Deep in the night, at the Wan Chai Police Headquarters, within the office of the Deputy Superintendent of the Organized Crime and Triad Bureau (O Bureau).
The venetian blinds were drawn tight. Xie Jiahua stood before the desk, a stack of files in hand, his expression cold as frost. Seated behind the desk was his superior, Deputy Superintendent Liu, equally stern and sharp. Together, they fixed their gaze upon a disheveled young man lounging on the sofa, one leg crossed over the other, a cigarette hanging from his lips—none other than Xia Liuyi’s bodyguard, A-Biao.
“You’ve been following Xia Liuyi for a year and a half, and you still haven’t uncovered a single crucial piece of evidence?!” Sir Liu slammed the desk in fury.
A-Biao spread his hands, cigarette still dangling from his mouth. “Sir, it’s not that I didn’t want to—Xia Liuyi’s too damn cautious! Don’t let his age fool you. At twenty, he was already running with Qinglong to the Golden Triangle, building ties with the drug lords there. After Qinglong died, he became the only one in Xiaoqi Tang who controls the narcotics pipeline. I only know a few of his downstream contacts—he usually deals through Cui Dongdong. As for the upstream supply, he personally goes to pick up the ‘goods’, and only brings along trusted veterans. A small fry bodyguard like me? Never included. Hell, even his confidants don’t know where the car will stop until the very last moment before the deal.”
“If you found nothing, how did you expose yourself so quickly?!”
“Boss, I didn’t want to either!” A-Biao protested. “I’m willing to lay down my life for the people—but not die without meaning! After tonight, if I didn’t die in there, Xia Liuyi would definitely suspect me—either I’m one of Fat Seven’s men or a cop. If I go back to him, that’s just walking into my own grave! Besides, if I hadn’t spotted Fat Seven playing dirty and pulled out early to report to you, how would you have caught so many people?”
Deputy Superintendent Liu grabbed the files from the desk and hurled them at him one after another, cursing with each throw. “Still talking back?! Two years pretending to be a triad punk! Didn’t do a damn thing right! Picked up nothing but bad habits! And now you’ve got the nerve to throw a tantrum at me?!”
A-Biao ducked and covered his head, whining, “Do you know how hard it’s been risking my life these past two years?! And this is how you treat a hero? This is repaying kindness with cruelty!”
“Hero?! Hero my ass!” Liu roared, growing even more furious as he flung three more files at him.
“Hey—ah! Sir Xie, don’t just stand there—help!”
Xie Jiahua didn’t so much as furrow a brow, as though the scuffle before him didn’t exist. After a moment of silent contemplation, he spoke coolly to Liu, “The scene has been burned, the Hua family wiped out entirely, and there are no cameras on the nearby roads. Fat Seven’s men have conflicting interests with Xia Liuyi—their testimony will be easily challenged. With the current evidence, it will be difficult to convict him. We must capture Xia Liuyi and his core subordinates as soon as possible. It would be best if we can make one of his men confess.”
“That’s nearly impossible,” A-Biao cut in. “Xia Liuyi is generous, loyal, and knows how to win hearts. If I weren’t undercover, I’d be completely devoted to him myself. His men would sooner sell out their own fathers than betray him.”
“Praise him more! Why don’t you just call him your father?! Go join the triads for real—don’t come back!” Liu snapped, raising his hand as if to throw something again. A-Biao flinched and shrank back, sulking as he smoked.
“Write me a detailed report on Xia Liuyi,” Xie Jiahua ordered. “Three days. His personality, preferences, associates, locations… every detail. Nothing omitted. At least ten thousand words.”
“What?!” A-Biao yelped. “Sir Xie, I haven’t written ten thousand words in my entire life!”
Xie Jiahua ignored him. With a slight nod to Sir Liu, he turned and left. A-Biao remained behind, staring bitterly at Deputy Superintendent Liu.
Liu sighed. “Get to writing. You’ve worked hard these past years. I’ll arrange a safe house for you—round-the-clock protection. When this is over, you’ll be sent overseas for further training.”
