So it's about halfway through, and...
Nov. 14th, 2006 08:55 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kaitouI thought, gee, I ought to post some of my nano novel. But first!! I have to give you some background.
See, The plot's changed completely. No more ghost story, no AU Hong Kong, and thankyougodthankyouthankyou no feng shui or I Ching. My first main character was a sad Mary Sue that wasn't even INTERESTING. Which is extremely sad in a Mary Sue. But I am keeping main character #2 from AU Hong Kong. And so I'm keeping everything I wrote with him before I decided to change everything. Which is to say, that a lot of things that I set up here have to change, but I just don't have time to do it. Like, Richard doesn't have an office in the same building that Zhong (Jon) does, and the jade cups and later dream sequence stuff have ABSOLUTELY NOTHING TO DO WITH THE ACTUAL PLOT.
Which, is now about thieves and detectives in Victorian Hong Kong. It's kind of like my version of Ninja Pirates.
But yeah,
Chapter Four:
Richard finished the report he was working on and signed his name to the bottom. He sighed and looked out at the window. The sun was setting over Kowloon, casting a brilliant orange light over the hills. Past time to finish for the day then. His household was probably holding dinner, he thought with regret.
There was a knock at the door and he signed again. If it were the Governor he might be kept even longer. The man had no concept of life outside of the political necessities that drove the colony. “Enter.”
The door opened, but it wasn’t George, it was Fan Zhong, “Jon,” to the governor’s staff, one of the translators and cultural experts. Most of the staff couldn’t be bothered to pick up more than the barest minimum of Chinese, so Jon was a godsend. Richard didn’t think most of them knew there was even more type of Chinese.
“Jon, what keeps you here so late? You should have gone home hours ago.”
The Chinese man sighed, “The governor handed me a report from Beijing an hour before closing. You know how most people think, that it should be as simple as copying out for someone who speaks both languages. But it takes so much longer. Which word is better? Is this an English idiom which expresses the same thing?”
Richard hid a smile behind his hand. “Let me guess, you’d like me to go over it to check your English.”
Jon pulled the folded papers from the breast pocket of his coat. “If you would be so kind, I know it is just as long a day for you.”
“No, no. It’s no trouble. Don’t even think of it.” Richard spread the papers out on his blotter to examine them while Jon made tea for the both of them. “Is it all right to mark on these?” Richard asked.
“Please do. I’ll have to copy them out again later at any rate. Richard where do you keep the rest of your tea leaves? All I see is the Earl Grey.”
“That’s all I have,” Richard said absently correcting the spelling of ‘foreboding.’
“Criminal. I should bring you up a bit of the pu’erh my aunt sent me last week.”
“That would be lovely. I haven’t had time to make it to the shops to replenish my stores yet.”
“And a Richard without tea is not a Richard I care to know.” Jon handed a willowware cup to him. “I believe you take the black tea plain?”
“That’s right.” Richard crossed out ‘to’ and wrote ‘at.’ “It’s a shame that you had to spend so much time on this translation. I can’t imagine that the governor is going to pay very much attention to it.”
“Any mail from Beijing is likely to be ignored unless it’s about concessions. Word from the Emperor’s soothsayer is not likely to make much of an impression.”
“Even if it’s a warning.”
Jon sighed, “Especially if it is a warning. The governor does not have much respect for the mysticism of my people.”
Privately Richard agreed with the governor on that point, but he held his tongue. He didn’t much hold with any sort of mysticism, Chinese or otherwise. But you had to pay attention to the mob, and if the mob believed in superstition and omen, they could make it become the truth. He frowned. “Do you think that the mainland is prepared to do anything to…hmm…instigate this warning?”
Jon snorted. “They’re so disorganized themselves that I doubt they’d know what to do if Hong Kong was delivered to them on a dim sum cart. No, I think that the warning is sincere. They can’t afford any more destabilization in the area.”
Richard frowned at the paper again. “They’re predicting that the city will ‘be reduced to a gray shadow’ within the month. If they want us to do something about it, shouldn’t they give us more specific information? Or advice on what to do about it?”
