Every Wednesday afternoon was usually He Chusan’s easiest time of the week. It was his rest day—he didn’t need to work at A Hua Ice House. Normally, after finishing classes at five, he would hurry home, brew his father’s medicinal decoction, eat dinner, and then light a candle to continue his studies.
But today, he rushed back in haste, cooked only a single portion of food, set the medicine to warm over the stove, then slung his small schoolbag over his shoulder and made for the door.
“Where are you going?” His father, Old He, lounging on a battered wooden recliner at the doorway and fanning himself with a palm-leaf fan, swung it out to block his path.
“To school to study, Dad,” He Chusan replied.
“Going to school without eating?” Old He snorted. “What, is your school canteen free today?”
“I…” He Chusan hesitated before answering, “I’ll buy some beef offal from Sis Fatty and eat while I walk.”
“Hah!” Old He lifted his nose. “So you’ve got money now, huh? Eating beef offal as a meal? Last night you were sneaking upstairs with those colorful bills tucked in your pocket, thinking your old man didn’t see, eh? Just because I had a surgery the size of a peanut, you think I’ve gone senile? You’ve grown bold, He Ah-San!”
He Chusan drooped his head and confessed honestly, “Dad, I treated a friend to beef offal and a movie. A guy—not a girlfriend.”
“Did I say you got yourself a girlfriend? Guilty conscience!” Old He snapped, smacking his fan. “Good thing your old man is open-minded and doesn’t want to meddle in your nonsense. Go, go, go!”
He Chusan ducked his head, scurried next door, bought two large bowls of beef offal, and set off briskly.
Carrying the steaming bowls, he ran all the way out of Jiaolong Walled City. To save time, he even splurged on a bus ride—something he rarely did—getting off at the school gate before heading straight for the billiards hall.
The manager there had no idea about the boss flipping the hotpot table the day before. He called Xiao Ma instead. “Boss Ma, Mr. He is here—says he’s looking for the big boss.”
“No, no! The hell kind of nobody is he? Dares to piss off the boss?!” Xiao Ma was having dinner on the other end, picking his teeth. “Beat him out with sticks!”
He Chusan took the phone. “Brother Ma.”
“Fuck your mother! Who said you can call me that?! Call me Manager Ma!”
“You’ve misunderstood, Brother Ma. Brother Liuyi was just joking with me. He’s waiting for me to go apologize properly—kowtow, admit fault. If you don’t let me in, he won’t feel satisfied, and none of you will have an easy time either.” He Chusan spoke with calm reasoning.
Xiao Ma paused, thinking of Xia Liuyi’s recent foul mood. It was true—things hadn’t been good lately. And there had been more than one occasion where the boss had cursed him out over this very kid. Unable to figure out Xia Liuyi’s intentions, he decided it was best not to wade into murky waters.
“Fine, fine. I’ll send someone to pick you up. Wait there!”
He Chusan climbed into the car with his schoolbag and the two bowls of beef offal. Before getting out, he handed one bowl to the driver. “Please take this to Brother Ma. Tell him I brought it specially from Jiaolong Walled City—one bowl for him, one for your big boss. Just a small token of thanks for the trouble.”
“Hey! Damn poor kid, giving a bowl of offal as thanks—ain’t that insulting Boss Ma?” the driver couldn’t help remarking as he set it on Xiao Ma’s table.
“What the hell do you know!” Xiao Ma snapped, smacking him with his chopsticks. “You think this is just any beef offal? It’s from the big boss’s favorite place!”
He set down his chopsticks and glanced sideways at the still-warm bowl. One bowl each for me and the boss? A token of thanks? This damn brat—no wonder the boss favors him. Looks dumb as wood, but his head’s sharp as hell.
Meanwhile, He Chusan carried his remaining bowl into Xia Liuyi’s “headquarters”. This time, he didn’t receive the privilege of entering the big boss’s office directly. After giving his name, he was made to squat in a meeting room, guarding his bowl of offal, waiting nearly an hour before Angel, all pale thighs and clicking heels, finally arrived.
“Mr. He? You can go in now.”
Inside, Xia Liuyi sat smoking, reading documents with a deeply furrowed brow, clearly in a foul mood. When He Chusan entered, he didn’t even lift his head—obviously unwilling to acknowledge him.
He Chusan lowered himself humbly. “Brother Liuyi.”
