“Hello, young man, with your head hanging low. What’s the matter? Something got you down?”

The only thing getting me down is having to listen to a scumbag like you.

Even complaining felt like too much of a bother for the young man, so he chose to ignore the man trying to get his attention.

“Oh dear, dear, dear. It’s not nice to ignore people. If you’re troubled, I’ll gladly lend you an ear.”

The overly friendly man put his arm around the young man’s shoulder.

Friggin’ prick. There goes my good mood.

The young man was leaning his head over the railing of a bridge, but he wasn’t thinking of jumping. He was just a little too drunk and was trying to sober up.

See, the young man had been making some decent money lately. And even after blowing a bunch of it at a classy speakeasy just outside of Chinatown, he still had plenty of cash left.

…Is this guy trying to rob me?

The young man glanced sideways at the interloper, who tilted his head quizzically.

The man’s scraggly black hair swayed. His sideburns and the hair on the nape of his neck were trimmed short, but his bangs were long and completely covered his right eye.

His left eye was slanted, and his iris was a rare crimson.

“You’re so down in the dumps you can’t even speak. You have my sympathies, young man. Your life is a modern tragedy. Born to poverty, no prospects. Nothing new ever happens, does it? Everything’s a compromise. Everything’s a facade. What more can you do but run little errands to make yourself some pocket change? A stupid, ridiculous life. I bet everything you’ve ever held dear has long since slipped through your fingers, never to be seen again. Am I right? Your sincerity. Your passion. Your hope. You don’t even need to tell me. I know exactly how it is.”

Nothing could be further from the truth, thought the young man. My future is bright, asshole.

“Here. I’ll give you this,” continued the man. “Try and cheer up, hmm?”

The young man’s eyes widened.

At a glance, it looked like nothing more than a wrapped piece of candy. But he could tell this wasn’t the type of candy you give to children.

He had never seen the real thing before, but he had heard the rumors. It was made of a substance that could free someone from the pain of their miserable lives. Give them a high completely beyond anything alcohol was capable of.

This drug was known by a particularly lighthearted name.

The young man’s curiosity was piqued. He had always wanted to try it at least once.

This guy’s no pickpocket… He’s a dealer.

Whoever this man was, he was in a particularly precarious line of work. The young man almost felt bad for him.

“Keep your cash. You can pay me back next time.”

The young man accepted the gift and quickly realized what his new friend’s real goal was.

He had heard that this drug was terribly addictive. Giving someone their first taste for free was likely an effective way to build a client base.

But as long as the young man only tried it once and then never again, the dealer would be the one to lose out.

The young man unwrapped his present. It looked exactly like a piece of hard candy, and it was as red as the man’s eye.

“…Of course, I bet you couldn’t pay even if I asked, huh?” said the dealer the instant the young man popped the candy into his mouth.

Moron, thought the young man. He almost laughed at how wrong the man was. He had plenty of money on him.

…Hold on a sec. Something’s off about this whole deal.

Why’s this guy going around handing out samples to people he thinks can’t afford it?

Weird. Why? Hmm. No clue. Whatever. I don’t care. Not about him. Not about anything.

As the candy melted in the young man’s mouth, his thoughts dissolved along with it.

“You’re a frank young man, aren’t you? It’s a nice change of pace. This other lad I met recently is quite the cheeky one, you see.”

The man’s voice grew further and further away.

The young man’s eyes went blank. It was kicking in.

It was an ephemeral joy unlike any other. Freedom from his unpleasant thoughts. Like a painkiller for all of life’s ills.

“He’s a stubborn one, I tell you. The kid acts like he’s all grown up and he’s got nothing left to learn.”

This guy’s a dealer… I bet he’s got tons of this stuff on him.

“I think he’s maybe just a biiit younger than you. He’s still just a teenager. He tries to pretend he’s an adult, but I know it’s just a front.”

The drug supposedly suppressed a person’s nervous system, but instead, the young man suddenly felt a huge rush. Maybe it was all the booze he’d had earlier, or maybe it was something else. But whatever it was, he felt invincible. Like he could take on the whole world.

He snuck a hand into his pocket and ran a finger along the tool of his trade—a small revolver.

All he had to do was blow the guy’s brains out, then he could pocket all the drugs he had on him.

What a terrific idea, thought the young man.

He held the revolver grip in his hand.

The man was too distracted yammering on and on about who-cares-what to even notice.

All he had to do was aim at the dealer’s head—there was probably nothing in there worth a damn anyway.

“I tell you, that kid’s really something. His name is Sangha, and—”

As the dealer prattled on, the young man produced the gun from his pocket and pointed it at his target.

A gunshot pierced the night air.

1

Sangha was happy.

Although he had lost his parents at a young age, barely had an education, and was doomed to spend his life working menial jobs, he was perfectly satisfied with the way things were.

Sangha looked up from the spoon he was wiping. He moved his gaze over the counter and across the small diner.

The local regulars, stopping in for a bite on their way home from work, slowly began filling the seats. They wore exhausted looks on their faces.

Sangha glanced down at his reflection in the back of the spoon and found that his was no better. His dull grayish hair barely hid the large bags under his catlike eyes.

This didn’t bother him in the slightest. As long as he made enough money to support the person most important to him, physical exhaustion and a lack of sleep were like badges of honor.

As long as I have her to protect, I can keep pushing on, he thought. Anyway…I really need to piss.

“The hell? You the only one workin’ today, Sangha? Talk about rotten luck.”

“Pipe down, you old fart. You got a problem with my cooking?”

Sangha frowned at the middle-aged regular. The man had clearly been hoping to see the owner behind the counter.

“Whoa, testy,” answered the man. “I’m a payin’ customer, y’know. How about a bit of respect?”

“You gonna order something?”

“How do you expect to broaden your clientele with that sorta attitude? If someone walked in off the street, you’d chase ’em away for good.”

“…Pardon me, sir. And many thanks for paying a visit to this fine establishment. You must be new in town. Welcome to the metropolis of Broken Ark, the pride and joy of these United States. I’ll let you in on the secret recipe—just throw a pinch of wealthy elites into a heaping mix of broke losers and petty thugs. Top that off with a liberal sprinkling of violence, chaos, and corruption, and you have yourself one hell of a vibrant criminal underworld. And the flavor? Oh, sir, it’s quite complex, as you can well imagine. With so many immigrants from a variety of ethnic groups, you get a taste of everyone’s hometown pride with each bite. My father was an immigrant, in fact, and while plenty of others from the old country settled here in Little Italy, he still busted his ass to scrape together enough change to start this diner. We barely manage to cover our costs, so please do try to spend as much money as you can. Now let me ask you again. You gonna order something?”

“God, you really are a pain in the ass to talk to, y’know that, kid? Just gimme the spaghetti and meatballs, wouldya?”

“Coming right up. But don’t think that you can come in here and ruin my day just ’cause you got into a fight with the missus.”

“What the—? How’d you know me and my wife got into a fight…?”

Sangha ignored the question and disappeared into the kitchen.

He quickly prepared the order and returned, then placed the plate in front of the uneasy customer.

“I threw in a couple extra meatballs. Figured it’d help get your mind off that angry wife of yours.”

“What the hell, Sangha?”

“You’d better eat it quick and get back to her. She’s only gonna get more pissed the longer you stay out.”

“When did you meet my old lady? She…came in here, didn’t she? That’s how you know, right? She told you we were fighting?”

“Man, you’re dense. I can tell ’cause of your neck. You don’t have any hickeys today.”

“The hell does that mean?”

“Wow, you’re dumber than I thought. Every time you walk in here, I can see the hickeys your wife left on your neck. No love bites means you haven’t been getting laid. But if something serious happened to her, you wouldn’t drag your sorry ass in here. And if she left you, your clothes wouldn’t be so clean. So there’s only one possible explanation—you guys are fighting. Get it?”

“…Tch. Whatever, kid. God, you piss me off.”

“Aw, getting all mopey just ’cause I’m right? Now who’s the kid?”

The middle-aged regular awkwardly turned away.

Sangha’s eye for these sorts of details had been trained over many years of working in customer service. He would have been able to figure out the situation even without seeing the man’s neck. A person’s tone of voice and the look in their eyes told him all he needed to know.

In fact, Sangha could guess what his own eyes were saying about him at that moment—I need to sneak off to the bathroom and take a piss.

He’d gotten too cocky and said too much. He had also put too much faith in his own bladder.

“Goddammit, how’s a man s’pposed to keep going without a drink? Sangha, you gotta have some booze back there.”

“Why the hell would we carry something like that?”

“Well, this is a bar, ain’t it?”

“It used to be a bar.”

In 1920, the federal government decided it was time for everyone to put the bottle down. They said they wanted to build a dry utopia.

And so the National Prohibition Act was signed. Overnight, the manufacture, sale, transportation, and import/export of alcoholic beverages for consumption were all banned.

The law had been enacted several years ago, and it was already a regular fact of life.

And that meant breaking the law had become the new norm.

Some abused medical and industrial alcohols. Others made bathtub gin. Others still sold grape juice with labels warning customers about how easily the juice would ferment. Meanwhile, bootleggers produced illicit alcohol en masse in factory warehouses.

Booze was being produced anywhere and everywhere, using whatever means were available.

Speakeasies that sold illicit alcohol had popped up all over the place.

But this establishment was different. At the owner’s discretion, the diner refused to serve booze. And Sangha had no problems with that.

“C’mon, kid, I’m sure you got somethin’ tucked away back there. Dammit, this place sucks… Huh? Wh-whoa, Sangha! Sangha, look!”

“Hey, quit yanking, wouldya?”

Mere moments after he’d finally decided to quiet down and eat his food, the regular reached over the counter and grabbed Sangha by the shirt.

“L-look! There!”

Sangha followed the man’s frightened gaze and saw what he was looking at—an unfamiliar middle-aged man.

The man was rubbing his cheek against the window. The glass near his mouth was fogging up, and he appeared to be muttering something.

“Didja seriously only just notice him?” asked Sangha. “He’s been there for a while. Since before you showed up, in fact.”

“Yikes. Is…is that guy high or something?”

“Of course he is. What else could it be? I’m just glad he’s staying out there and not trying to come inside.”

“Oh! Do you think it’s that thing everyone’s been talking about? Y’know, that one drug.”

“…Shanti,” spat Sangha.

There was no escaping shanti.

Sangha had seen his share of shanti junkies around the city, but they always seemed to disappear from town after a while. Whether that was because they took a one-way trip to druggie heaven or what, Sangha didn’t know. But he also didn’t care what happened to those wastes of space.

“Go get rid of him, Sangha.”

“What, I’m supposed to make time in my day for every junkie who walks by? You have any idea how many dealers hang out around here? I dunno if they’re with the mafia or just gangs or what, but I sure as hell don’t wanna get involved.”

The term “mafia” was used exclusively in reference to crime organizations that had come over from the same small island country as Sangha’s father. Broadly speaking, all other organizations were just gangs.

But regardless of what they called themselves, to Sangha, they were nothing but a bunch of criminals.

“You can’t avoid it, Sangha. Those guys have got all of Broken Ark wrapped around their little fingers. No one does business without going through them first.”

The regular was right. The foxes had taken over the henhouse.

These crime syndicates had made loads of money and gained a ton of influence through bootlegging and smuggling. Ironically, prohibition had provided them with a lucrative business opportunity.

As a result, keeping your hands clean in Broken Ark was practically impossible.

“Hey, c’mon, Sangha. Ya gotta take the bad with the good, y’know?”

“Shut up and mind your own business. You think I’m just gonna do what these bozos tell me? Mafia, gangs, whatever the hell they are. I freaking hate those scumbags.”

A moment after Sangha had said his piece, the door to the diner suddenly flew open.

“Nameless masses of Broken Ark, I bid you all good day!”

The overly cheerful greeting had come from a boy who’d just stepped into the diner.

The newcomer made a beeline for the counter where Sangha was standing. The regulars, likely sensing trouble, moved to seats further away and pretended like nothing had happened.

“Now then! Why don’t you tell me your order?” said the boy.

“Um, what?” answered Sangha. “Pretty sure that’s my line.”

Sangha had no idea what to think of this kid.

He was short and had a baby face. He barely looked fifteen years old.

But with his fedora, his pure white suit, the diamond-encrusted tie clip, and, most of all, the large scar across his face, it was clear that he was a member of a crime syndicate. The two teddy bear heads sewn into his suit threw Sangha off a bit—he couldn’t tell whether the boy had them because he was a kid or if it had something to do with his organization.

Speak of the devil. This guy’s mafia. But why’s he here, of all places? And more importantly, when the hell am I gonna get a chance to take a piss?!

“My apologies! I’m afraid I’ve gotten ahead of myself. I was simply so excited to share the good news. My name is Dino, and I’m here to help you turn this place around. A bright new future for your dingy diner. Yes, yes, I know! You can hardly believe my kindness! No need to say it!”

Dino wore an innocent smile, completely devoid of ill intent, which only made his presence more unsettling.

“Take advantage of this incredible opportunity, and today is certain to become the single best day of your entire life! So how about it? You’ll sell our Heart Beer, won’t you? Oh, of course you will! How could you possibly resist? So? How many barrels can I put you down for?”

“…We don’t sell booze. And we sure as hell aren’t buying any mafia beer.”

“Don’t be foolish! This is the beginning of happier and more successful days ahead!”

“Yeowch!” cried Sangha, his face contorting with pain.

Dino was, with all his might, yanking the locket Sangha wore around his neck. The necklace chain gave a loud, worrisome creak.

“D-don’t break it…!”

“My goodness! What a delightful scene!” continued Dino. He had opened up the simple oval locket and was stealing a glance at the photo inside.

It was an old family photo of Sangha, his father, his mother, and his sister, who was six years Sangha’s junior.

“Is this your sister? She’s pretty cute!”

“Excuse me? ‘Pretty’ cute? Buddy, my sister’s adorable.”

Sangha couldn’t help responding curtly as he snatched his locket back from the gangster.

“If you start selling our Heart Beer, I have no doubt that your family will live better, happier lives. And just think of all the new customers you’ll have!”

“We don’t want your beer.”

Mafia beer was poison. There was no way to know what kind of crap they’d mixed into it.

“You seem concerned about something. Are you worried you’ll prosper so much you’ll become a target for thieves? Or that you’ll catch the eye of law enforcement? Well, have no fear! My dependable organization will be here to protect you with everything we’ve got!”

“I’m not paying your goons for protection.”

Sangha was starting to think this mobster was less interested in making money and more interested in expanding his territory. This was probably meant as a threat to other groups in the area. Broken Ark was constantly under siege from these warring gangs.

“Get out,” said Sangha. He couldn’t stand it any longer—his bladder was about to burst. “You’re interfering with business.”

He would have reached the same conclusion whether he had to piss or not. There was nothing to be gained from putting up with lawless thugs.

“Are you saying you have something against our organization? But why?! My boss is an incredible individual, I’ll have you know! He has a quick wit and a kind heart. It’s no exaggeration to say that he’s made this world brighter—”

“If he’s the kinda boss that sends literal children out to shake places down, then the guy’s a scumbag. A small fry like you, I bet you’ve never even met him—”

By the time Sangha stopped himself, it was already too late. He had lost his temper and said way more than he should have.

Dino was frozen in place. He still wore the same creepy smile, but he was completely still. Silence reigned as the time ticked by in slow motion.

“…Uh? Hello?” Sangha finally said.

“Is that so?! What a shame!” cried Dino, his voice now much louder.

“Whoa!” cried one of the customers, surprised. They had been trying to keep a low profile but couldn’t help turning toward the young gangster at his sudden outburst.

Dino, still smiling, spread his arms wide and spun in place as though receiving a standing ovation. He then held his hat to his chest and bowed his head low.

“Well, it would seem that this is the last time I’ll ever come to this diner. Farewell. And a good evening to you all!”

And so Dino left just as suddenly as he had appeared.

Sangha wasn’t sure what to think.

The gangster hadn’t gotten mad and hadn’t hounded him. He had simply accepted the refusal and moved on. He hadn’t even broken anything or tried punching Sangha’s head in. The whole back-and-forth had been way too aboveboard. It gave Sangha the creeps.

“Sangha, what the hell were you thinking, talking shit like that? He might’ve been a kid, but he’s still a criminal!”

“Hey, quit yankin’,” protested Sangha as the regular pulled on his shirt.

“What are you gonna do?! The next thing through that door could be a grenade. And then, blammo! Y’hear me?!”

“Calm down! That’s not gonna happen. So just…let me—”

The door swung open.

Both Sangha and the regular looked over and gulped in expectant fear.

“Hey, Sangha, I’m back… What the hell’s wrong with you two?”

A round, middle-aged woman walked through the door. It was Sangha’s aunt, the owner of the diner. She’d put him in charge while she paid her respects at the cemetery.

It seemed there would be no explosions after all. Not at the diner, and not in Sangha’s bladder, either.

2

You remind me so much of your father. Sangha heard his aunt’s voice in the back of his mind.

He should have been home already. After they closed the diner, he’d gone over to his aunt’s place, and now he was running late.

He’d never told anyone, but his aunt always became unstable at this time of year.

Whenever the two of them were alone, she would get violent. It had been this way for ages, so Sangha tried his best to never be alone with her. But apparently, his aunt was completely oblivious to anything being wrong.

Sangha sighed, letting his lungs deflate completely.

Nights in Broken Ark, even in the middle of summer, tended to get chilly. On top of that, this year’s summer was supposed to be particularly mild. But for some reason, on this night of all nights, the air was hot and muggy.

It made Sangha feel gross, but complaining about the weather wouldn’t change it, so he just pushed through it as he did with everything else.

As he walked the narrow road home, sweat dripped from his forehead and into his eyes. It stung and got on his nerves, but he could just wipe it away. Pretend like nothing ever happened.

He could see his place in the distance. The cramped shack probably didn’t look like much to anyone else, but it was where he lived with his little sister. So to Sangha, it was home.

Sangha’s sister, Arha, liked to pretend she was grown up, but she wasn’t even a teenager yet.

She had a hard time staying up late, which is why Sangha opened the door quietly, expecting she would already be fast asleep.

“Sanghaaa, you’re so laaate!”

“Oh, Arha! What are you still doing up?”

The little girl was wearing her pajamas, resting her head on the dinner table.

“I’ve been waiting for you foreeeveeer.”

Sangha rushed over to his sister’s side so fast he almost tripped. He stretched Arha’s arm out and saw she had a bruise. “What the—? You’re hurt? What happened to your cute little arm…?!”

“I was just having fun on the playground, okay? I was hanging from a ring, but then I fell down.”

“You fell?! Are you okay?! You didn’t break anything, did you?!”

“Stop it! I’m fiiine,” she said with a big yawn, her hair swaying.

“How come your neck looks red, Sangha? How come, huh? You okay?”

“Oh… Uh, this? I just burned myself with some oil while cooking. I’m toootallyyy fiiine,” he said, imitating Arha. Then he adjusted his collar to hide the bruise on his neck.

Arha growled and gave him a gentle slap on the shoulder.

“How come you’re home so late, huh? I thought you got hit by a car!”

Arha had good reason to be worried. That was how their parents had died, after all.

The boy subconsciously reached up and gripped his locket. It was a keepsake from their mother and the only thing he’d been able to hang onto after the incident.

Some mafia gangsters out for a joyride had hit and killed their parents. It was no surprise that he and his aunt were so resentful of organized crime.

“I know, I’m sorry. The thing is, see, there was this customer that, uh, fell asleep at the diner. And I tried waking him up, right? But it took me a long time ’cause he just wouldn’t budge.”

“You work too haaard, Sanghaaa.”

“You think so?”

“Did you walk Auntie home? It’s scary outside so late at night.”

“I did, I did. Don’t worry.”

“I haven’t seen Auntie in foreeever. How is she?”

