1989. Hong Kong. Flood Dragon Walled City.
A fortress swallowed by shadow.
From above, the entire city sat in a rigid square—blocks of high-rises packed tight, stacked layer upon suffocating layer, like a monstrous cube forged from steel and concrete. It squatted abruptly in Kowloon, utterly out of place among the surrounding open streets and modern overpasses. Less than three square kilometers in size, yet crammed with over five hundred buildings and nearly thirty thousand people.
The density choked even the fiercest summer sunlight. Ninety-five percent of the city lived in permanent darkness—no sky, no day.
Its notoriety spread far beyond Hong Kong.
Because of unresolved historical issues dating back to the Qing dynasty, this tiny patch of land became a lawless void—claimed by no one, governed by no one. Neither Beijing, nor Hong Kong, nor the British held authority here. It was a black-zone “autonomous territory” in all but name.
And in that endless darkness festered everything—drug dens, gambling houses, brothels, dog meat stalls, unlicensed clinics. It was the largest distribution hub for “white powder” in the Asia-Pacific at the time… and a haven where triad forces gathered, hid, and thrived.
Xia Liuyi.
The undisputed gold-medal enforcer of the Flood Dragon Walled City.
The Red Pole of the Xiaoqi Hall—wielding a pair of Qinglong twin blades as his signature weapons.
“Red Pole,” in plain terms, meant the boss of the hitters—the man who beat people, and led others to beat people. Within the triad hierarchy, his rank sat just below the Dragon Head Boss (Mountain Master) and the Deputy Hall Master (Deputy Mountain Master), equal to the White Paper Fan (strategist/finance) and the Straw Sandal (liaison).
When it came to raw martial skill, Xia Liuyi wasn’t the absolute best in the Walled City.
The place was a cesspool of hidden dragons and crouching tigers, with over a dozen gangs tangled together. Even within Xiaoqi Hall alone, his abilities ranked second—just beneath Deputy Hall Master Xu Ying, rumored to be a direct descendant of the legendary Eighteen Dragon-Subduing Palms lineage.
But when it came to being a gold-medal enforcer?
If Xia Liuyi claimed second place in the entire city—
no one would dare claim first.
The reason was simple.
In a fight to the death, who the fuck cares about martial arts forms, blade techniques, or lineage?
What mattered was this—
a black heart, ruthless hands, and the kind of brutality that doesn’t even value your own life.
That was the essence of a gang fight.
At eighteen, Xia Liuyi proved it.
During a massive gang war, to rescue the besieged Dragon Head Boss Hao Chengqing, he charged in alone—dual blades in hand—and cut down more than forty men, carving a path of blood through three entire alleyways.
Afterward, it took nearby residents two full days and nights just to scrape the shredded flesh off the walls and ground.
That battle became legend.
The underworld called it—
“Black Children’s Day.”
Even six years later, it was still told and retold.
Hong Kong had no tradition of Children’s Day. Celebrating it on June 1st was a mainland custom. But many residents of the Walled City had drifted in from the mainland, and with Xia Liuyi’s infamous name spreading by word of mouth, “June 1st Children’s Day” became something everyone here knew.
And among the petty crooks and lowlifes?
Just hearing Luiyi “Six-One” was enough to make their faces turn pale.
Because the thing they feared most—
was being “invited” by Boss Liuyi to celebrate Children’s Day.
Fortunately… this ruthless devil still had a code.
He wasn’t tyrannical, didn’t throw his weight around for no reason. His philosophy was simple: don’t fuck with me, and I won’t fuck with you. And above all, he was fiercely loyal to his boss, Hao Chengqing—following his lead without question.
Among the Dragon Heads of the Walled City, Hao Chengqing—known as the Azure Dragon Boss—was relatively measured and cautious. So the blade that was Xia Liuyi usually stayed sheathed, rarely unleashed in full slaughter.
Hell, most days, he was too lazy to even carry his own knives.
The day he arrived at the newly opened Xiaoqi Film Company, a business under Xiaoqi Hall, he had someone else carrying them for him.
That someone was Lai Quan—a junkie.
Lai Quan had lost twenty thousand at one of the gang’s gambling dens and tried to run from the debt. He had the distinct honor of being personally hunted down and dragged back by Xia Liuyi.
