Paris Celestial

Book 0: Shanghai Immortal

by A. Y. Chao

Genres: Dragons & Mythical Creatures

Synopsis

All aboard the Immortal Express - Lady Jing is off to Paris where she will encounter romance, danger and vampires in the sequel to the Sunday Times bestselling Shanghai Immortal.

Now a Minister of Hell, Lady Jing is mind-numbingly bored. All she wants is plain talk and time with her beau Tony Lee, who has been distracted with mortal matters of late (impending war is such a drag).

But then Aengus, a visiting Celtic deity, turns up boneless and drained of yin qi. The only way to help him is to return him to his pantheon's healer, in residence in Paris. Ready for a new adventure, Jing immediately volunteers for the task.

Accompanied by Tony Lee, the group settle into the Immortal Express for what should be a run-of-the mill journey . . . until the train is hijacked by the Vampire Republic, who are seeking hostages in their bid to demand recognition by the international pantheons.

Jing fears the worst, but when she unwittingly reveals her heritage, the vampires embrace her as one of their own . . . if she abandons her friends. Caught in an impossible situation, can Jing use her wit and spark to save them all?

Release date: January 23, 2025

Publisher: Hodder & Stoughton

Print pages: 400

Sample

Acknowledgements

Tian ah! We made it! Health challenges (breast cancer, grrrr! Adult ADHD diagnosis – wowsa explains SO MUCH) and a family emergency meant Paris Celestial had a long and difficult gestation. Molly & Jamie, I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your patience and unwavering support, and Jamie and Jess for taking care of things when I couldn’t.

 

To my wider Hodderscape team: Kate Keehan, Marina Dominguez-Salgado, Aiysha Nazir, Laura Bartholomew, hugs and appreciation for all you do and for all the opportunities to share Lady Jing with the world.

 

Eventually though, the sun came out and life righted itself. I dove back into Jing’s world, discovering Jing’s French family and her new Irish friends. Huge thank you to Camille Le Baron for turning my terrible high school French into something posh and presentable and to Alwyn for her eagle eye on those pesky masculin ou féminin corrections. Big love and thanks to Ruth Frances Long for her expertise on Irish folklore and to the excellent Connollys for their Irish phrases because no one should be subjected to my Google-translate mumbo-jumbo.

 

My books are my babies and they are damned pretty ones, too, thanks to the combined talent of Natalie Chen and Weitong Mai. They’ve knocked Paris Celestial’s gorgeous cover right out of the park. Happy sigh. Thank you both for your prodigious talent and excellent eye for

colour and detail.

 

To FairyLoot and Goldsboro, thank you for taking a punt on a gobby chaos demon and for making such beautiful special editions of my babies. Truly, a dream come true.

 

Lucrezia, Giorgia, Mariló, and Ainhao, thank you and your readers for waiting patiently for Paris Celestial. I appreciate you so much!

 

Ginormous shout out to Mei Mei MacLeod, the talented actor who voiced the audiobook. It was the most incredible feeling to hear her bring my characters to life – shivers and giddiness and non-stop smiling. You nailed every single one. I am so excited to work with you again.

 

I wouldn’t have come out of the last two years with my sanity intact, as well as an actual finished manuscript, if not for the support of my friends both near and far. Life advice, real talk, editing check-ins, cheeky lunches, the cutest little charmer, a Baldur’s Gate taster… for this and more, I am so thankful. I appreciate every one of you and can’t believe how lucky I am to have you in my life.

 

My fellow angry fraggle, I see you and love you.

 

Always massive love and appreciation for my family: my parents, especially my mom who fields my scattergun texts like a pro, answering questions about Chinese idioms or which characters I ought to choose for someone’s name. Thanks for taking over childcare when I was deep in the edit cave; my daughter for being proud of me despite my fondness for Labubus; and my hubby David, for his love and eternal support and excellent cooking skills so I never starve when I’m deep in edits.

 

To all the wonderful booksellers, librarians, and book creators who champion Lady Jing and her shenanigans, your support and enthusiasm means the world. Thank yous aren’t enough. In the words of an 80s Heinz ditty: You’re the top, you’re the crowning glory. You’re the best, you’re a saucy winner!