“She’s fine,” he lied.

The truth was that ever since August, when their father died, their aunt was constantly stepping away from the diner to visit his grave. She would stare at it in silence for ages. Her brother was only a year older than she was, and while she seemed to understand the reality of his passing rationally, she hadn’t been capable of coming to terms with it emotionally. Sangha assumed that was why she always mistook him for his dad. All the anger she wished she could take out on her dead brother, she took out on Sangha instead.

But he couldn’t tell Arha that. The young girl looked up to her aunt, believing she was strong and brave. So Sangha tried his best not to shatter Arha’s image of her beloved Auntie.

“What’s that supposed to meeeaaan? Auntie’s so nice, y’know? We’d be in the streets if she didn’t help us.”

“Yeah, yeah. I know.” Sangha was tired of dealing with his aunt, but he also knew they owed her a lot.

He and Arha had lost their parents, lost their home. Forced to live on the streets, they wouldn’t have lasted long, but their aunt had moved to Broken Ark to take over their father’s diner and support them as best she could. Not long after, Sangha had decided to help out.

“Anyway. Why are you up so late, Arha? Were you hungry? Or are you feeling sick or something? Oh, I know…it’s that bruise. You really are injured, aren’t you? It hurts too much to sleep, doesn’t it?! You’re just trying not to worry me. Oh, Arha, you’re so braaave!”

“That’s not iiit! I just wanted to ask you something, that’s all.”

“Huh? What is it? Actually, mind if I sew while we’re talking?”

“Go ahead.”

He had promised himself that he’d fix the hole in his T-shirt today, so Sangha got his sewing kit ready and pulled up a chair next to Arha.

“We’re poor, aren’t we?” she said.

“Hey, I wouldn’t say that. We don’t have much, but I’ve been saving up.”

“Then how come you don’t just buy another shirt, huh?”

“If I sew this one up, it’ll be good as new.”

“Then when are you gonna spend your money?”

“It’s important to have an emergency fund. You never know what might happen. Wait… Are you hinting that you want some new clothes? There’s plenty of money for that, so if you want something, just let me know, okay?”

“Grrr, I want you to spend some money on you.”

“Nah, I don’t need anything,” he said. He was being honest. All the money he’d saved up was for Arha.

Anyone with real money would laugh at the paltry sum he’d put away. But he was determined to make sure Arha was taken care of financially. His sister hadn’t gotten much time with their parents. He felt he owed it to them to take care of her.

“Are you sure you’re not working too hard…?” she asked.

“Pretty sure you already said that.”

“I think I should…quit school and start working, too.”

“Absolutely not,” replied Sangha. The force in his words surprised even him. “Is that honestly what you wanted to talk about?”

“…Yeah.”

“You shouldn’t be thinking about stuff like that.”

“Aw, c’mooon. But I’d be happier if I could help you out. Don’t you want to make your cute little sister happy?”

“It’s because I want you to be happy that I’m saying no. Plus, it’s illegal for kids under fourteen to work.”

“But you started working way earlier than that.”

“That’s different. And besides, we’re different. You actually have a dream, right?”

He cast his gaze at the nearby wall. It was plastered with clippings from newspapers they’d collected from their neighbors.

Arha liked to pin up pictures of all the most popular singers.

The closest one to where they were sitting was an opera singer. Singing opera had been Arha’s dream for as long as she could remember.

“I thought you wanted to become a singer with her picture plastered all over the newspapers.”

“I dooo… I want to be a prima donna.”

“Exactly.”

Arha’s love of opera probably stemmed from a childhood memory. Back when their parents were still alive, they had gone to see the parade at the patronal festival in the spring. And in front of the church, Arha had heard the aria from Rigoletto.

“But you and Auntie work so hard, and I’m not doing anyyythiiing…”

“Whoa, hold on. You don’t seriously think that, do you? You’re going to school and studying hard so that you can become an opera singer. That’s doing something! If you want to help me, then keep focusing on that.”

Sangha was certain that, if their parents were still alive, they’d say the exact same thing.

“…Fine,” she answered with a small nod.

She must have realized there was no hope of convincing Sangha. Arha still looked a bit miffed, yet she seemed willing to compromise.

“But when I grow up, I’m going to take care of you, okay, Sangha? ’Cause I’m gonna be rich and famous.”

“You’re darn right you are. You’ll be the most famous prima donna ever.”

“I’m gonna be on page one of the paper! And, and…I’m going to tell everyone about the diner!”

“That would be a big help. Y’know, all of a sudden I’m in the mood for a song.”

“Okay! Guess I could sing one for you.”

“Whoo-hoo! It’s my lucky day. Oh, but it’s pretty late. So maybe make it a quiet one, huh?”

Arha decided to sing a lullaby from their father’s hometown. He had taught it to their mother, and she used to sing it to them all the time.

Their mother was also an immigrant, but she came from a different country than their father. She’d lived in Chinatown until the two of them got together. But she had a hard time learning new languages and always spoke to Sangha in her native tongue.

Her language was one of the few mementos he had left of his mother. But since the local language of the United States and his father’s tongue were enough to get him through the day, he rarely got an opportunity to speak it.

That was probably what made the lullaby so special—despite coming from vastly different places, everyone in their family could sing it. His parents had taught Sangha the melody, and he had taught it to Arha.

Shortly after she began to sing, her voice trailed off.

“Pfft… Ha-ha-ha.”

Arha was starting to doze. She had managed to put herself to sleep with her own lullaby.

It was pretty late. Sangha stopped sewing, scooped her up, and carried her to bed.

Arha’s cherubic sleeping face made Sangha smile. He was so happy.

As long as they didn’t have to wrap themselves in newspaper to keep warm in the streets or dig through garbage bins to find food—as long as he could protect Arha, he was perfectly content.

He hoped that they could go on living like this forever.

They kept within their own means, and that was good enough for him.

“I thought of a really, really good idea. I bet I could sing for tips at the diner! If I quit going to school, I’d have a bunch of extra time, right? I could spend all day singing. It’d be like a shortcut to my dreams!”

“…Didn’t you hear a single thing I said yesterday, Arha?”

Sangha rubbed his temples. He had tried to tell his sister that there was no need for her to give up her right to an education just to make a bit of extra money. She didn’t owe him anything, and he’d prefer it if she would go on enjoying her childhood while it lasted.

If nothing else, he really wished she could have told him ahead of time that she was planning on showing up at the diner. They might not serve alcohol, but that didn’t mean it was a safe place for children.

“Listen, Arha. This isn’t a nightclub. We don’t have a stage or anything. You really think a dingy place like this attracts the kind of customers who tip?”

“Whoa, hey! Watch who yer talkin’ about! Just let the girl sing and quit being such a hardass.”

“Yeah, you tell ’im! She’s got guts comin’ all the way out here. Just let her sing, why don’cha?”

It was hard for Sangha to be stern with Arha under these circumstances. The regular and his friends, high off their own fumes, kept butting in and cheering her on. He could see the hickeys had returned to the guy’s neck, which explained a lot. Annoying as they were, Sangha tried his best to ignore the rowdy customers.

“Hey, do you mind if I duck out for a sec to take Arha home?” he asked his aunt.

“Aw, c’mooon,” protested Arha. “I just gooot here!”

“Come on, Sangha,” their aunt replied. “How will we know if we should hire her as our new diva if we don’t at least give her an audition?”

“Ugh, seriously?”

“Yaaay! Thanks, Auntie!” Arha cheered and then gave her aunt a great big hug.

The woman gave Sangha a discreet wink. She seemed to be implying that it would be more effective to “officially” reject the girl rather than dismissing her outright. Besides, what was one quick song from a cute little girl? Surely the customers wouldn’t mind.

“Hey, li’l lady,” said the regular. “How about a snack before you sing? Here, this pie ain’t too great, but you can have my slice.”

“What the hell, man?! I made that pie!”

“Calm down, Sangha. Here, you sound like you need some pie, too.”

“I don’t want any— Mmmf?!”

Sangha winced as the regular shoved a spoonful of the sweet, half-eaten pie into his mouth. He clearly wanted the kid to shut up and let the girl sing. Sangha was starting to get the feeling that he was the one being childish.

He slowly chewed the pie and finally swallowed it. Then after a defiant sigh, he relented.

“…All right, Arha. You can sing one song, okay?”

“Okay!”

Arha stood in front of the counter, took a deep breath, and opened her mouth wide.

But before she could start singing, she was interrupted by the sound of glass shattering.

Something was thrown through the window. Before anyone realized what was happening, flames were already spreading across the diner.

“What the hell’s going on?! This is bad!”

“Shit, shit, shit. What do we do?!”

Liquid poured out of the projectile, spreading the flames. They’d likely been hit by a Molotov cocktail.

“Out! Everybody out, now!”

The customers didn’t need Sangha to tell them twice. They all fled for the exits, screaming bloody murder. The flames hadn’t yet filled the diner—there was still time to escape.

“Aaahhh! My brother’s diner! It’s…! It’s…!”

“What the—?! Auntie, where the hell are you going?!” cried Sangha.

She was heading straight for the fire. But this wasn’t like dropping a lit cigarette or something—you couldn’t just brush flames like these away with your hands and call it a day.

“Auntie?! Auntie, what are you doing?! What’s gotten into you?!” Arha shouted, thrown off by her aunt’s state of confusion.

The diner was no mere workplace for their aunt. It was more than a simple eatery—it was a memento from her beloved brother, full of memories from when he was still alive. If she let it burn to the ground, she would lose the only piece of him she had left.

Sangha understood how she felt—his father’s diner was important to him as well. It wasn’t worth throwing their lives away to protect it, though.

But right now, with his aunt already unstable, he couldn’t expect her to think rationally. So Sangha had no choice but to pull her away by force.

“C’mon, we’re getting out of here!”

“Auntie, please! Come on!” cried Arha.

“No! Leave me alone! Get your hands off me!”

Their aunt had completely lost control. They both tried to pull her from the fire, but she overpowered them.

The flames were already eating away at the diner’s pillars and beams. The smoke was making it a struggle just to breathe.

“Arha…! Get outside, now!”

“N-no! Sangha, we can’t leave Auntie!”

There was no more time. If Sangha didn’t act quickly, he was going to lose both his aunt and his sister.

The flames spread across the floor and caught the edge of their aunt’s skirt, and she screamed out in pain. There was no saving her now.

“Sangha, what are you—?!” his sister yelped.

Sangha snatched her up and rushed out of the burning diner. He didn’t stop running until they were completely clear of the building.

Once they were safe, he set Arha down and immediately collapsed into a coughing fit. He had inhaled too much smoke.

He looked around and saw that a crowd had gathered to watch the blaze. The diner looked even worse on the outside than it had inside. Black smoke billowed up into the night sky.

The flames were so bright that just looking at them made his eyes water. All he could smell was the pungent stench of smoke.

There was no undoing what had just happened. He had left his aunt to die. But he’d had no choice. It had been the only way to prevent even more casualties.

“Nooo! Auntiiie! She’s still inside!”

“What are you—?! Arha!”

Before Sangha could act, Arha broke out into a run. By the time he’d struggled to his feet, it was too late—he could only watch as the outline of his sister disappeared into the burning building.

Sangha reached out in vain.

The next instant, a tremendous flash of light and a terrifying boom eclipsed all his other senses.

The diner had exploded.

3

Time passed by, purposeless. Light slowly crept across the sky. Only the burning stench in his nostrils seemed unaffected by the passage of time.

Sangha knelt on the ground, his eyes trained on the spot a short distance before him. On the spot where the diner had once stood.

The fire had been extinguished, but the roof and walls were mostly gone.

The police and fire department had arrived and begun a preliminary investigation of the scene. Sangha watched as they pulled the bodies of his aunt and sister from the ruined diner.

Sangha wished, deep inside, that their remains had been burned beyond recognition. At least then he could have fooled himself into believing that the corpses belonged to other people.

But by some terrible miracle, both of their heads were intact. They were identified immediately.

Sangha had no desire for such a useless miracle.

The onlookers began to disperse, and the diner’s regulars along with them. None of them so much as asked if Sangha was okay.

No surprises there. They probably didn’t want him latching onto them now that his entire family was dead. That was fine by him. Everyone had to take care of themselves. Those people had more important things to worry about. He didn’t care.

He didn’t feel anything.

His body was completely numb.

He might be covered in cuts from the blast and bleeding all over, but that didn’t faze him in the slightest. His pain was nothing compared to what his sister had just suffered.

He tried to imagine how much it had hurt when she inhaled an inferno of flame, when her hair caught fire, when her limbs were blown off, when bits of her body were scattered across what used to be the diner.

Where had he messed up?

Had it been when he left his aunt to die? Or when he let his guard down after he and Arha were clear of the building? Maybe if she had known his aunt was abusing him, his sister wouldn’t have gone back to save her.

Why couldn’t I stop her? Why couldn’t I reach her? Protect her? Why…?

His mind was overwhelmed with questions, none of which had answers.

“Hey, young man,” called a voice. “What are you doing in a place like this? What’s the matter? Something got you down?”

A man approached him, speaking gently. Sangha saw the guy but didn’t register him at all. He heard him speak, but the words were meaningless.

A sweet smell assaulted Sangha’s nose. Sangha was used to the sickly sweet body odor of passing junkies, but this was different. It smelled like honey candy. Sangha assumed it was the man’s cologne, but he couldn’t muster up the mental energy to decide whether it smelled good or bad.

It felt like the entire world was on the other side of a thin membrane. Everything before him was blurry and indistinct.

“The middle of the road is no place to sit and daydream. Can you…understand me? Hello? Zaoshang hao? Don’t speak that language, either, huh? Are you drunk? Or high?”

The man slapped Sangha lightly across the cheeks, but the boy continued to lie limp and silent.

“Ohhh, don’t tell me. Was that your diner? Did the mafia do this? Stories like that are a dime a dozen. They’re quick to wipe out any establishments that refuse to sell their booze. It’s not about revenge, y’know. They do this for other reasons. Oh, am I boring you? You don’t seem interested.”

Sangha felt like he was hearing something important, but whatever the man was saying was going in one ear and out the other.

“Okay, how about you come with me? Right over here.”

Sangha felt the man grab him by the hand and allowed himself to be pulled into a narrow alley. He wobbled as he went, his gaze blank. There was nothing left inside him to resist.

The moment the man let go of his hand, Sangha slumped onto the ground.

“Now, now. What would you do if I were a bad guy, hmm? I’ve dragged you, a defenseless teen, into a dark alley. It can only be for one thing, right?”

The man laughed suggestively and crouched so his face was right in front of Sangha’s.

“Yep, you guessed it. It’s time for a little therapy session.” The man lowered his voice to a whisper. “If you’re troubled, I’ll gladly lend you an ear. I promise I won’t tell anyone.”

But this wasn’t much of a conversation. The man was basically talking to himself.

“I guess you’re too upset about your diner to speak, hm? Must be tough. Having someone take away your home is so violating. I totally get it.”

If this counted as a “conversation,” one might just as well converse with a corpse, a houseplant, or even God.

“Why don’t you just forget about all of that? Here, I’ve got just the thing to help.”

The man pulled out what looked like a piece of candy in a wrapper. He opened it and took out the hard round object inside.

“No money needed. You can pay me back next time. For now, just open your mouth.”

The man brought the red candy up to Sangha’s lips and tried to feed it to him.

“Say ‘ahhh.’”

Sangha did as he was told. He opened his mouth and stuck out his tongue.

“There’s a good lad.”

But just before the candy touched Sangha’s tongue, the man’s words echoed through his mind.

If I eat this, I’ll forget…everything?

“N-no…”

Sangha weakly swatted the man’s hand away. This seemed to surprise the man, and his face took on a solemn air.

“There’s no reason to worry… Just take this, and you’ll feel better right away,” he whispered. He used a sweet, gentle voice, like he was laying a baby down for their nap.

Sangha began to wonder if he’d be better off kicking back and enjoying the ride, but in the end, he shook his head.

“I don’t…want to feel…better. I don’t…want to forget…”

“Why? You’re only going to make yourself suffer.”

“I would…rather suffer…”

Sangha didn’t want to be let off the hook. He didn’t want to feel at peace, and he didn’t want to learn from this experience, either.

He didn’t want to get over his sister’s death.

Sangha buried his face in his knees and covered his ears.

He wasn’t going to let anyone—or anything—in.

“Hey, are you…?”

The man trailed off. He stood and stared at Sangha in complete silence for some time.

Perhaps Sangha’s unresponsiveness drove the man off. Whatever the reason, by the time Sangha looked up again, he was gone.

4

Sangha had no trouble paying for his aunt’s and sister’s funerals. He used the money he had been saving for his sister’s future. After all, he no longer needed it.

But even after his sister had been cremated and interred, her death still didn’t feel real.

His aunt’s death was much easier to come to terms with. She had been beating Sangha for years. Truthfully, he was relieved that she was gone.

But that only gave him more time to ruminate over the loss of his sister. His every waking moment was consumed by thoughts of Arha.

A few days after the fire, Sangha headed to the church cemetery at dusk and stood in front of her simple tombstone. He still felt deep down inside that, at any moment, she might call out to him and run to his side.

Sangha opened the locket he wore around his neck and stared at the photo of himself, his parents, and Arha.

Why was he the only one still alive? How could he possibly go on like this?

“Well, look who it is! My condolences!” someone cried out, interrupting his thoughts. The cheerful voice felt out of place in the somber church cemetery.

Sangha soon recognized the familiar figure. He wore a white suit and had a scar across his face. It was Dino, the young gangster who had come to the diner peddling his mafia beer.

“You? Why are you—?”

“I heard what happened! Terrible tragedy. Real shame. Behold, I’ve brought you a little offering for the dearly departed.”

The boy, his smile as wide as ever, presented Sangha with a bouquet of flowers.

Sangha refused the gift. He didn’t know what was in the bouquet, and he wasn’t stupid enough to find out.

“Are you worried I’ve done something to the flowers? Why, you wound me, sir!”

“Wh-what are you—?!” Sangha watched in confusion as the mafia boy pulled a single flower from the bouquet, chewed it up, and swallowed it.

Apparently, he was trying to prove that the flowers were safe.

“I’m not so heartless that I would ignore the suffering of a bereaved acquaintance. You shouldn’t be so suspicious. It’s a revolting quality. Trust is a virtue! Even if you find yourself deceived by others, you should never stop trusting.”

This guy’s full of it.

“I was worried about you. That’s why I’ve come here today. What do you plan to do now? If you’d like to rebuild your diner, my organization will gladly look after you. Isn’t mutual aid simply wonderful?”

“…Aid?!”

Sangha spoke without thinking. Suddenly, his vision seemed clear.

Stories like that are a dime a dozen, came a man’s voice from somewhere in the back of Sangha’s mind. It’s not about revenge, y’know. They do this for other reasons. Those words seemed to perfectly describe the actions of the boy standing before him now.

So far, Sangha hadn’t spared so much as a thought for the perpetrators of the crime. He was astonished at his own carelessness.

It was obvious that this child’s organization was responsible for what had happened to the diner.

Someone like Sangha, with no collateral, wouldn’t be given the time of day by a legitimate bank. Which meant that if he wanted to rebuild the diner, he’d have to borrow money from some shady criminal organization. In other words, he’d be in their pocket. They’d wring every drop of blood they could get out of him.

Torching the diner had also served as a warning, letting other businesses in the area know that it was futile to resist the mafia.

Thinking back, Dino had told him exactly what would happen from the start: It would seem that this is the last time I’ll ever come to this diner. He hadn’t meant that he expected to be banned. He already knew that the whole place would be burned to the ground.

Dino seemed positively tickled by the serious look on Sangha’s face. He giggled with glee.

