From: klingley@ksg1.harvard.edu (Kate A. Lingley) Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: New Author: "Old Jade, New Jade" 1/5 - jade1.txt [01/01] Date: 13 Feb 1996 14:34:35 GMT Old Jade, New Jade 1/5 by Kate Lingley klingley@ksg1.harvard.edu DISCLAIMER: All the characters, settings and premises of the television show "X-Files" are the property of Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen Productions, and Fox Broadcasting Co. The characters of Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, and Walter Skinner are used with respect and affection but without permission, and no copyright infringement is intended. The characters of Corinne Yee, Man-hsiao Chiang, and Lucky Fong are my own creations. If you like them well enough to want to use them, please let me know first. Thanks. AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is my first fanfic. I have been wildly impressed with the level of creativity to be found on this group. I would be honored if some of you writers out there found the time to send me comments on the following. I am particularly interested in comments having to do with the writer's craft, although any sort of feedback is also welcome. Part of the reason I wrote this was to get back into the habit of writing fiction, which I love to do but had laid aside for a while. In the feedback department, all honor and glory goes to my good friend and fellow X-phile Mindy Eakin, for all her consultation, close readings and opinion on this piece. As a reward of sorts, Mindy makes a cameo appearance later on in the story, in the fictional job she'd like best to have; watch for her! ******************************************* Monday, August 19, 1996 Another summer day dawned sticky with humidity as the sun beat down on the gritty cloud of exhaust and smog that hovered over the sweating city. From Arlington to Baltimore, those not blessed with air conditioning opened shaded windows to try to capture the last breath of morning coolness. Coffee pots began to fill across the city, cats stretched irritably and moved into shadier spots, early morning commuters stepped reluctantly out of their cool showers and into business clothes already prickling with sweat. Another week began in Washington. FBI Special Agent Dana Scully pushed open the door of the basement office she shared with her partner, Agent Fox Mulder, mentally cursing the inventor of the summer suit and wishing the FBI would institute casual dress days. The darkened office gave the impression of coolness, but only for a moment, as she set down her computer case and armful of file folders and realized that the air was as still and damp inside as outside, and only marginally less hot. Mulder sat with his back to the door, gray suit jacket thrown over the back of a chair, sleeves rolled up and tie loosened, silently watching the changing images his slide projector threw across the wall. The hypnotic rhythm drew Scully in as a series of unfamiliar artifacts followed each other in turn: a perforated disk, carved from a gleaming cream-colored stone; a dull white clay oil lamp in the shape of a fantastic bird; a green jade monkey with a long, hooked tail; a bronze disk with a knob in the middle, inlaid with swirling patterns in gold; a human figure pieced together from small rectangular pieces of green jade. Mulder lingered on this last image, and Scully found herself admiring its workmanship. The archaeologist's meter rule placed by the side of the recumbent figure told her that it was more or less life-size. The entire surface of the figure was covered in rectangular jade tiles about one by two inches, tapered and shaped masterfully where the parts of the body fit together. On closer examination, it could be seen that the tiles were joined at the corners with copper or golden wire. The face was simply indicated by a triangular nose and almond-shaped eye pieces, and the hands and feet by mittens and boots of jade; otherwise the figure appeared to be wearing a simple tunic and trousers made of jade tiles, and was finished with a perforated disk covering the crown of the head. The simple opulence of the figure, the flawless gleam of thousands of green jade tiles, took her breath away. "Look, Scully, he's wearing a jade jockstrap." "A what?" Scully, jolted from her reverie, was momentarily nonplussed. "This is the burial suit of Prince Liu Sheng of the Han Dynasty, unearthed in China in the early seventies. It's the most elaborate jade object found in a tomb of the period. The prince was actually sewn up into this suit for burial, in the hopes that it would keep his body from corrupting. Every bit of him was covered with jade -- including, as you can see, the important parts." On second examination, at the juncture of the figure's legs, a jade cylinder capped with a plain disk could be seen beneath the tunic's edge. "I guess they must have wanted him to arrive in the underworld with all his equipment intact," Scully responded absently, privately trying to decide whether or not this was an improvement over Mulder's "nonexistent" collection of adult videos. "Or maybe it was meant as a deterrent to grave robbers." "Mulder?" "Well, maybe when they came to the burial chamber and saw what a stud muffin he'd been, they'd be so impressed they would forget about what they came for." Scully raised an eyebrow and folded her arms. "Mulder, if you're trying to tell me that Debbie Does Dallas has been replaced in your affections by the Asian collection from the National Gallery, you've got a lot of convincing ahead of you. Otherwise, this has got to be some new case you've ferreted out from somewhere. 'Fess up." Mulder cracked a sunflower seed between his teeth and flashed her a rakish grin. "Scully, you know where my affections lie. Besides, this one came straight down from Skinner. A small gallery of Asian art down by the Capitol reported several jade artifacts stolen this morning. The D.C. police think this one might be connected with a local Cantonese gangster named Lucky Fong." "He's the one they suspect is running boatloads of illegal immigrants in from China, right?" "He's suspected of a lot more than that. According to the D.C. police, he's got his fingers in a lot of pies -- heroin and opium imports from the Golden Triangle, small arms trading with the Burmese, illegal sweatshops, and possible corruption of city councillors. He's also better than his nickname. If you thought Reagan had a Teflon image, you haven't seen anything yet. Officially, our friend Lucky is nothing more than a prosperous restaurateur and fundraiser for the Chinatown Civic Organization. He's president of the local Cantonese charity, too. He was responsible for collecting the funds for that new school that was just built, he's lobbied City Hall for the establishment of a community center for Chinese senior citizens, and he set up a health insurance pool for newly arrived and unemployed immigrants. Lucky Fong will be extremely hard to catch." Mulder switched off the slide projector and flicked on the light. "Sounds like that's a mixed blessing, at least as far as the Chinatown community is concerned. Why does anyone think it's him?" inquired Scully, blinking in the sudden fluorescent glare. "It hardly seems like someone who's involved in running guns to Burma is going to waste his time breaking into art galleries. Or is he in the market for a new line of business?" "Well, no one's implying he was the one involved. But one of the things he's well known for is his adherence to traditional Chinese practices, especially those having to do with luck. And the three jades that are missing from the gallery were not particularly valuable, or even particularly high-quality. Any normal art thief would have walked off with the more valuable pieces in the collection -- very early jades, like the ones I was looking at, or gilt-bronze pieces. The stolen items were all late Ch'ing dynasty good-luck charms, less than two hundred years old." Mulder ran a hand through his unruly brown hair, which in the humidity of Washington in August had developed a life of its own. "So they might have been stolen by some associate of his as a gift for the boss? Perhaps even with his knowledge or consent?" Scully gazed at the agency file photograph of Lucky Fong. "Are there any actual leads or is this just wishful thinking on the part of the Washington police force? Why is this a federal case anyway? I can imagine the D.C. police would be glad to have us shut him down for whatever reason, but it looks like they're just passing the buck." "There's no direct evidence linking Fong to the case. In fact, there's no direct evidence linking *anyone* to the case. I'm guessing that's why they called on us. The gallery owners found the shop securely locked and the alarm system still armed. The policemen who investigated the break-in found no evidence of entry or exit at all." "Nothing at all? Mulder, there must have been something." "The only evidence to suggest the jades had ever been there was a single fingerprint on a glass shelf where they had been. There are no matches in any of the databases. It's as if the jades were somehow...spirited away." Mulder grinned wickedly. "Mulder, if you try to tell me little green men..." "Gray men." Scully rolled her eyes. "Right, sorry, little *gray* men are stealing Chinese jade trinkets from locked art galleries in our nation's capital... then I've got some architecture to sell you." 10:30 a.m., Monday, August 19 Chiang and Yee Gallery Washington, D.C. Mulder and Scully paused before the graceful Art Nouveau storefront to admire a set of brightly carved and painted Indonesian masks, ranged in riotous color around a single, spare, white Noh mask from Japan. The almost featureless serenity of the Japanese carving provided a quiet counterpoint to the brilliant exuberance of feathers and fangs and bulging eyes. Mulder knocked briskly on the curving spray of wooden lilies that adorned the shop's door. "Open Tuesday-Saturday 10:00-6:00," read a meticulously hand-lettered sign on the oval-shaped glass pane. "Closed Sunday and Monday." The door opened to reveal a sturdy Chinese woman in her early thirties, dressed in jeans and a plain red T-shirt, her luxuriant black hair now pulled back into a braid and covered sensibly by a baseball cap bearing the legend, "I climbed the Great Wall of China." She regarded the two agents warily. "Ms. Corinne Yee?" Mulder flashed his ID badge as the woman nodded, slowly. "I'm Agent Mulder from the FBI, and this is my partner, Agent Scully." "Come in, come in," called a heavily accented voice from the back of the shop. "That policeman tell me you are coming." A cheerfully rotund Chinese man with an unruly shock of white hair beckoned from behind an ornate redwood desk carved with dragons and phoenixes. "I'm Man-hsiao Chiang, but everybody call me Manny." His tanned, wrinkled face creased with silent laughter, and his black eyes snapped. "You here to investigate our ghostly sneak thief." "Your--" Scully raised an eyebrow. "Mr. Chiang, I think we have a few other possibilities to rule out before we decide that a ghost is stealing your jades." Agent Mulder smiled as Scully's other eyebrow joined its fellow. "Whatever you say, Agent Mulder. You want tea? You want to know about the break-in, you talk to my niece." Chiang disappeared around a corner of the shop. "You call me Manny!" came his voice from an inner office. Scully smiled at Corinne, who seemed quietly amused at her uncle's perpetual energy. "What can you tell us about this break-in, Ms. Yee?" "Have a seat, Agent Scully, Agent Mulder." Corinne gestured to a set of dark redwood chairs grouped around the desk. The desk itself stood in the angle of the L-shaped shop. From their seats the two agents could see, to the left, the door through which they'd entered and the well-lighted shop, with all manner of artifacts arranged in glass cases and on shelves on the walls. The gallery space continued around the corner to the agents' right, with a few pieces of antique furniture interspersed with the shelves and cases. A large mirror with an ornately carved Javanese wooden frame reflected the images of Yee and the seated agents. A door opened in the left-hand wall, leading evidently to an inner office sandwiched between the streetside display window and the rear wing of the store. A teakettle whistled urgently from within for a moment, and was silenced. "I left the gallery late last night, around eleven, and came in this morning about eight. We're closed today, but my uncle and I came in both yesterday and today to do some preservation work on a collection of Han dynasty and