Fiction: Group 3
Two Opium Pearls
The British International School Shanghai, Puxi Campus, Woo, Lara - 11,
Fiction: Group 3
17
th
November, 1840- Hong Kong
n endless road of red banners completely dominated the crumbly buildings, black calligraphy neatly
painted like swirling patterns to grant good luck. Winter had come early, and white snow dusted
the ground- sharp rocks jutting out of the crisp, thin ice, the cold stone underneath in a sleeping
death. The sun was peaking out from behind the houses, orange streaks emanating like it had a heavenly
glow. Hundreds of black wires spread above the city like bars of a cage, the only thing that separated the
two lives from one another.
A volcanic pain erupted through Mo’s body when Bei jabbed her stomach. Mo winced, feeling the pain of
yesterday. She looked at the girl standing beside her who was punching the air, eyebrows furrowing in
disappointment. Slowly, Mo reached for her notebook from under the bed and started reading her scruffy
sketches.
“I did not wake you up to hunch over your book,” demanded Bei, who now had her hands on her hips.
Sighing, she ran her callused fingers through her sweaty hair in agitation. Mo showed every sign of hearing,
but made no movement.
The pair fought a tough battle the day before. They had failed to steal a tracking device, a crucial part of
their original plan, finding the ports in China where opium was shipped from India. Mo had so many
bleeding bruises she could hardly walk, and Bei had to carry the frail body back home. She only woke that
morning, still uncovered, but apparently still able to get her beloved book.
“Gunshots. They’ve started firing. We need to go. You’re not in the best condition, but we have no choice.
We’re tracking Karl, who has opium flowers, Plan B.”
As if automated, a formidable sound boomed across the small room right on cue. Shivering, the two girls
hurried themselves into their outing clothes, knowing what they were against. Unfortunately, they had no
weapons. Mo cringed at her body, but knew there was nothing she could do.
The two girls stumbled onto the road, gagging at the thick smoke that was infused in the air.
“Karl Gutzlaff- German spymaster, helps smuggle opium into parts of China, from Britain. Master of
disguises,” Mo recited by memory. “He’s supposed to be here-”
Before she could finish her sentence, Bei had run off. Mo followed, but her injured body screamed louder
every second. When she finally caught up, she had trouble breathing and wobbly legs.
“Wait for… Me…” Mo panted.
“Sorry,” not sounding sorry, “I thought you were beside me. Karl was literally beside us. I almost caught
him when I tripped.”
“Be careful. Anyway, it could be someone else.”
Bei looked offended. “Just, try spotting him. Blue dress, pigtail and moustache.”
Mo scanned the crowd rapidly, her analytical brain helping her sort.
A