“This is what happens to people who defy my boss. That said, it was only a Molotov cocktail! It’s not as though we threw a grenade into your diner. You had ample time to escape. Who would have guessed it would lead to two casualties? If you had simply accepted my proposal in the first place, none of this would have happened, you know? However, there is room in my heart for forgiveness—everyone makes mistakes. Ah-ha-ha! Oh, how understanding of me!”

Sangha’s breathing became shallow. His hands were trembling. He could feel it—he was being consumed with rage. The child in front of him had just confessed to the arson.

“Now, now! What use is there in crying over spilled milk? Do you know why humans have eyes on the front of their heads? Why, it’s so they can keep moving forward, of course! So why not forge ahead with us? Together! Toward a bright new future! Why waste time mourning the dead? They will continue to live on in your heart!”

“Y-you piece of—”

Sangha impulsively grabbed Dino by the collar. Dino stood on his tiptoes and let himself get yanked. Always smiling, he raised his hands as if to imply he was being manhandled by some violent ne’er-do-well. He was trying to play the victim.

Sangha wanted nothing more than to punch the kid’s face in for spouting a bunch of empty platitudes. But when he thought of making such a violent display in front of his sister’s resting place, he was immediately overcome with guilt.

Besides, Sangha didn’t have any fighting experience. He had clutched the mobster’s shirt with his dominant hand and quickly realized he had no idea how to hit him from such a position.

“Guh…?!”

“Oh dear! My apologies. It seems that I, an innocent bystander trying to escape your violent outburst, have accidentally kicked you in the stomach. What an unfortunate accident!”

A shameless lie. It had been no accident—the mobster had kneed Sangha in his solar plexus on purpose.

Sangha clutched his stomach and lurched forward.

“Hey! You two! What’s going on over there?” A police officer out on patrol rushed over to the two of them. The people from the church had probably asked him to put an end to the disturbance.

“Nothing at all, officer!” replied Dino. Then he tucked something into the officer’s breast pocket. A bribe.

And just like that, the “something” that was happening became nothing at all. That was how things worked in Broken Ark.

“If you feel like cooperating, come to the Ville-Haven Hotel,” Dino said, turning to leave. “My boss and I will welcome you with open arms any time!” He seemed to be insinuating he was living the high life in some fancy hotel.

The officer gave Sangha a perfunctory warning to stay out of trouble before returning to his patrol.

Sangha was left alone, angry and bitter. He hadn’t been able to do anything.

Yet despite it all, he didn’t shed so much as a single tear.

When Sangha got home and started to change clothes, he noticed that Dino had shoved the bouquet into his coat pocket. He wondered when it had happened.

Disgusting, he thought. The flowers, though beautiful, were an insult to his dead sister.

He threw them on the kitchen floor and crushed them with his foot.

He stomped them over, and over, and over again.

But the act brought him absolutely no satisfaction.

Sangha, now too exasperated to change, climbed straight into bed and fell asleep. Even after he eventually woke up, he stayed in bed until sunset.

He felt no desire to do anything. He wished he could go on lying there forever, never having to eat or use the bathroom.

He was well aware that it was an impossible wish. Eventually, Sangha would have to pick up the pieces of his shattered life. He’d done it before, when his parents died. But unlike back then, he didn’t have anyone to protect anymore.

Sangha struggled to get out of bed. He went to wash his face and saw the remains of the bouquet on the floor. He had been so upset that he hadn’t bothered to throw it away. As much as he’d rather ignore it, he stooped down to pick it up.

That was when he noticed it—proof that Dino’s depravity knew no bounds.

It was the newspaper the mobster had used to wrap the bouquet. His hands shaking, Sangha smoothed out the paper and read the large-print headline.

MAFIA WARS INTENSIFY? YOUNG GIRL FOUND DEAD

It was an article about his sister’s death.

“Urgh…”

Sangha felt like throwing up. He’d barely eaten anything, but he could feel the contents of his stomach trying to escape. He covered his mouth in an attempt to keep it down.

His sister had always wanted to be in the paper. But not like this.

Why…? Why, why, why, why?!

That singular question had dominated Sangha’s mind ever since his sister died.

Why did she have to die while a miserable piece of shit like Dino got to live?

Sangha raised his head. He couldn’t see what was actually in front of him. Instead, that asshole’s creepy smile spread across his vision.

Barely knowing what he was doing, Sangha grabbed a butcher knife and rushed out of his house.

The thought of hiding the knife didn’t even occur to him. He held it out in plain sight. He must have looked like a criminal himself.

Even if he made it to Ville-Haven without being seen, he had no idea how to pull one over on Dino. He had no plan, but he couldn’t talk himself down, either.

A singular thought took over Sangha’s mind. It was the one and only thing he knew for sure—Dino couldn’t be allowed to live.

Revenge? came Dino’s voice in his head. Do you really think that would make your sister happy? It was just the type of hollow crap a mobster would say.

But there was no way for Sangha to know what would or wouldn’t make his sister happy anymore. And whose fault was that?

Why do you get to talk when she’ll never speak again? Why do you get to laugh when she can’t? Why do you get to walk free when she never will? My sister is dead. But you… My sister… But you… You, you, you!

Dino should never be allowed to do anything ever again. There was no place in this world for scum like him.

“Hey there, young man,” came a voice by Sangha’s ear.

Spooked, he turned around, knife out.

Crap. What if I stab someone with this?

But there was no one there to stab.

Then, before he could say a word, the knife was knocked out of his hand. After it clanked to the ground, he felt a sharp pain in the back of his neck, and his consciousness began to fade.

What the…? Who? Who did this to me?

With no idea what had happened, Sangha’s vision went black.

5

When Sangha opened his eyes, he found that he was lying on an unfamiliar bed in an unfamiliar room. The lighting was dim and red.

He sat up, trying to figure out what had happened. He was still wearing his clothes and shoes. Even his locket was still around his neck.

“Wooow. This guy woke up sooo fast!”

“It ain’t even been thirty minutes, I bet. ’Kay, well. Better take him over.”

The voices belonged to two young women who were cuddled up on either side of him.

Sangha froze, and his mind went blank.

The two women lifted him and started to take him somewhere, but as soon as they reached the door, Sangha came to his senses and pushed them away.

“Get off me! Who the hell are you?”

The two ladies stared blankly at him as he shouted.

Hold on a second, he thought, maybe they’re immigrants, too. They might not understand English. Sangha realized that the language they’d been speaking a moment ago was his mother’s maiden tongue.

Sangha racked his brain for memories of conversations with his mother. He had a limited vocabulary and likely wouldn’t be able to speak politely, but it would have to do.

“Uhhh, um, who? Who are you?” he said in their language. “And where am I? And when is it? And why am I here, and…why are you dressed like that?! Say something!”

When Sangha looked down, he saw that the women were wearing nothing but see-through baby doll lingerie, underwear, and garter belts. While the designs differed slightly, both of their outfits were overtly provocative.

“The cool, beautiful one is Jing-Li,” replied one of the girls. “And as for the cute one—that’s me!—the name’s Chun Chun! And I guess you could say this is our uniform. But listen here, creep. You’re not a paying customer, see? So don’t even think about popping a boner from staring at me. I will fucking kill you.”

Her voice and way of speaking were so cute that Sangha almost didn’t register the obscene words coming out of her mouth. She had bright eyes, and her hair was tied up into two buns. She was petite and curvy. Despite looking older than Sangha, something about her triggered a protective urge inside him.

“A bo—?! That ain’t gonna happen, lady!”

“Ha-ha! Oh my God. Maybe you prefer ’em innocent? Cut the shit, kid.”

Sangha struggled to think of a rebuttal. Half naked women mostly just freaked him out.

“Wh-what the hell kind of place has a uniform like that, huh?!”

“You some kinda rich kid or somethin’? Lived under a rock your whole life? This is a brothel. And we’re open for business, so I have no clue why we gotta be on diaper duty with some overgrown toddler.”

“…A b-b-brothel?”

Jing-Li was slender and without an ounce of fat—much like her frank words. Her hair was long and luxurious.

“You seriously don’t know? This is the Jeweled Butterfly in Chinatown, an exclusive members-only club. We’re known around Broken Ark for our ten-outta-ten beauties. At least, most people know about us,” said Chun Chun, pouting.

…I’m in Chinatown right now?

Chinatown was right next to Little Italy, where Sangha lived.

Chun Chun’s words prompted him to look around, and he soon realized that everything—from the room’s layout to its furniture—looked completely foreign to him. The window lattices and bed frame were particularly ornate, and the nearby pitcher of water and incense burner were intricately carved and inlaid. Even the half-used bars of soap were unlike anything he’d seen before.

Sooo… I’m in a members-only club? In Chinatown? Called the Jeweled Butterfly?

Sangha was even more confused. What the hell was he doing here?

“Were you the ones who brought me here? Why would you do that?”

“Why don’cha ask the person who actually brought you here?”

“…Huh?”

Clank!

In one swift movement, Chun Chun snapped a metal collar around Sangha’s neck. It looked like one of the tools of the brothel trade. It had a chain dangling from it, and the other end was in Chun Chun’s hand.

“Whoa, careful, Chun Chun. The little rich kid’s freaked out.”

“Hey, do you want this creep touching you? This is the nice way of doing things, Jing-Li. We should have just done this from the start. All righty! Now follow me!”

“Wait, what are you—? Uhhh…?”

They led Sangha like a dog through the halls until they reached a room like an office. Compared to where they’d come from, it was positively bare-bones.

“We’re heeere!”

“We brought the kid.”

Chun Chun yanked on Sangha’s chain, and Jing-Li pushed him forward.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa…!” cried Sangha as the combined pushing and pulling knocked him to his knees.

Smoke drifted gently in front of his face. It floated upward, as if beckoning him to trace its path with his eyes.

The first thing Sangha noticed about the guy sitting in front of him wasn’t his messy black hair, the long bangs that completely covered his right eye, or even the cross tattoo on his left cheek.

It was his left eye. The iris was red. A perfect shade of crimson that seemed like it could pierce through anything.

He was sitting on a simple wooden chair in front of an intricately detailed geometric lattice window. His pose was audacious, with one leg crossed over the other—the sort of thing some might find rude. But between his black nail polish and the tattoos peeking out from the cuffs of his pants, it looked like the most appropriate posture he could take.

He took a drag from a long-stemmed pipe, blew out a puff of smoke, and smiled. It was the grin of an apex predator.

He wasn’t exactly handsome, but his face was well-proportioned. Most striking were his particularly sharp canines. The absurd thought that this strange man might eat Sangha’s flesh flashed through his mind.

“Hey there, Sangha. How do you feel? Any pain?”

Sangha stiffened. He had no idea how the guy in front of him knew his name, but he had the sneaking suspicion this was an attempt to show him that that these people already knew everything they needed to know about him.

“Sorry about the whole ‘knocking you out’ thing. You were swinging that butcher knife around, and I guess my reflexes kicked in and I defended myself. I just wanted to have a little chat, is all.”

Apparently, rendering Sangha unconscious hadn’t been part of the plan, but once it happened, the man had figured he might as well take Sangha to his brothel. Then he’d left Chun Chun and Jing-Li in charge of the boy.

Self defense? Is this guy serious? He was the one who attacked me.

But Sangha had learned one important detail from the guy’s story—he was the one who ran the Jeweled Butterfly.

Sangha wondered if the guy’s piercings and jewelry were an attempt to flaunt his wealth and the fact that his line of work didn’t require him to pay any taxes.

“Just who the hell are you?” Sangha barked.

His aggressive attitude didn’t come from misplaced courage, but from sheer confusion at the situation he’d found himself in. It was also partly because he wasn’t adept enough at the language they were speaking to form polite sentences.

“Oh dear. Don’t tell me you don’t remember me?”

“…We’ve never met before.”

“I suppose you’re right. No surprise that you don’t remember, sorry state you were in and all. Don’t worry, though. This isn’t one of those cheesy, ‘Hey, haven’t we met somewhere before?’ type of pickup lines or anything. Well, whatever. Let’s just say this is the first time we’ve met.”

“Okay. And…? Who the hell are you?”

“Hmm. Who am I? That’s a surprisingly tough question to answer. If not for mirrors, I wouldn’t even know what my own face looks like. That’s the only way to tell whether I’m ugly or not, right? I guess a person’s inner nature is the same. Without some kind of mirror, there’s no telling who I am. For that, we need to employ a different kind of mirror—other people. In effect, we create who we are through the impressions of others, and—”

Was this guy some kind of neighborhood preacher? Sangha completely tuned out halfway through his pedantic sermon. Perhaps it was the guy’s outfit that made him look like some kind of priest. The cloth that hung down from his waist, the large prayer beads looped twice around his neck and also around his left wrist, the bag he had slung over his chest—it all gave him a mystical air.

Other than that, he was dressed rather normally. He wore a tight black turtleneck, a large jacket with a fur collar, and loose-fitting pants with large stitching. Sangha assumed the other accessories were just for fashion.

“At least tell me your name,” said Sangha, interrupting.

“Zhen Hong.”

The man responded by stating his name point-blank. Sangha couldn’t tell whether the guy had been blabbering just to seem smart, because he was talkative, or for some other reason.

“…Are you working with Dino?”

“What gave you that idea? Nothing could be further from the truth. In fact, our group is basically at war with the Falco Family.”

Sangha hadn’t specified which Dino, but the guy knew exactly who he was talking about. More evidence that he knew all about what had happened to Sangha recently.

“Huh. So they’re called the Falco Family…?”

“Damn, rich kid,” said Chun Chun. “You don’t even know something that basic? We never leave Chinatown, and even we know who the Falco Family is.”

“Wh-what the hell do I care what some thugs call themselves? Mafia, gang, family. Whatever they are, I fricking hate them all.”

“Hooo boy!” said Jing-Li. “Big words to say in front of Zhen Hong.”

The two women couldn’t seem to let his ignorance slide.

“Hating them is the right choice, Sangha. Try and hold on to that,” said Zhen Hong. Aside from a shrug, he didn’t seem offended in the slightest.

“…So are you some big shot mafia guy or something?”

“Well, I wouldn’t say I’m a ‘big shot,’ exactly. I’m not even one of the execs.”

“Huh… Okay then.”

“Ah-ha-ha! He’s spooked!” said Chun Chun, butting in again.

“That seriously enough of an explanation for you?” asked Jing-Li.

“Since you clearly have no idea what’s going on, I’m going to be nice and explain it to you like I would a child,” said Chun Chun. “There are tons of different groups in Broken Ark, but four in particular hold all the power, and one of them is the Falco Family.”

“There’s the Falco Family, the Serpente Family, J.J., and Amrita. Zhen Hong is from Amrita,” explained Jing-Li.

“Yep, yep! Amrita’s nothing like the rest of the organizations, y’know!” added Chun Chun. “It’s made up of people from different races from all over the world. And Amrita’s the only gang that has women in it, too. Oh, but don’t get the wrong idea. The girls who work here aren’t members, so I don’t really know all that much.”

Despite that, she was clearly ten times more knowledgeable than Sangha. He didn’t have much chance to read the papers, and whenever he heard something about the mafia, he tried to forget it as soon as possible. Knowing about them just made him feel dirty.

“Amrita’s Chinatown branch is called Bai She Tong.”

“Yep, and Zhen Hong is their lieutenant, so he’s like the boss of the foot soldiers.”

Sangha didn’t care about learning all the ins and outs of gang hierarchy. Besides, that was way too many names to remember all at once. What was the point of shoving all this information in his face when they had to know he couldn’t retain it?

Yet despite everything, Sangha found himself drawing a loose organizational chart of Amrita in his mind as he listened, though it was hard to get the big picture. It sounded like Zhen Hong was basically a branch manager, but there was no way to know how many people were between him and the big boss at the top, or how many others held a similar position.

Either way, it seemed safe to assume that Zhen Hong was a big shot around these parts.

“Okay, well… If that’s the case, then what’s your relation to Dino?” Sangha asked. “If you’re the Chinatown boss, then shouldn’t he be someone else’s problem?”

“You’re not too far off. But, well, politics and all that.”

Zhen Hong inhaled from his pipe and laid it down onto the tobacco tray. Then he uncrossed his legs and bent forward so he was facing Sangha directly.

Being stared down at like that made the boy a bit nervous.

“You were having it out with Dino in the cemetery, right? I’ve been watching you. If you’d tried to rush in with your little kitchen knife, you would’ve been a goner for sure, my little hatchet man.”

“Wh-what does my death have to do with you? You trying to say you protected me or something?”

“Quite the opposite. If anything, I was protecting Dino.”

“The hell? I thought you guys were at war.”

“I’m in the middle of an investigation.”

“You’re investigating him? What for?”

“What indeed?” Zhen Hong grinned. He clearly wasn’t going to talk. “Whatever the case, I can’t let Dino die just yet. So if you insist on killing him now, then I’m afraid I’ll have to dispose of you, even if the odds of you succeeding are a million to one. Better safe than sorry.”

“Screw that! That guy’s the reason my sister is dead. Why should I let a dirtbag like him go free just for your sake, huh?”

“All right, I’ll tell you what.”

Zhen Hong suddenly yanked on the chain attached to Sangha’s neck. Sangha’s body lurched forward and his shoulders slammed into the floor.

“G-gah!”

Zhen Hong placed the bottom of his shoe on the back of Sangha’s head, pinning him.

“Reeelaaax, I wouldn’t hurt an innocent kid like you. At worst, maybe I’d pull out a couple of your nails or break one of your fingers. What do you think, Sangha? How many would I have to break to dissuade you from picking up another butcher knife? One finger? Two?”

“L-let me go right now, you bastard!”

“And here I was, planning to let you go home as long as you promised to be a good boy and forget about your silly little plan.”

“Let go! U-ugh… It hurts, it hurts!”

Zhen Hong applied more pressure to the boy’s head. Sangha thought his neck might snap.

“Let me give you a little tip just in case you ever run into a sadist. There are some real freaks out there who love it when you cry out in pain, so you might want to work on that. Hell, I’m not even paying you, and here you are giving me quite the show. Resisting will only make things worse.”

“Shut your face! I…I’m gonna kill that son of a bitch Dino…for my…sister…!”

“Sounds like your sister was really important to you. Unfortunately, I don’t have much sympathy for the whole loving family angle,” said Zhen Hong. “Right! Guess I’ll start with one of your fingernails. Chun Chun, grab me that set of pliers over there, would you?”

“’Kaaay.”

Sangha heard the woman rifling through a drawer. He couldn’t tell whether Zhen Hong was bluffing—everything he said was so flippant that it was hard to read his intentions from his actions or tone of voice.

“Oh, I just had a great idea! We’ve got all these fancy toys lined up, so why not give them a spin? How about a blindfold for starters? Oh, and a pair of handcuffs so you can’t resist. Jing-Li?”

Sangha, already tethered by the chain, had no way to run. He had no choice but to let Jing-Li handcuff and blindfold him. He felt a slight sense of relief when they sat him up, but that soon faded and gave way to the horror of being robbed of his sight.

“All righty,” came Zhen Hong’s voice, “I’m going to count to three, and then you’re going to feel a slight pain. Ooone—”

He suddenly kicked Sangha in the face.

“Gghh…?!”

The guy hadn’t counted to three. It shocked Sangha so much that he couldn’t even cry out in pain.

“Ah-ha! Zhen Hong, you kicked him on ‘one’!” said Jing-Li. “I never took you for a premature ejaculator!”

“Tell someone you’ll count to three, and they believe you every time. Lord knows why. You probably let your guard down, didn’t you, Sangha? Everyone always does.”

“How about that!” Jing-Li exclaimed. “Thanks for the tip. I’ll make sure to use that next time I get a real weirdo in here.”

Sangha wished they’d knock off the casual conversation while he was blindfolded and handcuffed.

“Oh! I found them, Zhen Hong! Here you go!”

