shanghai when chaos and lawlessness reigned.

Many of its chapters were picked as the "Most Beloved Story" on Avon Romance. 

Purchase outlets: Amazon.com, Kindle, and all major bookstores.

Excerpt:

Her name was Li Suet-foong. She was only twenty-three years old when she died. I affectionately called her my sugarplum; she cheekily baptized me a dumdum. She was beautiful like an angel and fairer than the morning dew. I do not recall her complimenting on my good looks though - I vainly believe I belong to the tall, dark, and handsome category. Her love for adventure suited me just fine for danger is my business. Winter was her favorite season. I asked her why. With a smile she replied she loved the snow, the mandarin oranges, and the lunar New Year. On top of that, she loved me.

I am a liquidator. I have been liquidating people ever since I knew how to hold a gun. It does not matter who my victims are - politicians, underworld big-shots, tycoons - as long as my asking price is met, I send them a one-way ticket to hell, no question asked. But I do not kill children; it is my religion. My clients call me "Mr. Clean", a satirical nickname actually - I am never a morally pure guy, not even by a long shot. Rather, I always do a clean kill: a direct shot to the victim's brain; no suffering and no mess to the other parts of his body.

It was 10:30 P.M. on March 20th, 1913. Despite the passing of winter, the northerly wind was unusually cold. Nonetheless, the sky was clear and the stars were bright. Disguising myself as a porter, I was at Shanghai Railway Station getting ready for my next hit: a young politician named Song Jiao-ren. The place was crowded, but I managed to spot him standing at the platform waiting to board the train to Beijing. He was impeccably dressed in a black western suit, his hair was neatly combed over the top, and his mustache was perfectly trimmed. Calmly, I approached him. Right up to the last moment he did not suspect anything amiss. When our eyes finally met, mine flashed like lightning. Quicker than a wink, I whipped my gun out of my uniform pocket. Only then did he realize that he was targeted for assassination. His face turned pale.

"Y ... You are making a big mistake, friend," he spluttered, overwhelmed by fear to defend himself.

"So sue me," I said, firing at him at point-blank range. He collapsed like a sack of potatoes on the concrete floor - his life was snuffed out instantly.

Subsequently I pumped another two rounds up in the air - those who were deaf to the first shot could definitely hear them now. Utter chaos reigned supreme the next instant: people ran helter-skelter to the exits; women were screaming like banshees; and some hid under the benches or behind the dustbins.

I smirked; that was my plan.

Amid all the confusion, I made my way to the storeroom near to one of the exits. Quickly I went inside, locking the door behind me; I knew this room was empty as I had surveyed it earlier. I changed my attire and discarded the gun into a wastepaper basket. Thirty seconds later, in my white suit and shoes, I was out in the open again.

One more time I smirked; yup, that was another part of my plan. I could now walk past the police cordon that had been thrown around the station, shake hands with the men in blue even, no sweat. They were seeking for a guy in a drab porter uniform, not a smartly-dressed gentleman.

"Wow, that was fast!" said a female voice behind me. It sounded kind of sultry.

I felt my heart skip a beat. Looking over my shoulder I noticed a lean young woman sitting cross-legged on the bench a few paces from where I was. She was clad in men's clothing - long-sleeved striped shirt and pants, her hair drawn to the back of her head like a ponytail, and her eyes had a mischievous glint. A sketch block was on her lap.

She was not part of my plan.

After regaining my composure, I walked toward her. At the same time I cast a glance around the platform - there was still a mad scramble for the exits. I advanced until I stood face to face with the woman, looking over her keenly - God, she was drop-dead gorgeous! She did not stir; she just smiled at me. I then spoke in a hushed tone: "You saw me going into the storeroom? What else did you see?"

"Everything," she whispered back.

"Including the shooting?"

"Yes, I was standing a short distance behind you when you pulled the trigger. Then I followed you here."

"You were not scared at all? I shot a man in cold blood."

"Scared? Nah! Just petrified," she deadpanned. "But I followed you anyway."

"Why?"

"I like your butt."