Jon yawned and smiled, “Richard, you’re in China now. You have to let go of these British ideas of yours.”
He sniffed dramatically in an imitation of Governor George. “We’re here to bring civilization to you savages, you know. You should be adopting our ideas.”
“The British never pay attention to their history lessons. Read the Annals my friend. China has been conquered more times than there are stars in the sky. But always we turn our conquerors into Chinese themselves. It is the only worthy thing to aspire to.” He eyed Richard’s sandy hair with a disapproving eye, “Though I think turning you into a civilized Han is quite impossible.”
Richard handed the papers with his corrections back to Jon. “I think it is time for both of us to stop for the night. I am tired and you’ve ceased to make sense. Come on and get your coat. My staff is going to be angry enough as it is waiting on dinner so long. I might as well bring a guest.”
“Because I know you so well, I will not even attempt to be polite by making an empty refusal. Will we be having civilized food or your bland barbarian concoctions?”
“No idea. It will be a surprise to both of us.”
Richard pulled on his overcoat and placed his hat firmly on his head. As much as he’d grown to lover the sprawling little colony, he couldn’t quite give up the trappings of his homeland.
The two men walked down to the Star Ferry Harbor in the shadow of the tall Bank of China skyscraper. It was an eyesore on the pristine city, and everything felt that much greyer around it, as if it radiated greed, harshness and insincerity. Richard was glad to be away from it and heading back to his little house in Kowloon.
Most of the other officials lived on the island itself, clustered near the top of Victoria Peak. Richard felt nothing but respect for the Queen, but he wanted to be as close to the reality of China as possible and not merely recreating his old life here among other British expatriates. That and the ride on the steep tracks of the Peak Trolley always left him feeling a little queasy.
“We ought to stop in the Fook Ming Tong Shop,” Jon told him, “They’ve opened up a new store in Tsim Sha Tsui. You could get replenishments for your tea caddy. I believe they’re open quite late.”
Richard knew that he was already keeping his staff waiting, but Tsim Sha Tsui was on their way, and really it would only take him a few minutes to restock. Then he wouldn’t have to drink the swill that the capital building bought just because it was cheap.
The shop may have been new, but the building it had taken over felt ancient, which was ridiculous. Nothing in Hong Kong was ancient. But the building was built from dark woods and the glass was yellowed like old parchment. They went inside and found a veritable museum of tea and tea apparatus. The walls were lined with shelves all the way up to the ceiling, crowded with canisters with labels in spidery Chinese calligraphy. Written underneath that were subtitles in English, though even a native speaker would have trouble working out terms like Flowery Orange Pekoe, Extra Choisest, Fannings, Tippy, First Flush, Second Flush and all the other words that made up the unique language of tea.
An old man stood behind a high marble countertop, adding small bits of dried orange peel to a blend of tea leaves in precise measurements. He was thin and stork like with a great shock of white hair trying to escape from his head. He squinted from behind wire rimmed spectacles as he measured out the blend. Without looking up from his tools ye yelled out in Chinese in such a way that Richard suspected he might be going deaf and was too proud to admit it.
Jon said, “He says he’ll be with us in a minute, just to let him finish this very important task first.”
That didn’t bother Richard a bit. He was too absorbed in reading the tea canisters on the wall and forming a mental shopping list. It was only right to get a little something from each ‘family’ of tea, green, black, oolong, and white. He was just pondering whether it would be better to get a scented tea to round up or an herbal when the man straightened up from his work.
Paying attention to his customer for the first time, the man shouted in English. “Welcome to Fook Ming Tong Tea Shop! We get you all fixed up.” He squinted up at Richard. “English Breakfast!” he yelled and slammed his hand down on the countertop.”
“I…what? No!” Richard was entirely nonplussed.
The little old man took off his spectacles and scrubbed them with the edge of his shirt and peered up at Richard again. “Well it’s not Irish Breakfast, the hair all wrong.”
“I am British, but I don’t want to buy English Breakfast.”
“Then what DO you want?”
