I walk slowly up to the tree, holding my lightning stick and mingshen mirror like a sword and shield.

As I get closer, the branches begin to shake wildly, sprinkling the courtyard with their dried-up leaves. Suddenly there’s the smell of burnt wood in the air.

‘Aiya! Er xin! Disgusting!’ comes a woody voice from inside the tree. ‘Give me some breathing space, PLEASE. You smell like a rotten egg. No, make that ten rotten eggs.’ I hear the fat belly giggling softly to itself.

I’m not insulted by these words because Por Por says the fat belly speaks like this to everyone, but what do I do next? Somehow I have to get that ghost into my mirror. I turn around to look at Por Por, but she’s gone.

I look back at the tree. ‘Why do you talk like that to people?’ I say. ‘Have you ever thought that you might be hurting their feelings?’

‘Why should I care about people’s feelings when they don’t care about me? I haven’t seen you here before,’ the fat belly says. ‘And you talk funny. Where do you come from?’

‘Australia,’ I say.

‘Never heard of the place.’

‘It’s a long way from here,’ I say. ‘How old are you?’

‘Ten … well, I was ten … when I died.’

‘Do you want to talk about it?’ I say.

He doesn’t answer me.

I sit down on a stone bench under one of the branches. ‘My name is Little Cloud,’ I say, ‘and I am a ghost-hunter.’

‘Hmph! Girls are too dumb to be ghost-hunters,’ the fat belly says.

‘If you’re going to insult me like that, I’ll leave right now,’ I say, and pretend to get up and go.

‘As if I care. I didn’t ask you here anyway.’

I walk away slowly.

‘Bu yao zou, wait, wait,’ he calls out. ‘I didn’t mean it. I don’t get to talk to very many people, not like this. And I get so bored hanging around here all day, all by myself.’

‘Would you like me to tell you a story?’ I ask, as one suddenly pops into my head.

‘Yes, I like stories.’

I sit down on the bench again. ‘Once upon a time there was a boy who went camping in the mountains with his dad. While his dad was setting up the tent, the boy walked to the edge of the cliff and began yelling and swearing at the top of his voice just for fun. To his surprise, someone started yelling and swearing back at him. The boy put his hands on his hips and screamed, “Nobody talks to me like that!” And guess what? The boy on the other side of the valley yelled back, “Nobody talks to me like that!” The first boy grew so angry that he began to yell and swear even louder than before, using even worse swear words.’

‘What kind of swear words did he use?’ the fat belly asks.

‘Never mind about that,’ I say. ‘Well, the boy across the other side of the valley grew angry, too, answering back in exactly the same way. This went on for at least ten minutes, yelling backwards and forwards until the boy’s throat grew sore from shouting. Not wanting the other boy to get away with being so rude, he raced back to tell his father. “There’s a horrible boy on the other side of the valley,” he said, pointing to the cliff. “He’s so rude. You have to tell him off. Come on, Dad.”

‘His father followed him to the edge of the cliff and the boy yelled out across the valley. Immediately a voice yelled the same words back. When his dad saw what the problem was, he threw back his head and laughed loudly. The sound of his laughter echoed right back at him. That’s when the boy realised that it was his own bad temper, his own nasty words, that he was hearing. And from that day on, he never uttered another mean or rude word again.’

‘He must have been a ben dan, a stupid egg, not to know it was his own echo. Bah!’ the fat belly says.

‘You’ve been acting a bit like him, lately,’ I say.

‘Who are you calling a stupid egg?!’ The branches of the tree shake violently.

‘I’m not saying that you are stupid,’ I say, brushing leaves out of my hair. ‘I just mean, if you want people to be nice to you, you have to be nice to them.’

‘Do you have another story? I didn’t like that one very much,’ the fat belly says.

‘No, I can’t think of one right now.’

‘Well, I have a story then.’

‘Go ahead,’ I say. ‘I like stories, too.’

‘Well, there was once a boy who grew up on a barge that travelled up and down the Grand Canal carrying goods for other people. This boy spent more time on water than on dry land and he loved his life. He loved feeling the wind in his face, discovering new places, and the freedom of the canals. When he was very small, his mum and dad tied him to the boat by a rope around his waist so he wouldn’t fall overboard. Then, when he was six years old, they took the rope off. By that time he had perfect balance. But one day, while his mum and dad were in town, the boy slipped and bumped his head on the side of the boat. He fell into the water unconscious and sank to the bottom where it was dark and cold. When his parents returned, it was too late to save him. The boy had drowned.’

‘That’s a very sad story,’ I say.

‘Yes, he has no one to play with and he misses his parents so much.’

