He Chusan often slipped out to fool around with the Boss Xia. Mr. He saw it all, suspicion growing in his heart—this so-called “romance” of his son’s felt nothing like other young men’s courtships. There were no gifts exchanged, no shopping trips or café dates. Instead, it was all furtive movements, sneaking in and out without a word, even phone calls conducted in hushed tones inside the bathroom.
The girl in question never knitted scarves or gave ties, nor had she ever come to visit her future father-in-law. And no matter how Mr. He probed indirectly, He Chusan would always put on a coy, bashful act: “Dad, things have not even gotten started, not even the first stroke of the eight character 八 has been written yet.”
Not even a first stroke! Mr. He was convinced his son had secretly gotten involved with the daughter of some wealthy tycoon! Just wait until that eight character gains another stroke and turns into the character for “big” [大]—that is, when that rich young lady’s belly gets “big” with pregnancy—then all hell will break loose!
Unaware of his father’s grand anxieties, He Chusan continued his bittersweet little romance with the underworld boss. With the Lunar New Year approaching in early February, he once again invited Xia Liuyi to come over and celebrate together.
To his surprise, Xia Liuyi refused.
“I’ve got something to do on New Year’s Eve,” he said, feigning nonchalance.
“Something even on New Year’s Eve?” He Chusan asked. “Not even in the evening? What if I come over after dinner with Dad?”
“Evening’s no good,” Xia Liuyi replied. “Don’t come looking for me that day. Don’t even call.”
He Chusan had a strong feeling Xia Liuyi was planning something big that day. Worry stirred in his chest. He opened his mouth, then hesitated, finally lowering his head in silence, lost in thought.
Xia Liuyi could not stand that obedient, wronged look of his. After holding back for a long time, he relented. “Fine. I’ll come find you when I’m done. Don’t turn off your mobile when you sleep.”
He Chusan lifted his head, smiling again—yet unease still lingered faintly in his heart.
During working hours, He Chusan arranged to meet Cui Dongdong at Yingxi Restaurant for dim sum. The Deputy Hall Master had barely sat down when she crossed her arms into an “X” in front of her face.
“Nope, don’t ask. The boss already knows you’ve been sniffing around lately. He specifically ordered—anyone who talks too much to you dies without mercy!”
“Then why did you come out with me?”
“If someone’s treating me to tea for free, why wouldn’t I come?” Cui Dongdong replied lazily, spearing a shrimp dumpling with refined grace—quite unlike her previous wolfish appetite. It seemed her recent meals at home had been good.
“I’m not here to pry,” He Chusan said helplessly, pushing a basket of black bean chicken feet toward her. “I have business with you.”
“Oh?”
“It’s like this, Sister Dongdong—are you interested in real estate investment? I’ve just joined a new company and don’t have many clients yet. My quarterly target is a bit short. I’d like you to open a platinum account under your company’s name. This is the project proposal.”
Cui Dongdong took the document and skimmed it carefully. “Looks decent. You put a lot of thought into it?”
He Chusan smiled. “Recommending it to you—I had to. I guarantee at least a thirty-three percent annual return. If things go smoothly, profits later on will be even higher.”
She flipped through it again, pondering. “Alright, I’ll take it back and think about it. I’ll give you an answer this week.”
“Also, Sister Dongdong—this fund… it has to be clean.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know,” she said impatiently. “If the boss finds out I used dirty money to trap you, wouldn’t he hang me up and burn me alive? I’ll set up a new company—okay?”
“That would be best. Sorry for the trouble,” He Chusan said, pouring her tea attentively. “There’s one more thing I need to ask.”
“Go on.”
“About this investment—could you not tell Brother Liuyi it was recommended by me? He doesn’t know which company I work for anyway. Just say it’s a normal investment. You know how he is—he doesn’t like me having dealings with your side. He’ll start sulking again.”
Cui Dongdong snorted. “I get it. He’s born with that twisted temperament. Anyone who falls for him is unlucky. Poor you, Xiao San.”
……
On New Year’s Eve, He Chusan got up early to help his father clean the house, tidy the ancestral altar, insert fresh incense, and make offerings to the Kitchen God.