“Assam! No blend, just plain assam tea…please.” Richard paused, “And some gunpowder green.” He was embarrassingly aware of how his voice was edging towards higher registers.
“All right. But it’s a mistake. English Breakfast blend for you I think.”
Jon cut in in exasperation, “He doesn’t want English Breakfast, Grandfather. Believe me, this customer knows his tea, and if he says he wants assam, just wrap it up. It’s late and we need our dinner.”
The old man snorted. “No patience. No patience for their elders or the wiser.” He eyed Jon in such a way that indicated squirrels may be wiser than he was. “Fine, Uncle Wen gives up. The customer gets what he wants even if what he wants is wrong. Aiiya!” he threw his hands up in the air.
Now that his attention was focused on someone else, Richard started to find this highly entertaining. The old man came out from behind the counter carrying a small step stool, tottering exaggeratingly slowly as he headed for one of the shelves.
Jon huffed, “Grandfather, just tell us which canister and we’ll get it down for you.”
Uncle Wen smacked his hand away, “Uncle is no invalid! I will do it myself.” Then he smacked Jon on the back of the head for good measure. Richard got the feelignt hat the little old man was enjoying himself immensely. Richard rocked back on his heels and grinned. This was the funniest thing to happen all week.
Jon and the old man descended into squabbling in Cantonese, and Richard knew his brain wouldn’t be able to keep up with it tonight. So he glanced around the room, breathing in the rich earthy smell of the tea when something caught his eye.
On one set of shelves were a variety of tea accessories, all arranged very prettily. Tiny Yixing teapots of rich red pottery and fragile willowware teacups that were probably made in Portsmouth butted up against each other. But it was a flash of green that caught his eye. Two smallish teacups, Chinese style with no handles. He thought at first that they were a type of glass, like a gin bottle. But peppered across the surgace were splotches and veins of darker green, and flashy bits that looked like mica. He picked one of them up and twirled it between his hands. It was so clear he could see the shape of his fingers through them.
There was a loud thunk behind him and Richard scrambled to keep from dropping the cup. “Ha!” yelled Uncle Wen, “Assam tea which is not the right thing and English Breakfast will be sorry he didn’t listen to Uncle. But…customer is correct, of course.”
He noticed the little green cup that Richard was holding and his eyes narrowed, his amused expression turned satisfied. “Ahh, the jade teacups. English Breakfast has very good taste. Very pretty and stone not change the flavor of tea.”
Jon made a face, “Richard, you’re not seriously going to buy those, are you?”
He hadn’t been. The thought hadn’t even crossed his mind. But when he looked back at the shopkeeper, the old man raised an eyebrow and folded his arms across his chest in a clear challenge. Richard was intrigued despite himself. This visit to the little tea shop was the most interesting thing to happen in an age. It would be unforgivable to back out at this point.
“How much?” Richard asked picking up the second cup while Jon made an inarticulate outraged noise behind him.
The old man named an outrageous sum without batting an eye…because of the fine quality of the stone of course. Richard was so amused by the whole exchange that he didn’t even bother to negotiate. A fact that Jon harassed him about later.
“Richard! How long will you have to live in Hong Kong before you understand that you have to bargain for everything!? It’s not just that you’re being overcharged. The shopkeepers will lose respect for you if you don’t. They ENJOY it!”
Richard shrugged and checked the time on his pocket watch. “It was too much trouble. Besides, he was too funny.”
Jon was so surprised that he actually stopped in his tracks and had to run to catch up again. “Funny!? Funny!? That rude old man?”
“He was just tweaking your nose, Jon, and you walked right into it,” Richard said easily, “It was much more entertaining than having to go to the Chinese Opera with the Admiral’s family and cheaper. I consider it money very satisfactorily spent.”
“You’re mad. Absolutely raving.” Jon told his friend. “You’d best go back to your sheep and…sheep…back in England. Hong Kong has clearly addled your brain. It’s too much for you.”
Richard elbowed him in a friendly way. “Come on, let’s get going. We’re late enough for dinner as it is.”