……
After a night steeped in bloodshed and peril, Xia Liuyi felt no real discomfort—aside from having eaten far too much. Stretching lazily across He Chusan’s bed, he scratched his head, sorted through his thoughts, then switched off the light and went to sleep.
Having drunk too much porridge, he woke in the night with an urgent need to piss. Slipping into his flip-flops, he fumbled his way to the bathroom in the dark. On his way back, he passed the sofa and saw that little bastard He Chusan curled up tightly upon it, his head resting on his briefcase, his long legs nearly dragging on the floor.
The jacket that had been covering him had slipped off.
Xia Liuyi paused, bent down, picked it up, and draped it back over him.
Once Xia Liuyi’s footsteps faded, He Chusan opened his eyes in the darkness, quietly running his hand over the jacket.
The “Best Actor” He Chusan lurked in the night, concealing his edge, biding his time. After a long while, when he heard the faint sound of Xia Liuyi’s steady breathing, he rose silently from the sofa and crept into the bedroom like a shadow.
The door was unlocked. He tapped lightly at the frame, easing it open bit by bit.
Xia Liuyi lay on his side, his breathing long and even. The room was dim, lit only by a sliver of light slipping through the curtains, barely outlining his silhouette—the thin blanket dipped into a graceful hollow at his waist, then rose into the firm slope of his hips…
He Chusan stood at the doorway, swallowing hard, not daring to step closer. He knew how alert Xia Liuyi was in sleep—any disturbance, and he’d flip over and kick an intruder straight into the wall.
Like a ghost in the night, he lingered there, torn between the tenderness of secret longing and the sleaze of a voyeur, watching for a long time. At last, he sighed softly to himself, satisfied for the moment, and gently closed the door before sneaking back to the sofa.
The living room echoed with the faint creak of the worn sofa under his weight. In the darkness, Xia Liuyi—eyes tightly shut—slightly furrowed his brow.
Damn punk. He cursed inwardly.
The two of them harbored their own schemes all night, and by morning, both bore bloodshot eyes. He Chusan yawned as he fried eggs and made sandwiches. Xia Liuyi got up, went to the toilet again, glanced disdainfully at the sandwich, then returned to bed to catch more sleep.
Not daring to provoke a sleep-deprived boss, He Chusan left the sandwich on the table and went out with a cloth bag to buy groceries. Handsome, fair, and mild-mannered, he easily charmed the shop ladies, who fussed over him, asking when he’d moved into the neighborhood and where he worked. Half an hour later, he returned laden with goods—including two long green onions he hadn’t even paid for.
He bought a small pot and some refined seasonings, shut himself in the kitchen, and soon the clatter of cooking filled the air. Around noon, Xia Liuyi finally dragged himself up to wash his face. He Chusan poked his head out. “Brother Liuyi, you’re awake?”
“Mm.”
“Remember to brush your teeth. New toothbrush is by the cup.”
“Shut up.”
He Chusan brought out a steaming plate of braised beef offal, a steamed fish Xia Liuyi had favored during Spring Festival, and a side dish, setting them on the coffee table. With no extra chairs, the two squeezed onto the sofa, leaning forward to eat.
It was cramped enough, yet He Chusan still tried to pick food for him—only to be blocked by Xia Liuyi’s chopsticks. “Eat your own.”
“Does your wound still hurt?” He Chusan asked.
“I’m fine.”
“Did you sleep well? Any sweating? If so, I should change your dressing again.”
Xia Liuyi tore into the fish with a blank expression. The bastard knows damn well—sneaking around peeping at me in the middle of the night—and still dares to ask if I slept well?!
Ignoring him, Xia Liuyi stuffed the tender belly of the fish into his mouth and bit down hard. Suddenly, he said, “It’s Sunday. Why didn’t you take Xiao He out?”
He Chusan remained calm, picking up a piece of greens. “She’s not feeling well these days. Not convenient to go out.”