In the afternoon, Auntie Wu and her daughter came as well. The two elders busied themselves in the kitchen, shooing the injured and the underage out.
He Chusan brought the girl into his room to cut paper window decorations. After only a few attempts, the girl expressed deep disdain for such traditional handicrafts.
“Brother Sam, I heard from the neighbors you wear suits to work in Central every day—big business and all. And yet you’ve got time for this stuff? Also, they say you make a lot of money—so why are you still living in a place like this?”
“Don’t listen to their nonsense,” He Chusan smiled. “I’ve only been working a year, and I’m not even in good health. How much could I earn?”
“Come on, it’s just a broken leg. You’ll be fine in no time,” the girl said carelessly.
He Chusan smiled still, glancing at the row of earrings along her ear and the traces of heavy makeup not fully removed. “What about you? Your mom says you’re not continuing high school—you’re going to work. How much do you plan to earn?”
“How can I compare to you? I’ll just drift around—waitressing, selling drinks—whatever. How much could that be?”
“Why stop studying?”
“No interest!”
“I heard from your mom you’ve found yourself a ‘triad punk’.”
“Why does she tell outsiders everything?!” The girl’s expression changed instantly as she stood to leave, only to be pulled back by He Chusan.
“I didn’t say it was bad,” he said gently. “Do you see me as an outsider?”
“You are an outsider,” she retorted, though she sat back down, still sulking, glancing toward the kitchen. “I don’t treat your dad as my dad anyway.”
He Chusan merely smiled and continued, “I don’t think dating a ‘triad punk’ is wrong. What’s wrong with liking someone?”
“Exactly! Brother Sam, you’re so open-minded—not like my old-fashioned mom!”
“Does he treat you well?”
“Very well!”
“Does he take you to dangerous places?”
“Does racing at the track count? When he competes, I sit behind him—it’s so exciting! Everyone watches us—we’re so cool!”
He Chusan frowned slightly. “If the car flips and you get hurt, would he still care?”
“What’s there to fear? If we die, we die together.”
He Chusan gently patted her head. Knowing that children her age could not be persuaded head-on, he instead asked, “You said you don’t like studying—what about learning makeup?”
“Makeup?”
“There are professional training courses. Afterward, you can become a makeup artist or stylist—even work with celebrities. Interested?”
“Yeah! But those cost money, right?”
“Brother Sam will pay for it.”
“Wow! You’re so nice! And you said you didn’t have money?”
“Some money must be spent. After spending it, you earn it back slowly.”
“Sounds so profound—I don’t get it! Anyway, I’m going to meet big stars! Hahaha! When you get married, I’ll do your bride’s makeup!”
He Chusan coughed, lowering his head to continue cutting paper. Imagining his “bride” covered in wedding makeup, his hand slipped, cutting a large hole in the red paper.
Outside, Mr. He called for dinner. A table full of fragrant dishes was laid out, bright red window decorations pasted upon the glass. Smiles filled every face in the household.
As countless lights illuminated the solitary city by the sea, an air of joy and peace spread through the night.
……
For those tasked with guarding this peace and joy, however, the night was anything but easy to endure.
“Sir, not a single soul in sight at the pier,” a police officer lying in wait amid the biting sea wind reported into his transmitter. “The deal was set for nine o’clock—it’s already five past. Could Intelligence have gotten it wrong?”
“Hold your patience,” replied the Senior Inspector of the Narcotics Bureau, crouched behind a stack of containers with another team not far away.
Their unit had been tailing Xia Liuyi and the syndicate behind him for over half a year. They knew that this trip to Thailand, Xia Liuyi had taken Xiao Ma along, and that the transaction would likely take place around the Spring Festival. Two hours earlier, Intelligence had intercepted a coded message Xia Liuyi sent to Xiao Ma’s pager, setting the time and place of delivery. After cracking the cipher, the Inspector had rushed his men here, intent on lying in ambush and waiting for the prey to walk into their snare.