Sangha could sense Chun Chun handing Zhen Hong something. She must have found the pliers.

The pressure was getting to Sangha, so he tried to protest. “H-hold on! As long as I leave Dino alone until your investigation’s over, that should be enough, right? Well, I’ll wait till you’re done! I promise! If you don’t believe me, then I’ll stay nearby. That way, you can keep an eye on me!”

“Hmm? What’s that supposed to mean?”

Sangha wondered that himself. He hadn’t had time to think his incoherent proposal through before blurting it out, but this was his last hope of staying in one piece.

“Let me…join your group.”

As soon as he had said it, it was like everything clicked into place. It made so much sense. In fact, it might have been the only way to guarantee he could kill Dino.

“Bai She Tong…was it? I want to become a member.”

“You serious? Weren’t you just saying ‘Oooh, I hate the mafia’ a second ago?” asked Zhen Hong, making Sangha sound like little more than a whiny child. The guy wasn’t buying it. He probably thought Sangha was just making a desperate plea for his life.

And the truth was that Sangha did hate the mafia, even now that a criminal organization was his only hope of survival. They had killed his parents. They were the scum of the earth. Just the idea of becoming a mobster like Dino made him want to throw up.

But the thought of not killing Dino felt even worse.

And it was only now, sitting there, blindfolded and unable to see, that he had a moment of clarity—Sangha finally understood what his true goal was.

“I’m…I’m going to murder Dino. With my own two hands.”

“You don’t stand a chance, young man.”

“Then teach me. Teach me how to kill. You’re a pro or whatever, aren’t you?”

A brief silence fell over the room.

Acting on some wordless order, Jing-Li quietly removed the blindfold and handcuffs. His sight restored, Sangha could see that Zhen Hong was grinning. It was a casual, friendly smile.

“You really are a shameless kid, hmm? I could see myself having a lot of fun with you.”

Zhen Hong extended his empty hand toward Sangha, still holding the pliers in the other.

Was he accepting Sangha into the gang? But why? They hadn’t even negotiated anything. Was it really this easy? Sangha wondered if Zhen Hong was simply impressed that someone had stood up to him for once. Of course, neither Chun Chun nor Jing-Li acted particularly formal with the guy. Maybe he was just nice? Or was he impulsive? A show-off, perhaps? Or just eccentric? Sangha didn’t care. Whatever the reason, he reached out his hand before the guy could change his mind.

This turned out to be a terrible idea.

“Um… Ah… Aaaahhh!!! Oh God! Gaaaahhh!”

What he got was anything but a friendly handshake. Zhen Hong grabbed Sangha’s extended right hand and nonchalantly yanked out his thumbnail with the pliers.

Sangha collapsed onto the ground and writhed in pain.

His nails were brittle and cracked from constantly working, so the nail had snapped and only half had come off. Unfortunately, that didn’t mean half the pain.

“Oh…God… It hurts. Ngghh…”

“Let this be a lesson. Unfair stuff like this happens all the time in our line of work, so why not just forget about it?”

Zhen Hong made it sound less like his own doing and more like a natural disaster.

His feet were directly in front of Sangha’s eyes, revealing a tattoo of a snake on his ankle. Was it related to the fact that “Bai She” meant “white snake”? Chun Chun and Jing-Li had been quiet for a while now. Were they keeping a low profile, lest they get a taste of the violence, too?

Sangha’s mind was full of irrelevant little questions like this. Evidently, it was desperate to draw his attention away from the pain in his thumb. But Sangha tried his best to stay on task. Focus, he thought. What’s the most important thing I can do right now?

He wasn’t about to let Zhen Hong have the last word. He struggled to push himself off the floor so he could look at the man.

“Nnngh… Nuh…no way. L-let me…i-i-in. I want t-t-to join. Make me a m-member of your gang!”

He was having trouble speaking through the pain. He struggled to take deep breaths.

“‘Make me a member’? Is that how you ask people for favors?”

Sangha searched his memories for a more polite way to ask. “Puh…p-please… Please allow me to…join…”

“Oh, look at that. How polite. You seem like a nice kid, Sangha. I take no pleasure in ruining peoples’ innocence, you know.”

“P-p-puh…lease…”

“Just because you’ve had a tough time doesn’t mean people are going to treat you with any sympathy. And once you start down this path, there’s no turning back. Wouldn’t you rather go back to living your peaceful life?”

“S-screw peace. I don’t care anymore.”

It might have been Sangha’s imagination, but for a split second, it seemed like something flashed across Zhen Hong’s eye. But he couldn’t be sure.

“There’s no…p-peace for me in this world…i-if my sister isn’t in it with me…”

Sangha couldn’t imagine a future in which he went back to life as usual and never sought revenge for his sister. There was no more peace for him. Not in this world.

Sangha took quick, shallow breaths to try and dull the pain.

Zhen Hong was silent. He stared at the boy with his piercing red eye. After a while, Sangha began to wonder if Zhen Hong was staring at his own reflection in Sangha’s eyes. After all, he never once broke eye contact with the expressionless man—not even for a second.

Eventually, Zhen Hong shook his head and laid the pliers down on a nearby chair.

“Jing-Li. Would you get me some bandages? If you can’t find them, just get whatever’s closest.”

Bandages? Why? They wouldn’t make very good restraints. Zhen Hong certainly had better torture devices at his disposal.

When Jing-Li returned with bandages, Zhen Hong took Sangha’s trembling hand and wrapped up his injured thumb.

“…Huh?”

“This isn’t too serious. I bet it’ll be fully healed in a month and a half. Good thing I pulled out something that grows back, hmm?”

Zhen Hong’s first aid was rushed and clumsy. He put the broken thumbnail back in its original place and then wrapped it with far more bandages than necessary. The result left Sangha’s thumb twice as big as before. To Sangha’s surprise, however, once he could see that his injury was all patched up, the pain became much more tolerable.

Next, they removed the collar from Sangha’s neck, freeing him.

But much like a dog surrounded by an electric fence or a slave whose shackles had just been removed, Sangha found himself completely unable to move from his seated position.

“So this is your little sister, is it?”

“…Stop! Get your hands off!”

The instant Zhen Hong grabbed the locket around his neck and opened it, Sangha’s body moved to snatch it back. For a moment, the pain in his thumb almost disappeared.

Once he’d retrieved the locket, he hid it in his hands and growled like an enraged dog.

“I’m not going to steal it,” said Zhen Hong. “It wouldn’t go for much if I sold it, anyway.”

“Don’t even think of selling it!”

“I meant it hypothetically. I was trying to say that necklace is practically worthless to me and the rest of the world. It’s just a useless little trinket. Better to sell it off or throw it away.”

He didn’t sound like he was joking.

“Look, Sangha,” he continued. “What I’m trying to tell you is that if you can’t prove you’re valuable, then you’re not worth letting into Bai She Tong.”

Despite Zhen Hong’s hushed voice, his words sounded like a threat. Sangha gripped his locket tightly.

“So on that note. I have a little something I want you to do for me.” Zhen Hong grinned. “I want you to intimidate someone.”

Sangha perked up. Zhen Hong was giving him a chance. If he could prove that he was valuable, he would be allowed into Bai She Tong.

Earnestness was key. He just needed to show the man that he was serious.

An earnest…intimidation…?

Newspaper reporters were like gatekeepers.

They were the ones who decided what got written about and what didn’t. Not every incident made it into the papers, and what did make it to print wasn’t necessarily the whole truth. Though it wasn’t all lies, either.

Biases. Propaganda. Ideologies. These things were strung throughout each article like decorations before it hit the streets.

And to complicate matters further, in Broken Ark, these gatekeepers were notoriously beholden to the mafia.

This young reporter for the Broken Ark Daily was one such toothless gatekeeper. His newspaper was in the pocket of the Falco Family.

“Mmm…”

A young blond boy was napping on a cot near the reporter. If asked to describe the boy, the reporter would likely throw his thesaurus out the window and go with a classic cliché: “He looked like an angel.”

He was beautiful and looked oh so innocent, particularly when he was asleep.

But when this tiny angel was awake, he was a card-carrying member of the mafia.

His name was Dino, and he was the “chief” of the Falco Family.

Recently, Dino had torched a diner over a personal grudge. Apparently, he’d had no intention of killing anybody, something the reporter believed to be true.

Regardless, the reporter had left out all mention of the perpetrator in his article about the arson.

“What… Dark…and so cold. It’s hard… A spiderweb…? What is this place…? It’s so dirty. Boss! Where are you, Boss…? You wouldn’t…abandon me, would you…?”

When Dino finally opened his eyes, he looked around the room with a vacant gaze. But as soon as his eyes landed on a certain spot nearby, his expression switched to abject joy.

“Boss! I wasn’t aware you were here! I’m so sorry I slept in. How terribly rude of me! I believe I had a bit of a nightmare. As if there would be a spiderweb anywhere in the Ville-Haven. This place is a dream! Clean, comfortable, and always just the right temperature!”

The boss of the Falco Family had permanently rented out the top floor of the Ville-Haven Hotel.

“But even if I had to sleep in a filthy abandoned building, it would be as good as staying at a five-star hotel as long as I was by your side, Boss.” His extravagant words were no mere flattery. Dino believed every word.

The reporter had been around the boy for long enough to know that much was true. Dino respected his boss with all his heart and, according to Dino, the feeling was reciprocal—he was the boss’s favorite.

Some might suspect something inappropriate was going on between the boy and his boss, but the reporter could say with certainty that no such thing had ever happened. Dino’s boss had never done anything to him.

“You should have told me the boss was here,” Dino said to the reporter.

“I…was worried that it wasn’t my place. I didn’t want to be rude.”

“Don’t be foolish! The boss has a big heart, you know! And so do I. A little something like that could hardly offend us. As long as you don’t speak out of turn like that dreadful person at the diner, we’re very forgiving.”

Dino was talking about the diner he’d thrown a Molotov cocktail into.

The reporter had spoken to the police and fire department to write his article, but he’d never gone to meet the victim, the one who had survived, so he had no idea who Dino was referring to.

It had been a real hack job, completely devoid of any journalistic integrity.

“As if insulting the boss wasn’t bad enough, do you know what that gray-haired boy did when I went to offer my condolences? He grabbed me by the collar, looking for a fight! Losers like him blame all their misfortune on others and take no responsibility for their own actions. And look! The shirt the boss gave me is all dirty now! He got his muddy fingerprints all over it!”

The blond boy continued talking without pausing to take a breath. As he spoke, he made exaggerated gestures with his hands. Whenever he spoke with Dino, the reporter felt like he was talking to an actor in a play.

“I’m just glad I didn’t notice it when the boy was right in front of me. Why, I’d have shot him dead right then and there! I really wish such riffraff wouldn’t force me to get my hands dirty and hurt the commonfolk!”

Admirable as this might sound, the reporter had a feeling Dino didn’t really care as long as his hands weren’t the ones getting dirty. Even in the arson case, he had simply hired some goons to do the dirty work, though Dino had been the one to give the order.

The reporter had heard that the role of “chief” in the Falco Family was made specifically for Dino. He had no subordinates, so he had to hire outside the organization to take care of anything he wanted done. The reporter knew all sorts of things like this about him—he likely spent more time with the boy than anyone else in the family.

“But that repugnant gray-haired boy never did come visit me at the hotel! And after I went through the trouble of extending the olive branch! Maybe he simply likes to act tough. Thinks he can do everything in the world by himself. The nerve!”

“He may have…come by the hotel while you were out. You never know.”

“Always giving people the benefit of the doubt, aren’t you? But I’ve got bad news, he’s long gone. No one even knows where he is! But there’s no reason to look for him now. After all, now the land that diner used to sit on will be ours! More proof that it’s hardworking people like me who get rewarded in this world!”

Nothing better exemplified how corrupt Broken Ark was than how quickly one could acquire the rights to a patch of land whose owner was missing or dead.

“It’s my job to expand our territory!” Dino continued. “So as long as we secure that land, I suppose I can forgive the gray-haired boy his trespasses. Oh, I am just so compassionate it surprises even me sometimes!”

The poor victims had been burned and forgotten. It was a terrible shame, but to the reporter, it was just one more thing to overlook. It was over and done with.

“What’s your next target, Dino?”

“This is top secret, so I don’t want to see it in any of those articles of yours. But if you really want to know, I’ve got my eyes on a certain brothel.”

“Huh. Is that so?”

As far as tidbits of information went, this was about as useless as they came. You couldn’t throw a rock in Broken Ark without hitting a brothel. The reporter’s face fell in a mix of disappointment and boredom, but Dino didn’t notice. Thankfully, the boy was too self-absorbed to see much of anything going on around him.

“The owner of this brothel’s quite the slugabed, you see. I think it would be a boon to society if I were to take it over!”

As soon as the words left his mouth, Dino suddenly turned bashful. He looked in a certain direction with his head tilted.

“…Hey, Boss. If this goes well, you’ll be proud of me, won’t you?”

The reporter wondered whether the boss’s praise was really worth so much. But as he watched Dino, a chill ran up his spine.

This was a cold, cold world to inhabit. To the reporter, being in the mafia’s pocket was worse than any nightmare.

1

Sangha failed to intimidate his target.

His shoulder screamed in pain as a large man twisted his right arm behind his back.

“Ow, ow, ow! S-stopppp!”

Try as he might to hold it in, he couldn’t help but cry out. The man clearly had a lot of experience holding people in arm locks.

In front of Sangha was his intended victim.

“I don’t appreciate bad jokes, kid. And I’m not a patient man, either,” he said icily. “I’ll give you three seconds, so choose wisely. Say what you just said to me one more time and see what happens, or get the hell outta here and never show your face again.”

The man had a menacing aura. This wasn’t just some thug off the street. He was the kind of guy born with the ability to make strong men bend at the knee.

Why would Zhen Hong send him to intimidate someone like this? Sangha was starting to wonder if this whole job had been an indirect rejection.

The boy gritted his teeth and thought back to the night before, to what Zhen Hong had asked of him at the Jeweled Butterfly.

Chun Chun and Jing-Li left the office room, leaving Zhen Hong and Sangha alone.

“There’s this guy, see?” said Zhen Hong cooly. “He borrowed money from us but hasn’t paid it back. So I want you to make him swear that he’ll pay up, and get it in writing.” He had taken up his tobacco pipe again. He no longer seemed like a guy who would violently yank out a boy’s fingernails.

“Do I…really have to intimidate him? As long as I get him to pay up, that’s all that matters, right?”

“It would be nice if he was that reasonable.”

Sangha assumed the guy wasn’t very reasonable, hence why Zhen Hong needed someone to shake him down. This was a test—if Sangha wanted to join Bai She Tong, he would have to prove his worth.

Sangha had no idea why Zhen Hong was giving him this chance, but he knew he couldn’t afford to waste it.

And yet something inside him ached. Wouldn’t he be doing the same thing Dino had that day at the diner? Dino might have been selling beer, not collecting a debt, but what was the difference? Sangha felt awful.

But he quickly shook himself back to his senses. He had sworn to do whatever was necessary to get his revenge on Dino. For his sister’s sake, Sangha couldn’t give up before he’d even begun.

“So…who do you want me to intimidate?” he asked, putting on a tough front. His frayed nerves made his voice crack.

Zhen Hong exhaled a puff of smoke and grinned.

“His name is Chen,” replied Zhen Hong. “He’s in his twenties, and he’s a handsome ladies’ man. He’s taller than me and hangs out at a place called the Lucky Pavilion. He’ll be wearing something that makes him stand out. As for where to find him, the Lucky Pavilion’s near a temple. Oh, and he’ll be on the second floor.”

Sangha muttered everything he’d just been told back to himself.

Zhen Hong’s gotta be almost six feet tall. But this guy’s even taller? He sounds scary. Also, ‘handsome ladies’ man’? That is way too subjective.

“You don’t need to memorize all that. Chen will be the only one there. You can’t miss him.”

Why didn’t you lead with that, then?!

“Oh, wait a second.” Zhen Hong rummaged through a couple of drawers. After a moment, he exclaimed, “Oh, here it is,” and took out a piece of paper the size of a postcard. He scribbled something on the bottom-right corner and handed it to Sangha. “There you go. Get him to write that he’ll repay us on that, would you?”

The writing on the paper looked less like words and more like some kind of code. Could it be the language they used in Chinatown? Whatever it was, Sangha couldn’t read it.

“What…is this exactly?”

“I came up with it. It combines the symbol on my earring and a drawing of a snake. Pretty cute, right?”

Sangha wasn’t sure he’d call it cute, but when he looked at Zhen Hong’s earring, he saw that it was indeed the same symbol (maybe a character from some language he didn’t know?) with a white snake resting on top. Apparently, this is what Zhen Hong used as a signature.

“This way, Chen’ll know you’re there on behalf of Bai She Tong.”

Sangha swallowed hard. There was no going back now.

“Well, that’s that. Why not head to the Lucky Pavilion tomorrow? Sometime around noon.”

The next day, sometime around noon, Sangha found himself in front of the Lucky Pavilion.

He had hardly slept the night before and was feeling groggy. His thumb still hurt, but thanks to the bandages, he was at least able to stay conscious, though that didn’t bring him much relief.

Zhen Hong had left the brothel soon after their talk. Unfortunately, it wasn’t until some time after sunrise that Sangha realized he should have asked for a map. But since he had no idea what rooms Chun Chun and Jing-Li stayed in, he resigned himself to asking people in the street for directions.

The Lucky Pavilion was a two-story restaurant next to a lavish temple. Worried that his shabby clothes would get him thrown out the instant he walked through the front entrance, Sangha slipped in through the emergency exit instead.

The very fact the restaurant had a working emergency exit was a testament to how safe the neighborhood was. They were usually one of the first things to get blocked off in high crime areas.

The restaurant was full of tables lined with food; steaming dishes, rich-looking soups, and delectable fatty meats, and all of it smelled incredible. Or, at least, it would have if Sangha had any appetite. They say hunger is the best spice, but working on so little sleep, the scrumptious food would have just upset Sangha’s stomach.

Didn’t Zhen Hong say Chen would be the only one here? he thought, looking around nervously at all the people eating lunch. Well…guess I’ll try the second floor.

Sangha looked past the large room and up toward a secluded area on the second floor with VIP seating. He guessed that this Chen person would be up there.

Bingo.

When he got upstairs, he found two men sitting alone at a dining table. The second guy must be his pal, thought Sangha, but it was clear as day which one of them was Chen.

Despite the fact that both men were in their twenties, taller than Zhen Hong, and dressed in eye-catchingly fancy dark suits, Sangha was able to identify Chen with a single glance. He could hardly believe it, but that “handsome ladies’ man” tip proved to be the clincher.

“Hey, you…”

“Is something the matter?” asked Chen’s large pal. When he stood up, he looked around 6’5”.

The man spoke courteously but stared at Sangha with suspicion in his eyes. Sangha wondered if he’d gotten up just to lean over menacingly. Maybe this pal of Chen’s was actually his bodyguard.

Does Zhen Hong seriously want me to shake down a guy with a massive bodyguard?

Sangha quickly snapped back to reality. He had come too far to back down now.

“I’m not talking to you. I’m here to talk to Chen.”

“Who…? You seem confused. There is no one here by that name.”

“Cut the crap. That guy right there is Chen, isn’t he? I’m here about the money you owe,” Sangha said, turning to Chen.

Chen looked like a real movie star. His suit, his spotless and perfectly pressed blue shirt, and his stylish white tie all looked very expensive. Definitely not the type of thing an average Joe could afford without going into debt.

Chen turned his gaze toward Sangha. The minute they locked eyes, the boy froze.

Chen’s gaze was cold enough to make the world freeze over.

From a distance, the guy had merely looked handsome. But from up close, the man’s cruel, harsh gaze was terrifying, and his slicked-back hair only heightened the effect.

