He Chu San knew full well that Xia Liu Yi’s casual “hmph” that day couldn’t be taken as agreement—let alone the fact that they’d had a huge argument that very same night and were still at odds even now. Two days before the New Year, he made a confirmation call to Xia Liu Yi’s brick phone. Instead of asking directly whether he would come or not, he phrased it with considerable finesse:
“Brother Liu Yi, aside from char siu dumplings, what else would you like for New Year’s Eve dinner? Do you like Hainan Wenchang chicken?”
At that moment, Xia Liu Yi was in a basement directing A’Yong to beat someone up. With a cigarette between his fingers, he yawned lazily. “Anything’s fine.”
“How about steaming a fish as well?”
“Mhm.”
After hanging up, He Chu San silently smiled to himself on the other end, holding the brick phone. On this side, Boss Xia let out a sudden sneeze—
“Achoo!”
A’Yong’s hand paused mid-swing, and both he and the unfortunate man being beaten looked up at him.
“What the hell are you staring at?! Keep hitting!” Xia Liu Yi snapped, glaring. He snatched a napkin from A’Biao, blew his nose loudly, and tossed it aside.
With a heavy, muddled head, he stepped into the elevator. Only then did it belatedly dawn on him—
Damn it! Who just called? He Chu San? When the hell did I agree to anything?!
Grumbling inwardly though he was, hesitating though he might be, on New Year’s Eve afternoon he still drove himself to the vicinity of the tenement building where He Chu San lived, parking in a narrow alley.
The neighbors here were all long-time residents of Gaau Lung Walled City. He didn’t want to be recognized, so he put on sunglasses, flipped up the collar of his coat, and crept upstairs like some furtive assassin. Fortunately, at this hour every household was busy preparing reunion dinner. A few gleeful children ran past him in the dim stairwell, laughing and playing, paying him no mind.
Before he could knock, the door was already pulled open from inside. He Chu San stood there, unable to suppress the smile on his face.
“Brother Liu Yi, Happy New Year.”
It had been a long time since Xia Liu Yi had seen someone so genuinely happy. He paused behind his raised collar for a moment before responding, “Mm, Happy New Year.” Then he casually handed over the fruit basket he’d brought.
He Chu San ushered him inside. The place wasn’t large—at most the size of a single main hall in a wealthy household—but it had been cleverly partitioned into two bedrooms and a living room. Compared to the dilapidated two-story shack they’d had in the Walled City, it looked far more spacious and bright.
Dentist He, with time on his hands, had cut many delicate paper-cut decorations, pasting them everywhere so the place glowed red with festivity. Above the television was even a plump God of Wealth child poster—everything radiated a joyous New Year atmosphere.
At the center of the living room stood a small square table, already set with three pairs of bowls and chopsticks. In the middle sat a plate of steamed dace fish, garnished with scallions and ginger, sending up gentle wisps of fragrant steam.
In all his life, Xia Liu Yi had never experienced such a simple yet warm New Year scene.
When he was young, New Year only meant his father drinking more and beating him and Xiao Man even harder. Later, when he moved into a luxurious villa, the celebrations became grand yet cold—Azure Dragon was always busy and returned late. He and Xiao Man would sit before a table laden with delicacies, eat their fill, and that was that.
Standing now in this spring-filled little home, he found himself momentarily at a loss.
“Brother Liu Yi, have a seat first. The rest of the dishes will be ready soon,” He Chu San said, bustling about. Then he called out, “Dad! Brother Liu Yi’s here!”
The moment Xia Liu Yi heard that call, his teeth ached reflexively.
Mr. He came out from inside carrying a jar of glutinous rice wine, squinting as he sized him up. “Tut, tut—Mr. Xia is already the Dragon Head, yet you still honor this humble abode with your presence. What a blessing, what a blessing.”
Faced with this father, Xia Liu Yi found himself even more helpless than when dealing with his son. With a stiff expression, he said, “Elder He, please, have a seat.”
“I wouldn’t dare, I wouldn’t dare. A guest has arrived—you first, please,” Dentist He said courteously.
“You sit.”
“You first.”
The two stood in the living room exchanging courtesies for quite a while, neither willing to sit first. Just as Xia Liu Yi was about to lose his temper, He Chu San came out carrying a plate of Hainan chicken.
“Why are you both standing? Sit down already. Dad, Brother Liu Yi brought fruit.”
“I wouldn’t dare, I wouldn’t dare—Mr. Xia is too kind,” Dentist He said. “Mr. Xia, I heard that when I fell ill last time, it was you who drove us to the hospital. This old man is deeply grateful. Who would have thought that though you are a man ‘doing business’ out there, you possess such a benevolent heart…”
He Chu San brought out another plate of dumplings and laughed. “Dad, stop showing off your learning.”