I was unimpressed. Her attempt at stroking my ego fell flat because I had heard it all before from my lady friends: my bum turned them on. Her honeyed words were just a reaffirmation. On the other hand the thought of her announcing to the whole world that there was a killer with a sexy ass running loose did not appeal to me. Not one bit. Who did she think I was - a frigging pansy? I looked at her in the eyes - they were brown - pondering whether to silence her there and then or not. The decision came fast and furious. It was a no-no; I did not have my gun with me. Damn! One big heavy sigh later, I silently told myself to take it easy. I could kill this nosy broad anytime. In the interim I would work at getting us better acquainted so as to know more about her. Somehow or rather, she intrigued me ... a lot.

"May I know your name?" I asked in my normal deep voice.

"I am Li Suet-foong. And you?"

I extended my hand. "You can call me Ake, short for Akecheta Lung."

"That's a very funny name," she said, standing up to shake it. "Are you Chinese? You look like one to me."

"I am an outcast."

"Huh?"

"I had a Sioux father and a Chinese mother for my parents," I said, clearing up her befuddlement. "When they got killed during the Boxer Rising, I was placed in an orphanage. Because of my darker skin color and my strong American accent then, I looked different in the eyes of the other kids there. They avoided me like a plague, bitching that I was neither Chinese nor a 'foreign devil'. I grew up alone and unwanted."

"Oh, you poor man," she replied. It appeared that she was feeling a gush of pity for me. "Life must have been very tough for you."

"On the contrary I consider it to be a blessing. I wouldn't be what I am today if life had treated me otherwise."

"Goodness me, you like being you-know-what?" she said, making a finger gun gesture.

I laughed - it sounded more like a snort actually. "My ignorant friend, it's either you kill or be killed," I retorted with a swagger. "Shanghai may be called Paris of the Orient but it is one of the most lawless cities on Earth. So what's wrong if I have a gun? In fact it would be good if everybody is armed; we would all be safer. More guns equal less crime. You savvy?"

She listened attentively, looking at me in wonder while nodding in agreement with every word that came out of my mouth; she was completely under my thumb. I hate to praise myself, but boy, was I a smooth talker or what!

A pause later, she tucked the sketch block under her armpit and said, "Okay, let's go to the noodles stall. You are buying me supper." She then headed to the exit nearest to us.

"I am?" I asked, following close behind her. She had a sexy round ass; much better-looking than mine.

"Yes, it's either I eat noodles or I spill the beans; your choice."

I was flabbergasted, but of course. Was it just a jest or a real threat? I could not tell. Thus, there was only one thing to do: I stooped and walked silently behind her like a eunuch accompanying the empress to her destination. I wondered who was under whose thumb now.

About the author:

Arthur T. Y. Foo, who graduated from The Institute of Marketing, United Kingdom with a Diploma in 1980, did not choose writing as his career. Writing chose him and he is happy for it. His first two Natasha novels were nominated for the Readers' Choice Awards.

He is presently residing in Malaysia with his wife, three grown-up children, and a big, hairy dog.

Chapter Fourteen

Finding the goddamn kite was like looking for a needle in a haystack. Worse, it was a spooky task too.

Before us was a big wretched garden with run-down pavilions and a roofless hall. At the rear where concubines of the emperors once occupied the harem, its filthy high walls and dark closed-in alleys were spending out ominous vibes. Twisted, bony trees with spindly branches swayed and groped in the air, their barks diseased with a forging moss. Doors creaked and window shutters rattled on the outside. But once we entered, there was silence, the movement among the branches halted; we had a disturbing feeling that we were being watched with disdain, even animosity.

"Oh, you and your 'kite seekers' nonsense!" grumbled Suet-foong, glancing back over her shoulders as though she was expecting an unwelcome guest.

"Hey, if it wasn't for my brilliant idea, you wouldn't have met the emperor face-to-face," I defended.

"Gosh, my hubby, my hero," she deadpanned.

My last sighting of the kite was in the northerly direction, so we picked a way among the ruins, carefully avoiding the many broken furniture, planks, rodent feces, and other debris on the ground, and headed there. Soon we came to a ramshackle palace; above its entrance the name inscribed on the plaque dripping with spider webs told us it was the Palace of Admirable Benevolence.

"They should rename it the Palace of Abominable Malevolence," quipped my wife, waxing rhymes.

