Nanshi, and all the industrial roads south of the French Concession—taken.
Hongkou, the narrow strip of land surrounded on three sides by the International Settlement—taken.
Wusong, jammed amid ports leading into the Huangpu and Yangtze Rivers—taken.
East Shanghai—taken.
West Shanghai—taken.
Zhabei, where the workers were most densely populated of all—taken, though their fight with the White Flowers had lasted through the night. When morning broke, whispers flew through the city to report that the White Flowers had at last relinquished, slinking into their homes with broken bones and letting the streets take a different ruler. By six o’clock, Shanghai was quiet, occupied by the workers.
Officers had been ousted out of police stations, call centers raided and trashed, rail stations bombed to render them ineffective. The web of connections that powered Shanghai had been snipped at every juncture point save for inside the French Concession and International Settlement, which the foreigners now guarded with chain-link fences and barbed wire to keep the Nationalists out. In the Chinese parts of the city, there was no such thing as Scarlet-controlled or White Flower–controlled territory anymore. For a fleeting moment, it had seemed that Shanghai was some malleable place, humming with the possibility to grow anew. Then the Nationalist armies marched in and the workers gave way, letting the soldiers take over. Now everywhere they looked, there were Nationalist soldiers stationed along the streets, the city under occupation.
The most outrageous thing was, these few days had still passed as normal. Though the clubs were closed, though the restaurants were closed, though the city was ghostlike in its stillness as it waited for the next political move, her parents acted like nothing was wrong. Private dinners hosted at the mansion went on, albeit with more Nationalists present. Private parties went on, albeit with more Nationalists present.
And funerals went on, albeit with more Nationalists present.
“. . . may he go on to the next life peacefully.”
It didn’t make sense. The blackmailer was still out there. Unless Juliette had been utterly mistaken this whole time, the blackmailer had to be aligned with the Communists in some way. Yet in this crucial moment, why hadn’t the monsters come out? Why not fight the Nationalist Army off with madness?
“Juliette,” Kathleen whispered. “Now you’re the one twitching.”
Juliette shot her cousin a quick glance, conveying her annoyance. In the same motion, she caught sight of three Nationalist soldiers to their left, eyeing her.
The Communists’ fight was a long one, Lord Cai had said after the takeover. Their fight encompassed not just this city but the whole country. Why would they upset their alliance with the Kuomintang so soon? Why wouldn’t they pretend that all this rebellion and bloodshed had been a joint matter of sticking it to the imperialists, of taking Shanghai back under the control of a true unified government, and bide their time for class revolution? Would it not be sensible to revolt against the Kuomintang only when they actually had a true army alike to the Nationalists? Red rags and anger could not stand up against soldiers and academy training.
Lord Cai had sounded convincing. He had not sounded one bit worried. Their whole city had just been overturned by a force so mighty, and he cared not? Their entire way of life was at a standstill, waiting to see how the Nationalists would organize their rule, how the Nationalists would come to an agreement with the foreigners, and Lord Cai was content to stand by and let it happen?
It was unlikely. Juliette wondered what she was missing.
“If all who wish to speak have spoken, then let us bid Cai Tailei a safe passage away.”
The priest stepped aside, gesturing for the relatives nearest to him to begin saying their goodbyes. Each person in the cemetery today clutched a flower in their hands: a faded pink, for though it was customary to use white for mourning, the Scarlet Gang would never use white flowers under any occasion.
Lady Cai stepped up and tossed her flower into the grave. The casket already lay inside, closed, as shiny as the headstone. Once the procession finished, the grave would be closed with dirt and laid softly with new grass.
Juliette clenched her fists tight, nodding as her mother motioned for her to go on. How fortunate it was that she was a modern girl who did not believe in the afterlife. Otherwise, she would certainly burn in hell for this.
“Oh, Juliette.” Lady Cai brushed her daughter’s face as she passed. “Don’t look so somber. Death is not the end. Your dear cousin performed tremendous feats in his time alive.”
“Did he?” Juliette said softly. There was no challenge in her voice. It would be foolish to voice resentment now, when she was standing and Tyler was dead.
“Of course,” Lady Cai reassured her, taking her daughter’s monotony for grief. She clutched Juliette’s hands, holding them steady. “He made the Scarlets proud. He stopped at nothing to protect us.”
He should never have had the power to do so. We should not have the power to do this. And yet it was all a lost cause, wasn’t it? If it were not the Scarlets stopping at nothing to consume the city, it was someone else.
“I will go pay my respects,” Juliette rasped, swallowing every bitter word that she wanted to throw in her mother’s face.
Lady Cai smiled, and with a squeeze on their enjoined fingers, stepped back to let Juliette proceed. For the briefest moment, Juliette imagined what her mother would say if she knew—knew what blood had once tarnished her palms, knew what blood was running traitorous inside Juliette’s veins.
Perhaps there was a possibility that she might be forgiven.
But mercy and blood feuds had never mixed well together.
Juliette approached the grave, peering down at the casket. There was already an abundance of flowers scattered upon the smooth wooden lid.
“Maybe you would have made a better heir, Tyler,” Juliette whispered, crouching to throw her flower in. When it landed, its petals appeared far paler than the others. “But I have a feeling the title is soon going to be rendered null.”
Once, Juliette could never have considered a future without the Scarlet Gang—a future where they were not in power. That was before a monster tore through their numbers, before a madness incited revolution. That was before politicians marched their armies in and filled the streets with their artillery.
Once, she had wanted power. But beneath it all, maybe it was never power she wanted.
Maybe it was safety.
Maybe there was another way to get it, away from being heir to a crumbling empire.
Juliette rose to her feet. Her hands felt clawlike, still folded over an invisible flower. Someone was coming up behind her and it was time to take her leave, but for a second longer, she hovered around Tyler’s headstone, committing its features to memory.
“I’m sorry,” she said, her voice so quiet she could be heard only by herself . . . and Tyler, wherever he was. “If there is a life after this, one that is free of the blood feud, I hope we can be friends.”
Juliette slipped away from the funeral after-activities without notice, tipping her hat low and falling out of step with her relatives once they exited the cemetery. Kathleen quirked a brow in her direction, but Juliette shook her head, and Kathleen merely looked to the front of the footpath again, pretending not to see. The Scarlets walked onward in the direction of their parked cars, and Juliette pivoted onto a smaller street, melding deeper into what was once Scarlet territory.