Outside the floor-to-ceiling window, a lone bright moon hung suspended, casting down a stream of golden light upon the near-indistinguishable ink-blue sky and sea. Like a stroke of luminous paint upon a darkened canvas, it outlined two entwined figures rising and falling together.
They clung to one another, locked in a fierce rhythm upon the broad bed. Their burning breaths misted into the air and melted away, while sweat slid slowly along brows and temples where their bodies rubbed close.
The surging impact went on for a long while. Xia Liu Yi, whose strength had not yet fully returned, was gradually driven backward by the force, reclining upon the bed, his upper body sinking into the soft covers washed in moonlight. His hips still rested upon He Chu San’s thighs, his lower back arched taut, impaled and held fast by the scorching wedge within him. His long legs trembled as they clamped tightly around He Chu San’s waist; his sun-kissed skin gleamed like satin, dappled with scattered moisture.
“Ah… mm… ahh…”
He buried his face in the bedding, his broken moans drawn out, low and hoarse—like the song of a male siren upon the sea. Ensnared by that voice, He Chu San grew ever more intoxicated and fierce, his hands gripping and kneading the sweat-slick curves of his waist and hips, prying apart those resilient fleshly petals as he drove himself deeper within.
Like a lone boat tossed upon great waves, Xia Liu Yi could only yield to the relentless thrusting, his body rolling helplessly. The nearing yet unreachable crest of pleasure flushed his cheeks crimson and quickened his breath. He clearly heard the lewd, wet sounds at their joining, and closed his eyes in embarrassment—yet his lonely, hollow body clamored unconsciously for more. Hearing He Chu San’s low chuckle, he suddenly realized that he himself had seized He Chu San’s hand and pressed it to his chest.
“No…” he gasped softly, belatedly.
But He Chu San had already obediently bent down, drawing one hardened peak into his mouth, soothing it with lips and tongue, licking and nibbling as though comforting a pitiful, lonely creature. The hot, tingling sensation sent tremors through Xia Liu Yi’s entire body.
“Get off…” he protested, words betraying his heart. The final syllable broke into a sharp cry as another fierce thrust drove into him, so wanton that even he could scarcely bear to hear himself. He Chu San bit lightly at him, a wicked grin playing on his lips, his warm breath brushing against the sensitive flesh and drawing another shudder from him—prompting yet more laughter, even the buried “A-Si” within him trembling in response.
Flushed with anger and shame, Xia Liu Yi struck him across the forehead. He Chu San seized both his wrists and pinned them above his head, his lower body moving with even greater ferocity and speed.
Within, fireworks seemed to erupt layer upon layer. Waves of climax surged one after another. Xia Liu Yi panted so hard he could scarcely breathe, until suddenly his breath caught in his throat; the inner walls clenched and spasmed tightly around He Chu San, and from the tip burst forth white release in trembling spurts—he had reached his peak on his own.
He Chu San stilled, restraining himself with effort, and bent to kiss his sweat-damp brows and eyes, soothing him as the aftershocks ebbed.
In such matters of the bed, he had always been thus—gentle to the utmost, patient to the extreme, even to the point of disregarding his own desire. His sole concern was to observe and savor Xia Liu Yi’s feelings, unwilling to cause him even the slightest pain or oppression. Xia Liu Yi, on the other hand, knew nothing of such affairs, believing that so long as he gave himself wholly—offering his body with eagerness, almost as recompense or sacrifice—he could grant He Chu San the greatest pleasure.
Such an unequal union in desire mirrored the imbalance in their affections—yet neither perceived nor minded it. They loved one another deeply; of that there was no doubt. Both believed that certainty alone was enough to ignore the undercurrents beneath the calm sea, to overlook the faint, unspoken hurts and distances between them.
Because no protection had been used, He Chu San still forced himself, at the final moment, to withdraw, releasing between Xia Liu Yi’s thighs, and then stroking him again to bring him to yet another peak.