See, The plot's changed completely. No more ghost story, no AU Hong Kong, and thankyougodthankyouthankyou no feng shui or I Ching. My first main character was a sad Mary Sue that wasn't even INTERESTING. Which is extremely sad in a Mary Sue. But I am keeping main character #2 from AU Hong Kong. And so I'm keeping everything I wrote with him before I decided to change everything. Which is to say, that a lot of things that I set up here have to change, but I just don't have time to do it. Like, Richard doesn't have an office in the same building that Zhong (Jon) does, and the jade cups and later dream sequence stuff have ABSOLUTELY NOTHING TO DO WITH THE ACTUAL PLOT.
Which, is now about thieves and detectives in Victorian Hong Kong. It's kind of like my version of Ninja Pirates.
But yeah,
Chapter Four:
Richard finished the report he was working on and signed his name to the bottom. He sighed and looked out at the window. The sun was setting over Kowloon, casting a brilliant orange light over the hills. Past time to finish for the day then. His household was probably holding dinner, he thought with regret.
There was a knock at the door and he signed again. If it were the Governor he might be kept even longer. The man had no concept of life outside of the political necessities that drove the colony. “Enter.”
The door opened, but it wasn’t George, it was Fan Zhong, “Jon,” to the governor’s staff, one of the translators and cultural experts. Most of the staff couldn’t be bothered to pick up more than the barest minimum of Chinese, so Jon was a godsend. Richard didn’t think most of them knew there was even more type of Chinese.
“Jon, what keeps you here so late? You should have gone home hours ago.”
The Chinese man sighed, “The governor handed me a report from Beijing an hour before closing. You know how most people think, that it should be as simple as copying out for someone who speaks both languages. But it takes so much longer. Which word is better? Is this an English idiom which expresses the same thing?”
Richard hid a smile behind his hand. “Let me guess, you’d like me to go over it to check your English.”
Jon pulled the folded papers from the breast pocket of his coat. “If you would be so kind, I know it is just as long a day for you.”
“No, no. It’s no trouble. Don’t even think of it.” Richard spread the papers out on his blotter to examine them while Jon made tea for the both of them. “Is it all right to mark on these?” Richard asked.
“Please do. I’ll have to copy them out again later at any rate. Richard where do you keep the rest of your tea leaves? All I see is the Earl Grey.”
“That’s all I have,” Richard said absently correcting the spelling of ‘foreboding.’
“Criminal. I should bring you up a bit of the pu’erh my aunt sent me last week.”
“That would be lovely. I haven’t had time to make it to the shops to replenish my stores yet.”
“And a Richard without tea is not a Richard I care to know.” Jon handed a willowware cup to him. “I believe you take the black tea plain?”
“That’s right.” Richard crossed out ‘to’ and wrote ‘at.’ “It’s a shame that you had to spend so much time on this translation. I can’t imagine that the governor is going to pay very much attention to it.”
“Any mail from Beijing is likely to be ignored unless it’s about concessions. Word from the Emperor’s soothsayer is not likely to make much of an impression.”
“Even if it’s a warning.”
Jon sighed, “Especially if it is a warning. The governor does not have much respect for the mysticism of my people.”
Privately Richard agreed with the governor on that point, but he held his tongue. He didn’t much hold with any sort of mysticism, Chinese or otherwise. But you had to pay attention to the mob, and if the mob believed in superstition and omen, they could make it become the truth. He frowned. “Do you think that the mainland is prepared to do anything to…hmm…instigate this warning?”
Jon snorted. “They’re so disorganized themselves that I doubt they’d know what to do if Hong Kong was delivered to them on a dim sum cart. No, I think that the warning is sincere. They can’t afford any more destabilization in the area.”
Richard frowned at the paper again. “They’re predicting that the city will ‘be reduced to a gray shadow’ within the month. If they want us to do something about it, shouldn’t they give us more specific information? Or advice on what to do about it?”
Jon yawned and smiled, “Richard, you’re in China now. You have to let go of these British ideas of yours.”
He sniffed dramatically in an imitation of Governor George. “We’re here to bring civilization to you savages, you know. You should be adopting our ideas.”
