Shanghai was now under the rule of the Nationalist Army—under Chiang Kai-shek, their commander in chief. Juliette shouldn’t have been surprised that it had come to this. He had already seized much of the country, after all; the Northern Expedition had been building for months, after all. But it was the workers who had ravaged the city until it was awash in red. It was the Communists who had led the effort. Then the Communists had asked their workers to give way when General Shu marched his men into the city and set up Nationalist bases before the dust had even settled.
Something was afoot. The tension was a pungent smell in the air, waiting to see whether it would be the Nationalists or the Communists who struck at the other first. And Juliette knew—she just knew—that the Scarlet Gang was involved, but no one would tell her how.
Juliette cast a glance to her side, reaching out and putting a hand to Kathleen’s wrist. Kathleen jolted, then realized what Juliette was indicating. Her cousin stopped tapping the side of her qipao, resolved to clutch her hands in front of her instead, her feet planted firmly in the short cemetery grass.
Last week, most of the Scarlets had escaped the chaos on the streets relatively unharmed. There were casualties, certainly, but few enough that this was the last of their funerals. Instead of mass lives, what they had lost was control.
Nanshi, and all the industrial roads south of the French Concession—taken.
Hongkou, the narrow strip of land surrounded on three sides by the International Settlement—taken.
Wusong, jammed amid ports leading into the Huangpu and Yangtze Rivers—taken.
East Shanghai—taken.
West Shanghai—taken.
Zhabei, where the workers were most densely populated of all—taken, though their fight with the White Flowers had lasted through the night. When morning broke, whispers flew through the city to report that the White Flowers had at last relinquished, slinking into their homes with broken bones and letting the streets take a different ruler. By six o’clock, Shanghai was quiet, occupied by the workers.
Officers had been ousted out of police stations, call centers raided and trashed, rail stations bombed to render them ineffective. The web of connections that powered Shanghai had been snipped at every juncture point save for inside the French Concession and International Settlement, which the foreigners now guarded with chain-link fences and barbed wire to keep the Nationalists out. In the Chinese parts of the city, there was no such thing as Scarlet-controlled or White Flower–controlled territory anymore. For a fleeting moment, it had seemed that Shanghai was some malleable place, humming with the possibility to grow anew. Then the Nationalist armies marched in and the workers gave way, letting the soldiers take over. Now everywhere they looked, there were Nationalist soldiers stationed along the streets, the city under occupation.
The most outrageous thing was, these few days had still passed as normal. Though the clubs were closed, though the restaurants were closed, though the city was ghostlike in its stillness as it waited for the next political move, her parents acted like nothing was wrong. Private dinners hosted at the mansion went on, albeit with more Nationalists present. Private parties went on, albeit with more Nationalists present.
And funerals went on, albeit with more Nationalists present.
“。 . . may he go on to the next life peacefully.”
It didn’t make sense. The blackmailer was still out there. Unless Juliette had been utterly mistaken this whole time, the blackmailer had to be aligned with the Communists in some way. Yet in this crucial moment, why hadn’t the monsters come out? Why not fight the Nationalist Army off with madness?
“Juliette,” Kathleen whispered. “Now you’re the one twitching.”
Juliette shot her cousin a quick glance, conveying her annoyance. In the same motion, she caught sight of three Nationalist soldiers to their left, eyeing her.
The Communists’ fight was a long one, Lord Cai had said after the takeover. Their fight encompassed not just this city but the whole country. Why would they upset their alliance with the Kuomintang so soon? Why wouldn’t they pretend that all this rebellion and bloodshed had been a joint matter of sticking it to the imperialists, of taking Shanghai back under the control of a true unified government, and bide their time for class revolution? Would it not be sensible to revolt against the Kuomintang only when they actually had a true army alike to the Nationalists? Red rags and anger could not stand up against soldiers and academy training.
Lord Cai had sounded convincing. He had not sounded one bit worried. Their whole city had just been overturned by a force so mighty, and he cared not? Their entire way of life was at a standstill, waiting to see how the Nationalists would organize their rule, how the Nationalists would come to an agreement with the foreigners, and Lord Cai was content to stand by and let it happen?