“You’ve got the wrong guy. I have no clue who you’re talking about,” Chen said bluntly.

His voice was so icy that it felt like winter had descended upon Broken Ark out of the blue.

Sangha was confused. Chen looked and sounded like he was telling the truth.

“Go home, kid.”

Chen didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t have to. A soft tone was all he needed to command authority.

“I’m not…going home until you sign this,” replied Sangha.

He was freaked out, but he refused to give up. If this Chen guy was good at evading his debts, he was probably a con artist skilled at lying. Sangha was sure the man’s facade would crack if he kept at it.

“Don’t think you’ll get out of this. These mafia guys? They’re scumbags. You shoulda thought of that before you got involved with them. Better to pay them back and make a clean break, live your life with your head held high. I bet…I bet your parents want you to live a decent life, don’t—?”

Chen shot the large man a look.

“Uh— Gggh?!”

It had been a signal. Before he knew it, the large man had twisted Sangha’s arm behind his back.

2

Every Chinatown, no matter the country, began with temples known as miao. They were home to idols, where people could go and offer their prayers. These miao offered the people spiritual support in whatever far-off land they chose to settle.

Broken Ark’s Chinatown had a number of miao in various shapes and sizes. But the two most prominent ones were the lavish Dong Wu Miao (the eastern martial temple) and Xi Wu Miao (the western martial temple).

Xi Wu Miao was located near a side street with a number of fortune-telling shops. One among them was called the Lucky Pavilion.

As Zhen Hong walked up the creaky steps to the small shop on the second floor, a gaggle of young girls emerged, chatting and giggling.

“Come in, come in,” the shop’s owner beckoned. This tall, quiet man was known as Chen.

Despite being younger than Zhen Hong—he’d only just turned twenty-one—he had an unusually calm demeanor. He wore a loose-fitting robe with shiny ornaments stitched onto it. It was the type of outfit that really stood out.

“Zhen Hong. What a rare treat. Have you come to stare at my beautiful face again?”

His bragging was warranted. Chen was quite the looker, and many female customers visited his shop just to see him. The girls Zhen Hong had passed were likely there for that very reason.

“Ever the ladies’ man I see.”

“Hmm. I don’t know about that. I just like myself, and the ladies like me, too. And I really, really like the ladies who like me. That’s all.”

“You’re the poster boy for lecherous men everywhere.”

“No need to be jealous, Zhen Hong. I like you a lot, too, you know. You’re my number four, right after myself, the ladies, and booze.”

“Gee, thanks.”

Because of the Chinese Exclusion Act and the Immigration Act, the men in Chinatown now outnumbered the women twenty-seven to one. But that had never stopped Chen.

So had Chen gone into debt to pay for all his dates? Well, not exactly…

“What can I help you with today? Shall I read your palm? Or your fortune? Or are you just here for me?”

The small room was crammed with crystals, talismans, yin and yang diagrams, and a whole host of other tools of Chen’s mystical trade. The space was about as chaste as Chen was—which is to say, not very.

“Do I ever visit for anything other than you?”

“Right. I guess you don’t believe in fortune-telling.”

“I believe in you, Chen.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere, Zhen Hong.”

“So? How was Sangha?”

“Pardon?”

“Hmm? Hasn’t he been here?”

“I don’t believe so.”

“Oh. Maybe he got cold feet.”

“Ah. You sent me another initiation, is that it?”

“Yep.”

“Find out if the newcomer is capable of shaking down their target. Classic Bai She Tong.”

Despite being a fortune teller by trade, Chen was also a member of Bai She Tong. He was in charge of judging whether initiates were worthy of being welcomed into the group. Of course, Zhen Hong still had the final say.

“You can really get the measure of a person when they’re forced to threaten someone,” said Zhen Hong. “It’s fun to see.”

“Indeed. Threats vary widely from one individual to another. Will they threaten to kill me? To spread rumors about me? To hurt my family? Everyone goes about it differently. Even with the violent ones, some try to hit me while others break my furniture or kick the wall to try and scare me. It’s interesting to see where a person will take it.”

In other words, the entire plan had simply been an initiation. There was never a debt to collect.

Even the piece of paper Zhen Hong had signed was a ruse. It was meant to let Chen know that Sangha was an initiate, which Chen would have explained once the initiation was over.

“I used to test people by putting a small amount of money on the table and leaving the room. You’d be surprised how many people can’t resist stealing even pocket change.”

“I had that initiation. Of course, I’d already heard rumors about your little test, so I knew what to expect ahead of time.”

“Never pegged you for a cheater, Chen. Ah well. That’s why I had to change it. Word travels fast.”

Chen prepared a tobacco tray as they spoke, prompting Zhen Hong to pull out his pipe.

“Ahh, I can’t believe Sangha ran away. Though I understand why threatening someone would be the last thing he’d want to do.”

“I’m surprised to hear you’re so worried about this kid, Zhen Hong.”

“Yeah?”

“It’s rare for you to care so much.”

As he watched Zhen Hong exhale a puff of smoke, Chen pondered just how rare it was. This Sangha must really be worth seeing in action, he thought. It seemed strange that such a promising boy would run away.

“…Oh,” said Chen suddenly.

“What is it?”

“You know that restaurant with the exact same name as my shop? The one near Dong Wu Miao. It’s a way bigger place than mine, so it would be difficult to confuse the two, but… You don’t think… Could Sangha have gone to that Lucky Pavilion instead?”

“Oh. I know the place. But would he really make a rookie mistake like that?”

“Most wouldn’t. Unless they were unfamiliar with Chinatown.”

Zhen Hong took a long draw on his pipe and slowly exhaled.

“You know, you might just be onto something,” he said with a chuckle.

“If he headed to the restaurant near Dong Wu Miao, he wouldn’t find anyone there to shake down. He would probably think you were playing a trick on him, give up, and go home.”

“Fair point. ’Course, the other Lucky Pavilion’s under Yi Bang’s protection. Their execs are always in and out of there, so I don’t expect he’d stay long.”

“Not to mention how intimidating those Yi Bang men look in their suits.”

“And they’ve got some real big guys over there.”

“So what’s to be done? Worst-case scenario, this Sangha might have gone to the wrong place to shake down the wrong guy and accidentally wound up harassing a member of Yi Bang.”

Clack! Zhen Hong tapped his pipe out against the bamboo ashtray.

“That sounds like a fun little predicament.”

“I’ll give you three seconds, so choose wisely. Say what you just said to me one more time and see what happens, or get the hell outta here and never show your face again.”

Sangha had been thinking back to the events that put him in this situation, but now he snapped back to reality as the large man tightened his grip on the boy’s arm.

…Three seconds?

Ooone… Zhen Hong’s voice echoed in Sangha’s mind. He felt a flash of the pain from getting kicked in the face while blindfolded. The experience had taught him a valuable lesson—patiently waiting for the other side to act was a good way to get yourself hurt.

“Wh-what I said was that th-these mafia guys are scum. And…and your parents…they’d want you to live… Ngh… Gaaaaaah!!!”

As a result, Sangha rushed and chose wrong. The big man tightened his grip further.

“My father’s the boss of Yi Bang.”

“Yi what?”

“Don’t play dumb. You think it’s smart to call me and my father scum, do you?”

“No, I— Crap, hold on!”

It sounded like this Yi Bang was a mafia group, and Chen was its leader’s son. Sangha finally understood why the guy had a bodyguard. Sangha had shown up to a gunfight with nothing but a toothpick.

“N-no please! S-stop, I—I didn’t mean… Gaaah!”

“Didn’t mean what? …And what’s this?”

The postcard-sized piece of paper fell from Sangha’s pocket as the bodyguard manhandled him. It fluttered across the floor and happened to land at Chen’s feet.

Chen picked up the piece of paper and looked at the symbol in the corner. The man’s face, which had until now remained devoid of emotion, twisted in disgust.

“…Him?” he spat, his brows furrowing menacingly.

Sangha was getting the sense that Yi Bang and Bai She Tong were not on very good terms.

“So. You’re one of Bai She Tong’s new hires, is that it?”

“N-no, I’m not!”

Sangha wasn’t lying—he hadn’t joined yet. He was still hard at work making himself seem valuable.

“Lies will get you nowhere. If you don’t start talking, maybe I’ll pull out your fingernails and see if that loosens your tongue.”

Unfortunately, someone else beat you to the punch, thought Sangha.

“You really expect me to believe you have nothing to do with Bai She Tong when you’re carrying around their lieutenant’s signature? You do realize the guy holding you down could snap your neck like a twig, right?”

I believe it.

“What the hell was that Bai She Tong bozo thinking sending you here?”

I’d love to ask him the same question.

“I was…sent here to make a guy named Chen pay back his debt to Bai She Tong. But since…you refuse to admit you’re Chen…I have no choice but to keep trying.”

In his heart, Sangha was calling this guy every curse word in the dictionary, but he thought being frank was his best shot at saving himself from more pain.

“You’d better cut the crap, kid. I have no idea who this Chen guy is; I ain’t him.”

It wasn’t a lie. Sangha’s mouth suddenly went dry. Could he really have the wrong guy?

“…So what’s your name?”

“You’re asking me that now? It’s Liu Tai Long.” he said. There wasn’t a trace of dishonesty in his eyes.

Sangha began to sweat uncontrollably.

I…tried to intimidate the wrong guy? But he fits the description Zhen Hong gave me. Did I get the time wrong? He said sometime around noon. Maybe I showed up too early? Should I have arrived after noon?

Sangha didn’t understand what was happening, but he knew one thing was for sure: He had picked the wrong guy to mess with.

“I’m guessing you’re not here just to insult us. Are you his little messenger? Here to let us know the truce between Yi Bang and Bai She Tong is over?”

“N-n-no! No, no, no, no! That’s not it! I, uh, I came here on my own, so…!”

Have I just ruined the balance of power between the Chinatown gangs?!

Sangha desperately tried to clear Zhen Hong’s name.

“Are you honestly trying to cover for him? Is he worth throwing your life away?”

“No!”

Why’s he making me out to be some kind of mafia martyr?! I don’t care at all about Zhen Hong!

Sangha wasn’t even a member of Bai She Tong. He was just a regular civilian. He simply wanted to avoid triggering an all-out gang war.

“Trust me, kid, that guy isn’t worth it. But what do you say we test this devotion of yours? How far are you willing to go for him, exactly?”

“Wha—?”

“Enough messing around, Zhizhu,” Liu Tai Long said to the large man. It was the first time Sangha had heard the guy’s name.

Messing around? He’s only been mess—?!

“Oh… Owww! Ow, ow, ooowww, stop! Stop, please, stop, stooo—”

The man twisted Sangha’s arm further and further. The veins in his shoulder looked like they were about to explode. At this rate, he thought he might lose the use of his arm forever. But no matter how much he pleaded, Zhizhu refused to stop. The boy’s locket rattled back and forth as his whole body began to shake.

Liu Tai Long watched in silence the whole time.

I can’t take it anymore! thought Sangha. And just as he did, he heard a dull pop. Suddenly, the pain was totally different. His whole shoulder felt like it was on fire.

The large man had dislocated it.

But Zhizhu didn’t let up. He continued to hold Sangha down in that painful position and kept applying pressure.

“Ngh… G-guhh…”

The boy could no longer form words. They all got caught in his throat. He gritted his teeth as sweat poured down his forehead.

“All right, all right, that’s more than enough,” came a carefree voice, followed by the sound of clapping hands. For a brief second, Sangha forgot about the pain. “Sorry for not disciplining the boy properly. It seems he’s caused you trouble.”

Sangha didn’t even bother craning his neck to see who was speaking. He knew it was Zhen Hong. The man had shown up with perfect timing.

Actually, there’s nothing perfect about it. I’m practically at death’s door. This guy’s late.

“That kid’s one of ours, so how about you let him go and return him to me nice and easy?”

Did…did he just say I was one of them? Is he really here to save me?

Zhizhu remained unfazed by Zhen Hong’s words. He didn’t budge an inch.

“Oh, was this a direct order from your beloved master? What an obedient pooch you are. Right, then. Tai Long—”

“Keep my name out of your mouth,” interrupted Liu Tai Long.

But his piercing gaze and angry tone seemed to roll right over Zhen Hong. “Can you get this loyal mutt of yours off of Sangha, please?”

“Don’t you speak of Zhizhu that way,” spat Liu Tai Long. But after a moment, he motioned for the man to release Sangha.

Sangha collapsed onto the floor, clutching his right shoulder. The pain was so intense that he completely forgot about his nail being torn out the night before. That was hardly cause for celebration, though.

“…Did you honestly wander into Yi Bang territory on your own?” Liu Tai Long asked Zhen Hong. “You think this insult will stand?”

“Last I checked, we had a truce. You’re not stupid enough to lay a hand on me, are you? I doubt you could handle the all-out war that would follow.”

“If you’re so worried about war, then why send this child here?”

“There was a teeensy little misunderstanding. I assure you I wouldn’t dream of coming here otherwise.”

“Why are you here? Is this child your little favorite?”

“I wouldn’t say that. Let me guess—you think that because you’re the type of guy who picks favorites based on who you like rather than how useful they are, aren’t you? How human.”

“Watch your tongue.”

“Oooh, scary, scary. Let me remind you that you were the one who started this conversation.”

Neither of them raised their voices, but the atmosphere between them was tense. Sangha watched in shock as Zhen Hong picked up the teacup Liu Tai Long had been drinking from and took a sip.

“How dare you,” said Liu Tai Long, visibly irritated. “You think I’ll let you stand there and insult me?”

“Well, we’re clearly in the wrong today, so how about this? As a show of courtesy, I’ll let you give me one good punch.”

Zhen Hong stretched his arms out, beckoning Liu Tai Long to punch him and settle Sangha’s debt.

But the man stayed seated in his chair and looked Zhen Hong over with suspicion.

“Ohhh, don’t tell me. Do you think I’m carrying a weapon or something? How cautious of you! You can give me a pat down if you want.”

Zhen Hong raised both hands in the air. Liu Tai Long looked over at Zhizhu, signaling him to search the man. Zhizhu went around and patted Zhen Hong’s body from behind.

“See? Nothing dangerous, right?” said Zhen Hong. “If you’re still worried, I could strip for you, if you want.”

“Ever the comedian. I’ve always hated that about you.”

Sangha held his breath as Liu Tai Long stood up from his chair and slugged Zhen Hong in the stomach with incredible speed. The strike looked so powerful that Sangha braced himself in case Zhen Hong came flying into him.

But Zhen Hong took the punch head-on. In fact, he took a step forward as it connected, wrapping one arm behind Liu Tai Long’s back and gripping his suit, causing it to wrinkle.

From Sangha’s perspective, it almost looked like a passionate embrace. But of course, it was anything but friendly.

Zhen Hong rested his chin on his opponent’s shoulder and opened his mouth. “Bleeeh.” The tea he had just sipped from Liu Tai Long’s cup dribbled out of his mouth and onto the man’s expensive suit.

“You…clown!”

“Oh gee. I am so sorry, Tai Long. But hey, you know what they say. No use crying over spilled tea, right?”

Liu Tai Long’s face went red as Zhen Hong wiped his mouth on the other man’s suit.

Sangha couldn’t believe his eyes. Had Zhen Hong deliberately drunk tea before telling the man to punch him? It was clever, but hardly admirable. It was a dirty move—in more ways than one.

“My apologies, sirs,” said a waiter, suddenly emerging from the main restaurant, “but I was worried when I heard the commotion. Is something the matt— O-oh…! B-begging your pardon! You seem…indisposed. I’ll leave you to it…”

The waiter likely hadn’t expected to walk in on two men in the middle of an affectionate embrace, and in the midst of a dangerously tense atmosphere. He left, looking deeply unsettled.

Luckily, the waiter’s intervention cleared the air and gave everyone a moment to breathe.

“Young master… Allow me to take your soiled suit jacket,” said Zhizhu, stepping between Liu Tai Long and Zhen Hong.

The man in the sullied suit gave Zhen Hong an icy glare and heaved a big sigh of frustration. “Get out of my face. Now.”

Sangha was relieved by the comparatively cool-headed conclusion to the meeting. He had no way of knowing how big Yi Bang was, but he guessed that the son of a mafia boss knew when to pick his battles.

Zhen Hong retrieved the piece of paper with his signature from the table before turning back and saying, “All righty, let’s get going, Sangha.”

He motioned for the boy to stand, and after a bit of a struggle, Sangha got to his feet and chased after Zhen Hong, who was already heading for the stairs. Every step Sangha took sent waves of pain through his shoulder.

“Sorry for causing you so much trouble, Tai Long,” said Zhen Hong over his shoulder. “I’ll make it up to you by buying you a drink sometime.”

Liu Tai Long’s only reply was a disapproving tsk, and Sangha didn’t have the nerve to turn and see the look that accompanied it.

3

“I bet it hurts to walk, eh, Sangha?” said Zhen Hong as soon as they’d left the restaurant. “I had a feeling something like this might happen, so I prepared some wheels to carry you to safety.”

If Sangha closed his eyes, perhaps he could pretend this was the kind gesture of a good-natured man.

But unfortunately, the reality before him prevented Sangha from accepting the offer in good faith. The “wheels” Zhen Hong had prepared weren’t attached to a common Model T, or the latest Chevrolet Series K; they were on a baby carriage. Sangha wasn’t dealing with a good-natured man. He was dealing with a crazed idiot.

“You…want me to ride this thing?”

“Yeah. Go ahead and hop in. It’s perfect for you—you know as much about Chinatown as a little baby, after all. I should have treated you like one from the get-go.”

“What do you—?”

But before Sangha could finish, Zhen Hong informed the boy that not only had he gotten the target wrong, he had also shown up at the wrong Lucky Pavilion. Sangha’s mouth hung open, but no sound came out.

Apparently, the entire request had been nothing more than an initiation ritual. It was meant to take place entirely within the safety of the Bai She Tong organization. But instead of a simple test, Sangha had nearly started a gang war. Zhen Hong wore the same cheerful grin as always, but for all Sangha knew, there was seething rage underneath.

“Sangha, Sangha, Sangha. You really have a talent for getting yourself into trouble, don’t you? Never a dull moment with you around.”

That has to be sarcasm. This guy must be pissed.

Sangha thought it best not to contradict Zhen Hong, so he quietly climbed into the stroller.

Despite how much heavier he was than its intended cargo, the sturdy carriage showed no sign of breaking. Still, it must have made for a ridiculous sight. Not that Zhen Hong seemed to mind as he began pushing Sangha down the street.

Passersby either looked on in shock or started laughing. Sangha tried desperately to hide his face.

“You havin’ fun, li’l Sangha?”

“…It hurts,” he replied. The vibrations of the stroller were making his injuries throb with pain, and he was starting to feel nauseous.

“Well then! That’s a good sign. It means you’re still alive. Anyway, how about we pick up the pace a bit?”

Sangha felt a rush of anxiety. What did Zhen Hong mean by still alive?

He’d clearly failed the initiation, which meant he was worthless to the organization. Now that Zhen Hong had no use for him, where exactly was he planning on taking him?

“H-hey, are you…?” Sangha began.

“Hmm? What was that?”

“You’re not…planning on throwing me in the ocean or something, are you?”

“What, alive? If I were going to do that, I’d have tied your hands and feet already.”

It sounded like Zhen Hong had a disturbing amount of experience in such things.

“L-look, I…I know I got the place wrong, and I caused you trouble! I’m sorry, okay?! But I promise to make it up to you. So please, just let me join Bai She Tong.”

“Oh? You still want in? Then tell me what you plan to do to prove you’re serious.”

“Uuuhhh…… L-lick your shoes or something?”

“Haven’t you noticed? I’m wearing sandals. And I’m not a big fan of other people slobbering all over me.”