Yet they waited, and waited—by half past nine, still nothing. Officers tracking Xia Liuyi and Xiao Ma called in: Xia Liuyi himself had remained in his Tsim Sha Tsui office the entire time, never leaving, while Xiao Ma’s car circled aimlessly along the nearby streets, never approaching the pier.
“Could the information have leaked?” a subordinate asked.
The Senior Inspector pondered briefly. “Unlikely. If it had, Xiao Ma would have fled long ago instead of circling nearby. Xia Liuyi is cautious—something may have delayed them midway. Continue waiting.”
“Sir! Light signals from the sea—there’s a fishing boat approaching!” a voice cried urgently through the earpiece.
“Sir! Xiao Ma’s car is heading your way!”
“Da Bing stays here. C-Boy, head southwest of the pier and support Xia Zi. A-Dai, Han Gou—follow me.”
A flurry of movement crackled through the comms as positions were shifted. Yet beneath the cover of night, the pier itself lay deathly still—only the howling sea wind cut through the silence, in stark contrast to the lively bustle of Victoria Harbour in the distance.
A fishing vessel drifted closer under the slap of waves. A shadowy figure disembarked, flashing a signal with a flashlight—one long, one short.
Xiao Ma’s car halted beside a row of containers, its headlights answering with two short flashes and one long.
A whistle sounded. Three more figures stepped down from the boat. At their head was a burly man in a black trench coat, carrying a large leather suitcase, chest thrust out and belly forward, exuding swagger.
From the passenger seat of Xiao Ma’s car, a bodyguard stepped out and opened the rear door. Xiao Ma emerged, cigar clenched between his teeth, also clad in a wind-fluttering black coat.
A long scarf hung across his chest; another suitcase dangled from his hand. Humming Ye Liyi’s “Shanghai Bund”, he strode forward in a loose, swaggering gait—
“Waves surge—tides flow—”
The officers lying in ambush watched as he and the man from the fishing boat first exchanged a warm embrace, then stepped back to shake hands. Each side sent one man forward to squat on the ground, opening their cases for mutual inspection. The two bosses nodded—ready to exchange.
“Move!”
At the Senior Inspector’s command, officers surged from all directions, instantly surrounding both parties without leaving a single escape—
“Don’t move!”
“Police!”
“Hands up!”
Xiao Ma froze, one hand gripping his suitcase, the other holding his cigar, both raised high in the air. His face was the picture of confusion as he stared wide-eyed at the officers.
“Sir! I’m a law-abiding citizen! What crime have I committed to warrant such a grand arrest? It’s New Year’s—my heart can’t take this!” he wailed pitifully.
Meanwhile, the “boss” on the opposing side, panicking, tried to flee—only to be pinned to the ground by several officers, arms twisted behind his back. He began shouting protests of innocence in a stream of incomprehensible Chaoshan dialect.
“Check his case!” the Senior Inspector ordered, gun trained on Xiao Ma, jerking his chin toward his subordinates.
Two officers stepped forward and opened the suitcases—then froze in shock.
—Inside were, respectively, a box of salted fish… and a box of red envelopes, each containing a mere hundred dollars.
“Sir,” Xiao Ma complained bitterly, face full of innocence, “It’s New Year’s! My cousin from Chaozhou whom I haven’t seen in three years came to visit, brought me hometown salted fish. I’m just asking him to take some red packets back for the younger ones—nothing excessive, right? Salted fish crossing the sea doesn’t dodge taxes either! What law have we broken?”
As the Senior Inspector’s face darkened with fury, the pager at his waist buzzed again. He answered—and a frantic voice came through, breathless:
“Boss, bad news! The Xia Liuyi in the office is a fake! The real one left long ago!”
……
Xia Liuyi had executed a classic feint. As early as eight o’clock that night, he had slipped down to the basement via the freight elevator, exited alone through the back door, and departed in a sedan with a black suitcase in hand. After weaving through countless turns, he arrived at 8:40 on the eastern side of Hong Kong Island—territory belonging to Master Qiao—at an underground parking garage.
Master Qiao, accompanied by several bodyguards, was already waiting. Without much exchange, they boarded a van together, took another series of winding routes, and arrived precisely at 8:55 at an abandoned fishermen’s pier in Shau Kei Wan.