“What’s wrong with her?”
“She didn’t say much. Told me it’s nothing serious. Probably just a cold.”
“Hah. Aren’t you two all lovey-dovey? She’s sick and you don’t even visit?”
He Chusan lowered his gaze, flipping the fish over. When he looked back up, his expression was still honest and upright, now tinged with concern for his lover. “I was planning to visit her this afternoon.”
“Where does she live now?”
“Still in Kowloon City, renting a place with her friends.”
“Why not let her move in here with you?”
He Chusan lowered his eyes shyly. “We’re… not at that stage yet.”
Keep pretending. Go on—keep fucking pretending.
Boss Xia’s words were barbed, each sentence probing, each step pressing closer. Yet He “Best Actor” Chusan met force with force, water with earth, parrying every move without revealing the slightest flaw. The two crossed blades through an entire meal, yet neither gained the upper hand.
After clearing the dishes, He Chusan put on a fresh suit with deliberate seriousness, tidied his appearance, and truly bid Xia Liuyi farewell. “Brother Liuyi, get some good rest. I’ll go see Xiao He, and bring dinner back tonight.”
Leaning against the sofa, Xia Liuyi flipped through the gossip magazines He Chusan had bought that morning and gave a casual grunt in reply.
“Anything you want me to pass to Sister Dongdong? Or anything she needs to give you?”
“Don’t go to my ‘company’—there are plainclothes all around,” Xia Liuyi said. “Get me a new brick phone, and a fresh SIM card.”
He Chusan agreed, dressed impeccably like a proper gentleman, and went off to visit his “lover.” Xia Liuyi leaned by the window, lifting a corner of the curtain. He watched He Chusan walk steadily across the street, calm and composed—without the slightest trace of a flaw.
Damn punk!
Xia Liuyi spent the entire afternoon sprawled on the sofa reading gossip, stuffing his head with the grudges of wealthy families. Then he returned to bed for another nap. Half-asleep, he heard the door open and shot upright—only to tug painfully at the wound on his waist.
Grinding his teeth in pain, he got to his feet, supporting his side. From outside, He Chusan called, “Brother Liuyi, I’m back.”
“I put the new phone here,” he added. Noticing Xia Liuyi’s odd posture, he frowned. “What’s wrong? Your wound hurting?”
Xia Liuyi waved a hand nonchalantly, dressed in his little-bear pajamas, forcing composure as he plopped onto the sofa, legs spread in full boss-like swagger.
“Hainan chicken, stir-fried loofah,” He Chusan said, arranging containers on the table. “Red rice, and some salted vegetables my dad pickled. The shark-bone crucian carp soup—I made it for Xiao He to recover from illness, made extra, so you can try it.”
“You cooked at Xiao He’s place?”
“Mm.”
Xia Liuyi said nothing further and began gulping down the fish soup. Hainan chicken was to his taste, but stir-fried loofah less so. Did this kid really go eat with Xiao He, or did he just run back to his dad’s place to cook before returning? The smokescreen was half real, half false—impossible to see through.
Boss Xia pondered switching tactics. When he had time, he’d have someone drag Xiao He to the “company” to witness a “dead pig swapped for a live man”—if that couldn’t scare He Chusan, it would surely scare her into telling the truth.
While he ate, He Chusan went out again. When he returned, he somehow acquired a small secondhand television and even set up an antenna himself. “Brother Liuyi, watch some TV. I need to head back to the company for a bit.”
That night was Mid-Autumn Festival. Ordinary families gathered with loved ones to admire the moon, yet he showed not the slightest regard for their time together—just left Boss Xia behind without a trace of reluctance, grabbing his briefcase and leaving.
Abandoned in the room, Xia Liuyi turned the matter over in his mind again and again—at times suspecting he had hallucinated in his groggy state last night, at others convinced the damn punk’s acting was flawless and his intentions sinister. Give him time and he’ll become a great threat—better to strangle him now and be done with it.
“Good. This matter will certainly alert the ‘Old Shopkeeper’. Handle it properly.”
