Chinese Cinderella and the Secret Dragon Society Read online

  PUFFIN BOOKS

  Chinese Cinderella and the

  Secret Dragon Society

  Adeline Yen Mah’s family considered her to be bad luck because her mother died giving birth to her. They discriminated against her and made her feel unwanted all her life. After the death of her stepmother in 1990, she felt compelled to give up her career as a physician to write her life story. Her adult memoir, Falling Leaves, was published in 1997 and became an international bestseller. Then, in 1998, Adeline wrote an autobiography for children in response to the many letters she received from young people who also felt unloved and unwanted. The result, Chinese Cinderella, is the true story of Adeline’s childhood, and has become a much-loved book for children all over the world.

  As a child, Adeline loved reading and writing and whenever things were bad she would write stories in order to escape from the tyranny of her stepmother and cruelty of her siblings. Chinese Cinderella and the Secret Dragon Society is based on one of the exciting World War II stories that she wrote to amuse herself and her schoolfriends.

  Adeline is a full-time writer and lives in California, USA, with her husband. She spends the summer months in London.

  Books by Adeline Yen Mah

  For adults

  FALLING LEAVES

  A THOUSAND PIECES OF GOLD

  WATCHING THE TREE

  For children

  CHINESE CINDERELLA

  CHINESE CINDERELLA AND THE SECRET

  DRAGON SOCIETY

  www.adelineyenmah.com

  Chinese

  Cinderella

  AND THE

  Secret Dragon

  Society

  Adeline Yen Mah

  Bestselling author of Chinese Cinderella

  PUFFIN

  PUFFIN BOOKS

  Published by the Penguin Group

  Penguin Books Ltd, 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  Penguin Group (USA), Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA

  Penguin Books Australia Ltd, 250 Camberwell Road, Camberwell, Victoria 3124, Australia

  Penguin Books Canada Ltd, 10 Alcorn Avenue, Toronto, Ontario, Canada M4V 3B2

  Penguin Books India (P) Ltd, 11 Community Centre, Panchsheel Park, New Delhi – 110 017, India

  Penguin Group (NZ), cnr Airborne and Rosedale Roads, Albany, Auckland 1310, New Zealand

  Penguin Books (South Afiica) (Pty) Ltd, 24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank 2196, South Africa

  Penguin Books Ltd, Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  www.penguin.com

  First published 2004

  8

  Text copyright © Adeline Yen Mah, 2004

  Illustrations copyright © Fred van Deelen, 2004

  All rights reserved

  The moral right of the author and illustrator has been asserted

  Except in the United States of America, this book is sold subject to die condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser

  British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

  ISBN: 978-0-14-192828-9

  This book is dedicated to my childhood friend Wu Chun-mei and to all the children who enjoyed reading Chinese Cinderella, especially those who are orphaned, unwanted and have nobody to turn to.

  I feel a great sense of responsibility towards those children who wrote to me after reading my books. Adults and children read for different reasons and in different ways. Adults read for entertainment and relaxation. Children read to learn about life. I remember very well the books I read as a child and their effect on me. Nothing in my adult life could ever equate to the thrill and excitement I felt while reading The Little Princess when I was ten. It is estimated that children (on an average) read only about 500 books before the age of twelve. However, as a child grows into adulthood and old age, no other books will ever affect them so deeply again. I wish to thank those children who have written to tell me that reading Chinese Cinderella has changed their lives. You have no idea how much that means to me!

  Acknowledgements

  A big thank you to Erica Wagner of Allen & Unwin and Helen Levene of Puffin Books. I also want to acknowledge my agent, Jonny Geller, and his able assistant, Doug Keane, for their support and enthusiasm.

  This book could not have been written without the love of my wonderful husband, Bob.