‘Perhaps I can take him away from here,’ I say, making my voice bright and cheerful. ‘I can take him to a place where he will feel happy – a place where he will belong.’ I stand up and stroke the bark of the tree. ‘I promise it will be all right.’

I hear a sigh come from the tree. ‘If I go with you, will it hurt? I don’t want to be hurt again,’ the fat belly says.

‘You won’t feel a thing,’ I say, as if I’ve done this a hundred times before. I look around to see if Por Por has come back, but she hasn’t. ‘It will be like going on a holiday. Just stay quiet and still and leave the rest up to me. Will you do that?’

‘Yes,’ the fat belly says, but his voice sounds small and scared.

I stop to concentrate a moment, the way Por Por does when she’s about to begin a job. I take a deep breath. My hands are no longer shaking. The lightning stick feels warm and alive in my right hand. In my left hand I hold the mingshen mirror. I begin to move the stick slowly from the tree to the mirror, humming a tune that comes from deep inside me. I keep up a steady rhythm with the stick as if I’m conducting a slow waltz. Then I see that the point is going right through the mirror, as if there’s no glass there at all! Something attaches itself to the end of the stick where the circular patterns are. It looks like pale blue fairy floss, only it has the consistency of chewing gum and grows longer and longer until it stretches so thin I think it’s going to break in half.

Suddenly there’s a loud SNAP! My mirror flies out of my hand and bounces across the white stones. I look at the lightning stick but the gooey stuff has gone. Is the boy inside the mirror or is he still in the tree? Or worse still, is he lying hurt somewhere?

I rush over and pick the mirror up, holding it in both hands. I remember what Por Por said about not looking directly into it, so I look out of the corner of my eye.

I see a small boy with straggly hair and bare feet, dressed in shorts and a yellow vest. ‘Are you all right?’ I ask, touching the mirror with my fingers. But he can’t see or hear me.

I hear quiet footsteps behind me and someone puts a hand on my shoulder. ‘Good work, Little Cloud,’ Por Por says, as if she’s been watching the whole time. ‘Now wrap him up using the ghostlock fold. Do you remember it?’ She hands me a red cloth and a gold cord.

‘I think so,’ I say. I squat down, spread the cloth flat on the ground, place the mirror face down on top of it, then fold all the corners into the centre. I look up at Por Por. ‘I might need some help with the ghost knot, though,’ I say.

Por Por kneels down, wraps the cord around the mirror three times then makes one loose knot, then another, which she hooks through the first. Finally, she pulls the loops horizontally. ‘There, now it cannot be broken from the inside.’

‘What do we do with him now?’ I ask. ‘We can’t take him home to your pond, Por Por, ’cos that’s only where naughty ghosts go, not fat bellies.’

‘That’s right, Little Cloud. We need to find one of the entrances to the underworld. They shift constantly, so we need a guide to show us the way.’ She takes a small paper lantern from her bag. It looks like one of the Chinese folding lanterns Mama used to hang up around the garden when we had summer barbecues. Por Por lights the little candle inside, then sits the lantern on her palm. With a gentle blow she sets it afloat. ‘Now we have to follow it,’ she says. ‘Wherever the hu lantern lands, that will be the entrance to the underworld.’

The lantern guides us out of the house and along the narrow laneway, floating just above our heads. I carry the mirror very carefully. I don’t want the fat belly to feel scared or get seasick.

We follow the hu lantern for about half an hour across the canals, weaving our way down the streets and alleyways to the edge of town. A small rutted track leads out of the Isle of Clouds and between fields of vegetables to a small, rocky hill. The lantern lands on the ground and the candle snuffs out.

When we reach the place where the hu lantern sits, I see a crevice in the rocks.

Por Por pokes her head inside. ‘This is it,’ she says. ‘The entrance to the underworld.’ Her voice echoes back. She squeezes through first and I follow her. There’s the sound of trickling water and it smells sweet, like peaches that are just ripe enough to eat. We are standing in a cave.

‘Haole,’ Por Por says. ‘Put the mirror on the ground and pull the two loops vertically this time. This will break the lock.’

I do as Por Por says and the knot falls away easily. Por Por asks me to stand back. Then she takes the dried stalks with the red berries from her bag and sprinkles them in a circle around the mirror. After this she begins to chant.

I can just make out the faint outline of the mirror and strain my eyes to see more. I hold my breath as a pale blue light slowly rises out of the mirror’s surface. For an instant it quivers, glows irridescent, then it vanishes. The sweet scent of peaches grows even stronger than before.

‘Now he will be happy,’ Por Por says.

‘Why do people have to die?’ I ask. ‘That boy was only ten. It’s not fair.’ My voice trembles in the dark.

Por Por puts her arm around my shoulders. ‘That’s just the way it is, Little Cloud,’ she says.