At this moment, Lai Quan had already foreseen his gruesome, unrecognizable death. He walked with tears and snot smeared all over his face—careful, even in his panic, to wipe his nose constantly so it wouldn’t drip onto Xia Liuyi’s blade.
“Boss Liuyi!” A lackey at the door snapped to attention, chest out.
(Xiao Ma—aka a junior underling.)
Xia Liuyi took the cigarette offered to him and tilted his head, letting the man light it.
“Boss Xiao Ma is waiting inside,” the lackey reported stiffly.
Xia Liuyi glanced at him, then jerked his chin toward Lai Quan. “Take him to the studio. Keep an eye on him.”
“Yes, sir!” The lackey kicked Lai Quan forward. “What the fuck are you staring at? Move!”
“Come back.”
“Yes, Boss Liuyi?”
“The blade.”
The lackey kicked Lai Quan again. “Hurry the fuck up and give Boss Liuyi his knife back!”
Xia Liuyi entered the room, shut the door, and plopped himself onto the desk, head lowered as he smoked.
Inside, his trusted subordinate Xiao Ma—scar-faced, with a slicked-back pompadour—was kneeling on the ground with several other thugs, all sprawled face-down like beaten dogs.
After waiting a long time with no word, Xiao Ma dared to sneak a glance up.
“That one at the door—I don’t recognize him,” Xia Liuyi said.
“Transferred here yesterday by Boss Xu. Said he’s sharp. If you don’t like him, I’ll find an excuse to replace him tomorrow!” Xiao Ma replied quickly, all sycophantic grin—completely at odds with his vicious appearance.
“Fuck… Xu Ying…” Xia Liuyi muttered, exhaling a slow stream of smoke. “Book a private room at Hexiang Tower tomorrow night. I’m having dinner with the boss.”
The “boss” he referred to was Hao Chengqing—the Azure Dragon himself.
“Yes! I’ll arrange it right away!” Xiao Ma sprang up.
Xia Liuyi flicked ash. “Get back down.”
Xiao Ma’s face fell as he dropped back to the floor.
Xia Liuyi tapped his foot.
Xiao Ma, miserable, raised a thick wooden rod with both hands. The other thugs immediately lowered their heads, sticking their asses up, biting down on their sleeves.
Xia Liuyi calmly stubbed out his cigarette, tossed both his sheathed blades onto the desk, rolled up his sleeves—
—and then started beating the absolute shit out of them.
Smack! Crack! Thwack!
He only used half his strength, but within moments, he’d turned their asses into swollen, blood-red messes.
These burly men trembled in agony, veins bulging across their faces, yet none dared scream—biting their sleeves hard enough to draw blood, crying silently in their hearts.
When Xia Liuyi finally decided it was enough, he tossed the rod aside and sat back down.
Xiao Ma struggled to his feet, limping over to light another cigarette for him.
“Know what you did wrong?” Xia Liuyi asked.
“Yes! Yes!” Xiao Ma nodded frantically. The others followed suit.
“What was it?”
“…Uh… heh…”
Xia Liuyi turned, reaching for the rod again.
Sensing disaster, Xiao Ma lunged forward and hugged his leg, wailing, “Boss Liuyi! No more! I’ll be crippled if you keep going!”
Smack!
Another brutal hit landed square on his already battered ass. Xiao Ma howled, while the others turned their heads away in sympathy.
“What the fuck am I feeding you useless bastards for?” Xia Liuyi finally snapped. “Can’t even catch one lousy Lai Quan? Had to make me do it myself?”
“Boss Liuyi…” Xiao Ma whimpered, clutching his backside. “I don’t get it… he only owes twenty thousand. Why go through all this trouble?”
“You don’t get it?” Smack! Xia Liuyi slapped the back of his head. “Of course you don’t—you’ve got your brains in your ass!”
Xiao Ma crouched there, aggrieved and hurting.
Xia Liuyi’s expression turned cold.
“Lai Quan has a younger sister. You know that?”
“Yeah—Third Sis Lai. Total slut.”
“What’s she been up to lately?”
