After leaving Mr. Lung's home, we followed up on speaking with Mr. Mao, the man he had directed us to. It was not a long journey to the Shanghai Museum of History - and what a museum it was! The vast collection of artifacts from every era of Chinese history, the wealth of knowledge, the pricelessness of it all. It astounded even me, being in the archaeological field as long as I have. Though, I don't believe the others were quite as enthused as I was, or for the same reasons - Muuzaji in particular kept looking about as if she were trying to determine how much she could steal and get away with. Just another reason not to trust her kind or those in her profession.
After being led upstairs to Mr. Mao's office by the receptionist, we were invited to speak. Mr. Mao was a friendly, likable man, but could only give us a little information about the Order of the Bloated Woman, the wretched slant-eyed savages that they were. The Order is apparently a very old cult, and was thought to be all but wiped out by the Qin Dynasty. They had a reputation for violence and depraved acts of sexual congress, and believed their goddess was an aspect of a certain chaos deity, the name of which has been lost to time according to Mao. There were a few attempts at resurgence in later Dynastic periods, however these were supposedly quashed so that no remaining Order members were left, and the cult was believed to have been disbanded.
Admittedly, Mr. Mao did not have much information on the Order, but he knew someone who did - a Mr. Mu Hsein. Apparently he was a respected scholar, and had several books on such an obscure topic. Giving us the address for the man, and offering us resources in the future if we needed them, we thanked him for his time and left. Our travel was via rickshaw, a mode of transport we had since become accustomed to. Of course, Francis was paranoid, and wouldn't get in right away.
"Lemmie just take a look at your face," the American murmured, and the driver raised an eyebrow quizzically. It must have sounded absolutely insane. Then again, I'm surely the only sensible person in this group by now aside from Mei-lin - Muuzaji is paranoid and not to be trusted, Mahmoud is out of his element, and Francis is jumping at shadows. Either way, once Francis was sure the driver had a face to speak of, he got into the rickshaw and off we went, into the old parts of Shanghai where Mr. Mu had residence.
The ethnic areas of Shanghai are little more than slums, really. The place smells of livestock and is awash with loud noises of thousands of people, and I am fairly certain I saw dogs in cages waiting for slaughter - dogs, of all things! Half-naked toddlers ran about barefoot and untended on roads of unpaved dirt, a man slaughtered a chicken on a surely quite unsanitary wooden table by the roadside, and the claustrophobic closeness of the buildings began to grate on me as we walked towards a weathered door in an alleyway. I certainly will be grateful to escape Shanghai and return to my native France when all of this is over with!
The man who answered the door was a wizened figure, likely about 80, though he looked much older. His eyes were dark, but kind, scrutinizing his visitors as he spoke in soft, flawless English. We of course stated our intent to Mr. Mu, and he seemed happy to invite us inside to answer our questions, but his joy quickly turned to concern as we explained we needed information about the Order. Then, he moved with remarkable speed for an elderly man, shutting and locking the door behind us and motioning for us to enter the library.
Such a home! It was decorated finely, and took up the entire first floor of the building. A cozy but lovely dining area, a small bathroom, a bedroom, and beyond these the vast library of a scholar. Bookshelves up to the ceiling adorned each wall, a modest desk strewn with papers and ornate scrolls rested in the center, and a variety of chairs and small tables were present for guests. It seemed impossible that such a small apartment as this could hold such a wealth of knowledge, but if it is anything I am learning from my time here in Shanghai, it is not to trust appearances.
Mr. Mu sat us down, and proceeded to explain much of the same that Mr. Mao explained, with a few key difference. First, he said, the cult was still very much active, and very much responsible for certain recent killings around the area. Their calling card was to sever the arms of their victims, which they offered to their goddess - the Goddess of the Black Fan, or Bloated Woman as she was sometimes known - as a token sacrifice. Mr. Mu had been studying the cult's actions and history for quite some time, and had been translating a newly discovered set of scrolls for the Shanghai Museum of History that explained much about the subject. These scrolls, the Seven Cryptical Books, were apparently found in a recently excavated tomb of an unknown Han Dynasty nobleman, written in classical Chinese.
Mu had translated up to the fourth book, and was halfway through the fifth when he learned what he had, and one piece in particular bothered him - there was a prophecy amongst Order members that stated they would eventually bring their goddess to earth by somehow "rending the sky" to let her into our world, and that a year after this occurred, great misfortune would spread across the land. Mu was concerned there was more to this prophecy than met the eye, though he had read in the scrolls that there may be some way to prevent this. He didn't know what, considering he had not gotten that far yet, but felt confident he'd have the information in a week if we so desired it.
It was at this point Mr. Mu explained we could not visit him again, as it would be dangerous for all of us. Giving us a false name and a location to leave messages at (a teahouse, naturally), he sent us on our way, with little ceremony. Perhaps you truly cannot take the rudeness out of a China-man, even if he is a scholar...
-- Dr. Laurent Gauthier, Archaeologist (23 May, 1928)
That does it. You're not allowed to write the journal entries anymore.
-- Francis McCloud, Frustrated With A Certain Someone (May 23rd, 1928)