“The British never pay attention to their history lessons. Read the Annals my friend. China has been conquered more times than there are stars in the sky. But always we turn our conquerors into Chinese themselves. It is the only worthy thing to aspire to.” He eyed Richard’s sandy hair with a disapproving eye, “Though I think turning you into a civilized Han is quite impossible.”
Richard handed the papers with his corrections back to Jon. “I think it is time for both of us to stop for the night. I am tired and you’ve ceased to make sense. Come on and get your coat. My staff is going to be angry enough as it is waiting on dinner so long. I might as well bring a guest.”
“Because I know you so well, I will not even attempt to be polite by making an empty refusal. Will we be having civilized food or your bland barbarian concoctions?”
“No idea. It will be a surprise to both of us.”
Richard pulled on his overcoat and placed his hat firmly on his head. As much as he’d grown to lover the sprawling little colony, he couldn’t quite give up the trappings of his homeland.
The two men walked down to the Star Ferry Harbor in the shadow of the tall Bank of China skyscraper. It was an eyesore on the pristine city, and everything felt that much greyer around it, as if it radiated greed, harshness and insincerity. Richard was glad to be away from it and heading back to his little house in Kowloon.
Most of the other officials lived on the island itself, clustered near the top of Victoria Peak. Richard felt nothing but respect for the Queen, but he wanted to be as close to the reality of China as possible and not merely recreating his old life here among other British expatriates. That and the ride on the steep tracks of the Peak Trolley always left him feeling a little queasy.
“We ought to stop in the Fook Ming Tong Shop,” Jon told him, “They’ve opened up a new store in Tsim Sha Tsui. You could get replenishments for your tea caddy. I believe they’re open quite late.”
Richard knew that he was already keeping his staff waiting, but Tsim Sha Tsui was on their way, and really it would only take him a few minutes to restock. Then he wouldn’t have to drink the swill that the capital building bought just because it was cheap.
The shop may have been new, but the building it had taken over felt ancient, which was ridiculous. Nothing in Hong Kong was ancient. But the building was built from dark woods and the glass was yellowed like old parchment. They went inside and found a veritable museum of tea and tea apparatus. The walls were lined with shelves all the way up to the ceiling, crowded with canisters with labels in spidery Chinese calligraphy. Written underneath that were subtitles in English, though even a native speaker would have trouble working out terms like Flowery Orange Pekoe, Extra Choisest, Fannings, Tippy, First Flush, Second Flush and all the other words that made up the unique language of tea.
An old man stood behind a high marble countertop, adding small bits of dried orange peel to a blend of tea leaves in precise measurements. He was thin and stork like with a great shock of white hair trying to escape from his head. He squinted from behind wire rimmed spectacles as he measured out the blend. Without looking up from his tools ye yelled out in Chinese in such a way that Richard suspected he might be going deaf and was too proud to admit it.
Jon said, “He says he’ll be with us in a minute, just to let him finish this very important task first.”
That didn’t bother Richard a bit. He was too absorbed in reading the tea canisters on the wall and forming a mental shopping list. It was only right to get a little something from each ‘family’ of tea, green, black, oolong, and white. He was just pondering whether it would be better to get a scented tea to round up or an herbal when the man straightened up from his work.
Paying attention to his customer for the first time, the man shouted in English. “Welcome to Fook Ming Tong Tea Shop! We get you all fixed up.” He squinted up at Richard. “English Breakfast!” he yelled and slammed his hand down on the countertop.”
“I…what? No!” Richard was entirely nonplussed.
The little old man took off his spectacles and scrubbed them with the edge of his shirt and peered up at Richard again. “Well it’s not Irish Breakfast, the hair all wrong.”
“I am British, but I don’t want to buy English Breakfast.”
“Then what DO you want?”
“Assam! No blend, just plain assam tea…please.” Richard paused, “And some gunpowder green.” He was embarrassingly aware of how his voice was edging towards higher registers.
“All right. But it’s a mistake. English Breakfast blend for you I think.”
Jon cut in in exasperation, “He doesn’t want English Breakfast, Grandfather. Believe me, this customer knows his tea, and if he says he wants assam, just wrap it up. It’s late and we need our dinner.”