Warring States artifacts we acquired at auction on Saturday. There's not much to tell; I had no warning that there had been a break-in. The store was locked and the metal shutters undisturbed. The alarm system was still armed, and hadn't registered anything unusual. It was only when I came in and switched on the lights that I noticed the pieces were missing." "What alerted you to the fact they were missing? I understand they're relatively small pieces of jade." Tucking a stray piece of red hair behind her ear, Scully gazed around the shelves of miscellany, wondering how anyone would miss one or two objects among so many. "The other items surrounding them on the shelves had been disturbed. Some had even been knocked onto the floor. Fortunately, nothing was damaged. It was as if they'd been snatched by a particularly clumsy sneak thief, who knocked the neighboring items over in the process. The police officers who came took pictures of everything just as it was before I cleaned it up." "And yet there was no evidence of entry, and only one fingerprint on the glass," Mulder interjected. Chiang emerged from the inner office with a large lacquered tray bearing a magnificent octagonal blue-and-white teapot and a matching set of cups. Languorous swirls of steam rose from the teapot's spout as he set the tray gently on the desk. A delicately smoky fragrance wafted from the rich coppery liquid as he poured them each a cup. "Hope you like lapsang souchong. All out of green tea." "I can see you enjoy surrounding yourself with art objects, Mr. Chiang," remarked Scully. "That's a beautiful teapot." "Eighteen dollars, Pier One Imports. I also know when to spend money," grinned Chiang as the petite agent chuckled. "I did not make it to this country without learning what is important. Cheap teapot works just as well, but good tea is worth whatever you have to pay. How come they send out two F.B.I. agents for three little pieces of jade?" "Well, we've had some good luck in the past with unusual cases." Scully glanced cautiously at her partner, who regarded her with quiet amusement lighting his hazel eyes. "With no discernible entry or exit on the part of the thief, this qualifies as unusual." "It's strange that the thief took only Ch'ing dynasty jade carvings," mused Corinne, rising from her chair to wave a duster idly over a set of gilt-bronze Buddhas. "They were nowhere near the most valuable objects we have on display here -- in fact, they are fairly common." "Which may imply that the thief hoped to be able to resell them easily." "Not only that, he didn't even take all of the ones we have. Here, I'll show you a couple more of the same sort of thing." Corinne took a black plastic tray from a glass-fronted display case by the Javanese mirror. She selected a few small items and replaced the tray. "They're pretty things, but really nothing to get excited about." "Aiyah, less than two hundred years old, so not worth her time. I ask you, Corinne, what is wrong with pretty antiques?" Manny Chiang mock-scowled at his niece. "Nothing's *wrong* with them, Ah-Poh. I just don't find them very interesting when there are objects out there that can tell us so much more about history. If I want to know about the Ch'ing dynasty, there are a jillion books I can read, eyewitness accounts, even photographs." She drew a crumpled piece of deep blue velvet from the back of a cluttered desk drawer and laid the jades on it. "See, these are ornaments that would be hung from a lady's sash, or a gentleman's purse, or worn on a string round the neck." The two pieces had the same high luster as the jade suit Scully had been admiring earlier. One was an ornamental plaque of creamy white jade, pierced and carved into a lozenge-shaped design of twining arabesques, with a lotus blooming at the center. The other, smaller, carving depicted perfectly the tensed form of a crouching hare, head turned nervously over its shoulder, ready to spring away at the slightest sound. The hare was rendered in translucent jade of a rusty orange color. Corinne rubbed dust away from the crease of the hare's neck. "Go ahead, pick them up. Get a feel for the stone. Jade is one of the few materials that actually benefits from a lot of handling." "Why is that?" "Some would say because it cools the soul. Jades were often worn next to the skin for that reason. Of course, the prosaic reason is that it helps keep them from rusting." "Rusting?" Up went a Scully eyebrow again. "The two minerals, jadeite and nephrite, are lumped together under the common name of jade, although most Chinese jades are nephrite. Both are high in iron, which has a tendency to oxidize and create a dull concretion that spoils the appearance of the jade if it's left buried in a grave, for example, for a long time. But if you wear your jade next to your skin, or if you handle it regularly, the oils in your skin only add to the high polish of the stone. Not to mention protecting it from damage by oxidation. But that's the conservator in me talking. I'd secretly rather handle my jades often because they feel so wonderful. Still, as my uncle hinted, I won't lose too much sleep over the three that are missing. I'm just glad that's all they took. There's a whole tray of far more valuable and, to me, far more interesting objects in the office that remained untouched, all the things we bought at auction on Saturday." "Oh, yes, the objects you're working on now. Can you give us a tour?" The four moved into the inner office. The small, square, windowless room was dominated by a workbench against the far wall, on the other side of which was the display window and the street. A large sink in the far right corner, a desk against the right-hand wall, and another ornate redwood cabinet on the left behind the door left just enough room for Chiang, Yee, and the two agents. Bottles and jars of unidentifiable solvents and polishes were stacked on shelves above the workbench, along with paintbrushes, rolls of paper and chunks of styrofoam. A battered old teakettle sat on a hotplate on the desktop. Odd scraps of rice paper, covered with Chinese calligraphy, were pasted to the walls, along with a child's smeary ink drawing of an elephant, signed "MEI" in large, crooked capitals. Manny Chiang opened the cabinet and slid out a flat metal tray covered with a thick slab of styrofoam. Nestled in specially shaped niches in the styrofoam were several objects. Scully recognized some of them as being similar in type to the objects Mulder had been studying in their office. A stylized gilt bronze tiger with wonderful writhing stripes, a flat ornamental knob protruding from its belly, and a hooked tail; a flat bronze disk with a pierced central knob and inlaid designs of swirling clouds in gold; a small, plain black beaker of eggshell pottery, standing on three unbelievably slender legs; a chunky, squarish white jade carving in the shape of a roosting bird with a red crest; and a simple, unglazed terra-cotta figurine of a woman, about eighteen inches tall. All of the objects had the undeniable aura of great age, as if the dust of time should be sifting from them as they were set, one by one, on the desktop. Chiang settled himself behind the desk and picked up the tiger in one hand and the jade bird in the other. Looking for all the world like a cross between an irascible Buddha and an absent-minded professor, he held them both up to the light. "On the left a bronze belt hook from the Warring States period, maybe 600 B.C.E., and on the right a jade bird from a Shang burial, dated to around 1750 B.C.E." "B.C.E.?" inquired Mulder. "Before the Common Era," Chiang responded. "A compromise made by archaeologists. Not very meaningful to date early Chinese artifacts according to the birthdate of some rabbi two thousand years ago. On the other hand, at least everyone knows what date you mean. Anyway, you look at these two." Mulder and Scully found themselves comparing the sinuous lines of the tiger's body with the squat solidity of the bird. "Tiger may be more to our taste today. But this jade shows great mastery of carving, and great skill in depicting the bird with simplicity. The difference is influence of the steppe people, who introduced realistic animal art to the Chinese. Lot can change over a thousand years. But see how the jade carver makes use of the different colors of the stone." It was clear that the jade's natural variation in color had been used to great advantage by the artist in sculpting the bird's crest and tail. Chiang turned to the black beaker. "Oldest object we have here. Thought to be a wine cup, but no one knows for sure. Probably some ritual significance because the quality is so fine. This is from the Neolithic period, maybe as early as 3200 B.C.E." He passed the cup to Scully, who took it carefully with surgeon's hands. She was startled by its feather lightness and the fineness of the dull black glaze. "How could such a thing be so perfect after so long?" Scully wondered at her own question. "You feel the spirit of the thing, don't you?" Chiang gave her a sly glance. "You could be a connoiseur." Scully could feel Mulder's puzzled gaze on her back. She set the cup down with extreme care, fitting it gently into its foam cradle. Chiang indicated the terra-cotta figurine. "This one comes from a tomb. She is supposed to take the place of some lucky servant in the afterlife. She's from about 400 B.C.E. Much earlier, and the servant herself would be buried alive with her master. If master had enough money." Finally the white-haired antiquarian picked up the bronze disk by an incongruously new-looking white silk tassel attached to the knob in the center. The flat reverse surface had obviously once been polished to a flawless brightness, though it was now dull with disuse and spotted with greenish corrosion. "It's a mirror," observed Mulder. "A magic mirror," agreed the old man. "Made in the Han dynasty, around 150 B.C.E., for some amateur sorceror. Probably a part-time Taoist mystic. Wanted to talk to his ancestors. Very powerful device, this is." "Come on, Ah-Poh. It's just a fancy trinket for some rich lady who's been dead for thousands of years. She probably used it to put on her makeup. All that ancestor worship stuff was made up by Sung antiquarians a thousand years later." Corinne looked at the two agents almost apologetically. "There was a big groundswell of interest in ancient objects during the Sung. They just looked at all this old stuff and decided what it was for, based on old legends and things like that." "How do you know they're not right?" demanded Chiang. Evidently this was an argument they'd both been through before. "Sometimes they were, and sometimes they weren't. But we can't just assume the stories are true; without hard evidence from other sources, we have no way of knowing which ones are true, and which ones are spurious." Mulder and Scully exchanged glances. Something about this spirited banter had a familiar ring. Mulder's eye fell on the wall clock. "Whoa," he interjected. "Time sure flies when you're having fun. Thanks for the introduction to the shop, but I promised the police officer who answered your call that I'd drop by the station and pick up copies of his photographs. I presume you gave him pictures of the stolen items?" Corinne nodded. "Our insurance requires us to document everything that way. We keep the documentation... elsewhere." Mulder nodded appreciatively at her caution. "Here's my card, Ms. Yee... Mr. Chiang," Mulder handed them each a slip of pasteboard. "Call me if anything else unusual happens." "Are you expecting anything unusual to happen?" Corinne looked curious. "Well," said Mulder with a sly look at his partner, "in our business, you never know." =========================================================================== From: klingley@ksg1.harvard.edu (Kate A. Lingley) Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: New Author: "Old Jade, New Jade" 2/5 - jade2.txt [01/01] Date: 13 Feb 1996 14:35:22 GMT Old Jade, New Jade 2/5 by Kate Lingley klingley@ksg1.harvard.edu DISCLAIMER: All the characters, settings and premises of the television show "X-Files" are the property of Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen Productions, and Fox Broadcasting Co. The characters of Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, and Walter Skinner are used with respect and affection but without permission, and no copyright infringement is intended. The characters of Corinne Yee, Man-hsiao Chiang, and Lucky Fong are my own creations. If you like them well enough to want to use them, please let me know first. Thanks. ****************************************** 