“Uh… heard she hooked up with Fat Seven from the Hesheng Society.”
“The boss wants to open a nightclub on Portland Street in Mong Kok—right next to Yau Ma Tei. That’s Hesheng territory. They’re bound to stir shit.”
He exhaled slowly.
“I grab Lai Quan. Fat Seven calls the boss asking for his brother-in-law. I always listen to the boss—so of course I let him go. Fat Seven owes us a favor.”
A faint smirk tugged at his lips.
“And when the nightclub opens? You think they won’t make things… easier for us?”
“Oh! Ohhh—!” Xiao Ma lit up in realization. “Got it! Got it!”
Smack!
“Grow a fucking brain!”
“I will! I swear! Been growing one every day for three years under you, Boss Liuyi!”Xiao Ma flattered desperately.
“Get lost.”
Xiao Ma scrambled up, grabbing the rod, ready to bolt—then suddenly remembered something and came scurrying back, near tears.
“Boss Liuyi… there’s one more thing. About the new movie…”
Earlier that year, Xia Liuyi and the White Paper Fan, Cui Dongdong, had been ordered to establish the Xiaoqi Film Company—a front to launder money for the “main company.”
Cui Dongdong handled the accounts. Xia Liuyi, as the nominal general manager, had to actually produce films for appearances’ sake.
They’d already made a few Category III films—mediocre returns. Now, the Azure Dragon wanted to shift direction and produce a proper triad romance film.
Xia Liuyi shot him a cold glare.
Xiao Ma immediately started trembling. “N-no big problem! Director’s ready! I got Liu Xiaode, a hot actor—he owes five hundred thousand from gambling at Boss Xu’s club. For the female lead, the boss said the boss’s wife will play the role. But the director only shoots porn—stuff like Blazing Lust, Midnight Canteen, Dusty Mistress… He says we need a real screenwriter for a proper story, and I—I don’t know a single one…”
“Fuck’s sake,” Xia Liuyi snapped. “Just grab someone who can read and write! If not—write it yourself!”
Xiao Ma’s face fell. “I didn’t even finish middle school, Boss Liuyi…”
“Then find someone who did!” Liuyi snapped, punctuating it with a kick.
Xiao Ma yelped, clutching his ass as he bolted for the door—only to be called back after two steps.
Head lowered, Xia Liuyi took a drag of his cigarette, slipping back into that lazy, half-affected demeanor. After a moment, he said, as if recalling something, “Two years ago, there was a college kid in the Walled City—set off firecrackers once. Find him.”
“Got it!”
…
At 10:35 that night, a pack of thugs with freshly swollen asses blocked the alley and jumped He Chusan on his way back from self-study. A sack went over his head, and fifteen minutes later, he was hauled back to the “company.”
Who was He Chusan?
He was the first modern-day college student in the entire history of Flood Dragon Walled City—about as rare as a top imperial scholar coming out of some godforsaken mountain backwater in ancient times.
His mother, Shen Peipei, had once been one of the most beautiful women in the Walled City. Unfortunately, she’d gone blind in love—literally wasted those beautiful eyes—on a penniless, powerless low-level triad thug. They called it true love, but really, she just fell for his looks. The two were inseparable. Before marriage, she got pregnant. By the fourth month, that pretty-boy thug had been hacked to pieces in a dark alley. Luckily, his head was still intact—enough to identify the body. Some comfort, at least.
Shen Peipei didn’t take comfort.
That very night, unable to bear it, she jumped into the sea while still pregnant. She hadn’t been submerged long before a passing unlicensed dentist fished her out. The dentist’s surname was He—plain-looking, honest. His wife had run off with another man, and he didn’t mind picking up someone else’s child.
Shen Peipei lay weak and bedridden in his clinic for six months. She died the day she gave birth. With her last breath, she grabbed his hand and said, “Let him take your surname—He. Just… don’t let him end up in the underworld.”
Dentist He never remarried. He worked tirelessly to raise the boy.
Because he was born on the third day of the Lunar New Year, the child was named He Chusan. His nickname was A-San, and people mockingly called him “Indian A-Sir.” But the boy was obedient, gentle, and sensible. From childhood to adulthood, no matter how others mocked, provoked, harassed, or even beat him, he never fought back.