 

And FOR THE FANS! aka my lovely readers (Jinu and Derpy stans I see you): thank you for embracing Lady Jing and waiting so patiently for Paris Celestial. I really hope you enjoy Jing and Tony’s next chapter. I loved meeting you in London, Edinburgh, all around the UK, in

Lucca and Avilés, in Stockholm, NYC, LA, Portland, Seattle, San Francisco, Boston, Calgary, and Taipei, and I hope to meet many more of you in the years to come. You are the heart of this journey. ILY.

Eight

Gossip Girl

Tony and I have just finished a basket of xiaolongbao when Gigi sweeps into the tearoom at the Lake Heart Pavilion.

He immediately stands, slams his fist into his palm and bows low. ‘Ten thousand years of good health to the noble Lady Gi.’

‘Hey, you forgot my ten thousand years of good health!’ I say, miffed at the immediate blessing he offers her and not me.

He smirks, gifting me a single dimple in his left cheek.

Bowing low, his voice goes sultry. ‘Ten thousand years of good health to my heart, Lady Jing.’ When he rises, the look he gives me makes my brain judder and I can no longer hear my thoughts.

Lady Gi laughs, a bright tinkling sound. ‘Your face, Jing. You’re bright red! Close your mouth before any flies land in there.’ She turns to Tony and bows demurely. ‘This one of the Celestial Realms arrives before Mr Lee unharmed.’ She collapses into one of the remaining two chairs at our table. ‘Oof, I’m starving. I love visiting the Celestial mountains, but no one makes xiaolongbao like Old Zao. Jing, what is this about Lord Yang? Big Wang sent a message to my father. He said there was some kind of emergency and Ah Lang and I should come home to help you?’

I tear my eyes away from Tony. ‘It’s a long story, but the point is I have to escort Lord Aengus to Paris, and Big Wang won’t let me go alone. Would you and Ah Lang join me and Tony? We can spend a few days in Paris before heading back.’

‘I’ll ask Ah Lang, but I can’t see why not. It’ll be fun,’ Gigi says.

Old Zao bustles in with another high stack of bamboo steamers. ‘Little Gi, how was your visit to the Celestial Realms?’

She bows her head. ‘Ten thousand years of good health, Old Zao. It’s good to be home.’

They raise their eyebrows at this. ‘So the rumours are true, you have decided to make your home here permanent?’

Gigi’s been living in yin Shanghai for the last few hundred years; her father, the Jade Emperor, exiled her as punishment for neglecting her duties. After the recent incident with my grandmother, when she and Ah Lang were instrumental in saving me and Tony Lee from her murderous schemes, Big Wang convinced the Jade Emperor to end her punishment.

I turn to Gigi, my eyes suddenly hot. ‘Truly? You’re not moving back?’

She pats my cheek. ‘I would miss your ugly face, Jing. Ah Lang said he wanted to live in yin Shanghai for a while. So he’s arranged a ministerial position here.’

She smiles so brightly I can’t help but mirror it in return. My thoughts turn to Tony, and the fact that mortals can’t live in yin Shanghai. My smile goes brittle.

Gigi tilts her head. I know that look. She’s about to nosy into my business.

Before she can start, Old Zao says, ‘Eat before the food gets cold.’

I stuff my mouth with bao. ‘Didn’t you say you missed Old Zao’s cooking? Eat!’ It comes out more like Inn-oo-whay-you-ihh-oh-ow-oo-ing? Ee!

‘You are so uncouth, Jing,’ Gigi says. ‘Stop talking with your mouth full. I don’t want to see your half-chewed food.’

I open my mouth wide. ‘Ahhhh.’

Old Zao tsks and slaps my head with their water sleeve. ‘Little Jing, behave yourself.’

Gigi rolls her eyes, and Tony laugh-coughs into his fist.

‘Enough stalling. Tell us about Lord Yang and why, suddenly, he needs an escort to Paris,’ Tony says.

‘This sounds juicy,’ Old Zao says, pulling up a chair.

Bullhead, who has been hovering in the kitchen, joins us with his own bowl and chopsticks.