12:30 p.m. D.C. Police Station #9 "Craziest break-in I ever saw." D.C. Police Lieutenant Edgar Kowalny sifted through the tottering piles of file folders on his desk at the station. "Here you go -- photographs of the missing items. Heck, I woulda suspected those two at the gallery of looking for some extra money from the insurance agency... but the stuff that was stolen was hardly worth the effort of breaking in." "Can you tell us anything about the scene?" Scully asked, flipping idly through Kowalny's report and the photographs the officer had taken of several small bronze and ceramic incense burners lying on the carpeted floor of the gallery. "Anything... out of the ordinary... that you witnessed?" "What, you mean more out of the ordinary than a break-in with no sign of entry? Those Chinese gangsters, I'd heard they had some pretty heavy technology coming in from Hong Kong, but I didn't think they could walk through walls." He sipped his coffee absently, made a face and threw it away. "Cold already. No, just a couple of things knocked off the shelves. The only thing I saw was that one fingerprint -- here's a picture -- on a glass shelf about eye level. Almost as if someone had put their hand there to steady themself. You got your boys running that through the databases?" Scully had stopped off on the way out that morning to give a copy of the print to Agent Gloria Encinas, the FBI's resident fingerprinting expert. "In a manner of speaking." "Well, I don't envy you this case. Those mafia types are always one step ahead. Never leave a trail. For all we'll be able to tell, they probably *did* walk through the walls." Kowalny slapped his knee and gave a self-satisfied chuckle. "Give me a real live shoplifter any day." "To each his own, Officer Kowalny," said Mulder. "We'll be seeing you." The two agents returned to their car. Mulder recognized his partner's unusually brisk walk and businesslike expression and couldn't resist the temptation to needle her. "What's the matter, Scully? Can't get Officer Kowalny's charm and winning ways out of your head?" Scully gave him The Look out of ice-blue eyes. "I'll just have to hope that Lucky Fong can help me forget him, won't I?" Her cellular phone shrilled abruptly. "Scully." She listened for a moment, nodded once, twice; "All right. Thank you for the information." She flipped the phone closed and dropped it back into her purse. "Who was that, Scully, your secret informant?" "That was Eric Olsen from the office. Lucky Fong has an ironclad alibi for last night. He was videotaped by several local news stations speaking at the annual charity dinner for that insurance fund you told me about. He left in the mayor's car and the mayor himself, along with his chauffeur and his entire household staff, can vouch for the fact that Fong and his wife stayed at the mayor's house overnight and left after a leisurely breakfast this morning." "Well, that doesn't mean he didn't have a hand in there somewhere anyway," Mulder rejoined. "Maybe Kowalny was right, maybe they do have some technology from Hong Kong that allows them to walk through walls. Maybe Fong is a jade fetishist and just couldn't resist the temptation." "Maybe we should try to find some actual evidence before we try to corner Fong," returned Scully, a bit more petulantly than she'd meant to. "Sorry, Mulder, I didn't mean to snap. It's just that I can't figure out why they're wasting our time with this one. For all we know it could be the ghost of Chinese Gordon who's running off with these jades, but it doesn't matter because we'll never have any evidence to prove it, even to ourselves." Mulder grinned at Scully unrepentantly. "Since when have we ever let that stop us?" Scully folded her arms. "What do you mean *we*? Anyway, Fong is supposed to know everything about lucky charms," she continued. "I suppose we can ask him if he could tell us anything worth knowing about the missing objects." "Not only that," was Mulder's rejoinder, "the man makes a damn fine egg foo young." 1:30 p.m. Lucky's Chinese Restaurant, Chinatown Lucky's was decorated in what Scully liked to think of as Late Chinese Restaurant style: red and gold paper lanterns, elaborate, expensive plastic chandeliers and huge expanses of mirrored ceiling over metallic wallpaper, vintage 1972. She couldn't help comparing the loud clash of colors and the naugahyde booths to the quiet elegance of the objects they'd been examining earlier. An ornate red shelf stood just inside the door at eye level -- Mulder's eye level, anyway -- with a couple of gaudy wax statues, an orange, a vase of flowers, and a lighted oil lamp ranged on top. At least the air conditioning was in good shape. "Two for lunch?" asked a waiflike young girl in a red cheongsam. She was wearing too much makeup, and under it her face was thin and pale and her brows permanently half-knitted; but she had tucked a fresh white peony into her hair, and the light fragrance trailed after her as she turned toward the dining room. "Actually, we're here to see Mr. Fong," said Mulder. He let her catch a glimpse of his badge inside the front of his suit jacket. "We're with the F.B.I. Tell Mr. Fong we have a few questions we'd like to ask him." The young girl's eyes grew round and her face paled further under the paint. "OK... why don't you sit here and I will call him." She motioned toward the nearest booth. The dining room was about half full of D.C. office workers finishing their lunches. Red cheongsams threaded their way in and out of the white dress shirts and dark suits. Mulder leaned over to Scully. "Now we see how well our friend plays the honest businessman." "Mulder!" she hissed. "Don't convict the man before you meet him, especially in a case like this." "I hear you're looking for me?" Lucky Fong was a vigorous-looking older man, almost as tall as the lithe, broad-shouldered Mulder, and more solidly built, jet black hair salted with white at the temples above a broad, ruddy face and square jaw. He wore a quietly expensive gray suit, white shirt and conservative tie with an enormous diamond tie tack set in deep yellow gold. His hands sported a heavy plain gold wedding band and two matching pinky rings set with green jade ovals. "Mr. Fong? I'm Agent Dana Scully and this is my partner, Agent Mulder. We're with the FBI." Scully flashed her badge briefly. "We'd like to ask you some questions having to do with an investigation we're conducting." Fong's wary look was quickly hidden away behind a mask of bland good humor. "Of course. I've got some time. You eaten lunch yet?" "Actually, we were hoping to pick something up here," offered Scully. "Can you make a recommendation?" Fong rattled off a string of orders in Cantonese to the young girl, who responded with a single syllable and turned away for the kitchen. "Please, sit down," he gestured to the booth where they'd been waiting. He filled a teapot at a nearby waiters' station and placed a handleless cup in front of each of the agents, then joined them across the table. "Tell me what you think I can help you with." Scully began in her best I-am-an-FBI-agent tone. "Last night, three jade artifacts were stolen from the Chiang and Yee Gallery here in the city. The objects were stolen under somewhat... unusual circumstances: the thief took only these objects and left a number of more valuable items behind. We were wondering if you could tell us if there's anything that ties these objects together, any common thread that would give us a hint as to why someone took them." "I'm happy to help you, if I can," Fong replied, not bothering to disguise his relief, "but you know that I am a businessman, not an art expert. I don't imagine there's anything I'll be able to tell you that you haven't already heard." "Actually, Mr. Fong, we've heard all about what these objects were made for," Mulder rejoined. "What we were hoping you might be able to tell us is what kind of significance they might have to someone today. Why someone would run off with three jade ornaments of no particular value, leaving bronze and gold art objects behind in the process. You must know that you have a certain... reputation as an expert on Chinese traditions today." "You're very polite, Agent Mulder," laughed Fong. "My friends say I'm obsessed with good luck charms." "Well," Mulder looked around the busy restaurant, "it doesn't seem to be doing you any harm." "I like a man with an open mind." The restaurateur clapped Mulder genially on the shoulder as the young girl in the red cheongsam approached, followed by a waiter in black and white bearing a heavily laden tray. The waiter set the tray down and the girl placed five steaming covered dishes on the table. She set a plate and a pair of chopsticks at each place and removed the polished covers one by one. Mulder looked dubiously at the contents that were revealed. Tantalizing aromas assailed the agents' senses as steam rose from five completely unidentifiable dishes: shreds of a clear, colorless material with cucumber and egg and some sort of light dressing; wedges of what appeared to be hardboiled egg in which the white had been replaced by some translucent greenish-black substance; chunks of greenish-white meat in soup with a gelatinous black fungus; pickled slices of a lumpy, bulbous vegetable with hot peppers; and mixed mushrooms and white meat in a heavy brown sauce. "I'm going to introduce you to some real Chinese food," said Fong with a sly look at Mulder, who was obviously reconsidering how hungry he was. "Speaking of open mind. None of this stuff is on the English menu. You want the introductions now or later?" "We're professional investigators," returned Scully. "Why don't we look at the pictures we brought along and if we haven't figured it out by the time we're through, we'll let you do the honors." "You like the sense of adventure, huh?" laughed Fong, placing a sample of each dish on the agents' plates. Scully pulled a file folder out of her briefcase and laid it on the table. Corinne Yee had provided Kowalny with two photographs of each of the three stolen objects, taken from different angles. The first was a small but intricate sculpture of deep green jade in the shape of an overripe peach hanging from a leafy branch. The second was a boat-shaped object of lighter green stone, a few inches long, with four Chinese characters etched into it in a single column. The jade was bound around the rim with a narrow band of silver, and a silver loop at the top of the piece suggested it had once been worn as a pendant. The third object was a round disk about the size of a half dollar, so dark green as to be almost black, with a square hole in the center, carved with strange rounded characters in relief on both sides. "It looks as if your thief was in the market for some good luck himself," commented Fong, gazing at the photos. "These are all symbols of good fortune. The peach is a symbol of long life. The pendant is in the shape of an old-fashioned gold ingot, and the inscription reads 'Summon Wealth and Attract Treasure.' The third is a reproduction of an old Ch'ing dynasty bronze coin called a cash -- they were used in strings of a hundred. The inscription is Manchurian. The only reason I can think of for someone to produce a jade version is to use it to find trigrams." "Aren't those Hong Kong secret societies?" Mulder interjected. Fong laughed. "Those are *triads*. Trigrams are the symbols used for fortunetelling in the 'I Ching.'" "The Book of Changes." Scully looked up from her plate of food. "Exactly. You throw coins, or dice, or milfoil stalks, or whatever, which gives you a pattern of solid and broken lines, and then you're supposed to be able to tell your future from the commentary on the pattern you've received. Of course, the commentary was all written three thousand years ago, so the answers can be a little fuzzy, especially if you're looking for advice on whether to invest in a new computer or what to do with your blue-chip stocks." "Are there people who still rely on these things?" Mulder asked. "I can't picture some businessman basing his decisions on a book written so long ago." "Machiavelli is still a best-seller in the business world," Fong replied. "Sun-tzu's 'Art of War' is creeping up the list as well. And tossing coins is a time-honored method of making decisions. I don't think the I Ching is all that weird. Anyhow, it's often just an excuse to believe what you want to believe anyway." "That's pretty cynical for a man who's known for his luck. Don't you believe in any of this stuff?" Scully smiled. "I want to believe," said Fong. He closed his eyes for a moment, missing the glance that passed between the two