The night grew deeper. The moon was obscured by clouds, and the tide became heavier and darker. The jagged rocks on the shore pointed straight toward the heavens, and the wild grass shivered in the gale. The Jeep’s headlights flickered on; He Chu San, now fully dressed, intended to drive Xia Liu Yi back to the main road—to avoid detection, Xia Liu Yi had parked his car in a more distant lot.
But before the car could start, Xia Liu Yi suddenly pulled open the driver’s door, hauled He Chu San out, and dragged him back into the rear seat once more.
The Jeep did not rock again. It simply sat quietly on the beach throughout the night.
…
At dawn the next morning, a thunderclap shattered the sky and jolted Xia Liu Yi awake. Instinctively, he tightened his arms around what lay in his embrace—only to clutch nothing but the blanket and scattered garments draped over himself.
His heart lurched hollow. His eyes snapped open as he sat bolt upright.
He Chu San sat beside him, changing clothes. Seeing his panic, he quickly caught hold of his flailing hands. “I’m here. I haven’t left.”
Xia Liu Yi pulled him fiercely into his arms, the blood-stained visions of his dream still lingering before his eyes. His breathing uneven, he stared past He Chu San’s shoulder toward the window—
The heavens were dim and oppressive. Dark clouds smothered the rising sun. Black waves churned restlessly upon the sea. A storm was about to descend.
He tightened his hold, unease surging within him. “Don’t go.”
“It will be fine. Do not worry.” He Chu San gently patted his back.
“Don’t go…”
He Chu San pressed a soft kiss to his trembling lips, yet still pried apart the arms wrapped around his waist. “Take care of yourself. Wait for me at home.”
A streak of lightning tore across the sky, followed by a thunderclap that shook sea and shore alike. Large drops of rain fell in a furious cascade upon the sand—the storm had finally broken.
…
That evening, He Chu San drove alone to a secluded mountainside cemetery.
Rain had fallen the entire day, leaving pools of water across the ground. The jeep came to a halt at the entrance, splashing through the puddles. Dressed in somber black, he stepped out, holding a bouquet of white chrysanthemums and a black umbrella, walking slowly along the slick stone path.
Under the silent gaze of stone angels lining the road, he ascended the final steps and came before the grave of Tang Jia Qi, where he found Lu Guang Ming, waiting beneath an umbrella.
A bouquet of white roses lay before the tombstone, their beauty made all the more sorrowful by the rain washing over them.
Amid the steady patter, Lu Guang Ming asked, “Have you made contact with the Old Shopkeeper?”
“Not yet. Just a little more remains.”
“What do you need from me?”
“I need to borrow something from you.”
“What is it?”
“Your life.”
…
The torrential rain did not cease even by the dead of night. At Kwai Chung Container Terminal, tens of thousands of containers stood like a labyrinth of iron cubes in the frigid darkness. Towering cranes stretched their long arms into the sky like steel behemoths. With thunder crashing and winds howling, the place felt ever more sinister and foreboding.
A drenched advertising poster was torn free by the wind, slamming violently against the iron wall of a container before collapsing into the mud, only to be crushed beneath the wheels of an approaching sedan. The crack of its frame breaking was swallowed by the roar of rain.
The sedan finally stopped deep within the maze of containers, near a secluded corner by the seaside platform. A jeep was already parked there, its headlights blazing toward the incoming car.
He Chu San stood in the rain, clad in black, leather gloves on his hands, an umbrella above his head.
Blinded by the glare, those inside the sedan barely had time to react before it seemed as though He Chu San had already appeared beside them like a shifting shadow technique. The rear door opened. He leaned forward to offer shelter beneath his umbrella—only to be forced back two steps by the muzzle of a gun.
Two bodyguards stepped out and searched him thoroughly. Aside from a handkerchief in his pocket, they found nothing.
The so-called Old Shopkeeper from the teahouse stepped out and entered beneath He Chu San’s umbrella. He was tall and broad, though still half a head shorter than He Chu San, yet far more powerfully built.
“Shopkeeper,” He Chu San addressed him, even in the presence of the guards.
The proxy Old Shopkeeper frowned at the glaring headlights and asked curtly, “Where is it?”
He Chu San gestured politely. “This way.”
He led him toward the rear of the jeep. When the guards moved to follow, he paused slightly. The Old Shopkeeper glanced at him, then signaled for them to remain where they were.
He Chu San smiled faintly. “My thanks for your trust.”
“You would not dare harm me. Whatever you intend to show me had best be worth the journey.”
“It will be.”