He called Xiao Ma on the new phone. As usual, Xiao Ma fussed and flattered from the other end, until Xia Liuyi cut him off impatiently. “Fat Seven instigated Xu Ying to kill Qinglong—it was ordered by Inspector Hua behind the scenes.”
Xiao Ma sucked in a breath. “What? Inspector Hua? Boss Qinglong had no grudge with him—why would he—?!”
Xia Liuyi had no answer either. That only deepened his suspicion that Qinglong’s death back then concealed further secrets. He frowned, thinking for a moment. “Keep digging. Investigate Inspector Hua’s people.”
“Yes!”
After giving instructions, he called Uncle Yuan.
Several elders were gathered at Yuan’s residence holding a meeting, and they put the call on speaker. Yuan himself did not speak, but Elder Ge, who had always been at odds with Xia Liuyi, struck first.
“Xiao Liu, Hesheng Society claims you faked negotiations and deliberately killed Fat Seven and Inspector Hua. They’re calling for the underworld leaders to judge this. Fat Seven’s sworn brother, Master Qiao of He Yi Society, is already demanding an explanation. And now you’ve provoked the cops. What exactly do you plan to do next?”
Xia Liuyi’s tone turned cold. “Elder Ge, from the sound of it, you think I’m unreliable?”
“Not at all. I’m just concerned. You’re the boss—if something happens to you, what becomes of the brothers? What about us old men?”
“That’s right, Xiao Liu,” Uncle Qiu added. “Where are you now? Do you need men sent to support you?”
“I’m somewhere safe. I’ll handle this matter myself. No need for concern.”
At those words, Elder Ge and Uncle Qiu fell silent. Then Prince Duan spoke, “Since you say so, we’re reassured. Brother Yuan, do you have anything to add?”
At last, Yuan’s aged, low voice came through. “Xiao Liu, was Inspector Hua killed by you?”
“No. Fat Seven killed him,” Xia Liuyi replied calmly.
“Don’t worry, Uncle Yuan.”
Xia Liuyi hung up. Sitting on the sofa, he mulled over the elders’ attitudes and let out a cold laugh.
In the end, those old foxes simply didn’t trust him.
But Xia Liuyi paid them little heed. Though he acted boldly, he always kept his limits. If he dared challenge Fat Seven, then he had already prepared his countermeasures.
After watching TV for a while, he leaned back, staring at the dim fluorescent light, recalling Fat Seven’s dying words and the elders’ interference. Irritation churned in his chest. His mouth felt unbearably dry—he needed a cigarette.
Damn punk—didn’t even buy cigarettes for your boss. Next time I come here, I’ll take your surname! …No—bah! There won’t be a next time!
……
Late at night, He Chusan returned home beneath a sky full of stars, opening the door quietly in the dark. The television in the living room was still on, but Xia Liuyi had already fallen asleep in the bedroom.
He Chusan silently turned off the TV, changed, bathed, and was about to curl up on the sofa when Xia Liuyi emerged, frowning, clearly displeased.
“Did I wake you?”
Xia Liuyi grunted, went to the bathroom, and came back to see He Chusan squeezed tightly onto the sofa, dark circles under his eyes—after a week of work, even the weekend hadn’t given him rest. Against his will, Xia Liuyi softened a little.
“Go sleep on the bed.”
He Chusan blinked. “Where will you sleep?”
“You tell me.” As if I’d lower myself to the sofa.
He Chusan could hardly believe such fortune had fallen from the heavens. Hugging his coat, he entered the bedroom—and within a few steps, he understood Boss Xia’s intentions. Ever the “Best Actor,” he kept his eyes lowered, climbed obediently onto the bed, slipped to the innermost side, and lay on his side like a model of propriety.
Xia Liuyi turned off the light and lay down behind him, also on his side—mainly to avoid pressing his wound.
The bed was fairly spacious—certainly better than the broken iron frame back in Jiaolong Walled City. As long as neither stretched out arms or legs, they wouldn’t bump into each other—especially with a blanket piled between them.