"Why?"

"When I was young, the elders used to tell me stories about the many concubines, each vying with the other for the affection of the last Ming emperor in this Palace," she elaborated. "The contention was so fierce that they would resort to bloodshed to get rid of their rivals - they really hated each other's guts. As a result, many concubines died tragically here."

I swore I heard a faint shriek of a female.

Without wasting any more time, we looked high and low for the emperor's plaything. The air was getting cold, and an icy wind began to blow, hissing over the snowy ground. Our breath was smoking; we were chilled to the bone. Ten minutes, twenty minutes, there was still no sight of the blasted kite. On the other hand, engulfed by the mist, we suddenly had an illusion of the dead following us! Shivering in fear, I started praying to all the gods, even demons, to save our asses. Well, someone did answer my prayers; the next instant, about twenty paces away from us, we found the triangular-shaped paper toy dangling on the lower branch of a tree. Praise the Lord!

I was tall enough to bring it down, thus saving us the trouble to look for a ladder. Then with Suet-foong grasping the kite by its thin wooden frame, we bolted back to the gate and as soon as we were in the clear, I shut the doors behind us. We were panting like a spent hound.

Surrounded by his entourage, Pu Yi was waiting in front of the northern gate. His face filled with anxiety, he kept biting his fingernails while being carried in a chair by four eunuchs. When he saw Suet-foong holding his precious kite, his expression changed; he began to grin from ear to ear. We hurriedly went over and knelt before him.

"Your kite, Your Majesty," said Suet-foong, passing the toy to Chang Chien-ho who gave it to his master with outstretched arms.

"Your Majesty will be pleased to know that there is no damage to the kite," I added. "It's as good as new."

"Excellent! Excellent!" replied the boy emperor, patting his plaything lovingly as if it were a puppy. "And what are your names?"

"I'm called Snow Phoenix," answered my wife.

Not to be outdone, I said, "And I am Fighting Dragon."

I expected the emperor to be in awe of our lofty mythical names. To my disappointment, he was not. Damn, he was one cool cat.

"Snow Phoenix and Fighting Dragon, for your courageous act in retrieving my kite, both of you shall be rewarded," said the Son of Heaven in a commanding tone. "Do you like me to grant you a title?"

"We're not title-crazy people, Your Majesty," replied Suet-foong. "However, it would be a great honor for us to shake your hand."

Pu Yi was caught unawares by her simplistic request. Frankly, so was I. Having the title of "Duke" before my name has always been one of my ultimate dreams; it sounds much better than "Master", don't you agree? But since Suet-foong had spoken before I could open my mouth, I decided to stand by her like a good husband always would, even if it meant banging my head against the wall tonight for letting this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity slip by.

"Very well then," said the emperor. He got down from the chair and extended his hand to Suet-foong who gleefully shook it. Then to her pleasant surprise, he kissed her cheeks. "Consider this a bonus," he said with a playful wink.

Snow Phoenix was over the moon.

He came to my side and shook mine. We looked at each other. Just before he blew a raspberry at me, he said, "I'm not kissing you."

I stand corrected: he was one cool, cheeky cat.

And with that, we parted. The Lord of Ten Thousand Years, happy as a lark now, returned to his seat and was promptly carried away, eventually vanishing into the thick mist that slowly crept through the Palace of Heavenly Purity. The day was waning. After shouldering my knapsack, I glanced at my watch: it was half past two.

"We still have another two hours or so of sunlight left," I said. "If we hurry, we can be back at the house before sunset."

"Good idea, I don't fancy socializing with the ghosts here," she gagged before abruptly running off. "Race you to the Outer Meridian Court - the loser buys dinner."

"Hey, not fair! You had a head start!" I cried out as I lagged far behind her. Holy torpedo, she certainly had light and nimble feet!

"Are you scared of losing to me?" she shouted back.

"I never lose!"

"I've got news for you: there is always the first time for everything!"

In the end I let her win but of course; I intentionally pull back whenever I was a few paces away from her. I do not know why I did that. Could it be because I am a sweet-loving son-of-a-gun? Whatever the reason, I felt it was more important that we, especially her, enjoyed the moments, puffing and laughing all the way - it revived pleasant memories of that wonderful day in Hangzhou when we ran on the shoreline of the West Lake.