Without looking up, Xia Liuyi said coldly, “What? Tired of living? Came to borrow money for a coffin?”
He Chusan glanced at Angel. Without needing instructions, the beautiful secretary turned on her heel and left.
He Chusan hurried forward, placing the bowl of beef offal—kept warm against his chest as best he could—on Xia Liuyi’s desk.
Only then did Xia Liuyi shift his gaze slightly, letting out a cold laugh. “What’s this?”
“Beef offal from Sis Fatty’s place.”
Xia Liuyi leaned back in his chair, still sneering. “A bowl of offal, and you think that’ll dismiss me? Who the hell do you think you are, He Ah-San? The Governor of Hong Kong? Even if you kneel and kowtow to me, I wouldn’t bother looking! Take it back and get lost!”
He Chusan lowered his head and pulled out the second “secret weapon for begging a gang boss’s forgiveness” from his schoolbag—a movie ticket to the Tsim Sha Tsui Cultural Centre. A large red stamp in the corner read: Complimentary Ticket.
“Given out by the student union,” He Chusan said. “The Godfather—dubbed in Chinese.”
Xia Liuyi let out another cold chuckle. “Heh.”
He picked up the phone. “Send A-Yong and A-Biao in.”
Soon, his two burly bodyguards entered. “Boss.”
“The lackey of Fat Seven we caught yesterday—still alive?”
“Still alive, boss.”
“Talk yet?”
“No. Holding out.”
Xia Liuyi jerked his chin toward He Chusan. “Take him to have a look.”
A-Yong and A-Biao seized He Chusan by the arms and carried him off. They went down the elevator, through the underground parking lot, and into a basement room through a side door.
The moment the door opened, the stench of blood hit like a wave.
A man hung naked in the center of the room, bound at the hands and feet, his body covered in lash wounds. His swollen eyes were barely open—he looked half-dead.
A-Yong shoved He Chusan aside and dialed Xia Liuyi on his brick phone, putting it on speaker.
“Zheng Wu, how was your ‘Children’s Day’ last night?” Xia Liuyi’s icy voice echoed.
The man struggled to lift his head, sobbing. “Boss Xia… please… I really don’t know anything… I’ve followed Fat Seven for years… my wife and child are under him… if he finds out I betrayed him… please, Boss Xia… spare me…”
“Heh,” Xia Liuyi laughed. “Worried about your wife and kid? Don’t worry—Brother Liuyi already thought of that for you. I invited them over today to celebrate ‘Children’s Day’ as well. Want to see?”
The man was struck as if by lightning. He screamed in terror. “Boss Xia! No! Please, don’t! It has nothing to do with them! I beg you!”
“A-Yong,” Xia Liuyi ordered.
A-Yong gestured to the guards. They hauled over a sack from the next room and threw it to the ground. With a slash of a knife, it split open—
A putrid, nauseating stench filled the air.
Under the dim light, what lay inside was a mutilated corpse—headless, limbless, its torso torn open, intestines spilling out in a gruesome heap.
Even He Chusan, standing by, felt his lips twitch, clutching his clothes tightly. Zheng Wu had already begun to shriek like a madman, “Aaaaah—!”
He thrashed wildly, unable to break free, his screams turning hoarse, until at last he collapsed into wailing sobs. “Wife—my wife! I’m sorry… you died so horribly…!”
A-Yong stuffed a filthy sock into his mouth, reducing his cries to muffled sobs, tears streaming down his grimy face.
“Zheng Wu,” Xia Liuyi’s voice continued from the phone, “your daughter looks lively and adorable. I’m sure she loves fun holidays. Whether she gets to celebrate… depends on you.”
Zheng Wu let out a broken howl, nodding frantically. When the sock was removed, he screamed, “I’ll talk! I’ll tell you everything! Just don’t touch my daughter—please!”
Xia Liuyi snorted coldly. “Then talk properly. A-Yong, bring him up.”
“Uh…” A-Yong hesitated. “He’s too filthy, boss.” Covered in blood—bring him upstairs?
“I said bring that kid up!” Xia Liuyi snapped impatiently.
Thus, after witnessing a scene of brutal torture and turning deathly pale from the shock, He Chusan was once again hauled back to the office by A-Yong and A-Biao, one on each side.