He opened the rear compartment and picked up a flashlight, illuminating the interior.
Inside, a thick waterproof canvas covered the floor, its corners weighed down by heavy stones. At its center lay a large burlap sack, soaked with dark, clotted blood. Even amidst the storm, the stench of iron hung heavy in the air.
“Who is this?”
He Chu San untied the mouth of the sack, revealing a head—black hair matted, face smeared with blood and rain, mouth stuffed with cloth, eyes tightly shut.
The Old Shopkeeper frowned. “I’ve never seen this man.”
Removing his gloves, He Chu San took out an identification card and a photograph from a briefcase at the foot of the sack, handing them over.
The card bore the words Independent Commission Against Corruption and the name Lu Guang Ming. The photograph, an old reprint, showed three men standing together.
The wind rattled the items in the Old Shopkeeper’s hands, yet he saw clearly.
“You recognize this one, do you not?” He Chu San pointed at the man in the center—Xie Ying Jie.
The Old Shopkeeper’s gaze darkened, though he said nothing.
“This youth is named Lu Guang Ming, Senior Investigator of ICAC. His father, Lu Yong, was a police officer who died twenty years ago in a bank robbery. His partner at the time… was this man in the photograph.”
“Two weeks ago, at Master Qiao’s charity banquet, he infiltrated the event in disguise and tried to extract information from me. I exposed him and had him thrown out. Later, suspecting his identity, I investigated him in secret—and uncovered this great secret.”
The Old Shopkeeper tucked the items into his inner pocket. “Who else knows?”
“No one, most likely. These materials were hidden in a secret compartment in his home. If they remain concealed, it means they were never reported to his superiors.”
“Is he dead? Can he still speak?”
The Old Shopkeeper studied the pale face. The blood-soaked chest still rose faintly.
“My apologies. He resisted fiercely when I captured him, and I had to shoot him. Had you come half an hour later, he would be completely dead.”
He Chu San zipped the briefcase and handed it over. “But I believe this is all he knew. Please present it to ‘that one’ on my behalf.”
The Old Shopkeeper accepted it, still suspicious. “You knew all this before meeting me, yet you did not report it to Master Qiao?”
“Correct. I concealed the investigation due to his surveillance. Only today did I find the chance to act. Such a secret—surely ‘that one’ would not wish Master Qiao to know?”
The Old Shopkeeper fell silent for a moment. “You have done well. But what will you do with him?”
He Chu San smiled faintly. “Rest assured. As with my accounts, not a trace will remain.”
He handed over the umbrella. “Please, step back a little.”
Setting the flashlight aside, he donned his gloves again and lifted a corner of the canvas, feeling beneath it.
The Old Shopkeeper stood several paces away, watching suspiciously—until He Chu San suddenly produced a pistol and chambered a round in a blink!
The umbrella and briefcase fell to the ground.
The Old Shopkeeper reached for his own weapon—but it was too late.
A bolt of lightning split the sky.
“Bang!!”
Thunder crashed like the collapse of mountains. Rain hammered down like hail. The Old Shopkeeper broke into a cold sweat as He Chu San turned back toward him, smiling once more.
Half his face was lit by the flashlight, the other half swallowed by darkness—like a being caught between demon and god, illusion and nightmare.
The sack beside him tore open, blood gushing across the canvas. Lu Guang Ming’s pale face drooped lifelessly into the pooling crimson.
“As a precaution,” He Chu San said with a smile, “forgive the misunderstanding.”
He fired twice more.
“Bang! Bang!”
The corpse jerked violently, slamming twice against the metal walls with dull, grotesque thuds. More blood seeped from the torn sack.
He Chu San holstered the gun, placed the stones into the sack, tied it shut, then wrapped it tightly in canvas and secured it with iron chains.
The rain quickly soaked him through, revealing the firm lines of muscle across his shoulders and arms beneath the clinging fabric.
He dragged the bundle from the vehicle, the sack scraping through mud with a harsh, grating sound. Pausing beside the Old Shopkeeper, he bent down, picked up the umbrella, and placed it back into his hand.
“Careful not to catch the rain,” he said gently.
The Old Shopkeeper’s face remained expressionless, though his palm was slick with sweat upon the handle.
He Chu San dragged the corpse toward the seaside platform, then heaved it into the sea with a heavy splash.
Then, as though nothing had occurred, he walked back calmly. Removing his gloves, he tossed them into the jeep, took out his handkerchief, and wiped the rain from his face.
He smiled once more.
“All done. Please, return.”
Futile Devices Scans 
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