  Contents

  Author’s Note

  Map of China

  Map of Shanghai

  Chapter 1. The Boy Acrobats

  Chapter 2. The Chinese Zodiac

  Chapter 3. Abandoned and Homeless

  Chapter 4. New Friends

  Chapter 5. Martial Arts Academy

  Chapter 6. Kung Fu

  Chapter 7. Poster from Marat’s Big Brother

  Chapter 8. Letter from Big Aunt

  Chapter 9. Life at the Martial Arts Academy

  Chapter 10. Yi jing: The Book of Magic

  Chapter 11. The Password

  Chapter 12. The Mission

  Chapter 13. Chuchow Airfields

  Chapter 14. Nan Tian Island

  Chapter 15. The Japanese Paratrooper

  Chapter 16. The Monster

  Chapter 17. Master Wu’s Pet

  Chapter 18. Escape to the Mainland

  Chapter 19. A Visitor from Home

  Chapter 20. Running Away

  Chapter 21. Rescue Plans

  Chapter 22. Last Letters

  Chapter 23. The Future Belongs to Us

  Historical Note

  The Chinese Zodiac

  Glossary of Chinese Words

  Bibliography

  Author’s Note

  During my lonely childhood in Shanghai, books were my only companions. I remember vividly the first book my Aunt Baba read to me when I was three years old. It was colourful and loosely bound like a stack of flash cards. Each detachable page had a picture of an animal on the front and the appropriate Chinese character on the back. This book was special because my aunt had bought it just for me. Even after more than half a century, I can still hear the timbre of her voice, see the life-like, detailed drawings and feel the warmth and comfort of her lap as she introduced me to the world of the written word.

  Later, at primary school in Shanghai during the 1940s, Aunt Baba subscribed to a portable library run by an elderly, scholarly looking bookseller. His movable stall was in a public park that I visited on my way to or from school. Tattered paperback kung fu novels were displayed on wooden racks resembling window shutters. For fifty cents, paid in advance by Aunt Baba, I could borrow five books per week.

  The characters in these novels became more real to me than my family at home. They inspired me to write kung fu novels of my own, incorporating stories from my teachers and classmates; especially my best friend, Wu Chun-mei, who liked nothing better than going to the movies. Although I could never accept her invitations, she always entertained me with summaries of the films she had seen.

  One of the movies she related from beginning to end was Thirty Seconds Over Tokyo starring Spencer Tracy and Van Johnson. It was based on a true incident during World War II. Japan had invaded China and occupied many Chinese provinces along the coast. On 7 December 1941, Japan bombed Pearl Harbor in Honolulu. In retaliation, American planes carried out a bombing raid on four Japanese cities four months later. The US pilots flew on to Chin
a after the raid, planning to land in an area controlled by Chinese troops. Unfortunately, they ran out of fuel and some planes were forced to crash-land in Japanese-occupied territory. A few airmen were caught, but the majority escaped into western China with the help of the local Chinese people.

  I spent an entire weekend writing a novella based on that movie and titled it The Ruptured Duck. I remember getting up at dawn on Sunday morning in the dark in order to finish. I held a flashlight in my left hand while writing with my right so as not to disturb my aunt, who was still sleeping. When I finally scribbled ‘The End’ seventeen hours later, I was filled with a tremendous sense of accomplishment and euphoria. I told my aunt that I’d rather write than do anything else.

  ‘Why do you like it so much?’ Aunt Baba asked.

  ‘Because I’m free to say anything I wish and nobody can stop me. More than that, I write because I must! It drives away everything that makes me sad. I can invent my own world and make it a beautiful place.’

  Back at school I showed The Ruptured Duck to Wu Chun-mei. She insisted on sharing it with everyone else. It thrilled me to see my writing being fought over by my classmates. My manuscript was passed from desk to desk until our teacher confiscated it.

  After the publication of my first children’s book, Chinese Cinderella, I received many letters from young readers asking for kung fu stories similar to the ones I used to write as a child.