After a short rest, we headed for the stable. Suet-foong was suddenly quiet. I found that quite unusual for she was always a chatterbox, more so, with her victory over me. Furthermore, she seemed to be dragging her feet.

Finally, when we were about to mount our horses, she asked, "Hey, Ake, how strong are you?"

"Strong enough to carry a buffalo," I replied, flexing my biceps.

"Yeah, that's what I figured."

"Why? Are you tired?"

"No ... actually I am in pain," she groaned.

Instantaneously I bore her in my arms. "Your leg cramps bothering you again?"

"Worse, my whole back feels like it has been cut by a thousand hot knives. I think you'd better take me to the doctor."

Luckily, the kind, elderly stable owner who had witnessed the whole incident, helped me to wave down a rickshaw. He then instructed the driver to quickly take us to Beijing General Hospital which was about three miles away.

During those few anxious moments in the rickshaw, my mind was in a flurry. I looked at my darling wife, her face all screwed up in agony. She was cuddling against me. I kissed her forehead; oh, God, what was happening to her?

"Hey, driver, can you go a little faster, please?" I asked the young coolie. "My wife is in great pain."

"I'm doing my best, sir," he answered.

"Your best is not good enough. Tell you what. I'll triple your fare if you can be at the hospital in five minutes."

He took off like a bat out of hell.

When we finally reached our destination - the driver made it in four minutes flat - Suet-foong was immediately wheeled to the emergency ward on a stretcher. I was told to go to the waiting room located nearby. There, I saw a few other visitors sitting on the bench, and just like me, they were on pins and needles. The depressing white naked walls and the chilly environment did little to steady my nerves. Besides, the strong antiseptic smell that clung to my nose hairs reeked of illness and mortality; I hated this place.

As the clock ticked away, I sat idly looking at the concrete floor punctuated with short walks to the reception counter and back, focusing on nothing at all; my mind was a complete blank. People came. A few left. Many stayed. There was a constant drone of voices about me; whispered words and tears in one corner, happy conversation in another. As I waited and waited, the world outside went on as usual ... it sure felt queer.

At long last, after what seemed to be an eternity, I saw Suet-foong entering the waiting room; she was all right! I was elated. I rushed over and gave her a bear hug.

"Hey, go easy on the hug, Ake!" said my wife. "Any tighter and I would have to return to the ward with broken ribs!"

"Oh, sorry," I apologized, quickly loosening my grip. "It's just that ..."

She put her hand on my lips to cut me off. "I know; you're forgiven." Then she kissed me.

"I've given her an injection to alleviate her pain," said a male voice.

I was so caught up with the hugging and the kissing that I did not notice a doctor standing behind her. Bespectacled, lean, and in his fifties, he introduced himself as Dr. William Loh.

"So, what's wrong with my wife?" I asked as I shook his hand.

"That we intend to find out," he replied, flashing a smile, "but she needs to undergo a series of tests. For this to proceed, we require your consent."

The word "tests" sounded so obscene to me; it was as if he wanted Suet-foong to act as a guinea pig for a new vaccine or something. But there seemed to be no other options available for us. "Doc, there is no need to ask me, my wife's the boss," I said. "Whatever she wants she gets. And right now she wants her sickness licked. Get it?"

"Yes, I got it. There would be a fee involved of course. And it's quite on the high side. Think you can afford to pay the bill?"

"Money is not a problem," I said, raising my voice. Bloody hell, did I look like a frigging pauper to this man? My feathers were ruffled by his lack of tact. "Just give her your best attention, your best care, your best nurses, everything." I was behaving like a snob.

"You can be certain of that," he assured me, his smile never leaving his roundish face. "Please come back tomorrow morning at seven o'clock. We shall have all the necessary equipment and manpower ready for the procedure by then."

"Fine, we'll see you when we see you," said Suet-foong, making an attempt at humor.

"Right, and one more thing, Mrs. Akecheta: to obtain a more accurate diagnosis of your ailment, don't take your breakfast."

"Sure, doc, I'll eat only air."