(Elio’s notes: “Indian Asir” refers to 印度阿三 (Yìndù Āsān), a Chinese slang term used as a derogatory ethnic slur for Indian people.)
Over time, he became a bizarre anomaly in Flood Dragon Walled City—a clean, refined, well-mannered top student.
That anomaly studied his way through primary and secondary school on scholarships, eventually earning admission to Longgang Polytechnic University. In a place that never saw sunlight, his achievement cast a strange, almost surreal kind of glow.
When Dentist He heard the news, he was so overjoyed he set off a string of firecrackers in the street. The whole Walled City knew. It was glory for the family, sure—but that firecracker would end up being the turning point that screwed his son’s life.
…
On the night tragedy came knocking, He Chusan had just spent an entire day cramming dense English formulas into his brain. Backpack slung over his shoulders, he walked through the familiar dim alleyways—
—and suddenly, his mouth and nose were covered.
Darkness slammed over his vision.
Dazed, he felt himself lifted sideways, as if he were flying.
After who knew how long of jolting and rushing, the sack came off—and light flooded back in.
The first thing he saw was a young man.
A damn good-looking one.
The man wore a tight black tank top, showing off healthy bronze skin and beautifully defined arms and shoulders. His long legs, wrapped snugly in jeans, were crossed and propped up on a desk. His features were sharp and cool, his eyes bright like stars—naturally distant, almost cold—but his expression was relaxed, lazy.
He was casually eating a skewer of beef offal while watching TV.
On the black-and-white screen, The Godfather was playing. Marlon Brando stood by a bed, cigar in hand, muttering indistinct English lines.
For He Chusan—who had grown up in the slums and had only ever seen televisions through shop windows—it was an entirely new experience. His attention snapped to the screen instantly.
The two of them stared at the TV together for a while.
Finally, unable to keep up with the subtitles, Xia Liuyi lost his patience.
“Xiao Ma!”
From the next room, a limping young man with a slicked-back hairstyle and a scarred face rushed in. “Yeah! Boss Liuyi!”
“Where’s the Chinese dub?”
“Uh… this copy doesn’t have one.”
“…”
“Heh, heh…” Xiao Ma forced a flattering grin.
“Get the fuck out.”
“Yes, sir!” He scurried off.
“Come back.”
“Yes, sir!” He scurried back.
“Who’s this?” Xia Liuyi jerked his chin toward He Chu San.
“The screenwriter—you told me to grab him this afternoon.” Xiao Ma puffed up proudly.
Xia Liuyi frowned, looking He Chusan up and down. “This kid… he even an adult?”
“Answer Boss Liuyi—how old are you?!” Xiao Ma barked, instantly switching to a vicious tone.
“Twenty-one,” He Chusan said obediently.
Xiao Ma kicked the back of his knee, sending him crashing to the ground. “Bullshit! Twenty-one my ass—you look sixteen at most! Speak properly!”
He Chusan reached for his bag. Thinking he was going for a weapon, Xiao Ma kicked him flying two meters and grabbed him to beat him—only to be stopped by Xia Liuyi raising a hand.
Clutching his chest, coughing hard, He Chusan shakily pulled out his ID. Xiao Ma snatched it, checked the birthdate—twenty-one, no mistake.
“Fuck,” Xiao Ma cursed. The kid was skinny as a chicken, all baby-faced softness—how the hell was he twenty-one?
He Chusan stayed silent, clutching his chest. People in this world didn’t care about reason—he knew that much. And since he had no idea why he’d been dragged here, silence was the safest option.
Xia Liuyi waved a hand, dismissing Xiao Ma completely. He tilted his chin, signaling He Chusan to sit, then turned back to the TV, fully absorbed again.
After the ache in his chest faded, He Chusan’s attention drifted back to the screen.
They watched in silence for about ten minutes.
Once again missing the subtitles, Xia Liuyi frowned. “What’d he say?”
“He said, ‘I’m going to make him an offer he can’t refuse.’”
Xia Liuyi let out a low whistle, clearly approving.
“And this one?”
“Be closer to your enemies than to your friends.”
This time, Xia Liuyi raised an eyebrow.