“Then just tell me what to do.”

“Was licking my feet really the only idea you could come up with?”

Zhen Hong assured the boy that he wouldn’t have to lick his shoes or his ass or his wounds or anything else, but he also continued pushing the baby carriage down the street. Sangha grew increasingly concerned about where he was being taken.

“You’re really bad at negotiating, you know that?” said Zhen Hong.

“So… Just tell me what you want me to do!”

“I’m trying to tell you that’s not how you negotiate. You can’t let your opponent take the lead. Once you do that, I could say anything I want, and you’d have to do it.”

“I’m…willing to do anything. Anything at all! Just let me join!”

Sangha was desperate. He couldn’t let Zhen Hong give up on him. He twisted his body around to look the man in the face. Zhen Hong’s red eye narrowed, and he grinned like a child whose prank had just gone off without a hitch.

“Great. Then how about a kidney? You can still function perfectly fine with just one, you know.”

Sangha was having trouble wrapping his mind around what he had just been told.

The good news was that they were likely heading toward a hospital.

The bad news was that the goal was probably not to treat his injuries.

Pharmacy Alley really lived up to its name. Pharmacies with big signs lined either side of the narrow street.

Among them, Wan Wan Apothecary—a traditional Chinese medicine shop—looked to be the oldest.

Inside the dimly lit building, a tall and slender old woman stood at the counter. Many ebony apothecary chests lined the walls behind her. It was easy to guess some of the contents—ginseng, ginger, peony, and mint. Even without opening the drawers, the fragrance of dried herbs permeated the air.

“Hey, Fei. I’ve got a little favor to ask you.”

After glancing around to make sure there were no other customers, Zhen Hong slung Sangha over his shoulder like a piece of luggage. The pain almost made Sangha lose consciousness.

“What is this you’ve brought me? I don’t know where you picked that filthy thing up, but I don’t want it in my shop. Go throw it back where you found it.”

“Aw, come on, Mama. I swear I’ll feed him and walk him eeevery day.”

“You have the worst sense of humor, I swear. And I can only thank my lucky stars I’m not actually your ‘mama.’”

“Ah-ha-ha. Can you imagine?”

“Well, quit your dawdling. Get him downstairs.”

The shopkeeper, Fei, looking somewhat irritated, reached up and pressed the upper right corner of the black apothecary chest in the middle of the wall. The large piece of furniture had a mechanism that allowed it to revolve inward, revealing a hidden passage. It looked like the mechanisms used to hide the entrances to speakeasies.

But what awaited them downstairs wasn’t a bar—it was a hospital room.

Wan Wan Apothecary was an illegal underground hospital, and Fei moonlighted as a doctor for the Bai She Tong.

Sangha was lying face up in the underground hospital room.

“Don’t worry about a thing, Sangha. Fei’s a real pro, and I’ve told her everything. She’s getting things ready right now. She’ll be back soon, so just sit tight.”

Getting things ready? Getting what ready? Is she seriously preparing to take out my kidney? Is this how I prove to Zhen Hong that I’m serious about joining his gang? This…feels like way too much punishment just for failing an initiation.

Sangha suddenly realized he didn’t have the mental wherewithal to properly consider his situation. He didn’t know much about what his kidneys did, but he knew they weren’t the type of thing he should be giving away.

“Um, um, listen, I…”

“What’s wrong, Sangha?”

Sangha frantically reached up with his left hand to get Zhen Hong’s attention and accidentally brushed the bangs away from his right eye.

“Uhh… What?” Sangha froze. “Your…your right eye… You don’t have one…?”

“Oh dear. Don’t tell me you’ve only just noticed. It’s always been like this. I guess I must have misplaced it. If you ever see an eyeball rolling around, make sure to pick it up for me, all right?”

Sangha didn’t find this joke very funny.

The man was missing his right eye. Or, more accurately, his right eye had been crudely sewn shut. Thick thread bound his upper and lower eyelids together.

Sangha had never noticed. How could he have? Zhen Hong’s right eye was always covered by his bangs. And besides, his red iris and the cross tattoo on his left cheek tended to draw attention away from the other side of his face.

Sangha wondered if Zhen Hong had done something to get his eye gouged out. Suddenly, the reality of Sangha’s own situation overwhelmed him.

“You starting to get scared, Sangha? You don’t have to go through with this if you don’t want to.”

That was the one thing Sangha couldn’t do. If he gave up now, he would never join Bai She Tong, never have his revenge on Dino.

“I…was just wondering if it has to be my kidney.”

“Hmm,” said Zhen Hong, tapping his index finger against his chin. “Oh, I know! How about we chop off a finger? Just the tip would be plenty. You’ve got ten of those, right? Plenty of backups, especially when compared to your kidneys. Lucky you!”

It sounded like no matter how much Sangha tried to negotiate, one way or the other, he was guaranteed to lose something. Thinking of it that way, the man had a point—losing the tip of one finger was far better than losing a whole kidney.

“…F-fine,” said Sangha, closing his eyes slowly. He resigned himself to his fate. “As long as it won’t get in the way of me killing Dino, then…p-pick any finger you want…”

“Great! How about a pinky? The tip of your right one should do. Your right shoulder’s been dislocated already, so it works out great. Just a quick little snip while you’re focused on your shoulder pain. You’ll hardly notice! I bet you won’t even need an anesthetic.”

Zhen Hong traced his index finger along Sangha’s bottom lip.

“Although…if you wanted, I could always give you some shanti to dull the pain. What do you think, Sangha?”

“Not a chance… I’ll…just take the pain…”

Sangha wasn’t going to give in to temptation just to dull a little pain. If he became addicted to shanti, he might forget all about Dino. And about Arha, too.

“Suit yourself,” Zhen Hong said with a gentle smile.

It seemed strange that Zhen Hong would bring up shanti of all things. There were plenty of better alternatives as anesthesia. But Sangha didn’t have the energy to pursue the thought any further.

“Fei’s taking a while, hmm? She’s really something, by the way. She can treat injuries, cure illnesses—heck, she even does tattoos.”

“Perhaps. But I can’t treat a patient who has no desire to be cured,” came the old lady’s calm, deep voice. “Not everyone needs—or wants—to be treated. Imagine a composer who relies on auditory hallucinations to make music. Would it really count as curing them if it meant robbing them of the sounds that only they can hear?”

Fei entered the room. Sangha guessed from her appearance that she was a little over sixty years old.

She was tall, and her hair was cropped short enough to reveal the shape of her head. She had a dignified, almost elegant air, but something about her seemed too put-together. It made Sangha tense.

“Is…is that why you stitched up his eye so roughly…? Because it wasn’t worth curing?” Sangha had missed the point Fei was trying to make. He couldn’t stop looking at Zhen Hong’s eye. It was making him nervous—it looked so messy.

“Excuse me? Don’t be stupid. I may have helped Zhen Hong out a few times in the past, but I would never do such a sloppy job.”

“R-really…?”

“His eye’s been like that for as long as I’ve known him.”

“Oh… Huh.”

“I’m offended you’d think so poorly of my skills. But if that’s how you feel, then let’s just get this over with.”

“Wh-what are you—?!”

Fei held Sangha down with one hand on his upper right arm. Then she grabbed his wrist with her other hand.

Wait. Hold on. Zhen Hong said I wouldn’t get any anesthetic, but I didn’t think she’d break my arm to make me pass out. That’s too much. Oh God, wait. Zhen Hong hasn’t even told her yet that she’s taking my pinky and not my kidney!

“W-w-wait! F-Fei, please, I…”

“Shh. You shut up now.”

Fei began to slowly twist his right forearm as Sangha struggled to find the words to protest. He didn’t know what she was doing, but he knew he didn’t like it.

“L-listen, I need to kill someone… Dino… I need this arm to do it, so…”

“Oh, really now? You’re quite the lively one, huh? But enough of that, just relax.”

“What I’m saying is that if I can’t use my arm, it’s going to cause me problems, and as for my kid…ney…?”

All of a sudden, the pain began to disappear from Sangha’s arm. Fei had set his dislocated shoulder back in place.

“All right. That’s that. Feel better? This sort of thing’s a walk in the park for me.”

Fei touched his shoulder to confirm she had fixed it, then grinned with satisfaction. The lady was skilled, and she worked fast.

“Um…?”

“What’s wrong?”

“Is that…it?”

“Does it still hurt?”

“N-no, what I mean is… What about my kidney? You’re not going to remove it? Or one of my fingers?”

Clap! Fei gave Zhen Hong an openhanded slap upside the head.

“You! What did you tell this poor child? Look at him, he’s terrified.”

“Ouch! That hurts, Fei! It was just a little prank, that’s all.”

“Please, I barely slapped you.”

Zhen Hong was rubbing his head, but it looked to be mostly an act. He clearly wasn’t hurt.

“Sooorry, Sangha. It was all a lie. I didn’t bring you here to get your kidney removed. We’re just having your shoulder fixed,” said Zhen Hong, not sounding the least bit sorry. “But hey, look on the bright side. You’ve learned a ton about negotiation, right?”

Sangha remembered the conversation they’d had on the way to the apothecary. Zhen Hong had said he was a bad negotiator.

“See? If you start by asking for something really big, it’ll get rejected. But if you follow up with a smaller request, something you really want, the other side is much more likely to say yes. You must have been so relieved you weren’t going to lose a kidney. That made it much easier for you to accept losing one of your fingertips instead, right? But your fingers are important, too, so make sure you don’t give them away so easily next time, hmm?”

“Y-you damn…!”

Sangha was overcome by shame and anger. He had fallen right into Zhen Hong’s trap. But when he realized he’d be leaving with all his body parts intact, a wave of relief washed over him. In the end, Sangha was too overwhelmed by the flurry of emotions to say anything.

“Okay, okay,” said Fei, “that’s enough fighting, you two. And what’s this, now? Did Yi Bang do this to you, too?”

Fei looked down at Sangha’s right thumb. When she unwrapped the bandage haphazardly wound around it, she found the nail Zhen Hong had torn off the night before.

“Goodness,” said Zhen Hong. “Those brutes. Look at what they did to your finger!”

“You did this!” yelled Sangha.

Fei slapped Zhen Hong upside the head again.

“Just hold on a moment and I’ll get you some clean bandages,” she said. “I’m sure it’s hard to use as is. Still hurts, too, I bet. You can’t even get it wet with a shabby bandage like this. Let me fix that up and you’ll be right as rain.”

“…Um, how much is this going to cost?” asked Sangha.

“Ho-ho. A peculiar child, aren’t you? It’s good that you’re willing to spend money when it counts. I’ll make this little shit pay for it, though, so don’t worry about the bill.” Fei tilted her head toward Zhen Hong.

Zhen Hong waved the insult away with a grin, adding, “‘Little shit’? I resent that. I’m a lieutenant, you know.”

“I don’t care if you’re the first and last lieutenant. When you’ve been around for eighty years like I have, a child is a child is a child.”

“…What?! D-did you just say you’re eighty?!” cried Sangha. “Are you really that old?!”

“Got a problem with that?”

“No, I’m just shocked to see an eighty-year-old as pretty as you are!”

Sangha’s enthusiastic reply made Fei stop dead and look at him in amazement.

“Well now! Quite the smooth talker, aren’tcha?” she said with a satisfied grin.

Seeing how happy the comment made Fei, Zhen Hong interjected. “I had no idea you were such a ladies’ man, Sangha.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” asked the boy.

“Most people would’ve gone for something like, ‘You look so young for your age.’ But your line was way more effective.”

“Huh? Who cares about that? I just said what I meant.”

“Oooh, so honest. Y’know, maybe you should forget everything I said about negotiation. In your case, it might be better to just act naturally.”

“Um, sure…”

Fei put Sangha’s thumb into a finger cot to make it easier to use and even treated the cuts and scrapes he’d suffered back when the diner had exploded.

As his pain slowly subsided, Sangha began to nod off.

So much had happened since he left home in a rush the day before. Lying on his side in the medical room, he found it impossible to keep his eyes open. Zhen Hong and Fei continued talking, but Sangha couldn’t follow any of it as he drifted off to sleep.

“Okay, that’s that. You want me to take a look at you, too?” Fei asked Zhen Hong.

“Nah. I’m fine. Same as always.”

“Maybe it’s time you let yourself be more than just ‘fine.’”

“Ha-ha.” Zhen Hong gave a sarcastic laugh. “Anyway. Do you mind if I leave the kid here? I’ve got somewhere I need to be.”

“Let me guess. More of that grotesque work of yours?”

“Just keep it a secret from Sangha for me, would you?”

Zhen Hong started to leave but felt something hold him back. When he turned to look, he found Sangha tugging at the hem of his clothes. He easily pulled himself free, eliciting a groan from the kid.

“Don’t…don’t go… No… Ar…ha…”

Sangha was talking in his sleep. He looked like he was in pain.

“Seems he’s taken quite a liking to you,” said Fei.

“Please. He’s just confusing me with someone else. The Falco Family killed his sister. He’s probably having a nightmare.”

“What a shame. Is that why he wants to kill Dino?”

“Bingo.”

“…Well, whatever. Let him do what he wants. Just make sure you take care of him like you promised. You’ll have to feed him and walk him every day.”

“Hah. I can’t say no to you, Fei.”

Zhen Hong’s reluctant answer belied the fact that he had already made up his mind.

4

“Sangha. Wake up. Time for a walk.”

“…Nnngh… Uh… Huh?”

When Sangha woke up, the first thing he perceived was the sickly sweet scent of honey candy.

It was Zhen Hong’s cologne. For some reason, Sangha felt like he had smelled it before, but he couldn’t remember where or when.

Fei was gone.

Sangha did as he was told and followed Zhen Hong down an underground passageway. It seemed the basement of Wan Wan Apothecary was connected to another building. They eventually emerged onto the street in a different place from where they had entered.

It was already almost dawn.

They say that Chinatown doesn’t sleep, that the streets are always bustling with people, forever bathed in the garish glow of neon signs.

But, perhaps unsurprisingly, with the sun slowly rising over the horizon, all the lights were off, and the streets were completely empty.

Apparently, Sangha had slept for more than half a day. His pain had subsided, his body felt rested, and he was finally able to think clearly. But he still had no idea what was going on.

He had failed his initiation and almost started a fight with Yi Bang. And yet, Zhen Hong had taken him to get his injuries treated and tried to teach him negotiation skills. The man’s actions were beyond comprehension.

Zhen Hong walked ahead of Sangha, his hands clasped behind his back, holding a single blue flower. Sangha found this baffling, too.

The boy’s mind was filled with a flurry of questions. Had Zhen Hong gone somewhere while Sangha was asleep? Why had he come back wearing cologne? And what was with the flower?

“I got this for you,” he said.

Does this guy have eyes in the back of his head?

It felt like Zhen Hong had spoken the instant Sangha looked at the flower. It was creepy. The man waved the flower back and forth, beckoning Sangha to take it.

“What…is it?” the boy asked, staring at the flower now in his hand.

To be precise, there were multiple flowers, though they were all attached to the same stem. They had blue petals and were all the same size. Something about them seemed cold, almost melancholic.

“It’s a rindo flower. They’re associated with fall, though they start popping up around summer. ’Course, in Chinatown, you can also buy them in winter and spring if you know where to look.”

Sangha hadn’t been asking for the plant’s name. He didn’t particularly care about its growing season, either.

“…What I meant was, why did you give it to me?”

“Hmm?”

“Is this thing going to explode or something?”

“You’ve got a wild imagination, don’t you?”

“Is it a secret code or something? Like, if I’m holding this flower, I’ll be targeted by a hit man?”

“Nope. Why would you think something crazy like that?”

Between the lies about his initiation and the whole deal with his kidney, Sangha was having trouble believing anything Zhen Hong said.

“If I was planning to off you, do you really think I’d go through all that trouble? Even bare-handed, I could have killed you five times since we left Fei’s place.”

“Five? Where’d that number come from…? A-anyway, are you seriously just giving me this flower? Like, as a gift?”

“Seems like it.”

“…Why?”

“Well, I don’t really need it.”

“Okay, that makes sense. Someone gave you this junk, so you’re pawning it off on me.”

“Nope. I bought it.”

“So you gave it to someone else, and they didn’t accept it?”

“You’re the only person I’ve given it to.”

In other words, Zhen Hong had bought this flower specifically for Sangha.

“…You’re not going to tell me I’m your type or something, are you?”

“Wow. You really do have a wild imagination,” Zhen Hong replied playfully. “Are you trying to imply that you’re good-looking? Isn’t that usually the type of thing another person says to bully you? Like, ‘You used those good looks of yours to get ahead!’? That sort of thing?”

“I didn’t say anything about good looks. I meant that you’re a weird guy with very strange tastes.”

“You make it sound like I’m some kind of pervert.”

“Am I wrong?”

“I’m not interested in kids like you.”

“Hey, I’m an adult, all right?”

“Huh. How old are ya?”

“T-twenty-one…”

“How ’bout that. Not that I care. I’m not into you, I’m afraid.”

“Why is it starting to sound like you’re rejecting me…?”

“I’m not. In fact, I’m letting you into Bai She Tong.”

“Wha… What?!”

Sangha’s voice cracked. The sudden change in topics left him stunned.

“Just call it a whim. From today forward, you’re officially a Bai She Tong apprentice, which puts you below the foot soldiers. Basically, you’re the lowest of the low on the totem pole.”

“…Huh?”

Had his honesty somehow worked for him, just like it had with Fei? It was impossible to tell. But he knew one thing—when to shut up. He didn’t want to risk saying too much and blowing his chance.

“It’s tradition in Bai She Tong to buy flowers for someone when they’ve lost a loved one.”

“Huh…? Who died?”

“Your sister.”

“Uh…?”

“That flower is an offering for your sister.”

Sangha wondered if Zhen Hong had decided to let him into the gang just to avoid answering any more questions about the rindo flower. There was no way he was letting Sangha join just to give him flowers for his sister, right?

“If you’re part of our organization, then you’re family. Which means your sister is also family.” Zhen Hong spoke without turning around, his voice suddenly gentle.

For a moment, it seemed like Zhen Hong genuinely felt bad about Sangha’s sister. It was as though he’d bought the flowers for her right from the start, but Sangha’s insistent questioning had simply made it too hard for Zhen Hong to come right out and welcome him into Bai She Tong.

But that made no sense. If Zhen Hong really thought of Arha as family, then why wouldn’t he let Sangha kill Dino right away? Or was he simply used to putting the needs of his organization ahead of his own, even when it came to deep-seated grudges? That would make sense. He was a lieutenant, after all. Not giving in to his emotions was probably necessary to fulfill his role.

Regardless, Sangha knew he couldn’t trust the man’s words, even if they sounded kind.

Sangha tried to calm himself. But the truth was, he was anything but calm.

Until now, the only people who had cared enough to offer him condolences were the clergy at the church. And even then, it had nothing to do with Arha. They were just doing their jobs—they would have said and done the same for any of their parishioners.

Then there was Dino’s disgusting display and that insult of a bouquet.

And the elementary school teachers who’d shown up to fill out paperwork and nothing more. And their landlord who’d come for the rent and disappeared in an instant.

Everyone treated him like a nuisance. They were all so cold and bureaucratic.

Not a single person had offered him flowers for his sister. Not until now.

Sangha looked down at the rindo flower. It was a gift for Arha.

For Arha…who was gone forever.

That’s right, thought Sangha. Arha’s dead. She’s never coming back.

Suddenly, reality came crashing down.

He felt something tickle his cheek. Thinking it was an insect, he reached up to swat it away, only to find his cheek was wet. Sangha was crying.

“You’re crying now? You really wear your heart on your sleeve, huh?” teased Zhen Hong, still facing away from him.

“Sh-shut up!”

He really must have eyes on the back of his head, dammit.