Bullhead’s motto in life – It is what it is – underpins a stoicism that keeps him at arm’s distance from others. He’s also incredibly shy.

‘Old Zao has put a lot of effort into these bao,’ he says, noticing my surprise. ‘It would be rude not to eat and enjoy this noble gathering.’

I nod approvingly. Even Old Zao smiles like a proud mama hen.

After topping up everyone’s tea and scarfing down a few more xiaolongbao, I lean my elbow on the table and recount to my rapt audience the last eighteen hours that led to Aengus being stuffed into a Ming vase.

There are times, like now, when my life feels unreal to me. A year ago, I would never have imagined sitting at a table surrounded by friends, friends who make me feel like what I say matters, who laugh and cringe at the same things I do. It’s enough to make my eyes suddenly well up.

Tony, of course, notices. ‘Jing, what’s wrong?’

I quickly pull at my eyelashes, embarrassed by my show of emotion. ‘I have something in my eye.’

He leans close, his breath warm on my cheek, and looks carefully at my eyes. It’s all I can do not to lean forward and take his bottom lip in mine. I swallow, holding myself very, very still.

‘How the mighty have fallen,’ Gigi says. ‘If past Jing could see you now, she would probably gag, then tell you to get a room already.’

Tony pulls back, spluttering, gaze darting between Old Zao and Bullhead. ‘I was only looking to see if she had something in her eye. I meant nothing untoward.’

Flustered Tony makes my insides go warm and squishy. A giggle tries to escape but I press my lips together. I don’t want to give Gigi any more reason to tease me.

Bullhead starts. ‘Aiya, it’s nearly dinner. How is it riru already? I need to head back, Lord Ma will be expecting me.’

Gigi says, ‘Jing, did you say Queen Mother of the West is here?

‘Yes – she was here this morning. I’m not sure if she’s still at the hotel.’

Gigi stands too, patting her hair and her clothes. ‘It’s been years since I last saw her – she never leaves Mount Kunlun. Baba would be angry if I missed the chance to pay my respects. Lord Nioh, I’ll come with you.’

Tony is the next to stand. ‘I should head back to the Cathay Hotel as well. I have matters to discuss with Yan Luo Wang regarding the Bank of Hell. I’ll see you tomorrow morning Jing, bright and early.’ He bows deeply to Old Zao. ‘Abundant gratitude for the meal, Zao Shen. Stay your noble steps.’

Bullhead and Gigi head out, but Tony hangs back. Old Zao busies themself in the kitchen, leaving Tony and me alone in the tearoom. Tony leans down, kisses me.

When he pulls away, it’s like he’s stolen all the air from my lungs.

‘Sleep well, my heart,’ he says, before leaving.

In the quiet of the tearoom, leaning against the window, I watch my Tony lope across the zigzag bridge with the grace of a panther, easily catching up to the others. Long after they all disappear from view, I’m still smiling and giggling to myself, giddy for our Paris trip and being able to spend all my days, maybe even all night, with my favourite person in the world.

Eighteen

Thwarted

Maximilien waves off the taxi driver and strolls into an alleé near Parc Monceau. Moments later, he re-emerges as mist, floating undetected down the otherwise sedate street towards the building no one can miss: Maison Loo. Just after it was built, the neighbours mounted an unsuccessful petition to demolish it, but just as the iron folly Gustav Eiffel built still stands, so does the garish eyesore with its glazed green cylindrical roof tiles and yellow latticework windows.

At least all those windows provide a welcome entryway into the house. Maximilien mists towards the first floor, finding a suitably empty room. A few inches from the window, a searing pain lances through him which causes his mist to contract. He nearly collapses into his body, right there in the front garden, in plain view of the entire street. Forcing his mist to expand, he frantically searches for safe shelter.

The door to the neighbouring building swings open, a woman in a hat steps smartly onto the pavement. Maximilien mists through the closing door into a small vestibule. Benesangue, the vestibule and hall are empty. When the door opens again, Maximilien steps out, safely back in his body, grey eyes flat.