After a while, he picked up another skewer of beef offal and kept eating, pushing the plate toward He Chusan.
“No thanks,” He Chusan said.
“Oi, you dumb fuck! Boss Liuyi told you to eat, so you eat!” one of the guards at the door roared like thunder.
In response, Xia Liuyi swung his long leg and kicked the entire plate straight at him. “Too fucking loud. Get lost.”
The man scrambled away instantly.
Xia Liuyi turned back to the TV and casually handed the remaining half-skewer to He Chusan. Hesitating, He Chusan didn’t dare take it.
Without even looking at him, eyes still on the TV, Xia Liuyi gave the skewer a small shake and said mildly, “Eat.”
Like a stray dog that had wandered into a mansion—scolded harshly by servants, then gently petted by the master—He Chusan obediently took it and bit down.
The taste hit him immediately.
It was from the Fat Sister snack shop next to his father’s clinic.
Still green to the world, He Chusan couldn’t help but feel that this underworld boss was nothing like the ones he’d seen or heard about before—young, handsome, mild-mannered, even approachable. Someone… who might actually be reasoned with.
He cautiously shifted his hips, relaxing a little. For a fleeting moment, he thought maybe—just maybe—he had a chance of getting out of here alive tonight.
He finished the skewer of offal, followed the subtitles to the end, and finally, at Xia Liuyi’s instruction, turned off the TV.
This “gentle” triad boss then lazily got down to business.
“Know why I brought you here?”
He Chusan obediently shook his head.
“Ever heard of a ‘screenwriter’?”
Another shake.
Xia Liuyi, surprisingly patient, explained, “I’m making a movie. I need you to write a story. Three days.”
He Chusan blinked, finally understanding. But as a colonial-era university student whose brain was crammed full of English formulas, he had absolutely no idea how to write a story.
“I study finance…” he began.
—I don’t know how to write.
He didn’t even get to finish that sentence before Xiao Ma stormed back in, cursing.
“Boss Liuyi! I called Third Sis Lai to ask for money—she said she already cut ties with her brother! Whether Lai Quan lives or dies is none of her fucking business!”
Xia Liuyi raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”
“Fuck, that bitch even had the nerve to hang up on me!” Xiao Ma fumed.
Xia Liuyi didn’t look the least bit bothered. Tilting his head, he lit another cigarette, completely at ease.
“Bring him in.”
In less than ten seconds, Lai Quan—bruised and battered—was dragged in by several thugs.
Cold sweat drenched He Chusan’s back as he watched, wide-eyed.
Xia Liuyi, still looking relaxed with a cigarette between his lips, grabbed a chair and beat Lai Quan until he was barely recognizable as human. Then he had him pinned to the table, stuffed a sock into his mouth, and used pliers to rip out his fingernails one by one.
“Don’t know what to do?” Xia Liuyi pressed the burning tip of his cigarette against Lai Quan’s mangled fingers. “Want Boss Liuyi to think for you?”
“Think for yourself—one finger. I think for you—three.”
“Mmmph! Mmmph—!” Lai Quan sobbed hysterically through the filthy sock, shaking his head so hard it looked like it might fly off.
Xia Liuyi waved a hand. Xiao Ma stepped forward and yanked the sock out.
“I—I’ll call my mom… I’ll have her beg her…” Lai Quan whimpered weakly.
“Good boy.” Xia Liuyi patted his head approvingly. “One finger.”
Xiao Ma moved in immediately—clean, efficient.
Crack.
A bloodcurdling scream tore through the room.
“AAAAAAAHHHHH—!!”
That final, piercing shriek shattered He Chusan’s fragile nerves completely—body and soul alike. He stood there, frozen, as Lai Quan’s limp body was dragged away. Xiao Ma wrapped up the severed finger, instructed a lackey to deliver it to Lai Quan’s mother, then personally wiped the blood-soaked table clean before swiftly disappearing.
Xia Liuyi sat back down, propping his long legs up again.
“So,” he said casually, “what were you saying?”
He Chusan smacked his lips blankly. “…I study finance…”
“Hm?”
“I can write stories.”
“Good,” Xia Liuyi said, satisfied. “That’s my boy.”
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