The old man snorted. “No patience. No patience for their elders or the wiser.” He eyed Jon in such a way that indicated squirrels may be wiser than he was. “Fine, Uncle Wen gives up. The customer gets what he wants even if what he wants is wrong. Aiiya!” he threw his hands up in the air.
Now that his attention was focused on someone else, Richard started to find this highly entertaining. The old man came out from behind the counter carrying a small step stool, tottering exaggeratingly slowly as he headed for one of the shelves.
Jon huffed, “Grandfather, just tell us which canister and we’ll get it down for you.”
Uncle Wen smacked his hand away, “Uncle is no invalid! I will do it myself.” Then he smacked Jon on the back of the head for good measure. Richard got the feelignt hat the little old man was enjoying himself immensely. Richard rocked back on his heels and grinned. This was the funniest thing to happen all week.
Jon and the old man descended into squabbling in Cantonese, and Richard knew his brain wouldn’t be able to keep up with it tonight. So he glanced around the room, breathing in the rich earthy smell of the tea when something caught his eye.
On one set of shelves were a variety of tea accessories, all arranged very prettily. Tiny Yixing teapots of rich red pottery and fragile willowware teacups that were probably made in Portsmouth butted up against each other. But it was a flash of green that caught his eye. Two smallish teacups, Chinese style with no handles. He thought at first that they were a type of glass, like a gin bottle. But peppered across the surgace were splotches and veins of darker green, and flashy bits that looked like mica. He picked one of them up and twirled it between his hands. It was so clear he could see the shape of his fingers through them.
There was a loud thunk behind him and Richard scrambled to keep from dropping the cup. “Ha!” yelled Uncle Wen, “Assam tea which is not the right thing and English Breakfast will be sorry he didn’t listen to Uncle. But…customer is correct, of course.”
He noticed the little green cup that Richard was holding and his eyes narrowed, his amused expression turned satisfied. “Ahh, the jade teacups. English Breakfast has very good taste. Very pretty and stone not change the flavor of tea.”
Jon made a face, “Richard, you’re not seriously going to buy those, are you?”
He hadn’t been. The thought hadn’t even crossed his mind. But when he looked back at the shopkeeper, the old man raised an eyebrow and folded his arms across his chest in a clear challenge. Richard was intrigued despite himself. This visit to the little tea shop was the most interesting thing to happen in an age. It would be unforgivable to back out at this point.
“How much?” Richard asked picking up the second cup while Jon made an inarticulate outraged noise behind him.
The old man named an outrageous sum without batting an eye…because of the fine quality of the stone of course. Richard was so amused by the whole exchange that he didn’t even bother to negotiate. A fact that Jon harassed him about later.
“Richard! How long will you have to live in Hong Kong before you understand that you have to bargain for everything!? It’s not just that you’re being overcharged. The shopkeepers will lose respect for you if you don’t. They ENJOY it!”
Richard shrugged and checked the time on his pocket watch. “It was too much trouble. Besides, he was too funny.”
Jon was so surprised that he actually stopped in his tracks and had to run to catch up again. “Funny!? Funny!? That rude old man?”
“He was just tweaking your nose, Jon, and you walked right into it,” Richard said easily, “It was much more entertaining than having to go to the Chinese Opera with the Admiral’s family and cheaper. I consider it money very satisfactorily spent.”
“You’re mad. Absolutely raving.” Jon told his friend. “You’d best go back to your sheep and…sheep…back in England. Hong Kong has clearly addled your brain. It’s too much for you.”
Richard elbowed him in a friendly way. “Come on, let’s get going. We’re late enough for dinner as it is.”
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2006-11-14 08:11 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-11-14 08:37 pm (UTC)I hope I'm not doing anything too badly. I want to rewrite this someday so that it's actually coherent and at least somewhat plausible. But right now I'm going off of the memory of a three day trip there, a Lonely Planet guidebook and some information from Wikipedia.
no subject
Date: 2006-11-14 08:43 pm (UTC)