Hopping over the iron fence, Maximilien ducks behind a tall bamboo grove on the side of the house which shields him from passers-by. He twists off a section of bamboo and prods at the red wall. Nothing happens. He tosses the bamboo and carefully pats the air, inching closer until he feels a slight resistance, not unlike the hum of electricity. He presses against the resistance; immediately his insides cramp, but he doesn’t let the pain stop him. From ten years old, until he was gifted benesangue at twenty, the Durand’s motto perfer et obdura, endure and persist, was drilled into him in every lesson and every test. He presses harder. The cramping intensifies until he can barely breathe. A ward. Rage incinerates logic. How dare the Celestials presume to bar his entry. He slams his hand against the wall.

White-hot pain explodes inside him and he’s thrown backwards.

Curled on his side, head spinning, he fights for breath. He doesn’t notice the subtle sheen clinging to the zinc tiles on one side of a neighbouring turret. He’s in too much pain. Everything hurts, like he’s been set on fire. He tries to undo the bottom of his cuff, to check his arm, but it’s all he can do not to scream as the cotton of his sleeve grates against his skin like sandpaper on a sunburn. In humiliation and fury and pain, he staggers from the front garden and hails a passing taxi home, followed at a safe distance by a subtle shimmer on the wind.

Eleven

House Durand

‘Lady Jing! Lady Jing!’

Someone calling my name cuts through the fog. With great effort, I open my eyes and find myself face to face with a panicking Lord Aengus.

The muffled silence detonates into a riot of noise: Ah Lang shouting for Gigi, Tony screaming for me, the unearthly screech of metal grinding against metal.

‘Lady Jing!’ Lord Aengus says again, urgency in every syllable. ‘You must gather the others. Hurry.’

I don’t trust myself to stand, so I crawl forward, dragging Lord Aengus’s vase with me.

‘Over there,’ Lord Aengus says, gesturing with his chin.

Tony, Ah Lang and Gigi are huddled together by the broken remnants of the bar. When I reach them, Ah Lang takes Lord Aengus from me. Tony pulls me into his arms, his breath hitching as he holds me tight. I bury my face in his chest. He’s bleeding but I can tell it’s not a serious wound. Though the scent is tantalising and my fangs snick out, for once I’m not the least bit tempted because I’m so grateful he’s alive.

‘What was that?’ Ah Lang asks.

No one has any answers.

‘Keep your wits about you,’ Lord Aengus whispers. ‘I have a bad feeling about this.’

As if on cue, mist pours into the carriage. Light refracts through it, making the air shine. The faint rose and camphor scent intensifies as a dozen black-clad intruders materialise before us. Yaoguai in human form.

Ah Lang jumps to his feet, Gigi right beside him.

‘LEAVE US,’ she commands in Celestial voice. Her words slither with echoing whispers, every one carrying the power of Tian, demanding submission.

A shiver runs through the intruders, but they are unaffected by the compulsion. Tony on the other hand shakes violently from the effects of Celestial command. I murmur in his ear to help dispel the terror. Tugging Gigi, I shift positions with her. She meets my eye as she stands next to Tony and nods in understanding.

‘What do you want?’ Ah Lang glowers at them.

The men and women observe us, unmoved.

‘You know your sword forms?’ I whisper to Ah Lang.

‘Of course,’ he says.

That’s all I need to hear.

 

Ah Lang and I launch ourselves at the yaoguai. My first punch connects, throwing a bald man off his feet. I lose sight of him as a blond woman takes his place. Her blue eyes widen as her nose crunches under my fist. Two others replace her.

Ah Lang and I are more than their match in strength – but it’s like fighting a swarm of bees. Every time I knock one away, more replace it.

The blond is back, I grab her hair, about to punch her again, but notice her smashed nose rebuilding itself as I watch.

‘They self-heal!’ I shout. ‘We have to kill them!’

Twisting around the woman so I can headlock her and snap her neck, she suddenly disappears and I’m left holding air.

The intruders multiply and we are overrun. Five attack me at once, two grabbing each arm, the fifth holding me in a headlock. I’m forced to my knees, head pushed down while my hands are bound at my back with heavy chains.