As they disembarked, a yacht that had long been docked lit up.
Xia Liuyi raised a flashlight, exchanging coded signals with the other party. A figure descended from the yacht—full-bosomed, slender-waisted, lips painted crimson—none other than Jade Guanyin.
She glanced around, clearly displeased, and spoke in fluent Cantonese, “Where’s that slicked-back, scar-faced fellow from last time? Why isn’t he here to receive me?”
“Hearing you were coming, he pissed his pants and is at home changing,” Xia Liuyi replied casually.
“You’re awful—don’t tease me!” she pouted coquettishly.
“This is Master Qiao of the He Yi Society,” Xia Liuyi continued, changing the subject. “The biggest boss in Hong Kong—he wishes to make your godfather’s acquaintance.”
Jade Guanyin draped herself bonelessly over Xia Liuyi’s shoulder, then lifted her gaze toward Master Qiao and extended a hand. “Master Qiao, I’ve long heard your name.”
Master Qiao’s sallow face bore his signature sinister half-smile. Taking her hand, he performed a courteous kiss. “The famed ‘Jade Guanyin’ indeed lives up to her beauty.”
“She’s a ladyboy,” Xia Liuyi said flatly, killing the mood instantly.
“You’re hateful!” Jade Guanyin pinched his waist sharply, then turned back to Master Qiao with a flirtatious smile. “Don’t worry, Master Qiao—what I’ve got down there is even better than a woman’s.”
Master Qiao forced another strained smile. “I wouldn’t dare… This time our hospitality falls short. Another day, I shall visit Thailand and pay my respects to you and Buddha.”
“Oh, another day then,” she replied indifferently, still smiling at Xia Liuyi as her hand slid toward his trousers. “Boss Xia, we’re here to trade—let me see if you’ve brought your ‘goods’.”
Xia Liuyi smiled without speaking—then suddenly drove his knee upward viciously! It nearly struck her “goods,” but she had anticipated it and dodged aside.
After forcing her back, Xia Liuyi handed over the black suitcase. “Where’s yours?”
Jade Guanyin opened it—inside was indeed a suitcase filled with cash. Satisfied, she turned and called out in Thai, “Bring it down.”
A bald man covered in tattoos emerged from the yacht, carrying a square case. He set it before Xia Liuyi, opened it—inside were neatly packed bags of white powder. He handed Xia Liuyi a dagger.
Xia Liuyi slit one bag open, rubbed some between his fingers, sniffed it, then nodded. Closing the case, he had just lifted it—
“Police! Hands up!”
A squad of officers burst from nearby cover, surrounding them instantly. And the one pointing a gun at Xia Liuyi’s head—was none other than Xie Jiahua, his face cold as ice.
“Xia Liuyi! What is the meaning of this?!” Master Qiao roared, forced to raise his hands, immediately suspecting betrayal.
“Easy, Master Qiao,” Xia Liuyi replied calmly.
Looking at Xie Jiahua approaching him, he sneered in greeting, “Sir Xie, long time no see.”
“I’d rather never see you again,” Xie Jiahua said coldly, signaling his men to force Xia Liuyi and the others to kneel. He glanced at the case of goods at their feet. “This amount is enough to put you away for life.”
“Oh?” Xia Liuyi’s lips curled upward. “I didn’t know thirty jin of pearl powder could carry such a sentence.”
Xie Jiahua’s expression changed. Beside him, the subordinate inspecting the cash case cried out urgently, “Sir! The money’s fake!”
He flung open the suitcase—aside from the two bills on top, everything beneath was plain white paper.
At the same time, in a secluded factory warehouse in Hung Hom, two private cars drove out one after another, heading in different directions.
Inside the second car—a black Porsche—sat Cui Dongdong, utterly at ease, a cigar between her lips. At her feet lay two large leather suitcases containing the goods from the completed transaction.
The car merged onto the main road, heading toward the dazzling nightlife of the city.
Above Victoria Harbour, brilliant fireworks erupted in bursts of color, their radiant brilliance momentarily washing away the filth of the night.
Futile Devices Scans 
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