Dentist He glared. “Showing off what learning? This is proper etiquette! Just because you’re uneducated, you think others are too? He’s a big boss!”
Xia Liu Yi’s teeth kept aching. Keeping a stiff face, he said, “Mr. He is too polite. It was nothing to give you a ride. Back in the Walled City, you took care of us as well.”
“It’s nothing, nothing. Mr. Xia, how are your teeth lately? After the meal, shall I take a look?”
“Cough! No need.”
“Mr. Xia, don’t be so polite—free consultation! No charge!”
“No need…”
“Mr. Xia, teeth are a very important part of the human body—you mustn’t neglect them…”
“Don’t—Achoo!”
Before Mr. Xia—sniffling and on the verge of exploding—could lose his temper entirely, He Chu San came out carrying a large basin of poon choi, a festive communal dish, to defuse the situation.
“Dad, once we’re eating, let’s not talk about teeth. Watch TV.”
Dentist He, having been away from his clinic for too long, was practically bursting to talk. Upon seeing a new face, he grew excited, chattering endlessly about dental care. Only after He Chu San stuffed a bowl of soup into his hands did he finally quiet down—for the moment—focusing on drinking.
He Chu San also ladled a bowl of soup for Xia Liu Yi—Chuanbei white fungus stewed pear, clear and soothing, excellent for easing coughs and nasal irritation. He didn’t mention its effects at all, merely turned his head to watch TV with his father.
Only after Xia Liu Yi finished his bowl did he casually stand up, as if by coincidence, and quietly refill it for him.
Xia Liu Yi had come this time fully prepared, on guard every moment against any little tricks from He Chu San. Yet to his surprise, He Chu San remained calm and composed throughout, occasionally asking a few casual questions—whether he had been busy lately, whether Brother Xiao Ma and Sister Dong Dong were in good health—nothing out of line in word or deed. No matter how one looked at it, he seemed honest, sincere, and without ulterior motives.
A brazier burned in the room, warmth thick in the air. The heat brushed along Xia Liu Yi’s back, and little by little, his vigilance loosened. His attention began to drift toward the food—He Chu San’s cooking was still somewhat unpolished, the other dishes ordinary at best, but the fish had been steamed quite well. Boss Xia’s chopsticks couldn’t help but wander over to it again and again; he even picked at the tail.
Without a word, He Chu San quietly flipped the fish over for him.
Xia Liu Yi ate in silence, face wooden, not saying a word. Compared to their usual meals together—sharp exchanges, barbed words back and forth—today he was markedly restrained. On one hand, he didn’t want to cause a scene in front of Dentist He; on the other, he intended to keep his distance from He Chu San. So he guarded his words closely, speaking only when addressed, his expression cold and unapproachable. Yet the He father and son paid no mind to his aloofness, chatting among themselves, idly passing the time with homely talk.
Mr. He didn’t eat much. Before long, he set down his chopsticks and began pouring glutinous rice wine into his empty bowl.
“He Chu San, oh He Chu San! Not that I want to nag, but now that you’ve got some money, you’ve grown wings! No studying on weekends, no part-time work either—any chance you get, you’re out chasing girls! And even that’s fine—but you don’t even bring one home for me to see!—Mr. Xia, this is homemade rice wine. Care for a cup?”
“No need, I’m driving,” Xia Liu Yi replied, picking at the fish belly with his chopsticks.
“Ah, rice wine—it won’t get you drunk. Don’t stand on ceremony, Mr. Xia, let me pour you a bowl… He Chu San, why are you pulling me? Speak properly! I’m not done yet! Do you think your father is that unreasonable? Let Mr. Xia judge—shouldn’t you bring a girl home for your father to take a look?”
“Dad!” He Chu San’s face actually flushed faintly. “We’ve barely even started.”
“Ha! Barely started? I heard from Auntie Ah Hua—you’ve already taken her to her shop! Even cooked for her yourself! Quiet as you look, but when it comes to chasing girls, you’ve got plenty of tricks, huh?”
For some reason, Xia Liu Yi felt his teeth ache fiercely. Without changing expression, he swallowed the last piece of fish belly and rose to go to the washroom.
Behind him, the father and son continued their banter. He Chu San reached out and poured the rice wine his father had added into Xia Liu Yi’s bowl back into his own, whispering, “He’s got a cold. That’ll aggravate it.”
Mr. He glared. “I’m showing hospitality!” Then, lowering his voice, he added, “You brat—did you take his money? You’re attending to him so diligently over just a cold? No matter what, he’s jianghu—we can’t take dirty money!”
“Really, I didn’t,” He Chu San replied, adding half a bowl of soup back into Xia Liu Yi’s bowl.
When Xia Liu Yi returned from rinsing his mouth, rubbing his aching jaw, he saw Mr. He tapping his son’s head with a smoking pipe.