Sangha tried his best to keep his voice down, but the tears wouldn’t stop coming. Even when he sniffled loudly, Zhen Hong continued to walk ahead of him, never turning around.

Sangha couldn’t tell if he was doing it to be kind, or because he truly didn’t care. But whatever the reason, it only made the tears flow even more.

He continued to follow Zhen Hong, crying the whole way.

Eventually, they entered a fancy-looking four-story building. As they began to climb the stairs, Sangha suddenly realized he’d forgotten to ask something. He probably should have thought of it the minute they left the apothecary.

He wiped his face on his sleeve and asked, “Um, where are we going?”

“My place.”

“Your place? As in, where you live?”

Just before they reached the top floor, Zhen Hong finally turned around. “Yep. From today, my home is your home.”

Sangha’s tears finally stopped. Before he even knew what he was saying, the words were out of his mouth.

“You’re…sure you’re not after my body, right?”

Sangha was so shocked he wound up asking the question incredibly bluntly. A moment passed between them in silence.

“Wow…,” Zhen Hong said with a chuckle. “There’s that wild imagination of yours again. You must think you’re pretty hot stuff, hmm?”

Then what the hell does this guy want from me?

Sangha didn’t really believe Zhen Hong was after his body. But even if this was all just some whim, Sangha had no clue what about him had caught Zhen Hong’s eye. The whole thing made him uneasy.

He had no idea if he was hot stuff or not, but Sangha was certain about one thing—his own uncertainty.

The Zhuyin Flower Shop was only open at night. And hours like that could mean only one thing—their customers were decidedly of the shady variety.

The man behind the counter was a guy in his late thirties with five-o’clock shadow. He was a dull-looking man who seemed out of place in a shop full of colorful flowers. In fact, despite his tall—albeit slouched—stature, he practically blended in with the wall.

“Oh, Da Ge. I didn’t realize you were working today.”

“Da Ge” wasn’t the man’s real name—that was just a polite form of address for the gang’s higher-ups. It was like calling him “big bro.”

Da Ge didn’t even have to look up to know who had walked into the shop—he recognized the man’s voice. Zhen Hong had been his subordinate for a long time, after all.

“Hey, Zhen Hong.”

Da Ge was one of Amrita’s executives. And since Zhen Hong was the lieutenant of Bai She Tong, that made Da Ge his superior. Da Ge wasn’t the type to show his face around Chinatown much. And even though he owned the Zhuyin Flower Shop, he tended to leave it in the care of its full-time manager. Manning the shop was more like an occasional hobby. Da Ge loved flowers.

Zhen Hong, meanwhile, did not. He only ever visited after finishing up one of his special errands. The fact that he reeked of honey candy cologne made that perfectly obvious.

Few in the organization knew what he did for them in secret. And the few who did mostly thought it detestable, shameful work.

“I’ll take one flower.”

Da Ge knew exactly what kind of order this was. “A rindo flower, I’m guessing?”

“You got it.”

“So someone’s died, huh?”

“Right again.”

“Another tiring night?”

“Not at all. Another day, another dollar.” He wasn’t bluffing, despite the ghastly words.

Zhen Hong did the type of dirty work that no one else would. This was also why, despite being a lieutenant, he walked around town pushing shanti on ordinary folks. Usually, that kind of low-level work was left to the dealers, disposable nobodies.

Shanti was terribly addictive. Once was enough to get anyone hooked. Soon, a person would build a tolerance and need more to feel the same high. So they would buy greater quantities, or else suffer from withdrawal—insomnia, intense anxiety, and the like. It was a vicious cycle.

An addict could score more shanti as long as they had money in the bank. And once their savings ran dry, they’d find other ways to pay. The men could always resort to theft, while the women could sell their bodies.

Eventually, however, people hit a wall and could no longer support their addictions. It was Zhen Hong’s job to dispose of them and collect their debts. In some cases, disposing of them was his goal from the start.

Da Ge didn’t have to see it to know what Zhen Hong had done.

I’ve got just the job for you if you want to make some money. Right this way.

That was the offer the red-eyed man would make to junkies who couldn’t pay up. He would then lead them by the hand down a shady back alley. Inevitably, the junkie’s vision would blur, and they’d lose consciousness.

When they eventually came to, they’d find themselves in a room far seedier than any opium den.

You know, a person’s true worth is what’s inside. Don’t you agree?

The red-eyed man’s sweet voice would pour into the junkie’s ears like venom.

Soon, the addict would realize they were standing on a stage. They would be unable to move, with their hands tied behind their back, no chance of escape.

Time to play a fun little game of doctor.

The red-eyed man’s skillful hand would undo the junkie’s buttons one by one. They could do nothing but silently watch the man’s sensual movements. Often, they wouldn’t even notice the scalpel held in his other hand.

The man’s fingers would trace across their exposed skin, across their hip bones, their navel, up to their sternum, and toward the heart. Then, ever so gently, up their armpit, their shoulder, their collarbone, and finally, across their throat.

Once the man grabbed and pushed up their chin, the junkie would realize that something wasn’t right.

Were you aware, my dear? You can always get money for your life.

Before long, the junkie would realize they were in front of an audience.

Hit ’em! Tie ’em up! Cut ’em!

They’d hear the lewd jeers of the crowd, see their sick, vicious gazes as they frothed with fervor and dripped with disgusting anticipation.

Soon, the junkie would realize that they were the one the audience was here to see.

The man with the red eyes would bow to the crowd, signaling that the show was about to begin.

Whether the junkie cried remorseful tears or screamed bloody murder, it didn’t matter. It was already too late.

That was more or less the scene Zhen Hong was returning from whenever he showed up wearing that sickeningly sweet scent. Just picturing it made Da Ge feel sick.

He rushed to the back to fetch a rindo flower, but also to get away from the stench of cologne. The moment it hit his nostrils, he couldn’t help envisioning the heinous acts his subordinate had just committed.

Every part of the human body could be repurposed. Not a single shred of flesh went to waste. It was truly a marvelous commodity.

Scientists and surgeons always needed human organs. Women looking to remain youthful might desire the blood of virginal maidens. And there were even religious devotees looking to recreate ancient rituals by turning human fat into soap.

There was a traditional Chinese medicinal liquor called sanbian jiu made from the penises or testicles of animals such as deer, wolves, and seals that was said to increase virility. Surely there were some old men out there who wanted the same thing made from the genitals of handsome young men.

In fact, Da Ge had run into a man who swore by starting every day with a swig of liquor from a bottle of steeped human testicles.

Experts, collectors, deviants—they’d all pay a high price for human body parts.

What’s more, if the surgical harvesting of body parts was made into a show, there was even more money to be made.

It was grotesque work. Morticians mostly didn’t have to worry about blood. Two hours after the heart stopped, a corpse’s blood would clot, and nothing would come spurting out when the flesh was cut.

But Zhen Hong wasn’t quite so fortunate. Rivers of fresh blood were an inevitable part of his gruesome job. There was no avoiding the sickening stench. The only way to mask it was by bathing himself in a thick, sweet cologne.

In other words, Zhen Hong only smelled of honey candy when he’d just finished dissecting another shanti junkie. And yet, the man seemed completely unfazed—a fact that brought Da Ge no end of sorrow. He cared for his subordinate and hated to see him made into a vicious killing machine.

“Y’know…I was just thinking the other day that you kind of remind me of this flower.” Da Ge muttered, half to himself, as he handed Zhen Hong the rindo flower.

Rindo flowers had long been involved in Bai She Tong’s mourning customs. Over time, those customs had been greatly simplified, and now the tradition was simply to offer a flower to those who had lost a family member.

Da Ge assumed someone close to Zhen Hong had died, or he wouldn’t be buying one.

A person didn’t give rindo flowers to just anyone. They were usually for people you were close to—not dead junkies, least of all ones you’d just killed yourself. But Zhen Hong was strangely conscientious when it came to things like that.

“Me? A rindo flower? That’s a new one. Oh, oh! I bet that’s how you put the moves on all the ladies, isn’t it, Da Ge?”

“Don’t be stupid.”

“Hey, you’re the one comparing people to flowers.”

“Trust me, my pickup lines are way cheesier than that.”

“Oh?”

“Y’know, like, ‘Hey, haven’t we met somewhere before?’”

“That’s pretty cheesy.”

“‘No girl’s ever made me feel this way,’ that sort of thing.”

“Wow, never pegged you as one of those corny middle-aged men.”

“Well, I am.”

“You might want to work on that.”

“Yeah? Then why don’t you show me what you’ve got?”

“How about something like, ‘I prooomise I won’t do anything, so how about we take an afternoon nap together?’”

“Damn, and they buy that shit? Also, you trying to tell me you’re picking up chicks in broad daylight?”

“What did you mean about me being like a rindo flower?” asked Zhen Hong, bringing the conversation back around. Da Ge almost clicked his tongue in irritation but thought better of it. He had been hoping to avoid explaining himself.

“I was thinking of what it symbolizes,” he lied.

“What does the rindo flower symbolize, then?”

“Well…” Da Ge paused to think it over and picked one of several meanings associated with the flower. “…Triumph.”

“Well, well. I suppose that is like me. You know how strong I am.”

“Not that kind of victory. It’s more like ‘overcoming an illness.’ The rindo flower’s roots are used as medicine.”

“You certainly enjoy regaling me with trivia, don’t you, Da Ge?”

“Well, I’m getting on in years. Can you blame me? The roots are really bitter, by the way. You can’t eat them. Like how, no matter what happens, you can’t be licked. You always come out on top. See? Doesn’t that sound like you?”

“I’m not really sure what to make of that.”

“It’s a compliment. Now take care of that thing on your way home.”

“Yeah, yeah…”

“Don’t be so cheeky. What do you do with all these flowers, anyway?”

“I just take them home. But they always dry up before I know it.”

“What? Aren’t you giving the damn things any water?”

“Ugh, pass. That sounds like a pain. I’d rather just give them away.”

“Quit treating others like they’re your trash cans.”

Despite his harsh words, Da Ge was glad to have changed topics.

The truth was so overly simplistic, he was embarrassed to even mention it. In reality, the flowers had reminded him of Zhen Hong because they only grew alone, never in bunches. Zhen Hong had been like that for as long as Da Ge had known him. Always alone. Never relying on others. It was written all over his face. And he’d probably live that frivolous, lonely lifestyle for the rest of his days.

“Oh yeah. Guess what, Da Ge.”

“What?”

“Starting today, I’m going to be living with someone.”

“Huh. How about that.”

Da Ge played it off like it was nothing. But the fact was, he was shaken to have his image of the man so abruptly and unceremoniously proven wrong.

“A lady?”

“A guy. A boy, I guess.”

“Hmm.”

If it had been a woman, the situation would have explained itself. Everyone has feelings. Everyone has urges. That alone would be reason enough.

“…You after his organs?”

What else could it be? Though, if it was about harvesting the boy for parts, Da Ge didn’t understand why Zhen Hong was putting it off. Was he waiting for something?

Zhen Hong was silent. His only reply was a slight grin that seemed to imply Da Ge ought to drop the subject.

But the rindo flower could only bloom under the light of the sun. When darkness fell, it closed itself off from the world. There could be no changing its nature.

Surely it was the same for his subordinate. There was no changing Zhen Hong’s nature. As long as he lived in the shadows, he would forever stay closed off to the world.

1

Sangha was about to start a brand-new life.

A new home, a new job, new people—all of it was new.

The scene before him took his breath away.

However, it wasn’t his promising new life that had him speechless…

My home is your home.

That was what Zhen Hong had told Sangha about the four-story building that belonged to Bai She Tong.

The first and second floors were used by a variety of different groups doing a variety of different things.

The third floor was an office specifically for Bai She Tong’s operations.

But above that, the building no longer felt like an office. The entire fourth floor had been converted into one large living space.

“You can use whatever room you want,” said Zhen Hong. “If you’re hungry, go down and buy yourself something. The restaurants will open soon enough. There’s money lying around somewhere. If you find any, feel free to use it. Anyway, g’night.”

And with that, Zhen Hong disappeared into one of the rooms, leaving Sangha behind with nothing but those scant instructions.

“Uhhh…?”

Sangha had no idea what to do with himself. He couldn’t believe how annoyingly lax Zhen Hong was being.

Was he supposed to just sit around and wait until the guy woke up? Much as he wanted to sleep, he’d already gotten plenty of rest back at Fei’s underground infirmary.

“What do you think I should do?” he asked the rindo flower. “Guess I should start by getting you some water, huh?”

Sangha found the kitchen and looked around for a glass to put the flower in. Once he’d done that, he placed the glass on the dining table and took a step back to admire it.

“Heh-heh.” He couldn’t help but crack a smile. It was Arha’s flower.

Don’t worry, Arha, I promise I’ll kill Dino for you, he thought, before turning his attention to the rest of the kitchen.

There was a large cupboard, a sink, and a fridge. The kitchen even came equipped with a pantry. Though he found all the basic cookware, there was only a single set of eating utensils. Looking around for food, he located plenty of canned goods and lots of unfamiliar condiments, but no fresh food.

Sangha figured he’d give himself a tour of the place and began walking around.

He identified a parlor and several guest rooms. Even if ten people showed up out of the blue, there would be plenty of space for them to spend the night. And yet, there was only a minimal amount of furniture. A jailhouse would probably feel more welcoming.

As for the bathroom, it had a standard bathtub and a toilet.

“Feels pretty bleak in here,” he muttered. If a home was a reflection of the person who lived there, this place’s owner must have been an empty shell.

A place like this wasn’t a home, it was just an address.

Sangha opened up his locket. “Not at all like our old place, huh?” he said to the picture of his sister.

His childhood home may have been run-down, but it was a pleasant place to return to at the end of a long day. That, however, was exactly why Sangha couldn’t go back. It would remind him too much of Arha.

If Zhen Hong wanted him to live here, maybe that wasn’t such a bad idea. He had no idea what the guy saw in him, and that still made him uneasy. But if he wanted to get his revenge, there was no time to waste on petty anxiety. There was no time to waste at all, and yet…

“This place is filthy…”

Yes, the scene before Sangha took his breath away…

But it was from shock, rather than awe. Everything in sight was covered in a blanket of dust.

Sangha could tell right away which parts of the apartment Zhen Hong used because he had cut a path through the dust. A thick layer of the stuff had accumulated everywhere else. In other words, about 80 percent of the apartment was absolutely filthy.

“All right, let’s clean this up…!” Sangha said, rolling up his sleeves.

He had nothing better to do for the time being, so he figured he might as well start by cleaning up the kitchen and the room he was going to use.

Sangha started by looking for any cleaning supplies he could find. He spotted a cleaning set in one corner of the pantry, but it had clearly never been used. How long had it been since this place was last spruced up?

He started by dusting all the surfaces he could reach with a feather duster, then sweeping the floor with a broom. After that, he wiped down all the surfaces with a rag. It wasn’t long before the pristine white cloth was stained black with dirt.

Thanks to Fei’s treatment, Sangha was able to clean without his thumb bothering him too much. It was by no means as good as new, but it let him do the washing up without issue.

Once he had made some progress, he opened the curtains and squinted in the bright light of day. The sun was already high in the sky.

He looked around the room, now bathed in morning light. Everything he had cleaned seemed to sparkle.

“Man… I’m getting hungry,” he muttered, placing a hand on his stomach.

He wasn’t starving, but he could certainly use a bite to eat. Sangha took some money from the counter and headed out into the world.

He found a morning market a short walk away. The lively stalls were lined with baskets of fruits and vegetables, hanging meats, and a host of containers full of prepared dishes. The place was positively bustling.

Sangha couldn’t read any of the signs used to label the various dishes, but the delicious smells wafting through the air whetted his appetite. Looking around, he felt he couldn’t go wrong no matter what he picked.

“Hmm…”

But as he browsed, he felt surprisingly indecisive. He walked back and forth, unable to settle on anything.

Sangha had never really chosen what he ate. He mostly took leftovers from the diner, or made whatever Arha wanted. Deciding for himself was a new experience.

“Hey, friend! I’ve been watching you wander back and forth! Come over here, I’ve got the fresh stuff you need!”

Sangha decided to let the pushy salesman talk him into buying something. He wound up with some pork, onions, and a bunch of other vegetables. He also found a nearby shop selling daily necessities and bought himself the cheapest utensils and tableware he could find.

When he got back to the apartment, he threw the ingredients into a stir fry, to which he added a bit of thickener.

He sniffed the mysterious condiments in the kitchen, looking for anything usable. One of them was particularly overpowering and sent Sangha into a coughing fit. Despite the noise, Zhen Hong never appeared. He was probably still asleep.

Sangha headed over to his room and very cautiously opened the door. “Hey, I made some food, do you—?”

But before he could finish his sentence, Sangha screamed in horror.

“What the hell is all this?!”

He threw open the door to what, he assumed, was the master bedroom. There was an absolutely gargantuan bed in the middle of the space, but much more shocking was the place’s state of utter disarray. The bed, piled high with dirty clothes, was the least surprising thing there. It was impossible to see the floor beneath the avalanche of books, mountains of take-out boxes, and random crumpled bits of paper strewn about. What’s more, all of it was covered in a thick layer of dust.

Zhen Hong, meanwhile, had wedged himself into the narrow space between the bed and an end table. His face was buried in his knees and, aside from his jacket, which he’d removed, he was wearing the same clothes he’d had on when he went to bed.

“How does he sleep like this…?” Sangha wondered aloud as he approached Zhen Hong.

Was he asleep? Sangha wondered if he should try to wake him. He reached his hand out cautiously and—

“Aaaaahhh! Ow, that hurts!”

—without warning, Zhen Hong reached up and grabbed him in a wrist lock.

“Something smells good,” he said.

“Ow, ow, ow, owww! You were awake? What the hell, man?”

Sangha pulled his arm away, but his wrist still hurt. Even more disconcerting, Zhen Hong had yet to even raise his head.

“Uh, sorry if I woke you up.”

“Nah, it’s okay. I’ve been awake for a while.” Zhen Hong sluggishly rose to his feet. He didn’t seem mad or anything.

“…What the hell happened in here? A mess like this doesn’t show up in a day. What kind of life have you been living?”

“I just hate cleaning,” replied Zhen Hong with a chuckle and an innocent tilt of his head.

Wow, very cute, thought Sangha, bitterly. What an annoying person.

“Then why not hire someone to clean up for you? You’re gonna get rats if you keep living like this. I gotta pick some of this crap up or it’s gonna drive me crazy. You don’t mind if I throw out these food boxes, do you? …Wait! This isn’t why you brought me here, is it?! Is this what you make all the new members do? Clean up your mess?”

“Calm down. That’s not it at all. I’ve never brought anyone back to my place before. I just felt bad for playing that joke on you earlier, so I figured I’d take care of you for a while. Plus, Fei wanted me to keep you safe, so there’s that, too.”

Finally, a reason that made sense. So Zhen Hong wasn’t after anything. Fei, someone he (probably) couldn’t talk back to, had simply told him to take care of Sangha, and so he’d brought him home to do just that.

In that case, maybe Sangha had nothing to worry about after all.

“Don’t think for one second that you can play off tearing my nail out as a ‘joke,’ okay? And what do you mean, ‘take care of me’? I’m the one taking care of you right now!”

“Yeah, yeah, just shut up already and let’s eat some food.”

“Hey, I made that food!”

Sangha continued chewing Zhen Hong out about this and that while he got ready, but a few minutes later, the two of them were sitting across from each other at the dining table. Zhen Hong glanced at the rindo flower in the center of the spread but made no comment before shifting his gaze to the plate in front of him.

“Hey, look at that. You made chop suey.”

“Huh? Is this a dish where you’re from? Pretty big coincidence then, ’cause I don’t know what that is.”

“I figured. To be honest, as long as you fry up veggies and meat, it’s basically chop suey.”