agents. Suddenly he looked very tired. "But fifty years in business has taught me to cover my backside just in case." There was a brief silence. "Chinese ideas about luck haven't changed much over the past hundred years or so, especially among those of us who were fortunate enough to leave the homeland before 1949," Fong commented wryly. "These objects might be antiques, but I'd be willing to bet you could find similar objects in any Chinese jewelry store right here in D.C. Or hanging around the neck of any of my employees." Fong loosened his tie and unbuttoned his collar, drawing out a small green jade pendant on a red cord. The pendant was in the shape of a broad lozenge and scalloped around the bottom and sides, with a single character carved in high relief on the surface. "This shape represents the fungus of immortality. It's meant to keep me safe from harm." "Is that a modern piece?" Scully asked, leaning forward to see it more closely. "Not exactly," Fong replied with a note of sadness in his voice. "My mother gave it to me as she put me on the boat to Singapore in 1939. I was three years old. It was the last time I saw either of my parents." The two agents were silent for a long moment. "I'm sorry to hear that, Mr. Fong," said Scully softly. "We didn't mean to dig up old memories." "Don't worry, Agent Scully," said Fong, as the sadness slipped away from his face and was replaced by a look of gentle resignation. "I honor my parents by remembering them. That's why I burn incense for their souls every night. I also cook their dishes in my restaurant," he added with more spirit. "I was raised by my mother's sister, who taught me all the old village specialties. Go on, try. See if you can guess what this stuff is." Scully raised some shreds of transparent material in her chopsticks and contemplated them with interest. "Some sort of seafood, by the look," she said in her best clinical tones. She took a bite and chewed experimentally, then crunched vigorously. "It's tougher than I expected... almost crunchy. I like the sesame dressing." She swallowed and smiled. "But what did it *taste* like, Scully?" Mulder looked more dubious by the minute. "Taste? It doesn't taste like much of anything," she replied. "It takes on the flavor of the dressing." Mulder took a cautious mouthful. "I think I've had this before, actually," he said, "but I think it looked different. Is this jellyfish?" "One point for Agent Mulder," said Fong, applauding with a laugh. "Try one of these." He indicated a wedge of suspicious-looking egg. Mulder put one cautiously in his mouth and tried, unsuccessfully, to stifle his expression of distaste as he chewed and quickly swallowed. He drained his teacup in one swallow and spluttered, "What was *that*??!?" "A hundred-year-old egg," replied Fong, and Scully couldn't stifle a chuckle as Mulder's face fell. "They're not really a hundred years old. They turn that color because they're pickled in lime." "Umm... interesting flavor. I'll pass on the seconds." He scooped up a generous mouthful of the pickled vegetable. "Ah -- Agent Mulder --" Fong raised a hand to caution him, but Mulder had already swallowed. The Chinese man quickly poured him another cup of tea as sweat sprang out on Mulder's brow and his eyes started to water. "Agent Mulder, I should warn you that those pickled mustard stems are quite spicy." "They're excellent," said Scully, nibbling delicately on a single slice. "But you gave that one away. What about the soup? Turtle, I presume." "Yes, that one's not too hard. The mushrooms are called 'tree ears.'" "And --" Scully took a bite of the mushroom mixture. "Chicken?" "Not quite. Agent Mulder?" "It must be pork, then," he said, chewing thoughtfully. "I could get used to this one." "Actually," said Fong with a smile, "it's a vegetarian dish. Buddhist monks in China, who were not permitted to eat meat, eventually developed a complex cuisine based on using tofu and mushrooms to imitate pretty much any sort of meat a person could wish for. You'd be amazed at some of the 'imitations' they can produce. It's an entire branch of Chinese cuisine that most Westerners never have the chance to enjoy." "Well, thank you for introducing us to a few new experiences, Mr. Fong," replied Scully, draining her teacup. "You've given us some things to think about, and not only in the food department." "I'm sorry I can't tell you anything more than what little I know," said the restaurateur, rising from the booth to show them out. "I know people say all sorts of things about me; I... find myself wanting to counter that image." Mulder reached for his wallet. "What do we owe you for lunch?" Fong waved his hands dismissively. "Don't worry about it. What's the good of owning a restaurant if you can't treat people to a meal? Come back and try some more dishes some other time." "Thank you. It's been a real pleasure meeting you, Mr. Fong," said Scully warmly, shaking the man's hand. "The pleasure is entirely mine, Agent Scully, Agent Mulder. Or as we Chinese like to say, 'Don't be polite.' I hope we see you again soon." =========================================================================== From: klingley@ksg1.harvard.edu (Kate A. Lingley) Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: New Author: "Old Jade, New Jade" 3/5 - jade3.txt [01/01] Date: 13 Feb 1996 14:35:59 GMT Old Jade, New Jade 3/5 by Kate Lingley klingley@ksg1.harvard.edu DISCLAIMER: All the characters, settings and premises of the television show "X-Files" are the property of Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen Productions, and Fox Broadcasting Co. The characters of Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, and Walter Skinner are used with respect and affection but without permission, and no copyright infringement is intended. The characters of Corinne Yee, Man-hsiao Chiang, and Lucky Fong are my own creations. If you like them well enough to want to use them, please let me know first. Thanks. ********************************************** 4:30 p.m. FBI Headquarters Dana Scully sat back in her chair with a sigh, took off her glasses, mopped her brow with a handkerchief, and ran both hands through her shoulder-length hair. On the other side of the office, a laser printer whirred into life, as the last of several overdue case reports began to print out. "Tired, Scully?" Mulder looked up from his own desktop, cluttered with papers, used napkins, coffee cups and sunflower seed hulls. "Tired, hot and annoyed. I know I sometimes spend too much time looking for scientific proof and logical explanations, but I've been turning over this latest case in my head all afternoon, and I don't even begin to see any connections. When we knew that Fong had an alibi, I thought he at least might be able to help us find some reason why someone would steal those jades." "Well, he was able to tell us the significance of the designs." "Do you know, Mulder, I looked through his file this afternoon. There's a lot of 'suspected of' this and 'known for' that, but I can't find a shred of real evidence linking him to drugs, illegal immigration, or arms dealing. I mean, he's no saint: he's been fined for building violations and late taxes; but I had thought that maybe we were assigned to this case in hopes that we would nail him on a smaller charge, since he hadn't been caught on greater charges. But there's just no proof of any of it. What if he's not even a gangster? Why the hell should they want to nail a prosperous businessman, and a fairly civic-minded one at that, just so they could pin him with charges for which the only evidence is conjectural?" "Maybe they know something we don't know?" "I don't know, Mulder. I think we're wasting our time." She rose from her chair and stuffed the completed printout into a file folder. "I'm going to run these up to Skinner. I'll be back in a minute." ******************************************** "Looking forward to quitting time, Agent Scully?" The Assistant Director's secretary, a round, dimpled young woman with auburn hair just a shade darker than Scully's, pushed up her wire-rimmed glasses and smiled cheerfully. "You look like you could use a tall, cold glass of something or other. What's up?" "Hi, Mindy," said Scully wearily. "Ever have one of those days when you feel like a dog chasing its tail -- and you can't even catch it? I've got some reports for Skinner. Is he in?" "Go on in," she replied with a look of knowing sympathy. "I don't think he's busy -- and the air is blissfully smoke-free today." Scully gave the younger woman a smile of appreciation. "Thanks." She knocked lightly and stuck her head around the A.D.'s door. "Sir?" Walter Skinner half-turned from where he stood gazing out his office window, lost in some private reverie. "Agent Scully. Come in." The broad-shouldered man in the dark suit moved like someone half his age, with an easy, athletic grace. As he turned away from the window, his cleanly curving back and long legs were thrown into relief by the slanting afternoon sunlight. He replaced his glasses on the bridge of his nose, raising his eyebrows in mild inquiry. "I hope I'm not bothering you," Scully said, stepping into the room with her armload of file folders. "I just thought I'd come up and drop these off myself." "Thank you, Agent Scully." He smiled at her lopsidedly, as if still lost in the world of his own contemplation; and even that wry half-smile warmed the too-often sombre lines of his face. Scully placed the reports on a corner of Skinner's desk, turned to leave, and then hesitated, trying to find a way to frame the question she wanted to ask. Skinner caught her eyes with his own. "Is there anything else, Agent Scully?" His expression was half-expectant, half-wary. Scully thought of all the times she and her partner had thought the A.D. was working against them, and how glad they'd been of his behind-the-scenes support when they discovered they had it. They'd given him much more trouble -- along with many more successes -- than he'd bargained for over the years. "It's about this art theft case. I... I'm just not sure why we've been assigned to it. I'm not even sure why anyone's bothering to investigate. There's just not a shred of evidence. A single untraceable fingerprint and three jades of no particular value missing from a gallery. A local businessman suspected of everything and connected to nothing. There's not even any sign of break-in at the gallery. I'm getting ready to close the case for lack of evidence." "Well, Agent Scully, if you haven't found any evidence, then you should use your own judgement on whether to keep the case open. You should know by now that I trust you on that score." "Yes, sir... but..." Scully took the plunge. "Sir, why did you send us this one in the first place? Do you know something we don't know? Who on earth would break into an art gallery, steal three good-luck charms, and leave with hardly a trace?" "Fox fairies, perhaps?" Skinner gave her that half-smile again. Scully looked at the A.D. in disbelief. "Fox fairies? Sir, is this some kind of a joke?" "No joke, Agent Scully." Skinner regarded her for a long moment, and then appeared to arrive at a decision. He moved to close the door of his office. "Sit down and let me tell you a story." He leaned back in his desk chair, hands behind his head, gazing distantly into space. "I don't know if Agent Mulder told you about a conversation we had while you were... gone." He glanced at her. Scully looked down soberly at her hands in her lap. "No, sir. You had a conversation about fox fairies?" Skinner chuckled. "The connection with Mulder's first name is purely coincidental. And I didn't tell him the part I'm going to tell you. You know that I was wounded in action in Vietnam." "Yes." "After coming uncomfortably close to death, I began my recovery in Saigon. Later, I was moved to a military hospital in Bangkok. And Thailand has a significant minority population of ethnic Chinese. The night nurse on our ward was a tiny old Chinese lady. "At the time, I was having trouble sleeping. She would come by on her rounds every night, and sometimes if she wasn't too busy she would sit by my bed and tell me old Chinese stories. Stories about murdered monks who returned from the dead; about how banana trees were haunted by the ghosts of women who'd died in childbirth. She told me about how a tiger who killed an old widow's only son was forced to serve her as a revered ancestor for the rest of its life. About how the ghost of a girl who committed suicide by jumping in a well was forced to haunt the edge of the well until she could lure someone into the waters to take her place. How wicked foxes