It was the height of summer. The office was cooled by air conditioning, faintly scented with perfume. The air was fresh, the windows spotless, and beyond the floor-to-ceiling glass lay the glittering nightscape of the harbor—resplendent with lights. Compared to the dim, blood-reeking basement, it was truly the difference between heaven and hell.
Xia Liuyi still lounged lazily in his boss’s chair, smoking. “Seen enough?”
He Chusan lowered his head, looking thoroughly shaken. “Mm.”
“Now you know what kind of man I am?”
“Mm.”
“And since you know—what do you say?”
He Chusan trembled as he pleaded softly, “I was wrong, Brother Liuyi. I won’t dare anger you again. Please forgive me. And… please don’t implicate my father. He’s old—he can’t ‘celebrate holidays’ anymore.”
“Hmph!” Xia Liuyi snorted. “What the hell are you worth? I don’t have time to bother with you! Get lost—far away. Don’t let me see you again!”
He Chusan turned and slowly began to “get lost.” After a few steps, he suddenly remembered something and turned back to remind him, “Brother Liuyi, the beef offal’s gone cold. Ask your secretary to heat it up before eating, or you might upset your stomach.”
“……”
Xia Liuyi held it in for a moment. Watching the boy inch toward the door like a snail with his schoolbag, he finally couldn’t take it anymore. “Stop.”
He Chusan immediately turned around.
“You knew that sack held a dead pig?”
He Chusan dropped the frightened act from before and nodded honestly. “Mm. Sis Fatty also sells pig liver and fried intestines.”
Every morning at dawn, Sis Fatty’s husband would push a small cart loaded with ingredients. Whenever he ran into He Chusan, who was out practicing tai chi, he would enthusiastically greet him—often with bloodied pig organs in tow.
Zheng Wu had been beaten senseless, mistaking the dead pig for his wife. But the moment the sack was cut open and He Chusan caught the smell, he had already sensed something was off. A closer look—and his lips twitched as he struggled to suppress laughter, clutching at his clothes.
He knew Xia Liuyi’s nature well. Though he appeared rough and tyrannical, he still upheld a certain code of the jianghu—he would never truly harm women or children.
“……” Xia Liuyi.
Staring at this “award-winning actor,” Xia Liuyi pinched his cigarette and fell silent for a long moment. “Get out.”
He Chusan could only turn and continue “getting lost.” After pulling open the glass door, he couldn’t resist asking, “Then… will you come watch the movie, Brother Liuyi?”
“Get—out!”
Xia Liuyi simmered in anger for quite a while, kicking the table a few times before finally feeling his breathing steady. At least he no longer felt the urge to strangle He Chusan on the spot. With a darkened expression, he stepped out and entered the elevator.
By the time he reached the basement, he had once again donned the cold, ruthless demeanor of a crime boss. Flicking ash from his cigarette as he looked down at Zheng Wu trembling on the floor, he asked A-Yong, “What did he confess?”
A-Yong leaned in and whispered a few words into Xia Liuyi’s ear. Xia Liuyi’s expression changed instantly. He crouched down, grabbing Zheng Wu by the hair. “What did you say?! Before Qinglong died, Fat Seven went to see Xu Ying?! What did they talk about?!”
“I don’t know! I really don’t know! They spoke behind closed doors—no one was allowed in…!”
Xia Liuyi suddenly flung him aside, his eyes filled with chilling murderous intent.
Every Saturday afternoon was usually He Chusan’s busiest time. Business at A Hua’s Ice House would be booming—customers lining up two alleyways deep just for their signature char siu rice. He Chusan would often carry three plates at once—two in his hands, one balanced on his head—spinning through the maze of crowded tables like a top.
But today, for the first time ever, he asked Uncle Ah Hua for leave. Amid curses from the overworked boss, he clutched his schoolbag, squeezed through the crowd, and bolted out the door, drawing curious looks from neighbors waiting in line.
“Damn brat!” Uncle Ah Hua cursed while chopping char siu. “Skipping work to chase girls!”
A rag came flying over from Aunt Ah Hua. “Did you work when you were chasing me back then? Didn’t your old man chase you with a stick?!”
“If I’d known you’d turn out like this twenty years later, I wouldn’t have taken you even if you came free!” Uncle Ah Hua retorted bitterly, rag still on his head.
“Tch! As if I’d fancy you! Go piss and take a look at your sorry face!” Aunt Ah Hua shot back, swinging her hips proudly as she took over delivering dishes.