  This book is modelled on The Ruptured Duck. To my surprise, many of the feelings I had as a child-writer came back as I sat in front of my computer. My imagination transported me to the same magical land I used to roam as a ten-year-old where the rules were always fair and anything was possible.

  Let me emphasize that the heroine CC is a fictional character whom I invented. Although there are similarities, this book is not an autobiography and CC is not me. CC never existed in real life. Unlike my mother, CC’s mother did not die in childbirth. CC was an only child whereas I had four brothers and two sisters. CC’s aunt lived separately in her own apartment. CC was a secret agent who was being trained in kung fu. I never had that privilege.

  But now let’s roll back the clock and pretend you are Wu Chun-mei and I’m Yen Jun-ling. We are friends at Sheng Xin Primary School in Shanghai and I am showing you my latest story, inspired by the movie Thirty Seconds Over Tokyo. I’d love to know what you think of it! You can write a review and email it to me at www.adelineyenmah.com.

  1

  The Boy Acrobats

  It was a sunny afternoon in early spring when I set off after school to Big Aunt’s place for my daily English lesson. I was thinking of a kung fu novel I was reading about a warrior monk with an iron hand as I hopped off the tram near the Du Mei Gardens, opposite my aunt’s flat.

  The sounds of a bamboo flute drifted on the air with the heady fragrance of lilac blossoms. I looked around to see three boys, wearing colourful satin costumes with matching caps of red, blue and green, rounding a rhododendron bush into the park. I knew Big Aunt would worry if I was late, but I couldn’t resist following them.

  A large crowd was milling around the music pavilion and an elderly woman signalled to the boys to hurry. Soon they were twisting, jumping and performing somersaults, all under the direction of the woman. The crowd gasped as one of the boys threw a bright red apple high into the air while his companion shot a dart from a sling and pierced it. I squeezed through the crowd. The boys were so lithe, strong and graceful; I couldn’t take my eyes off them as they leapt and danced and caught each other, their wavy dark hair flopping into their faces.

  One of the taller boys lay down on a wooden bench. I could see his chest rising and falling as he caught his breath. The shortest boy balanced a series of stools on his outstretched feet, one by one, higher and higher. Finally, the flute player climbed on to the highest stool. Nonchalantly, he began to play a tune I recognized as one that my father sang when he was in a good mood. As the music reached a crescendo, the boy lying down suddenly kicked his heavy load up into the air. Deftly, the woman caught the falling stools, while the flute player somersaulted back to the stage. He grinned and started to play a new tune.

  The crowd burst into applause and I couldn’t help clapping too. The smallest boy now appeared on a unicycle, darting around the stage as his companions tied a thick rope between two high platforms. When the rope was taut the boy carried his unicycle to the top of a platform and balanced it carefully. I held my breath. Now he was riding his unicycle across the rope suspended high above the ground, bobbing his head in time to the music. The flute player followed, playing his instrument, and then the tall boy sprang on to the rope, juggling coloured balls as he went. When the unicyclist climbed down from the platform he nodded at me and winked before putting on his glasses. I blushed because I knew he had seen me watching him with my mouth open!

  The show continued with magic tricks – the boys making cards and coins disappear and then pulling them out of hats, shirts and pockets. They laughed and joked while the audience cheered and clapped. Then the flute player approached the audience with his cap, asking for contributions. When he came to me I was embarrassed. I looked down at my feet and muttered that I had no money.

  ‘Did you enjoy the performance?’ he asked, smiling.

  ‘Yes! Very, very much! This is the best show I’ve ever seen!’ I didn’t tell him that it was the only show I’d ever watched in my life.

  ‘Did you say that you have no money?’

  ‘That’s right! Not a single cent! I wish I had some to give you. Your show was great!’

  ‘But you do have money!’ he said. Then he pulled a coin out of my right ear, held it to the light, inspected it, and dropped it into his hat. As the audience clapped, he pulled something else out of my other ear and held it to the sun. It was a business card.