took the shape of beautiful young men and women to seduce the unwary. And how the immoral and criminal and those who failed to make offerings to their ancestors were punished by Yama in the Ten Courts of Hell." Skinner smiled in reminiscence. "She scared the willies out of me more than once, but she did give me something to think about other than myself and my frustration at being confined to bed and unable to do anything for myself." "With all due respect, sir," said Scully carefully, "that's fascinating, but what does it have to do with our case?" "One of the stories tells of how fox spirits are able not only to turn themselves into the semblance of human beings, but also to travel through walls and float along without touching the ground. And how they love to torment their victims by making small objects fly around the room -- or disappear entirely." "Sir, you're not implying..." "I'm not implying anything, Agent Scully. That's Mulder's job. It's just that..." he sighed deeply, clearly troubled. "There was something about this case that set off alarm bells with me, and it had something to do with the Chinese connection. Something that just didn't add up. I can't put my finger on it, but I couldn't just let it go. And you two do have the highest solve rate of any of my agents." "Not to mention the most experience with things that seem to defy explanation." "Exactly. Agent Scully, if you've looked into this and you think there's nothing to it, I'm willing to take your word for it. I knew that the Fong angle was spurious from the start... There are those in City Hall who disapprove of his friendship with the Mayor, who would like to see him out of the way, and they have friends in the police. But there was still something about the case... I needed confirmation from another source." He looked straight into Scully's eyes. "I needed confirmation from you two that there wasn't anything to these connections my memory seemed to be making." "Well, sir, we'll hold onto it a few more days, but I really think that it's one big dead end." Scully smiled frankly at her superior. "But thank you for explaining it to me." She rose to go. "Sir?" The A.D.'s assistant put her head around the door and waved an envelope at her boss. "Here are those tickets you were waiting for." "Thanks, Mindy, I owe you one." Skinner jumped out of his chair and retrieved the envelope, patting his assistant on the shoulder. "Remind me to give you a raise sometime." "Sure. Fine. Whatever," laughed Mindy. "Have a good trip, sir." Skinner retrieved his coat and briefcase from his desk. "Agent Scully, I'm sorry to run off like this, but I have a plane to catch. I'll be back in tomorrow afternoon." "That's all right sir. I'll see you later." The two women watched him hurry away down the corridor. Mindy rolled her eyes. "Family business." "Family business?" asked Scully. "His favorite niece in South Carolina just had her first baby, and Uncle Walter has to be there for the christening." "Trust Skinner. See you later, Mindy." "Later, Scully. Give my love to that partner of yours." The redhead grinned wickedly. "Tell him how much fun he's missing by not taking me out on a date." Scully laughed at the old joke. "As always." Tuesday, August 20 Chiang and Yee Gallery 2:00 p.m. Mulder and Scully wandered into the gallery as Manny Chiao was just wrapping the Javanese mirror for a small, stout older woman with faintly blue-tinged hair. "Hello, you two," he proclaimed, having ushered his customer out the door. "Any new clues to our mystery?" "Remarkably little. There's hardly any place to start, so there aren't many places to go." Scully looked up from her contemplation of a serene stone Buddha's head. "Well, you know the old Chinese saying... Journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step." He smiled beatifically. "There's also an old Japanese saying: On a journey of a thousand miles, the ninety-ninth mile is the midpoint." Corinne emerged from the office, peeling off cotton gloves stained with solvents and fixatives. "I don't blame you. I'm ready to move on and forget about it too." "We thought we'd check back here with you before we close the case for lack of evidence. See if you'd thought of anything else, any reason someone might have to steal three jade charms." Mulder fingered a teapot carved of luminous red agate. "Mr. Chiang?" Scully's voice came from the back of the store. "Does this shelf have any significance?" The three others followed her gaze to the heavily ornamented red and gold shelf mounted at eye level. A graceful blue-and-white vase and a squat bronze incense burner on three legs stood on its otherwise empty surface. "We saw one like it at Lucky Fong's, but it was much more crowded with statues and things." "That? That shelf often used in south China as an altar. Sometimes it holds figurines of Po Kung, god of good fortune, or Kuan Yin the goddess of mercy, or might have the spirit tablets of the family's ancestors. Incense and paper money are burned before the tablets, supposed to provide for the welfare of your ancestors in the afterlife. In return they grant their descendants good fortune and long life." Chiang chuckled. "Well-being of the ancestors was sometimes the focus of religious life. People would sacrifice everything they own to see their parents properly buried. Chinese legend is full of stories like the son who carved meat from his own leg to feed his old parents in a famine." He wrinkled his nose in distaste. "You're obviously not an ancestor worshiper yourself," said Mulder. "No way," returned Chiang. "I'm with Lao-tzu. He thought the whole thing is a waste of time and money. Although," he continued, "I am interested in it as an antiquarian, since it was the earliest form of Chinese religion. Also, it has everything to do with how I got my name, and how I got related to Corinne." "How's that?" asked Scully with interest. "Well, I wasn't born a Chiang. I was born a Lin in Peking in 1919. I was orphaned very young and raised by a third cousin or something, and she always made sure I knew just how big a favor she was doing me. Those were some years of chaos. Last emperor was finished eight years before I was born. Then between the warlords and the Japanese and the Communists and the Nationalists, civil war was almost all the time. But I managed to get a little education from the missionary school, which is where I started learning English. Then I work as a junior clerk keeping the accounts in a Chinese drugstore run by Dr. Chiang. "Dr. and Mrs. Chiang had three little girls, and took me into the family almost like a son. Most apprentices sleep in the shop at night, but I had my own bed. 1938, Mrs. Chiang died giving birth to a son, and then few weeks later the baby died too. Next year, when I was twenty, Dr. Chiang legally adopted me. He renamed me Man-hsiao, which means 'Full of Filial Piety.'" "He changed your personal name?" asked Scully, curious. "Wasn't that a bit presumptuous?" "Actually, Chinese names were always more flexible than Western names. Every child has a 'milk-name,' used by the family. Right, Chia-Chia?" The normally reserved Corinne blushed furiously. "Ah-Poh!" she cried. "In case you hadn't noticed, I'm a grown-up now." "Later the child gets a 'school-name' for teachers and classmates. Then later, new names often chosen to suit changes in your position in life or profession. It was not so unusual for my father to rename me, especially because nobody can remember what my parents named me in the first place. The relative who raised me just called me Ah-Ti, this means 'little brother.' Dr. Chiang chose a name to suit my new place in life." "Which was?" Scully prompted. "To carry on the Chiang line. Very, very old Chinese saying goes, 'There are three ways to be unfilial, and the greatest of these is to be without issue.' Meaning male issue, of course. Three daughters didn't count for taking care of the Chiang ancestral line. They thought only a son could really satisfy the spirits." "And you agreed to take on this responsibility?" Mulder looked dubious. "Even though you didn't believe?" "Well, I was not so skeptical then as now," returned Chiang. "And it was an easy promise to make to Dr. Chiang. He always treated me like a son, give me a room of my own, and now was making me his heir. I owe him that much at least. He told me how his own father insisted his sons kowtow to him every time they addressed him. Dr. Chiang told me that wasn't his idea of filial piety. He treated me well, and I honor him for it. Besides, I thought I would just go through the motions for as long as the old man was around. How picky can these spirits be if they would be satisfied by an adopted son?" "And did you? Go through the motions, I mean." "In fact, I did, for another ten years; but we had to leave Peking when the fighting got fierce. We escaped south along the Grand Canal, as an itinerant doctor, his three daughters, and his assistant. But we made a mistake of being caught near Shanghai when the Communists came in 1949. Dr. Chiang walked into one of their camps to beg their 'People's Liberation Army' for food -- we were almost starving, and they had at least some rice. He was arrested and they accused him as a Nationalist spy, because he still wore a doctor's long robe instead of trousers like a good peasant, and his hands were soft. The commander executed him right there. We were hiding in the bushes nearby to watch him die." There was a long silence as Chiang sat lookng inward on fifty years of memories. He looked up with eyes still haunted by memory. "I grabbed the three girls and ran as far and fast as I can go. I knew --" His voice broke softly. "I thought there was nothing to do to save him. We run around the city of Shanghai and stowed away on a cargo ship for Hong Kong. It was one of the last to leave the city. In Hong Kong I saved enough as a pharmacist to bring the girls to Boston, where one of Dr. Chiang's sisters lives. She took them in and help me find work as a janitor at Boston Museum of Fine Arts." He smiled wryly. "After spending three years on the run from the war, I thought it was the best job I could have. That's where I first had interest in antiquities. Then, the girls grew up and get married, and one of them was Corinne's mother." He smiled warmly at his niece. "She is the youngest... My favorite little sister." "And you never revived the practices of ancestor worship that you'd been taught?" Mulder asked. "After I left China those things are only reminders of what I'd lost," the old man said sadly. "I couldn't think that it made any difference, if it had in the first place. I concentrated on being Ah-Poh -- that's 'uncle' -- to a bunch of little Chinese-American babies. One of them," he said with more spirit, "grew up as my esteemed business partner, with a fancy degree in Asian Art. She knows stuff about these artifacts that I never imagined." He clouted Corinne affectionately on the shoulder. "I have to," retorted Corinne good-naturedly. "Now that feng-shui and all that are being picked up by the New Age crowd." "What's feng-shui?" Scully inquired. "Geomancy," replied Corinne. "It's the practice of using the forces of the earth and nature to optimize your living space. Like, if your house is at a crossroads, your door should be off to the side of the house, because ghosts move in straight lines. Or if you can't manage that, you should place a mirror so that it reflects evil spirits back out the door. Sometimes you have to put in a fish tank in a certain location so the moving water will block a potential point of entry for devils. There are all sorts of rules. Geomancers in Hong Kong make huge amounts of money consulting for architectural firms. That woman who just bought the Javanese mirror wanted it to place at the end of her entrance hall to protect her bedroom from evil spirits." "Does it work?" Scully asked. "I think its efficacy is very much in the mind of the believer," said Chiang, "though I find the notion itself appealing. You'll notice I didn't mount that mirror facing the doorway." "Although," Mulder looked startled. "the jades disappeared only from the front area of the shop, in a straight line with the entrance. The ones stored around the corner, in view of the mirror, weren't touched." "So our thief is an earth demon?" said Chiang. "I very much doubt it." Scully, troubled, looked at the old man's disbelieving expression. All four jumped as a sudden clatter broke their reverie. A bundle of papers slid through the mail slot and thumped on the floor. Corinne went to retrieve it. "Mail call," she said cheerfully. "Bill, bill, magazine, advertisement, bill..." She