After a brief rest, they rose and made love once more before the great window. Xia Liu Yi braced his hands against the smooth glass, the deep thrusts within him and the roaring tide outside stirring waves within his heart. Facing the surging night sea, he cried out freely, his rounded hips swaying back to meet each impact. The mist of his breath clouded the glass in wide patches.
Behind him, He Chu San moved in rhythm, unable to resist tracing the tabby cat upon his back. His warm fingers followed the lines of sweat-slick, cooling skin, gliding along taut, smooth muscle—from the cat’s spine to its tail—lingering again and again at the two delicate hollows at his lower back.
In a dark alley, he had once found—had lured and taken in—a wild and lonely great cat. He fed it, stayed beside it, soothed it, cherished it. And it, too, loved him, reluctant to leave him, baring only its softest belly, revealing only its most vulnerable wounds. Yet still—it could not wholly belong to him.
What lay within its heart? For what did it risk its life? How many more times must he see it battered, on the brink of death?
A bitter ache welled in He Chu San’s chest. He pressed closer, chest to back, their bodies fitting together without a gap. He did not know whether Xia Liu Yi could feel the pain in his heartbeat at that moment.
Xia Liu Yi turned his head, rubbing cheek to cheek with him, panting softly as he kissed his brow and the bridge of his nose.
He Chu San gazed into his eyes and said silently, “I love you.”
Xia Liu Yi caught his lips between his own, eyes glistening with the imminence of climax, and answered in his heart, “All of me is yours.”
……
The night had deepened.
They sat facing one another in the large bathtub, idly splashing water and chatting lazily. Earlier that afternoon, Xia Liu Yi had called A’Nan, learning that Qin Hao’s injuries had greatly improved, while on Cui Dong Dong’s side there had been endless complaints of exhaustion, urging the Boss to end his “elopement” and return to take charge. The two discussed staying a few more days before heading back to Nakhon Pathom, reuniting with the others and returning together to Hong Kong. Before leaving, Xia Liu Yi wished to take He Chu San to Phuket for a final bit of indulgence, deciding to set off early the next morning.
Hearing of the early departure, He Chu San rose from the tub, intending to pack. He tossed the now-softened mango-scented soap to Xia Liu Yi, repeatedly reminding him not to soak the tattoo on his back for too long—the tattoo artist had clearly said it must not touch water until the next morning when it would begin to peel.
Xia Liu Yi, eager to wash away that embarrassing cat as soon as possible, gave a perfunctory reply and hurried him out.
He Chu San climbed from the tub, damp and draped in a bath towel, wandering about the room with “A-Si” exposed, gathering the clothes Xia Liu Yi had tossed everywhere, half-eaten snacks, and various local specialties meant as gifts, packing them into the suitcase.
At the bottom of the case lay one of Xia Liu Yi’s jackets, somewhat disordered from earlier rummaging. As He Chu San pulled it out to refold it, his hand brushed against something hard inside.
Frowning, he searched the pocket and drew out a photograph.
The black-and-white image had already yellowed with age. Judging by the background décor and clothing, it must have been taken nearly twenty years ago—likely in an old-style photo studio. Three men in their thirties stood shoulder to shoulder. One looked unfamiliar, bearing the features of a local Thai; another resembled Azure Dragon; the third could not be identified at a glance, though seemed faintly familiar.
He turned the photograph over—and froze.
A line of handwriting stared back at him, unmistakably familiar. It matched the script on the earliest pages of the account book of Xiao Qi Hall.
Written in Chinese on the back:
K, Wei, Jie
Sworn brothers, loyalty everlasting
18.12.1973
At once, he recalled the very first entry in that ledger—the origin of all the dark dealings of Xiao Qi Hall:
7.3.1974
K, Wei, Jie
1,587,000
—The very same three codenames.
The three men in this photograph must be the same three in that first record. The one resembling Azure Dragon was likely his father, while the other two were his accomplices. In December of 1973, they had taken this photograph to commemorate their brotherhood. Three months later, they completed a deal worth 1.587 million—a vast sum at the time, and the very capital upon which Xiao Qi Hall built its rise.