  ‘Hello! Hello! What have we here?’ he exclaimed, as he waved the card in the air and pretended to examine it. ‘All sorts of hidden treasures are coming out of your head via your ears! Your mother must have forgotten to wash them this morning!’ He smiled and handed me the card. The audience roared.

  ‘Keep it!’ he said. ‘One never knows. You might need our help one day.’ Then he moved on.

  I looked at the card, which read:

  LONG XIA HUI

  Dragon Society of Wandering Knights

  Martial Arts Academy

  Plaza in Du Mei Gardens

  and

  2200 Avenue Petain, Shanghai

  We help the oppressed and downtrodden.

  We show the Too (way) to those who are lost.

  Martial Arts. Judo. Karate. Boxing. Kickboxing. Acrobatics.

  Chinese Classics. Poetry. Calligraphy. Brush Painting. Music.

  I read the card over and over, and put it in my pocket. What did it mean, Long Xia Hui (), Dragon Society of Wandering Knights? Who were these people? I crossed the road to Big Aunt’s apartment, fingering the card and wondering what it would be like to be a student at the Martial Arts Academy. I wanted to learn to do somersaults and walk across tightropes like the three boy acrobats. Would they teach me?

  I was bursting with excitement when I rang Big Aunt’s bell, dying to tell her about the performance I had just seen. But she was not alone.

  ‘Where have you been? I was worried sick about you…’ she said, her gentle face looking strained.

  ‘Sorry! I was watching an acrobatic show in the park…’ I stopped when I saw there was a man in her sitting room. He was powerfully built and wore a black jacket with a mandarin collar.

  ‘Let me introduce you,’ Big Aunt said in her polite voice. ‘This is my niece, Ye Xian (). And this is Master CY Wu ) who has just returned to Shanghai after visiting his family in Nan Tian. He and I are from the same island. We’ve been friends since kindergarten but he has been away in America. Master Wu tells me that my godmother Grandma Liu () broke her leg last week and is asking for me. I am taking the train to Nan Tian Island, Nan Tian Dao () first thing tomorrow morning.’

/>   I smiled feebly at the stranger sitting on the couch and he nodded his head in acknowledgement. I was annoyed. Afternoons were supposed to be my time alone with Big Aunt. Every day after school, she and I would talk in English for half an hour. Then she’d show me different characters, which I had to translate into English. If I got them right, she would reward me with a sesame pancake or pork dumpling. Big Aunt was a fabulous cook, but obviously there wouldn’t be any lessons or treats today. In addition to that, she was leaving for Nan Tian in the morning and I knew I’d miss her terribly while she was away.

  Master Wu looked like a professional athlete. The muscles of his upper arms bulged under his long-sleeved jacket. Every gesture he made suggested coordination, power and agility. He smiled at me.

  Big Aunt could see that I was put out. ‘Master Wu is an expert in kung fu. I said I’d give him painting lessons and he will teach me self-defence.’ A warm look passed between them. I got up and muttered that I ought to be going.

  ‘Don’t go yet!’ Big Aunt said. ‘Master Wu’s English is actually better than mine. He moved to California with his uncle when he was eight and lived there for a long time before he came back to China. How about the three of us have a conversation in English today? Will you begin, Master Wu?’

  ‘OK!’ Master Wu agreed amiably. ‘Since we are speaking English, I think your niece should first be given an English name.’

  ‘What do you suggest?’ Big Aunt asked Master Wu.

  ‘Your aunt tells me that your mother died when you were five years old,’ Master Wu said to me. ‘Have you heard of the Cinderella story?’

  ‘Of course!’ I said.

  ‘But do you know that the Cinderella story was printed in China during the Tang dynasty and first came out twelve hundred years ago?’ Master Wu asked. ‘The little girl in the Chinese version has the same surname as you: Ye. Your given name is also the same: Xian. Amazing, isn’t it?’