trailed off. "Ah-Poh, you expecting a package?" She handed the older man a small bundle wrapped in white paper and tied with twine. Her uncle turned it over curiously. "This didn't come in the mail," said Scully. "There's no postage on it." "Wait, don't open it," said Mulder. "Let me see it." The urgency in his voice startled Chiang, and he handed the package over wordlessly. Mulder hefted the package, shook it, bent it and held it up to the light. "It doesn't look like anything suspicious -- except that it's addressed in Chinese only." He stared at the three characters. "It's my Chinese name. Must be from one of my old Chinese customers," said Chiang. "I don't recognize the handwriting, but this is wrapped Chinese-style in rice paper, and," he went on as he slipped the string off, "not glued or taped, just string. This was a common way of wrapping packages, exactly the way we used to package Chinese medicines at the pharmacy." He unfolded the layers of rustling paper. "Right down to a tissue lining. We --" He broke off as he paled slightly, staring nervously into the open nest of paper on the desktop. "Why would someone send me..." "What is it, Ah-Poh?" asked Corinne, her concern evident in her voice. She cautiously pulled back a corner of the paper to reveal a white silken cord nestling snakelike in its paper husk. "It's a piece of rope," said Scully bluntly. "Why would someone send you a piece of rope?" "I've never seen it done," began Chiang, "but heard of the practice before. In imperial times, a courtier or a general who failed his duties or been disgraced might be offered an honorable alternative to the public trial and execution. Emperor would simply send him a beautiful white silk rope to hang himself." Mulder and Scully exchanged glances. "Mr. Chiang, can you think of anyone who might have reason to do this? To send you this sort of veiled threat? Have you had any contacts with any of the local gang members, or had dealings with the underworld?" Chiang was visibly shaken. "If I did, I didn't know. I'm not active in Chinatown, and I stay away from those gangster types, especially because our business is very attractive to them -- lots of money can be easily transported in small but valuable artifacts. It's possible that someone who bought something here was a gangster, but we didn't know about it. Besides, I can't think this ... tradition ... is widely known among the Chinese gangsters. They are not very highly educated." "But they do tend to focus on Chinese traditions, isn't that true?" Mulder rejoined. Scully looked serious. "Mr. Chiang, can you provide us with a list of all your customers over the past few months? All the people who've been in and bought things, as well as anyone you think of as a 'regular'?" "Easy, sure." Chiang seemed glad to have something to do. He extracted a battered green accounts book from a desk drawer and began copying names onto a piece of paper. Mulder and Scully pored over the package, looking for clues, but there was no note, no return address, nothing to indicate the source of the gift. Scully let the silken cord run through her fingers. "Mulder, we'd better get this down to the office and have them check it for prints. Maybe we can identify the sender that way." She rose from her seat. "Here's the list. Business is slow recently, but there were a few large purchases; I wrote in the margin what they bought. Of course, there always people who just wander in and out." Chiang seemed calmer as he handed the paper to Scully. He looked her straight in the eye. "Maybe there's some way to find out who would do this. Who might try to send me a message this way, and what is the message. I hope you tell me if you figure something out." "Be assured, Mr. Chiang, you'll be the first to know." Mulder shook Chiang's hand and followed his red-haired partner out the door. "Please call us if anything else unusual happens." He met Chiang's troubled eyes one last time. "We'll figure out what's going on." =========================================================================== From: klingley@ksg1.harvard.edu (Kate A. Lingley) Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: New Author: "Old Jade, New Jade" 4/5 - jade4.txt [01/01] Date: 13 Feb 1996 14:36:32 GMT Old Jade, New Jade 4/5 by Kate Lingley klingley@ksg1.harvard.edu DISCLAIMER: All the characters, settings and premises of the television show "X-Files" are the property of Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen Productions, and Fox Broadcasting Co. The characters of Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, and Walter Skinner are used with respect and affection but without permission, and no copyright infringement is intended. The characters of Corinne Yee, Man-hsiao Chiang, and Lucky Fong are my own creations. If you like them well enough to want to use them, please let me know first. Thanks. *********************************************** Wednesday, August 21 FBI Headquarters 8:30 a.m. Fox Mulder munched thoughtfully on a cheese Danish and reviewed Agent Encinas' report on the rice-paper package. A few smudged prints had been found on the paper, but none were complete enough to provide the lab with any identification. The traces on Chiang and Yee's customers had so far not turned up any associations with the Chinese underworld, but not all the searches were complete yet. Meanwhile, he had been searching various sources for information on the use of the silk cord in Chinese gangster rituals, and found a fact that unsettled him. He knew that such gangs sometimes used Chinese tradition to ensure the loyalty of their members. One FBI sting operation that involved infiltration of San Francisco's gangs had resulted in the death of one of the undercover agents by strangling with a red silk cord. Was there something Chiang wasn't telling them? Was he perhaps secretly involved with the underworld after all? Or was some object in the gallery somehow coveted by one of these gangs? If so, why weren't they being more open about what they wanted? The tenuous connection -- a single untraceable fingerprint, a motive that remained mysterious -- left Mulder with a nagging sense that they were about to unearth an entirely new threat. Could it be that one of the violent international gangs from Hong Kong or Taiwan was beginning to move into the D.C. underworld? Mulder made a mental note to get in touch with the investigator from the San Francisco case. The uneasy eddy of his thoughts was interrupted by the rapid click of heels on tile and the entrance of his partner. "Morning, Mulder," she said, dropping her briefcase on her orderly desk and doffing her navy silk suit jacket. The day had dawned cool and foggy, and promised to be a welcome relief from the heat of the recent week, although the humidity was so high that Scully's usually smooth red hair was already springing away from her face in damp ringlets. "Breakfast? How out of character. What's the special occasion?" "Happy Wednesday, Scully," grinned Mulder, tossing her a waxed paper bag. She caught it in mid-air. "Raspberry? Boy, you sure know how to treat a girl." She smiled her thanks. "How realistic is the coffee this morning?" "Pretty convincing," replied Mulder. "If you drink it fast, you might just be fooled into believing it's the real thing." Scully poured two cups of what passed for coffee in their basement kingdom. She stirred cream into hers and was just handing one cup to Mulder when his phone rang. He reached for his desktop set out of habit before realizing it was his cell phone that was shrilling away. "Mulder." His eyes widened. "Corinne? Are you all right?" He listened for a minute more, and Scully could hear the distant, tinny sound of Corinne's voice from where she sat. Mulder nodded once, twice. "Yes... Yes, we'll be right there. No, don't call the police just yet. We're on our way." He disconnected the phone and met his partner's questioning gaze. "That was Corinne Yee. Manny Chiang is dead." 8:45 a.m. Chiang and Yee Gallery Mulder and Scully were met at the door of the gallery by a white-faced and trembling Corinne. "Where is he?" asked Scully. "In the inner office." Scully, her face a porcelain mask of cool medical efficiency, immediately disappeared around the corner of the gallery, snapping on a pair of latex gloves as she went. Mulder gently took Corinne's arm, guided her to a seat and sat down himself. "Corinne, can you tell me about what happened last night after we left, and what you found when you came this morning?" Corinne closed her eyes and took a long breath. "I... I left last night at about six. My uncle stayed on to work on that bronze mirror -- it's a tough restoration project. It's not unusual for one of us to stay late while the other goes home early, I thought nothing of it. I arrived here at about 8:30 this morning as usual, to find that, while the doors were locked, the metal shutters hadn't been closed and the alarm system had never been armed that night. It has a little screen where you can call up that sort of information..." Her eyes widened and she gulped back a half-sob. "There was nothing out of place in the gallery, except for that one vase." She pointed to the floor below the red offering shelf. The large blue-and-white vase that had stood there yesterday lay in shards on the tiled floor. "The lights in the inner office were on. I walked in, and there he was, and I knew he was... and I knew I had to call you," she finished, the upwelling tears brightening her black eyes. Mulder patted her hand where it lay limply on the tabletop. "Corinne, I'm going to go in there and have a look around. You stay right here, don't come in if you don't want to." Corinne nodded mutely, and Mulder followed Scully into the inner office. The room was almost undisturbed, little changed from what the two agents had seen on their first visit. Half-hidden in the footwell of the desk, Manny Chiao lay on his back in his upturned chair, his neck bloodied and bruised, face swollen and grotesquely purple, eyes bulging and sightless, arms flung wide. The bronze mirror with its white silk tassel lay forgotten on the desktop among a litter of picks and brushes and jars of solvent strewn haphazardly across the surface. Scully knelt by Chiao's head, gently turning it to examine the neck. "I'll have to get him to HQ to do the autopsy, of course, but the cause of death appears to be strangulation with a white silk cord." Mulder raised his eyebrows. "He took our mystery gangsters up on their suggestion? But we took the cord to the lab to be checked for prints." Scully looked up at him, then fingered the end of the stiffening, brown-stained cord around the neck of the corpse. "This is just like the one he received in the mail yesterday. But he could hardly strangle himself with it, by hand, sitting down. Mulder, Mr. Chiang was garrotted from behind." She pulled out her cell phone and began calling for police assistance and transport for the body. Mulder wandered back out into the gallery, where Corinne sat staring into space with a shellshocked expression. He knelt by the fragments of blue-and-white porcelain. Drawing on a latex glove, he began turning them over, holding them at an angle to the light in search of -- There! a fingerprint, curved ridges of oily residue left on the shining and flawless surface of the shard. He slipped it into an evidence bag. Turning over another large fragment, he caught a whiff of heavy floral scent. Lying among the broken pieces of ceramic was a single frangipani blossom with two glossy dark green leaves. "Corinne?" The grieving woman's head snapped back up and her eyes struggled to focus on Mulder's face. "Did you put this in the vase that fell?" He held up the flower. "No... no, I haven't seen it before." She took a deep breath. "I'm sure it was my uncle. He likes... liked to put flowers in some of our vases sometimes, although I never knew him to use tropical flowers. Usually he just bought a bouquet on the street, anything cheap and bright and," she drew in a tremulous breath, "cheerful." A police sedan pulled up to the curb outside the gallery, and behind it a transport for Manny Chiang's body. Two uniformed policemen entered the gallery, followed closely by a pair of medical officers. "Where's the stiff?" inquired one of the medics bluntly. Mulder shot him a warning look and jerked his head toward the inner room. The other returned to their vehicle for a stretcher. One of the police officers retrieved a camera from the back seat of the sedan, and the grim clean-up job began. In the corner of the gallery, Corinne Yee wept quietly. 