“I don’t spend much anyway—it’s all to save up your wife fund!”
“I have a salary, Dad. You don’t need to work so hard at your age,” He Chu San said.
“What do you mean ‘at my age’? Am I old?! I’m in my prime! You brat!”
Watching the pipe knock repeatedly against He Chu San’s forehead, Xia Liu Yi couldn’t help asking, “What’s going on?”
“Dad wants to open a grocery shop after the New Year,” He Chu San said, covering his reddened forehead. “Brother Liu Yi, help persuade him.”
The moment he faced Mr. He, Xia Liu Yi’s head and teeth both started aching—persuade him? Persuade his ass. He took a sip of soup and coughed lightly. “If Mr. He wants to open a shop, let him. Why stop him?”
Mr. He immediately found Boss Xia much more agreeable—reasonable and understanding. “See that? Even the boss says OK! OK! Move aside, you brat.”
And so the meal passed amid the father and son’s constant chatter.
Having been too absorbed in listening to their domestic squabbles, Xia Liu Yi didn’t notice how much he’d eaten—three large bowls of soup, more than half a fish, over a dozen dumplings, half a chicken, half a bowl of mixed vegetables, and two bowls of rice. He was stuffed to the point of misery, forced to focus all his willpower on suppressing the urge to belch, lest he damage his image as a big boss.
After the meal, several elderly neighbors who lived alone downstairs came by to invite the He family to visit the flower market. Mr. He gladly agreed, asking them to wait downstairs while he went to fetch his coat. He Chu San claimed he needed to study and stayed behind to keep Boss Xia company.
“I went last year—it’s nothing special,” He Chu San said while tidying up. “Let’s go up to the rooftop later to watch the fireworks, Brother Liu Yi.”
“You go with your dad. I’m heading back,” Xia Liu Yi said.
He Chu San paused, then smiled gently. “It’s still early. Not many people on the rooftop—it’s quiet.”
Holding his slightly distended stomach, Xia Liu Yi suddenly felt he couldn’t stay in this increasingly warm room any longer. If he stayed, something would feel wrong—
Yes. It was this feeling of home—it made him unbearably restless.
“I’ve got things to do,” he said coldly, getting up to take his coat.
But He Chu San moved first, taking the coat from behind the door and not handing it over. “You just ate. Sit a while longer.”
Xia Liu Yi snatched it back. “No need.”
He Chu San blinked once and didn’t insist. “Alright. I won’t delay you. I’ll walk you downstairs, Brother Liu Yi.”
Xia Liu Yi waved him off. “No need. Don’t let people see.” He stepped forward to open the door—only for He Chu San to suddenly grab his arm tightly.
A string in Xia Liu Yi’s mind snapped taut. Instinctively, he jerked his arm free and turned to glare at him.
He Chu San looked completely innocent, calm as ever. “Wait a moment. I’ve got something for you.”
Xia Liu Yi forced himself to stay by the door as He Chu San hurried into the kitchen. Soon he returned carrying a small iron thermos—the same one used for the preserved egg and pork congee before.
“I made a big pot of soup today. Dad and I can’t finish it. Take it back and put it in the fridge. When you want to drink it, have your bodyguard heat it up. After the day after tomorrow, it won’t be good anymore.”
His expression was open and upright. Without waiting for Xia Liu Yi to refuse, he pressed the thermos into his hands, opened the door for him, and stepped back with a smile.
“Then I won’t see you off, Brother Liu Yi. Take care.”
Wrapped in his coat, carrying that rather foolish-looking iron thermos, Xia Liu Yi went downstairs. In the dim stairwell, the cold wind brushed against his face, easing some of the warmth lingering there. Even so, he found himself uncomfortable—pulling his collar open slightly, wanting to feel colder, colder still, back to how he usually was.
He tossed the thermos onto the passenger seat, then quickly reached out to steady it before it tipped over and spilled. With a weary thump, he hit the steering wheel, leaned back, and let out a slow breath of white mist.
……
Standing by the window, He Chu San watched Xia Liu Yi’s figure beneath the streetlights—sunglasses on, hurrying into the alley. Yet it was quite a while before the black Mercedes-Benz finally drove out.
That “while” was the length of a cigarette.
Leaning down, pressing his face against the cold glass, he curved his lips into a quiet smile. Now he knew his place in the other man’s heart—
At the very least, he was worth one troubled cigarette in the car.
In the distance, fireworks blossomed over Victoria Harbour, their colors faintly visible through layers of buildings. Resting against the windowsill, fingers picking absently at the red paper-cut decorations, He Chu San recalled the earlier sight of the underworld boss sitting at the table, brow slightly furrowed, meticulously picking fish bones.
He couldn’t help but smile again, a little dazed—his heart filled with a deep, quiet contentment.
Futile Devices Scans 
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