—But why did Xia Liu Yi carry this photograph with him at all times? Even while traveling, he kept it close. What did it have to do with his coming to Thailand, with his grave injuries, with Xiao Ma’s death? Who was the Thai man? And who was the other man from Hong Kong?
……
Xia Liu Yi soaked in the tub, humming softly, idly playing with that vulgar soap. Suddenly, the bathroom door opened, and He Chu San entered, now clad in a robe, silent as he walked to the sink to wash his hands.
Without looking up, Xia Liu Yi asked casually, “Finished packing?”
He Chu San did not reply. He carefully washed his hands clean, then walked to the tub, took a large towel from the rack, and said calmly, “You’ve soaked long enough. Come out.”
He helped Xia Liu Yi rinse off the foam, dried his hair and body, wrapped him in a towel, and carried him back to the bed, even fetching a pair of underwear for him.
Xia Liu Yi sank into the soft bedding, stretching his long limbs lazily, feeling utterly content, while He Chu San continued packing outside.
He called out again, “Still not done?”
He Chu San did not answer. After a while, he switched off the lights outside, walked to the floor-to-ceiling window to draw the curtains, and climbed into bed in the dark.
Xia Liu Yi, eyes closed, lazily rolled over. One long leg draped over him as he leaned in to kiss his slightly cool cheek. Half-asleep, he murmured, “What, gone mute? Why aren’t you saying anything?”
He Chu San reached out, drawing him into an embrace, fingers idly stroking through his hair at the temples. Then, all of a sudden, he spoke in a calm voice.
“Brother Liu Yi, didn’t you go to Guangzhou before?”
“Mm.” Xia Liu Yi responded vaguely.
“Then why did you come to Thailand? Why were you injured?”
It was as though Xia Liu Yi, who had been drifting comfortably among the clouds, was suddenly cast down from three thousand meters in the sky. He opened his eyes, paused for a long moment, then said, “Do you have to ask tonight?”
He had long prepared a story—Xiao Ma had offended a local Thai gang and was kidnapped; he and Qin Hao rushed over to rescue him, but Xiao Ma still died amid the chaos. Yet now, basking in the lingering pleasure and exhaustion He Chu San had given him, clinging to the warmth of his embrace, he found himself utterly unable to spin out such a long, heartless lie.
He Chu San did not reply. His hand continued to stroke Xia Liu Yi’s hair as he tilted his head and pressed a kiss to his forehead.
“Sleep,” he said quietly.
……
Xia Liu Yi dreamt.
In the dream, He Chu San did not believe his explanation. On the ship back to Hong Kong, give me a run back to you to you can you they argued fiercely; in the heat of it, He Chu San slipped and fell overboard, swallowed in an instant by the surging waves…
He awoke with a start, drenched in cold sweat. The sound of the early tide rose and fell outside the window; the room lay in dim darkness. For a moment he could not distinguish dream from reality. Panic seized him—he thought He Chu San was gone.
He turned his head—and saw his peaceful sleeping face.
Relief flooded him. He shifted slightly, rubbing sweat against the pillow, then leaned close and gently pulled He Chu San into his arms. He slept deeply, undisturbed.
Holding him like that, Xia Liu Yi stared blankly for a while. Then he recalled He Chu San’s subtle, unusual behavior before sleep the night before, and a faint unease stirred in his heart.
Carefully, he released him, slipped out of bed, and went to the living room. Opening the suitcase, he reached in and rummaged around. The jacket was still pressed firmly at the very bottom; the photograph remained hidden within the inner pocket.
Only then did he let out a breath.
He told himself he was overthinking it. Even if He Chu San had found the photograph, he would not recognize the people in it, nor piece together the story. At most, he could explain it away as an old photo of some Thai friends.
Glancing at the clock, he saw it was still early. He crept back to bed, gathered He Chu San into his arms once more, rested his head against his shoulder, and drifted back into sleep.