Gigi’s yellow dress is to my right, Ah Lang’s tan robe to my left.

‘Tony and Lord Aengus are here too,’ Gigi whispers.

That rose camphor scent spikes as more mist surges into the carriage.

Three more strangers materialise from the shimmer. An older woman – smooth, glassy skin, silver hair pulled into a chignon – stands between a man with dark hair, eyes the colour of rain clouds, and a woman who stares at me with brilliant emerald chip eyes.

Though they all seem to smell the same, my gut tells me emerald eyes and the dark-haired man were the ones I first noticed.

The way the silver-haired woman holds herself – back straight as the majestic pines of Mount Kunlun – her severe and commanding beauty, and the way she wears her presence like a crown, sends a shiver of recognition down my spine. Though she wears a black wool dress with a white lace collar – not enough skin and definitely not enough ta-tas on show for my grandmother’s taste – like Niang Niang, she reeks of power.

The man offers the silver-haired woman his arm. She pats him affectionally and the huge rubies and diamonds adorning her fingers wink in the light. She turns her attention to us and the edges of her lips curl into something just short of a smile. An acknowledgement, perhaps.

The old woman speaks in a smoky melodious voice but I don’t understand any of it, apart from the word Paris.

It doesn’t matter though, because emerald eyes says in slow, carefully enunciated Mandarin, ‘Welcome to Paris. You are now in the care of House Durand.’

Fifteen

The Heir Apparent

Maximilien leads the mortal Tony Lee down the marble staircase to their newly installed dial telephone off the entry hall. The mortal keeps Maximilien in his line of sight at what he must believe is a ‘safe’ distance, his back to the alcove wall, his gaze never leaving Maximilien even as he puts the receiver to his ear. Fool.

Dialling 1-1, the mortal murmurs ‘Maison Loo’ to the operator. Maximilien wonders briefly what connection the Celestials have with the inhabitants of Maison Loo, that hideous red building known to locals as la Pagode de Paris. The mortal speaks quietly and quickly in Chinese. The sound of it sours Maximilien’s already lousy mood. He turns away and slips around the corner, out of the mortal’s sight.

Saving that stray, Marianne, was bad enough, how could Mémère betray him like this?

He, Maximilien, is the one Mémère hand-picked from among a pool of the most promising high-born nobles. The one Mémère raised and educated in politics and business. The one she herself anointed as heir of House Durand. At least Marianne was never a threat to his position as heir. Their grandmother barely acknowledges her. Mémère’s approval, her tender look of pride, was reserved for Maximilien alone.

But now . . . He remembers the disappointment and revulsion in Mémère’s eyes as Marianne laid bare his unfortunate missteps. He will admit it was a lapse in judgement, but he was weak with fatigue and hunger! Mémère had refused to listen, though; he begged and pleaded to no avail. The indifference with which she regarded him, then told him he was not fit to lead House Durand and forced him to kneel . . . He seethes at the memory. Bitterness consumes him.

It’s only a matter of time before Mémère formally announces his half-sister – he sneers at the word – as the heir of House Durand.

To distract himself, Maximilien inhales deeply, savouring the crisp, sweet scent of the mortal’s sangue. On the tongue, the sweetness is even more pronounced. His lips curl into a vicious smile as he anticipates his next taste.

Relaxing every muscle, he allows his body to dissipate into mist, returning unseen to the mortal, who keeps careful watch of the hall, unaware of the danger above.

The first time Maximilien fed from the mortal was on the train while the Celestials were busy fighting off House Durand’s chevaliers. He was annoyed by Marianne’s attitude and needed a snack to feel better. To his delight, the mortal’s blood turned out to be rich and complex, far more delicious than his usual pursuivants.

As he watches the mortal shift the receiver from one ear to the other, a nagging voice reminds him of House Durand’s rules on tasting mortals; overfeeding is a threat to their safety.

But Maximilien is too steeped in his sense of outrage and injustice, too certain of his entitlement, too hungry for vengeance, and too confident of House Durand’s extensive safety measures, that he simply dismisses the risks. The scent of the mortal’s blood, concentrated by the small half-enclosed alcove, goads him on.