In the dimness, Xia Liuyi watched the smooth line of He Chusan’s neck, fully alert, waiting for the moment this brat would succumb to temptation and reveal his true colors—then he’d kick him off the bed and stomp him into paste.
But the brat behaved himself the entire night. Whether Xia Liuyi feigned sleep, deliberately snored, or turned over and tugged the blanket, He Chusan remained unmoved—sleeping honestly, as if the heavens collapsing would not disturb him.
At last, near dawn, Xia Liuyi gave up entirely and fell asleep. Behind him, hearing that faint, reluctant snore, He Chusan’s lips curved ever so slightly.
……
Xia Liuyi slept undisturbed until noon. With messy hair, he shuffled into the living room in slippers. On the table, He Chusan had left a plate of sandwiches for breakfast—and a note.
“Brother Liuyi, lunch is in the pot. Heat it before eating. I’ll be back tonight.”
Xia Liuyi tossed the note aside, took a few bites of the sandwich, and plopped onto the sofa to watch TV.
Before long, familiar footsteps sounded outside. The door opened—He Chusan returned.
“Forgot something?” Xia Liuyi asked.
“No. I forgot you don’t know how to use the stove,” He Chusan said resignedly.
Boss Xia snorted.
He Chusan set down a metal lunchbox. “Xiao He made this for me. You eat it first—I’ll heat the dishes.”
Suspicion filled Xia Liuyi as he opened the lunchbox and cautiously took a bite. It was indeed not He Chusan’s cooking.
So—Xiao He must have drunk the soup yesterday and made lunch today in return. Such affection—no one would doubt they were deeply in love.
Watching He Chusan bustle about the kitchen in high spirits, then glancing down at the neatly arranged lunchbox… Xia Liuyi’s inner scales finally shifted from “suspicion” to “half-belief.”
—And then, suddenly, he lost his appetite.
He Chusan soon returned with a dish of eggplant and minced meat over rice he had prepared earlier. Seeing Xia Liuyi lounging sideways on the sofa watching TV, while the “lunchbox from Xiao He” remained almost untouched, he asked, “Boss Liuyi, why aren’t you eating?”
“It’s cold.”
“Then eat mine.”
“Mm.”
He Chusan quickly finished the lunchbox and rushed back to work. Xia Liuyi sat before the table of leftovers, watching TV expressionlessly—then suddenly raised his leg and kicked the lunchbox, now nearly empty save for a few grains of rice, onto the floor!
It hit with a clatter, flipping aside, oil splashing out. Xia Liuyi narrowed his eyes at the brown stains on the floor.
So they really got together?
That brat who only knew how to read, dull as hell—what did Xiao He even see in him? An “elite”? Hah. Working for others—how much could he earn?
Wasn’t he supposed to like men? Changed that fast? Did he sleep with a woman and suddenly discover how good it is? Damn it—last year he was still acting like some chaste saint, throwing a tantrum at me!
A storm churned beneath Boss Xia’s calm face. After sitting silently for a while, he tossed the remote aside and went to the bedroom.
Rolling restlessly on the bed, his thoughts tangled—one moment thinking the brat had finally chosen the right path, another thinking him fickle and shallow. Turning, he accidentally pressed his wound and sucked in a sharp breath.
“Fuck!” He grabbed a pillow and hurled it away.
Lying back with his arm under his head, staring irritably at the insect-specked fluorescent light, he tried to cast the brat from his mind and focus on gang matters—when suddenly, he felt something beneath his arm.
He sat up and saw—beneath where the pillow had been—a stack of photographs.
Frowning, he picked one up—and his expression twisted instantly.
His fingers trembled as he gathered them all and examined each one carefully. Then, clutching his waist, he jumped off the bed, yanked open the cabinet, and pulled out the black leather box.
Throwing aside the camera, he took out the roll of film, stretched it out under the light—
“He—Chu—San—!!!
Futile Devices Scans 
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