……
Xia Liu Yi slept until noon. Stretching, he sat up and found the curtains still drawn—likely because He Chu San had wished to keep the sunlight from waking him. He staggered out of bed, shuffled to the window, and with a swish pulled the curtains open. Blinding light flooded in.
Leaning against the glass, he squinted at the distant meeting of sea and sky, at birds wheeling freely overhead. Then, satisfied, he turned back and dressed in the neatly folded clothes He Chu San had left by the bedside.
Stepping out of the bedroom, he found the place spotless. On the table in the outer room sat a Western-style breakfast. He headed straight for the bathroom to wash up, calling as he went, “A’San?”
No answer.
Only a single toothbrush remained by the sink; all of He Chu San’s toiletries were gone, presumably packed away. Xia Liu Yi paid it little mind, squeezing toothpaste and brushing as he wandered through the house.
“A’San? A’San?”
He searched the entire second floor but found no sign of him. Stepping onto the balcony, he looked down—the private pool lay empty; the rented car in the backyard was gone.
A sudden, overwhelming unease descended upon him. His chest turned cold. He flung aside the toothbrush, spat foam carelessly, and ran downstairs, searching frantically inside and out.
There was no trace of He Chu San.
Breathing hard, he dashed back upstairs and yanked open the suitcase—inside were only his own clothes and the local gifts. All of He Chu San’s belongings were gone.
He tore everything out in a frenzy, scattering items across the floor. Dragging out the jacket from the bottom, he reached into the inner pocket—
The photograph was gone.
……
At dawn, He Chu San had already settled all matters, paid the villa’s account, and driven from Pattaya back to Bangkok. After returning the rental car, he boarded the earliest flight back to Hong Kong.
Leaving the airport, he took a taxi to a storage company in Hung Hom. Using a password, he opened a small locker and retrieved a compact camera stored within. He photographed the picture he had brought back from Thailand, then returned the camera.
Afterward, he took another taxi to the Central Library in Causeway Bay, applied for a library card, and entered the archive of old periodicals. Tracing back through the years, he eventually located a stack of bound Chinese newspapers from the first half of 1974—Sing Pao Daily News.
Spreading them out, he flipped through the yellowed pages one by one, until he stopped at March 8, 1974. In the social news section, a headline occupied nearly half the page:
“Shocking Heist! Ruthless Bandits Storm Bank, Kill Officer, Escape with Loot.”
He read the report word by word. It described a major robbery that had occurred the previous day—March 7, 1974—at a bank branch on Hong Kong Island. Two masked gunmen had stormed the bank, stealing over 1.5 million Hong Kong dollars. They encountered two patrolling officers nearby, leading to a fierce gunfight. One officer was killed on the spot; the other was wounded. The robbers fled with the money.
The paper also printed the photograph of the fallen officer. His name was Lu Yong. He looked young—perhaps only in his twenties or thirties—with gently arched brows and smiling eyes. The other officer remained in hospital; at the request of his family, his name and likeness were withheld.
The more He Chu San read, the graver his expression became. He flipped forward through several months’ worth of papers, yet found no follow-up reports.
Placing the three-man photograph atop the newspaper, he studied them together, turning them back and forth. Gradually, the scattered pieces in his mind began to form a picture:
Twenty years ago, Azure Dragon’s father and two others had sworn brotherhood. Soon after, they planned and carried out an unsolved bank heist, killing a police officer and escaping with 1.58 million in cash. With that fortune, Azure Dragon’s father established Xiao Qi Hall, which grew steadily in power, later passing through Azure Dragon and Xia Liu Yi’s leadership to become what it was today.
Yet questions remained, gnawing at him.
—There had only been two masked robbers. Who, then, was the third man in the photograph? What connection did this old case have to Azure Dragon? To Xia Liu Yi’s peril? Xia Liu Yi carried this photograph close to his body at all times—clearly, there was something unspeakable behind it.
Could it be… that he intended to walk further into danger still?
Futile Devices Scans 
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