Moving too fast to track, he strikes. If one could track the movement, one might see two needle-tip indentations in the throat turn into red pinpricks, with a near undetectable flash of white in the centre – reformed fangs which dissipate almost immediately into mist. A skilled taste is undetectable by mortals, and Maximilien is an expert. He takes a few leisurely sips before misting away.

With his thumb, he swipes away a stray drop of blood from the corner of his mouth and strolls back to the entry hall. He leans against the bannister and waits for the mortal to finish his call.

Five

Growth

We have all been summoned again to Big Wang’s study. Lord Aengus sits in a new vase on a huali armchair, a less precious blue-and-white vessel that Big Wang was happier to gift to Lord Aengus’s puddle of a body. The hulijing delegates stand in a row by the door, heads bowed, folded hands held chest high. Despite their hands being hidden beneath the voluminous cuffs of their water sleeves, the delicate fabric trembles and gives away their fear.

When the door opens, it is not a vision of gentleness and joy which greets us. My dear, sweet, infanticidal grandmother Niang Niang, matriarch of the hulijing, stands there in all her casually cruel majesty, eyes ablaze with displeasure. Crimson diaphanous silk cascades from her shoulders, her swollen bosom heaving from their embroidered confines. A triple loop of jet-black hair studded with jewelled hairpins crowns her head.

Niang Niang wrinkles her nose as if noticing something malodorous, and holds her water sleeve to her face. ‘Big Wang, I don’t know how you can live with such stink.’

She means me, of course. My grandmother is nothing if not predictable.

When I was a toddler her courtiers used to scrub me until I bled. Niang Niang claimed my half-vampire heritage made me stink like a corpse.

‘It’s wonderful to see you, dearest grandmother.’ I sniff my armpits delicately. ‘I’ve been told by quite a few deities that I smell delightful – like calamansi limes with a twist of chilli. Personally, I much prefer fruit to fish. Especially old fish.’ I smile with all my teeth.

Big Wang makes a sound in his throat, half grunt, half cough.

A sneer twists my grandmother’s lips and makes her look monstrous. As monstrous as she is inside. I smirk, enjoying this glimpse of her true self.

Big Wang stands, keen to minimise any risk of a brawl. ‘Thank you for making the time to discuss Lord Aengus’s injuries and the logistics of getting him home.’

Niang Niang side-eyes Big Wang. Ever since she discovered he outmanoeuvred her not only to save me but to keep her from getting her hands on my dragon pearl, she has nothing but enmity for him.

She glides across the floor to stand before Lady Xi.

‘You disappoint me,’ Niang Niang says, her voice calm and reasonable. With unexpected speed, she slaps her, hard. Lady Xi doesn’t even have time to whimper before she slams into the ground.

At Lord Aengus’s sharp inhale I catch his eye and shake my head, urging him not to speak. While her taunting doesn’t hurt me much anymore, I wouldn’t wish her brand of toxicity on anyone else. He seems to understand because he presses his lips together, though his blue eyes harden – the first time I’ve seen Lord Aengus show his temper. The hulijing courtiers visibly shake, tears stream down their cheeks, but they make no noise. Not even Lady Xi, on the floor, head bowed, shoulders heaving with silent sobs. The acrid tang of their terror fills the room.

That smell, and the way the courtiers cower, reminds me of how I cowered at her feet as a child, my own stink of fear. Something snaps inside me. She had no right then, and she has no right now.

I step between Niang Niang and the cowering courtiers. Big Wang tilts his head at my movement. A very subtle tell only those in his inner circle would catch. Now that my brain has caught up with my body, I’m as surprised as he is.

But the thrill from giving rein to my impulses makes me reckless. ‘This humble one basks in your glory, venerable Matriarch,’ I say, syrupy sweet. ‘I am glad to see you are well and still enjoy inflicting casual violence on those around you.’

Her nostrils flare delicately. I smile widely because I know she is itching to hurt me, but with Big Wang by my side, she doesn’t dare. I decide then and there my goal is to get her to stamp her foot. Her frustration brings me so much joy.

She crosses her arms and taps her imperial jade nail guard against the thick cream and c. . .