Chapter Eleven - (Part 1 of 3)

It was a lovely, blustery morning in Beijing. As we stepped out of the train into the embrace of the cold winter air, we felt invigorated. Even the billowing vapors from the steam-powered engines did not smell like suffocating emission today. Instead, it undertook a kind of scent that was indefinable to go hand in hand with our emotions of joy and exhilaration, if emotions could exude a fragrance.

Ducky, a successful tea merchant, was already waiting at the exit gate. Another man was beside him wearing a chauffeur uniform and holding up a big placard with our names on it. When we gestured our presence to them, Ducky rushed over and shook our hands warmly as if we were his best buddies. After exchanging pleasantries, the chubby, mustachioed, and affable thirty-something man instructed his big, burly chauffeur whose name was Cai Gan-toh, to take our luggage and escorted us to his car.

Beijing, unlike glamorous and modern Shanghai, had retained much of its old-world charm with its mystical Forbidden City, elegant ancient buildings, incense-choking temples, and cobble-stone streets full of little shops and restaurants. We could still see men's hair shaved in the front and then plaited in a long queue which hung down the back, and women teetering on their little bound feet, moving their hips from side to side, like a tender young willow in a breeze, to balance themselves. Suet-foong told me that foot-binding among women was very popular in the last couple of centuries as they believed it had an erotic effect upon men. I beg to differ; give me a voluptuous blonde anytime.

"First time in Beijing, I reckon?" asked Ducky when we were being driven to our temporary residence. He sat beside me and Suet-foong in the back seat. "You gave me that impression with your riveted attention on this place."

I nodded for the both of us. "Its infrastructure, its atmosphere, and even its smell somehow evoke a poetic romanticism," I replied. "We can't seem to take our eyes off it."

Our host smiled. He then graciously gave us a low-down on some of the sights as we passed through the imperial city. He also told us something about himself: married with a six-year-old daughter, he was a former member of the Green Gang in Shanghai. Three years ago, when he wanted to quit and venture into the tea trade, the other members wanted his head - it was an unwritten rule that nobody could leave the outfit unless he was dead. Fortunately, Du Sze-hoi chose to set him free. No one dared to go against his decision - the drug lord's word was law in the underworld. The big man even gave him money to kick-start his business. He moved to Beijing with his family, bought over an ailing tea plantation, and business had been flourishing ever since.

"I'm surprised that Sze-hoi let you off the hook so easily," I remarked. "It's so very unlike him."

"Oh, it came with a condition: Mr. Du has a fifty percent share in my company," replied Ducky.

"Ah," I said. I knew there was a catch somewhere.

"Ah," echoed Suet-foong, sharing my sentiment.

About twenty minutes later, we came off the main road into a street - Ducky dubbed it Millionaires Street - lined with a dense growth of trees and underbrush on both sides.

"Why do you call it Millionaires Street?" I asked. "There's nothing here but the woods."

"The mansions are behind the woods," said Ducky with a grin.

Just then, our car slowed down and made a left turn to an entrance. It was at least half a mile from the street before the mansion which had a huge lawn came into view. The building, with its stately pillars and imposing columns, was a magnificent piece of neoclassical architecture. Suet-foong and I stared at the place in awe; so this is how the immensely wealthy sons-of-bitches flaunt their money, I thought.

"You've got a very beautiful home, Ducky," I commented when I managed to find my voice. "I envy you."

"Well, envy no more, it's yours; this mansion is just one of my many guesthouses," replied our host with a boastful tone. "You and your lovely wife can stay here as long as you like. My house, which is much bigger than this one, is further down the street."

Super-rich people - don't you just hate them?


To be continued ...