11:30 a.m. F.B.I. Headquarters "Can I get you a cup of coffee, Ms. Yee?" The clerk who had taken Corinne's statement had been tactful and understanding, but the effort of reliving that awful morning was taking its toll. She had racked her brain time and again for any clues that might hint at why someone might have done this to her gentle uncle. She knew Agent Scully was downstairs performing the autopsy -- she winced inwardly at the thought of cold scalpels laying open his bent old body -- but she could hardly hope that it would provide any more information than had any of the other strange happenings in this nightmare of a week. Those events swirled around each other in her memory, each one hardly remarkable of itself, but together forming such a pattern of menace that she could hardly believe her own initial skepticism. And yet still no one knew what had set the maelstrom turning. Why had an 85-year-old antiquarian gone to his death, so violently and without warning? Corinne could hope only that the grave-eyed Agent Mulder and his coolly efficient partner could find the answers she wasn't sure she wanted to know. Elsewhere in the facility, Mulder was waiting outside the autopsy bay, listening -- but not looking -- as Scully went through her methodical routine. "Subject is an 85-year-old Chinese male in good health for his age..." She noted the marks of age and stress and early malnutrition on his wrinkled body and gnarled bones, and the deep groove around his throat where the silken cord had cut and bruised his neck and crushed his windpipe, the discoloration and bloating of the face, the protrusion of the eyes. "All external signs are consistent with death by strangulation. I will now make the first incision." Scully steeled herself to make the first cut. Despite her reputation as Ice Queen, her feelings for those she saw laid out on marble slabs or borne away in black plastic bags were not frozen; rather, she used a phenomenal strength of will to rise beyond them in the service of her calling. She would do Chiang a disservice if she wept, now, over his too-still form. She could be better assured of seeing justice done if she masked her emotions in favor of the cool objectivity that made her one of the Bureau's best forensic pathologists. Slowly, methodically, she peeled away layers of skin and muscle and removed sections of bone. "I am opening the chest and abdominal cavities. Internal organs are..." she trailed off in astonishment, astonishment with a note of horror and even, Mulder thought, fear. He switched on the intercom. "Scully, are you all right? Scully, what's happening in there? ...Scully!" "I'm all right, Mulder, it's just..." She took a deep breath. "It's his heart, and his liver. They're..." "They're what, Scully?" "They're gone, Mulder. They've been removed, somehow, even though there was no incision, not a mark on the body... They've been taken out whole. Mulder, they've been ripped out by the roots." ********************************* The two shaken F.B.I. agents made their way toward the lounge where Corinne was waiting. Scully had completed her autopsy and was unable to find any sign of incisions or wounds other than those made by her own scalpels, although she was able to determine that the missing heart and liver had been removed after Chiang's death by strangulation. The fingerprinting lab had been unable to match the print on the broken vase with any other in their databases -- except with the print found on the glass shelf after the original break-in. As they mounted the stairs, a clerk from Evidence came careening down a long hallway after them, waving an empty plastic bag. "Agent Scully! Agent Mulder!" He caught up with them, panting, as they turned to acknowledge him. "I thought you should know. I was cataloguing evidence you submitted yesterday, and there's a piece missing. The bag's here and labeled, but it's empty. Is it possible you gave us an empty bag by accident?" "Of course not. Someone must have misplaced it down there. What's the missing item?" asked Scully reflexively, as her eyes met Mulder's and she realized what it must be. The clerk, oblivious to their silent communication, turned the bag over. "A white silk cord." 5:00 p.m. Lucky's, Chinatown Word travelled fast in the D.C. Chinese community, apparently. When Mulder and Scully arrived at Lucky's with a pale and silent Corinne in tow, it was Fong himself who met them at the door and tactfully showed them to a secluded booth in one corner of the restaurant. Scully ordered tea, and a simple soup for three. Mulder found himself watching the man moving around the room, greeting customers and shaking hands. Could this outgoing businessman be involved in strange rituals of seemingly impossible murder? It would not be the first time the two agents had seen bizarre doings concealed beneath a mask of such normality. They had persuaded Corinne to stop at Lucky's with them for an early dinner before they returned her to the gallery, as none of them had taken the time to eat since the events of that morning. Corinne had washed her face clean of the tracks of her tears and now sat still and desolate in one corner of the booth. "I don't suppose it does any good to ask why?" she said brokenly. "Probably not," said Scully gently, remembering her own losses, "but go ahead and ask anyway. If it helps, we're asking ourselves the same questions, and hopefully we'll be able to figure out why, and maybe that will lead us to whoever did it." Secretly, Scully cherished no such hopes; while she and her partner had seen and even solved many a strange case over the years, it was the sight of Chiang's cruelly torn viscera, and the memory of his unmarked body, that lingered in her mind. She sipped her faintly fragrant tea. "How long had you been partners?" asked Mulder, sensing how the bond between the old man and his niece had been in some ways as profound as that between himself and his partner. He glanced at Scully from the corner of his eye, reassuring himself of her presence. Corinne closed her eyes briefly. "About six years, ever since I got my art degree. He'd run his own antique shop for as long as I could remember, but I was able to move it to a larger space, teach him how to preserve some of the older items, and separate the wheat from the chaff. We always had big fights over whether we should display an object because it was valuable or important, or because he liked it." She smiled faintly. "I'd accuse him of having a 'pack-rat mentality,' and he'd call me a scholarly snob. Then we'd make a pot of tea," she looked into her cup, "and get hysterical laughing at ourselves." Her eyes were brilliant with unshed tears and she smiled a wobbly smile. "We always ended up displaying whatever it was," she added. "He really had me wrapped around his little finger." A single tear spilled over and ran unheeded down her chin. Scully put an arm around Corinne compassionately. "Is there anyone who needs to be notified? Any next of kin, immediate family?" Corinne sniffed loudly. "No. Ah-Poh never married... He spent all his energy taking care of my mother and her sisters. I was his closest relative otherwise. I'll have to call my mother... I think she can call my aunts for me. I'll call her when I get back to the gallery. Then I can... maybe get some rest." She leaned against the back of the booth and gazed dully out into the room. Several tables full of Chinese families were already feasting at this hour, and their joyous clamor drowned other noises in the room. Lucky Fong was at the front entrance, greeting new arrivals, when there was a sudden raucous trumpeting and clash of gongs. Fong stood back from the doorway as two shaven-headed monks in patchwork robes, followed by a small band of traditional Chinese instruments, entered and began making the rounds of the room. One monk lit a bundle of incense sticks and, holding them in his hand, began to make a circuit of the dining room, praying loudly and unintelligibly at each stop and bowing repeatedly with the incense between his folded hands. He waved the incense smoke over the pile of fruits and vegetables that was heaped on a decorated table at the back of the room. Meanwhile, the other monk distributed packets of incense to all present with a bow and a beatific smile. Stopping only to pray for a moment in front of Lucky's altar shelf, the two bowed deeply to Lucky and proceeded out into the late-afternoon air. The echoing strain of the Chinese trumpet could be heard for a long time afterward, receding down the street. Except for the heavy clouds of incense roiling around the chandeliers, the restaurant was returned to its previous state of happy chaos. Mulder and Scully looked at each other. "What was that all about?" asked Scully. "I don't know," responded Mulder. "Corinne?" Corinne blew her reddened nose decisively. "Some festival. I can remember some of them going on when I was a kid. Monks would come around and bless everybody's business so they would have good luck. Sometimes there were firecrackers, and different kinds of food..." She shrugged. "They all sort of run together in my memory. You'll have to ask the owner which one this was." Another youngish girl in a red cheongsam served their soup, and they sipped it quietly, Mulder fingering the packet of incense the monk had given him. He was beginning to feel as weary as Corinne sounded, but there was something not quite right about this case, and he couldn't put his finger on it. It was as if the key to understanding what was going on was sitting right in front of him, right under his nose, and he couldn't recognize it for what it was. There must be something more to this than met the eye, something more than he was finding in the endless volumes of anthropological literature on Chinese views of the supernatural that he had piled up by his couch. Next, he told himself, he'd try reading ghost stories and see if anything there helped. "Earth to Mulder," he heard, and returned from his thoughts to find his partner gazing at him with ill-concealed amusement in her cool blue eyes. "Shall we drop Corinne off at home? It's been a long day for all of us." Mulder resisted a sudden impulse to let himself fall freely into the depths of those eyes. Not for the first time, he reminded himself that they had work to do. "Sure. Corinne, you can give us directions to your house." He rose from the booth and headed for the doorway, leaving the two women to follow. Corinne looked at Scully. "Actually, I'd rather go back to the gallery. They'll have finished there by now, and I'd..." she paused. "I'd like to put things back in order a little." "I can understand that impulse," said Scully with a smile. "Let's go catch up with Mulder." Together they started for the entrance, where Mulder and Lucky Fong stood waiting. 6:30 p.m. Chiang and Yee Gallery The late-summer sunlight was slanting low between the taller buildings when the car pulled up in front of the gallery. Corinne got out of the front seat and let Scully take her place. She looked at the ribbons of police tape fluttering from the front door and shuddered. "Corinne?" asked Scully. "Are you sure you want to be here? We can always take you home, you know." Corinne squared her shoulders and took a deep breath. "No," she replied, "this is something I want to do." She dug a jangling bunch of keys from one pocket and looked back at the pair. "Thanks for all you've done." "We'll talk to you again tomorrow and let you know if we've found anything," called Scully after her retreating form. "O.K.," came the absent reply, and Corinne Yee disappeared into the darkened gallery. =========================================================================== From: klingley@ksg1.harvard.edu (Kate A. Lingley) Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: New Author: "Old Jade, New Jade" 5/5 - jade5.txt [01/01] Date: 13 Feb 1996 14:37:02 GMT Old Jade, New Jade 5/5 by Kate Lingley klingley@ksg1.harvard.edu DISCLAIMER: All the characters, settings and premises of the television show "X-Files" are the property of Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen Productions, and Fox Broadcasting Co. The characters of Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, and Walter Skinner are used with respect and affection but without permission, and no copyright infringement is intended. The characters of Corinne Yee, Man-hsiao Chiang, and Lucky Fong are my own creations. If you like them well enough to want to use them, please let me know first. Thanks. *************************************************** 8:00 p.m. FBI Headquarters Mulder and Scully walked wearily into the echoing building and stood waiting for the elevator to answer their summons. A long