Thus, innocent yet saddled with the reputation of chasing girls in both his father’s and employer’s eyes, He Chusan set off—having not even eaten, partly to save money—clutching a single ticket as he made the long journey to the Tsim Sha Tsui Cultural Centre.
The Cultural Centre, newly built just the previous year, had been inaugurated personally by Prince Charles and Princess Diana. Its silver-white, sweeping arc faced the sea, exuding elegance and grandeur.
Those who came and went were mostly people of status—refined businessmen, sharply dressed white-collar elites, cultured scholars with gleaming spectacles… and the like. Among them, He Chusan, dressed in worn clothes and old shoes with a schoolbag on his back, stood out conspicuously—his tall frame only making him more noticeable.
He stood stiffly near the entrance, holding a book. Yet out of fear that Xia Liuyi might pass by unnoticed, he didn’t dare open it, instead keeping his eyes fixed on the stream of incoming people.
The movie began at seven. By 6:45, a few classmates from the student union passed by and greeted him. “Ah-San? You’re here for The Godfather too? It’s about to start—come in with us.”
He Chusan shook his head. “I’m waiting for someone.”
He waited honestly—from 6:45 to 7:00, then to 7:15… and by 7:45, he had all but given up hope. Squatting down where he stood, he placed his schoolbag on his knees and began reading under the entrance lights.
As his eyes skimmed line after line of English text without truly absorbing it, his mind raced.
—Was Xia Liuyi so angry that he wanted nothing more to do with him? If so, why bother dragging him to watch that “torture” just to scare him? He could have simply had him beaten and thrown out.
—Was he deliberately standing him up to toy with him? If so, he could only accept it. After all, he had angered Xia Liuyi—letting him vent a little was only fair.
—But he truly couldn’t accept money from the underworld. Even if there were a next time, he still wouldn’t take it. The money from before was already wrapped up and stored in a small tin box—he planned to return it all someday.
—Sigh… when he returned it, Xia Liuyi would surely fall out with him again. This gang boss was impossible to deal with—unreasonable, doing as he pleased. One moment he’d snatch money, the next he’d force it on you. Refuse it, and he’d flip tables like a child…
At that very moment, Xia Liuyi—driving—suddenly sneezed violently. “Fuck! Who’s cursing me?!”
Never in his life had He Chusan felt so restless. For the first time, he couldn’t focus on reading. Lowering his head, he buried his face into the yellowed pages, breathing in the faint scent of ink that always calmed him.
At the beginning, hadn’t he only wished to stay far away from the underworld? So why now—when it had nothing to do with him—did he feel so uneasy?
—If it were merely that someone had treated him kindly and he had angered them, feeling guilty would be understandable. But this was a domineering underworld figure—forcing him to write scripts, then forcing money on him afterward. How could such coercion be considered kindness?
And yet… he still felt guilty.
He Chusan came to a preliminary conclusion—
There was something wrong with him.
He Chusan, who had concluded there was something wrong with himself, had never felt this troubled in his life. Hugging his book, he sat there in a daze for a long time before letting out a sigh far too world-weary for his age.
“I say, you’re not that old—why do you sigh like some old man?” Xia Liuyi spoke from above him.
He Chusan looked up in shock. There stood the boss—slim waist, long legs wrapped in a black suit. Even his usually messy, unruly hair had been slicked back with a touch of pomade, making him look strikingly elegant and refined.
He Chusan couldn’t help himself—he just stared.
Xia Liuyi lazily kicked him. “Get up! What are you spacing out for?”
“You…” He Chusan began, then glanced at the large clock in the lobby. “You’re an hour late.”
“Had paparazzi tailing me, and there was traffic,” Xia Liuyi said irritably. “Drove all around Kowloon before I shook them off. I’m in a shitty mood right now—don’t piss me off.”
Bracing himself against the wall, He Chusan staggered to his feet, then looked behind him in surprise. “You were being followed? You didn’t bring bodyguards?”
“The hell do I need bodyguards for a movie? You think they’d even understand it?” Xia Liuyi raked a hand through his hair, ruining the refined look the pomade had created. “What kind of place is this? Why aren’t they selling fish balls or popcorn at the entrance?”
“You’re not allowed to eat inside,” He Chusan explained.
“Fuck! Then what’s the point of watching a movie?! What a shithole!”
He Chusan was at a loss for words. All he could say was, “This movie is three hours long. We can still go in now.”
Xia Liuyi frowned and strode straight inside, not even waiting for him. He Chusan scrambled behind, hurriedly tidying up his schoolbag.
The screening hall was on the second floor. One walked ahead, the other behind, climbing the stairs. Under the grand, glittering lights of the lobby, Xia Liuyi’s long shadow stretched across the steps—and with every step, He Chusan unconsciously stepped on that shadow, the corners of his lips lifting slightly.
“Brother Liuyi, I’m really happy you came.”
“Shut up! If I could find a Cantonese dub anywhere else, you think I’d come? Seeing your face annoys the hell out of me!”
He Chusan jogged a few steps to catch up, turning to smile at him.
True to his words, Xia Liuyi, “annoyed by his face,” kicked him again.
The two entered the screening hall side by side and found seats toward the back in the darkness. Barely a few seconds passed before the entire audience heard an explosive shout from behind.
“Fuck, He Ah-San! Isn’t this Mandarin dubbing?! Where’s the Cantonese?!”
“Shh!” another voice whispered urgently. “It’s all Chinese anyway…”
By the time Xia Liuyi walked out of the Cultural Centre, his face was even darker than when he had gone in.
The dubbing alone wouldn’t have been a problem—there were plenty of mainland stowaways in Jiaolong Walled City, and Xia Liuyi had picked up enough over time to understand. The real issue was that this damn cinema not only didn’t sell fish balls or popcorn—it even banned smoking.
Staff had come over several times to stop him. Before he could lose patience and toss one of them out with a single hand, the entire audience stood up and condemned him, unable to tolerate his repeated disruptions, demanding he leave immediately.
Faced with such humiliation, Xia Liuyi sat there gripping his cigarette, his face ashen, saying nothing. He Chusan thought he was about to explode—pull a gun, silence the entire hall, or just start beating people and burn the place down.
Instead, Xia Liuyi simply stood up in silence, flicked his cigarette onto the ground, pushed past the staff blocking him, and walked out.
He Chusan hurried after him, catching up on the grand staircase. “Brother Liuyi!”
Xia Liuyi didn’t respond. Hands in his pockets, he strode down the stairs and out of the Cultural Centre, only to be grabbed by the arm as He Chusan rushed up behind him.
“Brother Liuyi, I’m sorry.”
Xia Liuyi tilted his head slightly, glancing at him in silence. This kid, who usually kept his head lowered timidly, was now standing straight in his nervousness—almost the same height as him. They locked eyes for a moment before Xia Liuyi asked expressionlessly, “Sorry for what?”
“I…” He Chusan hesitated. “I shouldn’t have picked a place like this and made you angry again.”
Xia Liuyi let out a cold snort, pulling a cigarette from his pocket and lighting it. After a drag, he said, “You think I don’t understand cultured people’s rules? That I embarrassed myself in there?”
“No, it’s them—” He Chusan tried to defend him, but thinking about it, Xia Liuyi had indeed been too overbearing, disrupting everyone else’s viewing. His words came out weak. “…They’re just too fussy.”
Xia Liuyi smirked, cigarette in his mouth, and smacked the back of his head—not hard, not light. “Too fussy? Don’t fucking speak for them! I think all you people are just sick! Is this how you watch a movie? Come to my company next week—I’ll teach you how to watch one!”
He Chusan obediently nodded. “Okay… Then are you still mad at me, Brother Liuyi?”
“Stay mad at you? Do you think I’ve got that kind of energy?! Get lost!”
He Chusan “got lost” right up beside him, walking shoulder to shoulder. “How about I treat you to fish balls, Brother Liuyi?”
“I’m already full from being pissed off by you. Eat my ass.”
“……” Didn’t you just say you weren’t mad?
He Chusan shut his mouth and said nothing more—just deliberately let the loud rumbling of his empty stomach be heard.
As expected, Xia Liuyi frowned. “You didn’t eat?”
“Mm.”
With a loud smack, Xia Liuyi slapped his back. “Forget fish balls. Brother Liuyi’s taking you to eat lobster at the Peninsula Hotel across the street!”
He Chusan’s shoulders trembled. “No need…”
“Cut the crap! Let’s go!” In his foul mood, Xia Liuyi was determined to play the big spender. Grabbing the strap of He Chusan’s schoolbag, he hauled him off in one swift motion.
Futile Devices Scans 
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