moment passed, and then with a mechanical *ping* the doors slid open and Assistant Director Walter Skinner stepped out, tie loosened sleeves rolled up, jacket casually thrown over his muscular shoulders, gym bag in hand, obviously on his way out. "Good evening, Agent Mulder, Agent Scully," said Skinner cordially. "Good evening, sir," said Scully. "I hear that recent burglary case has taken a new twist," said Skinner. "I wonder if my instincts were telling me something after all." "If so, sir, maybe you should be investigating this one. We're still pretty short on leads." Scully turned to Mulder. "Assistant Director Skinner mentioned to me that he originally sent us this case because it reminded him of some Chinese ghost stories he heard while he was in Southeast Asia." Mulder looked at the A.D. dubiously. He'd heard about Skinner's own out-of-body experience in Vietnam, but he hadn't heard about ghost stories. Some half-buried detail in a corner of his mind began to clamor for attention. "Ghost stories, sir?" "Yes -- where fox fairies, if you'll pardon the expression, can move through walls and steal objects without any trace." "Can they rip out a man's heart and liver without leaving a mark on him?" asked Scully sharply. The A.D. blanched slightly, and his face grew stony. "Can they?" "I'm sorry to spring it on you, sir. It's in my autopsy report." "I'm afraid I can't help you there," said Skinner, running a hand thoughtfully over his bald head. "I've never heard of that one. I just learned a bunch of scary stories and traditions about ghosts." "We were part of a tradition of sorts today," commented Scully, remembering the smooth-shaven monks making a circuit of Lucky Fong's dining room. "Mulder, did you get a chance to ask Mr. Fong what festival it was?" "Just briefly. He told me it was the festival of the Hungry Ghosts, the seventh day of the seventh lunar month. They put out food for all the ghosts who might be floating around." The nagging presentiment grew stronger in Mulder's mind. "Yes, the middle of August," mused Skinner. "That's when I was in the hospital in Thailand. That old night nurse put out oranges and candies at night and lit candles for the ghosts." "I wonder why the hungry ghosts are hungry?" asked Scully of no one in particular. "Oh, they're the ghosts of people who have no descendants, or whose descendants are not making the necessary offerings." replied Skinner. "They're supposed to be strongest at this time of year, so everyone puts out offerings to keep them from causing trouble." The connection that had been growing inexorably in Mulder's mind hit ground zero and exploded. "They're the ancestors of those who don't believe -- excuse us, sir, but I have reason to believe Corinne Yee may be in danger." Skinner watched with an expression of concern as Mulder raced back out to the car with Scully in close pursuit. "Mulder!" she called after him. "MULDER!!" She caught up with him, panting, as he leapt into the driver's seat. She threw herself in on the other side as he searched his pockets frantically for the keys. "Scully, we've got to get to her! I can't find the keys, Scully, where are they?!?" His expression was panicked and his movements frenetic. Scully grabbed his wrist in an iron grip and dangled the car keys before his unseeing eyes. "Mulder, they're here. I had them. Why --" she was cut off and thrown roughly back into her seat as the engine roared into life and Mulder accelerated out of the parking garage. "Fox Mulder, you are driving like a maniac, even for you. What on earth is wrong with you??" Mulder forced himself to concentrate on his driving, even though he was trembling all over with adrenaline rush. Pieces of the puzzle were falling in place. "Scully, it's the night of the Hungry Ghosts, when tradition says the spirits of unpropitiated ancestors are at their strongest. The whole reason why Chiang was adopted was to continue sacrificing to the spirits of his adopted father's bloodline, but he didn't believe and he didn't sacrifice to them. What if the stories are true? What if last night, one of Chiang's ancestors came to take his revenge? Corinne could be in danger." "Mulder!" Scully's tone was familiar. "How do you know there's a connection? What if it's all just conjecture?" "Then you can give me a ticket for reckless driving. You got any better explanation?" 8:30 p.m. Chiang and Yee Gallery. The car screeched to a stop and the two agents leapt out, unholstering their guns and stalking warily across the sidewalk. Through the glass panel in the door, they could see that the gallery was dark, except for a shaft of light cast through the door of the inner office, which illuminated Corinne on her knees below the offering shelf, carefully, almost reverentially, gathering broken shards of porcelain into a bag. "Corinne!!" Mulder shouted, pounding mightily on the door. He made such a racket that several windows were thrown up in the apartment buildings across the street, and epithets cast out into the night air. Yet, somehow, Corinne seemed not to hear him. She kept gathering the broken pieces, one by one, in an almost hypnotic rhythm, framed by the light from within the office. "Mulder, look," whispered Scully tensely. He followed her gaze to the offering shelf above Corinne's head, where the heavy bronze incense burner still crouched malevolently in the shadows. As they watched, it began to quiver and rock and slowly inch its way forward toward the edge of the shelf. "CORINNE!!" Mulder renewed his shouting and pounding, to the accompaniment of more angry neighbors. Scully watched the incense burner slide forward bit by bit, pushed by some invisible force. "Stand back, Mulder," she snapped decisively. Startled, he took a step backward, and in one fluid motion she shot out the lock. The door banged open and the glass panel shattered. Instantly, it was as if some bubble of silence surrounding Corinne had burst. She looked up at the sound of the shot, wide-eyed, to see the two agents burst into the gallery. At the same moment, the incense burner began to fall toward Corinne's head. The next few seconds seemed to stretch into infinite slowness as the two agents leapt across the gallery space. Mulder reached out, but Scully was faster. She dove for the other woman and tackled her awkwardly against the wall. They went down in a flurry of limbs as the incense burner fell heavily to the floor, shattering a tile. There was a long moment, filled only with the distant wailing of police sirens. "Scully, I didn't know you played linebacker," quipped Mulder. She looked up at him, blood streaming down the side of her face, from where she lay sprawled beside Corinne Yee, and grinned lopsidedly. "Yeah, but I was never any good." She sat up with a wince. "I almost dislocated my shoulder, and that thing clipped me on the way down." She took Agent Mulder's proffered handkerchief gratefully. "Corinne, are you OK?" "I'm fine, Agent Scully. Just a few bruises. What... What happened?" "We're not sure yet," began Scully, but Mulder cut her off. "Scully, look!" She heard the tension in his voice and swore, silently, knowing that whatever had just happened was not yet over. She looked at the incense burner, which had fallen on its side. It was quivering, vibrating, almost thrumming with energy. "Corinne!" Mulder's voice was commanding. "What if your uncle was killed by the ghost of one of his ancestors? It's the Hungry Ghosts festival tonight. What do you do?" Corinne looked at Mulder as if he had two heads. "What are you talking about?" "What would you do, to make them -- not-hungry?" Mulder was taut with urgency and frustration. "You put up a picture, or a piece of paper with their names, and you burn incense and offer food." "Do it!" ordered Mulder. "Get a piece of paper, write their names..." He began hunting through his coat pockets. Scully stood, still transfixed by the sight of the incense burner, which began moving in clattering, violent jerks, as if trying to right itself like an upturned turtle. "Mulder! What are you looking for?" "Sunflower seeds -- we need to make an offering. Dammit, I left that packet of incense in the car!" "Here's mine," offered Scully, trying to keep one eye on the incense burner. Mulder was tearing frantically at a crumpled plastic bag, extracting a handful of seeds. "What if it's not enough?" asked Mulder desperately. Scully fished in her purse and produced an orange and a bar of Ghirardelli chocolate. "Here, add these." Mulder piled them all on a small plate of Indonesian basketwork just as Corinne waved a piece of white paper at them. She'd scrawled four Chinese characters on the sheet and folded it into a three-sided cylinder so it would stand alone. With a metallic clunk, the incense burner finally managed to right itself. Corinne glanced at it fearfully as it began to rock on its three feet, inching toward her ankle. She backed away and turned to place the makeshift 'spirit tablet' on the offering shelf behind the plate of food. "There. I wrote 'great ancestors of the Chiang clan,' so that should cover all of them." "Mulder, look," said Scully quietly. He followed her gaze to the incense burner on the floor, suddenly quiescent. She reached out one hand to touch its bronze surface. It was faintly warm to the touch, but there was no reaction from the once more inanimate object. She picked it up, an ordinary artifact once again. "Shall we burn some incense?" she smiled. Case report of Field Agent Fox W. Mulder Case #96-02351 August 27, 1996. Excerpt (conclusion): "There have been no further incidents reported at the Chiang and Yee Gallery. Corinne Yee has returned to the business she and her uncle once shared, and she is prospering. She has had several wooden tablets made to represent her ancestors, and she makes fresh offerings regularly. "There is, of course, no scientific explanation for what happened to Man-hsiao Chiang. This is the first recorded case of its kind in the F.B.I.'s records of forensic pathology. However, it has come to my attention in the course of reading some Chinese legends about death and the afterlife that it was believed that the soul's first destination after death was the Ten Courts of Yama, where all the sins were judged and sinners punished before being released for reincarnation in the Buddhist tradition of samsara. It is notable that the punishment for an unfilial son is to have the heart and liver ripped out. "Furthermore, among the Chinese diaspora in Southeast Asia and particularly in Singapore and Malaysia, frangipani is the flower of death, and the scent of frangipani, especially when no tree is to be found in bloom, is said to indicate the presence of the spirits of the dead. "We are all haunted by the ghosts of our ancestors in one way or another. As our genes bear the stamp of their heritage, so our lives echo with the repercussions of their actions, their choices, their loyalties. Could it be that we are also surrounded by the teeming hordes of the dead, depending on us for sustenance? Is the air around us full of the hungry ghosts of our deceased relatives? Or perhaps the 'hungry ghosts' are only a metaphor for the millstones our parents and grandparents hang around our necks. Would that it were possible to exorcise their influence with simple offerings and incense. How many of us find our lives shaped in directions we would not choose, because of the choices of someone now dead? "Modern science answers our questions with further questions. Perhaps we will find that as we look forward into the future, we must not forget the past. It may be that the secret of our next step forward lies buried somewhere behind us." THE END =========================================================================== From: klingley@ksg1.harvard.edu (Kate A. Lingley) Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: New Author: "Old Jade, New Jade" epilogue - jadelink.txt [01/01] Date: 13 Feb 1996 15:18:30 GMT For all those who may have enjoyed Mulder and Scully's introduction to the world of ancient Chinese art, I've assembled a list of Web sites that include images of artifacts similar to those discussed in the story. Enjoy... Kate Pictures of Chinese artifacts on the Web: Han and pre-Ch'in jades (extensive collection): http://www.arts.cuhk.hk/KwansJade/Kwans.html Other archaic items: http://www.arts.cuhk.hk/Chcrelics/CCR.html http://pasture.ecn.purdue.edu/~agenhtml/agenmc/china/art.html http://advance.byu.edu/pc/china/china.html Lists of links on Chinese art: http://www.mordor.com/pei/china.html http://darkwing.uoregon.edu/~felsing/cstuff/cart.html Also relevant to the story: Noh mask: http://www.cjn.or.jp/tokugawa/room4.html