If that were true, wouldn’t anything made from vegetable scraps and leftovers be chop suey? Zhen Hong’s lack of cooking knowledge was rather frustrating. He seemed completely incapable of any household chores.

Sangha was pretty sure that real chop suey was way more involved than Zhen Hong was making it out to be.

“Well,” continued Zhen Hong, “chop suey was invented in the United States anyway. Most people here probably think it’s a traditional Chinese meal or something, but it’s really not. I bet it’s the same for wherever your family’s from, isn’t it?”

He was right. That sort of thing happened all the time within immigrant communities. They’d make a new dish, and, once it spread around, everyone would think it was a traditional meal from their home countries, even and especially when it wasn’t.

“Good point. I’m pretty sure I heard the same thing about spaghetti and meatballs.”

“Huh.”

“Hey, you asked. Why do you suddenly sound like you don’t care?”

“Whatever. You really aren’t good at this, are you?”

“…You trying to say the food sucks?”

“No, no. Not that. What I mean is, if I say, ‘Hey this reminds me of chop suey,’ the smart reply would be, ‘I made it especially to suit your tastes,’ or something flattering like that, y’know?”

“Why would I say that? I don’t even know what kinda food you like.”

“Oooh, so honest.” Zhen Hong grinned, then he reached out and tried some of the food Sangha had made.

For a brief second, Sangha wondered how Zhen Hong could be so trusting. It would have been way too easy to feed him poison.

Zhen Hong looked delighted when the food touched his tongue. He swallowed it and said, “Wow, Sangha, not bad. With cooking like this, I bet you could become some rich madame’s live-in pet.”

“Gee…thanks. But I made it especially to suit your tastes, monsieur,” Sangha replied coldly, dismissing the strange praise.

Why can’t this guy give me a normal compliment, like, “this tastes like it was made by a professional,” or something? In fact, I worked at a diner. I literally am a professional.

“Unfortunately, the way to my heart isn’t through my stomach.”

“I’m not after your heart, so just tell me you enjoy the food like a normal person, okay?”

“Is there enough for seconds?”

“Cut the ‘actions speak louder than words’ bullshit and just say it’s good,” complained Sangha as he spooned his host another serving.

He was satisfied to watch Zhen Hong eat his food with gusto, but the man’s coy words were starting to get on his nerves, so he decided to bluntly change topics.

“You said you were looking into Dino, right?” Sangha thought back to when Zhen Hong had told him not to kill Dino until he finished investigating him. “Now that I’ve joined Bai She Tong, are you allowed to tell me what all that’s about? Actually, scratch that. Can you just let me know when you think you’ll be done?”

Sangha was itching to get his revenge on the mobster.

“All right, well. Since you did cook me this nice meal, I suppose I could try and speed things up a bit.”

“Are you kidding me? You just said that I couldn’t win you over with food.”

“I am kidding, yes. But I figure I can probably finish up by the time your thumbnail grows back.”

Sangha thought that over. Zhen Hong had told him it would take around a month and a half for his nail to grow back.

“I’d better have it figured out by then,” the man continued. “If I don’t, I’m risking the whole business going under.”

“What business?”

“To put it simply, Dino’s been getting in the way of some of our medicine sales.”

“Medicine? I’m…guessing we’re not talking about herbal remedies here.”

If a criminal organization was involved, it was definitely something illegal.

“I’m talking about shanti. We’re the only ones in town who sell it.”

“You sell what?” asked Sangha, stupefied. He’d heard him just fine but couldn’t believe his ears.

“Shanti,” replied Zhen Hong, enunciating each syllable.

“Y-you’re telling me your gang’s the one selling that stuff?”

“What do you mean, ‘your’ gang?”

“Huh? O-oh, right… O-our gang.”

“Good boy.”

Sangha suddenly felt sick. He had always loathed shanti. To think he’d wind up in the gang that sold it. Would he have to sell it someday, too?

“I suppose you have no need for it, though,” added Zhen Hong with a cackle. Sangha had no idea what was so funny.

He thought back to when Zhen Hong had offered it to him in place of anesthesia back at Fei’s place. Had that been a test to see if he could control himself around the merchandise?

“You say that, but I’m not unique. There’s not a person in this world who needs shanti.”

“Yeah? I dunno. I think everyone would like more peace in the world.”

“Um, what’s peace got to do with drugs…?”

“Didn’t you know? That’s what ‘shanti’ means. It means ‘peace.’”

“How would I know that? What country’s that from?”

“Beats me. And it wasn’t always called that—not at first, anyway. And we weren’t the ones to name it. As our clientele expanded, that’s what they all started calling it.”

“Why, though?”

“No matter how much one suffers, shanti can bring them peace of mind. I suppose it’s something like that.”

Sangha stuck out his tongue and pretended to gag. He didn’t understand why anyone would want such a thing.

“Well, you might not think so.” Zhen Hong grinned.

His expression seemed to imply he knew why Sangha had such a distaste for the stuff. His piercing smile made Sangha uncomfortable, so he got up from his seat, grabbed their used dishes, and started cleaning.

“…So you’re saying Dino’s been getting in the way of business? Has he been going around murdering dealers or something?”

“If that was the case, I would have taken out the trash a long time ago.”

“The trash, huh…?”

“Dino’s an odd kid. And, well, shanti doesn’t work on him.”

“What do you mean? How’s that?”

“No clue. Maybe he’s just immune, or maybe the Falco Family has figured out how we make it and how to nullify its effects. They might’ve even tracked down our supplier and pulled one over on us. It’s a real mystery.”

Zhen Hong sounded almost dejected.

“But I do know one thing,” he continued, “Dino’s been doing the rounds, telling everyone that the shanti on the streets is bogus. He’s trying to damage our reputation by telling people our stuff isn’t pure. I figured that if they’re gonna make problems for us, then I’d better get rid of everyone involved in their scheme. That’s why I’ve been looking into Dino’s contacts.”

Sangha got the sneaking suspicion that Zhen Hong wasn’t telling him all this because he trusted him, but because he was confident he could kill him anytime he wanted.

“Hold on,” he said. “That guy and his mobster friends are all holed up at a hotel called the Ville-Haven. He told me himself. So why don’t you and the rest of your gang just go there and start pulling off fingernails till they—”

“Your gang?”

“O-our gang.”

“Who’s a good boy?” Zhen Hong sounded like he was talking to his pet cat. It made Sangha’s skin crawl. “Unfortunately, it’s not that easy. The Falco Family’s allied with Yi Bang, and because of our truce with Yi Bang, we have to be really careful with how we go about this.”

The whole thing sounded like a real pain in the ass. Apparently, even the criminal underworld had to worry about interpersonal relationships.

“Like you said, the Falco Family’s boss has rented out the Ville-Haven Hotel. It’s enemy territory. But the weird thing is, no one’s ever seen Dino leaving the place.”

“What the hell? Is he just really good at sneaking around?”

“Who knows. Whatever the case, I’m planning on settling the matter soon, so just sit tight and wait for that nail of yours to grow back, hmm?”

Easier said than done—Sangha wasn’t about to just sit on his ass. Surely there was a better way to make use of his time.

“While I wait…can you teach me?” He’d finished the dishes and sat back down at the table. He looked over the rindo flower at Zhen Hong.

“Teach you what?”

“How to, y’know, kill someone,” he answered, his voice cracking.

“You mean like how to use a gun?” Zhen Hong made a gun with his fingers, pointed it at Sangha, and pulled the trigger. “Well, I can tell you one thing—it’s way harder to hit a moving target than you think. And sometimes an empty bullet casing comes flying back at you and gets into your clothes. Hard not to panic and do something stupid when that happens. ’Course, if you use a tommy gun, you can kill anyone easily, skill be damned. But that draws a lot of attention, which would cause problems for our organization.”

Sangha hadn’t been mentally prepared for the sudden, all-too-real turn the conversation had taken. He sat in silence as Zhen Hong spoke.

“Or do you expect me to teach you some crazy Chinatown killing techniques? Like, how to use claws or Emei daggers, or something. Oh, or the real fancy stuff like liuyedao sabers, or three-section staffs. Or, uh, let’s see… What other fancy old-school weapons are there?”

“G-guns are fine. I want to use a pistol,” said Sangha in a panic.

He wasn’t trying to look like some cool ancient assassin. He just wanted to make sure that when he killed Dino, the boy went down. Surely, the best tool for that job would be a gun.

“Okey dokey. That said, you need to start thinking of Amrita as— Actually, scratch that. Let’s just start with Bai She Tong. You need to start referring to Bai She Tong as your organization, got it?”

“Ugh…”

Zhen Hong clearly wasn’t willing to budge. Sangha would have to start seeing himself as a member of the gang, or the conversation would never move along.

…And how exactly am I supposed to change the way I think?

Apparently, his dissatisfaction was written plainly on his face, because Zhen Hong continued, addressing his internal question.

“How about we start you off by meeting some of the foot soldiers? They’ll show you what it takes to become a bona fide member of Bai She Tong.”

2

Qiandeng Playhouse, famous for its shadow puppetry, was a three-story building facing a big square.

Sangha was sent there the following morning to meet two young Bai She Tong foot soldiers. When he arrived, he was surprised to find that the boys were his age. They were even dressed similarly.

Sangha had been given some clothes commonly worn by Chinatown youths. Zhen Hong wanted to make sure that Sangha would blend in.

“Um, here you go…,” said Sangha, handing the scrap of paper he’d been given to the two boys.

The boys looked over the scrap and then each pulled out their own. When the three pieces were brought together, they formed a single sheet of paper about the size of a postcard.

An image of a white snake had been drawn so as to take up the whole paper, and when the pieces were lined up, not a single line was out of place.

There was no doubt about it—these were the people Sangha was here to meet.

Zhen Hong had prepared the piece of paper ahead of time and ripped it into three equal parts. Was this the man’s way of preventing Sangha from talking to the wrong people again? It embarrassed him just thinking about it.

“So you’re Sangha, are you? I heard the lieutenant’s taken you in. He must be super fond of you, huh? How the heck did you manage it?”

The guy with spiky hair looked Sangha up and down, appraising him.

This guy’s annoying.

But something about the situation tickled his funny bone. The boy probably thought Sangha was “using his good looks to get ahead.” He couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Hey! What the hell are you laughing at, huh…?” The spiky-haired kid took a step back.

At least he’s honest.

There was no point in playing coy, so Sangha just explained everything. He wasn’t Zhen Hong’s favorite; he was just here to get revenge for his sister.

“What…? That’s…! That’s sooo moving! I think I might cry! Well, we’ve got your back! I swear we’ll do everything we can to help you get that bastard!” The spiky-haired boy really had tears in his eyes.

Maybe he’s not such a bad guy.

“U-um. Sorry that Hao’s so… Oh! Uh, this excitable guy is Hao, by the way. He’s always trying to show off to new people, so, um, try not to worry about it, okay? He’s just a big dummy at heart, so please don’t take it personally…”

The other boy had long bangs that covered his eyes and mumbled a lot.

This one’s a bit gloomy, huh?

“Oh, uh, I… S-sorry, I almost forgot. I, um, guess I should introduce myself. But then again, it doesn’t really matter, so maybe just forget about it and…” He eventually trailed off.

And easily spooked.

“Quit being such a downer! This is Su!” said Hao, slapping Su on the back and causing him to cower.

“I think I got it,” said Sangha. “Hao’s the dummy, and Su’s the downer. Hao’s the dummy, Su’s the downer, Hao’s the—”

“Hey, can you maybe do that in your head?!”

“O-oh, right, sorry. Uh, let’s see, Hao’s the…cool guy?”

“Hey, now we’re talkin’! You’re smarter than you look!”

Probably easier if I just remember that Hao’s the dumb one.

“Okaaay! Let’s start off by giving Sangha the Chinatown tour. Come on!” Hao started to run only to stop a moment later and reach into his pocket. Apparently, he’d forgotten something. “But before we do that, put out your hand. The one holding the paper. You too, Su.”

“Uh?” Sangha looked at him, confused. “What are you—? Ouch, that burns!”

Hao pulled out some matches and struck one to light the pieces of paper on fire. He burned Sangha’s, then Su’s, and finally his own. Sangha tried to shake his hand to put out the fire, but the piece of paper had already burned to ash.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?!”

“Heh-heh. This is an important lesson. You can’t walk around with evidence. What do you think will happen if you get caught and questioned, huh? Nothing good, that’s for sure! So it’s best to quickly memorize the contents of anything you read and then burn the evidence!”

“R-right,” said Su, “but you should think carefully before you do something like that… You can’t just burn everything, can you? Some things are important to keep. Th-the two of us don’t do this every time, either. I, uh, I think Hao’s just trying to look cool, so just…you know… Sorry he surprised you like that.”

Hao looked smug as Su apologized. Both reactions just made Sangha feel embarrassed about overreacting.

“So… You’re telling me I should always consider whether to destroy evidence, right…? I’m surprised your organization doesn’t care about jinxes, though. O-oh. I meant our organization.”

He’d said it again. Zhen Hong wasn’t around, but Sangha still corrected himself just in case. It would take some time before the idea was drilled into his head.

“What do you mean?” asked Hao. “No one did anything to jinx us.”

“You’ve never heard of ‘three on a match’? If three people use the same match, it’s said that one of them will die.”

“Huh! I’ve never heard of that. Not that I’m superstitious or anythi—”

“Aaaaaaaahhhhh!!!” interrupted Su. “Oh no! It’s going to be me, I just know it! Ohhh, what should I do?! I’m a goner…! So long, cruel world!”

The boy swooned, prompting Hao to rush over and catch him. “Whoa! Careful, Su! Get a hold of yourself!”

“S-sorry. I didn’t think he’d take it so seriously,” Sangha said guiltily. He had only repeated something he’d heard at the diner. He didn’t actually believe in stuff like that. “Oh, hold on. I forgot to mention that the actual superstition is about three people sharing a match to light their cigarettes. So doing it with pieces of paper is probably fine.”

“Oh, Sangha,” muttered Su. “You’re just saying that because you know I’m not long for this world, aren’t you…?”

“Huh? No, no. I’m serious.”

“I’m doomed… That’s probably why the lieutenant sent Sangha to begin with… He anticipated this would happen, and he’s already found my replacement…”

As if being a pessimist wasn’t bad enough, Su apparently had trouble letting things go. It seemed that nothing Sangha said would get through to him.

“What the hell are you on about, Su?” said Hao. “You’re being a real pain in the ass! If you’re that scared about your future, then let’s go see Chen! C’mon! You too, Sangha! Let’s go!”

“Wait, what the—?!”

Hao grabbed Su by the hand and started running at full speed.

Sangha had no clue what was going on anymore, but he chased after the two as they sped off.

“Heeellooo?! Hey, Chen! Can you tell us if Su is gonna die soon?”

“What’s this all of a sudden, Hao? Can’t you treat my mystical arts with a bit more respect, hmm?”

The three of them soon arrived at the Lucky Pavilion, a fortune-telling shop. The handsome guy named Chen was apparently the shop’s owner. He didn’t seem particularly bothered by Hao suddenly barging into his place of business without so much as a hello. Sangha wondered if this was a common occurrence.

“Come onnn. You don’t have any other customers right now, do you? Su won’t be able to function again unless you do something. You know how he gets.”

“Um, i-it’s been nice knowing you, Chen… But it’s almost time for us to say good-bye… I’m a goner…”

Chen stared at Su’s face, which had gone deathly pale.

“Oh, Su,” he said. “I don’t know who said what to you, but I don’t see anything in your face that tells me you’re about to die.”

“See?! I told you, Su! You worry too much. You’re gonna be fine!”

“O-oh, phew. If you say so, Chen… What a relief…”

Sangha was unable to tell whether Chen had actually read Su’s fortune or if he was just trying to make him feel better. He guessed it was probably the latter. But he wasn’t about to say something and ruin the moment now that Su had finally calmed down. It sure felt like Chen was just making stuff up, though.

Suddenly, Chen turned toward Sangha. Oh no, he thought. Had he accidentally let the doubt show on his face? Whatever the reason, holding eye contact felt awkward, so Sangha quickly averted his gaze. Of course, the man could simply be wondering who the new person was. Sangha hadn’t thought to introduce himself yet, since he already knew the man’s name was Chen.

Uh, hold on a second. Chen? Lucky Pavilion? And he’s…

“A handsome ladies’ man?!” shouted Sangha. The first thing to come out of his mouth was the weirdest part of Zhen Hong’s description.

This was the guy Sangha was originally meant to intimidate.

“Yes, I’m well aware,” responded Chen. It seemed that, to him, being told he was handsome was as basic a greeting as “good morning.”

The man was good-looking enough that even modesty would have seemed insincere. But this guy was totally shameless.

“Your face… I can see it now…” Chen raised his palm to Sangha’s face with movements so graceful they almost seemed divine. “I see an ill omen. The mark of the sword.”

“What’s that supposed to mean…?” asked Sangha, baffled.

“Danger. You, at the end of a blade.”

“What?! Sangha, that sounds really bad!” cried Hao.

“…Did you say ‘Sangha’?” asked Chen, narrowing his eyes.

“Huh? Don’t you know who this is, Chen? He’s the new apprentice. Didn’t you meet him at the initiation?”

“I’m afraid not. He didn’t come here,” Chen replied. He was clearly hinting that there was more to the story.

If Chen knew Sangha had threatened Liu Tai Long, he probably thought he was a fool. If he didn’t, he likely saw him as a feckless coward who’d tried to run away. Either way, the man must have found it suspicious that Sangha was allowed into Bai She Tong regardless.

“Wait, Sangha, were you exempt from the initiation?!” cried Hao. “I knew it! You’re totally the lieutenant’s pet!”

“Would you stop saying that? I’m really not.”

Sangha could see how it might look like he’d received special treatment, but he was only here on Zhen Hong’s whim.

“F-f-forget that,” said Su. “If you see the mark of the sword in Sangha’s future…d-does that mean the person cursed by the match is…him?”

“What, I’m going to get stabbed to death or something? Gee, what a shame.”

“You remind me of Zhen Hong,” said Chen with a smile.

“What the hell makes you say that?”

“He doesn’t believe in fortune-telling, either.”

Chen was right, so Sangha couldn’t argue. Maybe he shouldn’t have sounded so sarcastic.

“Fortune-telling isn’t about predicting the future,” said Chen. “It’s merely a suggestion of one possible outcome.”

Sangha felt like he was being scolded.

“However, once someone’s been informed of a dangerous omen or some harbinger of loss, they’re likely to change how they act. Now that I’ve told you about the mark of the sword, perhaps you’ll be more careful around sharp objects. But however things play out, I’ll be praying for a positive outcome for you.”

So if I get stabbed, it means my fortune was right, and if I don’t get stabbed, it means the fortune helped me change my fate? Sounds like a scam to me.

But Sangha decided to remain silent and leave things at that. He was just happy Chen wasn’t trying to sell him expensive tips for how to avoid his supposed fate.

Once they left the Lucky Pavilion and emerged onto the main street, Hao turned around and said to the others, “Kinda weird, right? Chinatown’s one of the least violent parts of Broken Ark. It’s not like a knife comes flying at you every day.”

“Not every day, but it does happen sometimes, huh?” said Sangha.

“Ah-ha… Ah-ha-ha-ha!”

Su tried to cut the tension with laughter, but it seemed to Sangha that Chinatown was a lot more dangerous than Hao was letting on.

Regardless, they continued their tour.

It was like every road had a completely different atmosphere.

Sometimes, they would walk down a lively street full of terraced buildings. Each one had a shop on the first floor and apartments for tenants on the second. Laundry hanging out to dry fluttered from the windows above.

Other times, they’d pass through dark alleys that Sangha would never dare walk down alone. People set up tables and gambled out in the open. He thought it best to move quickly and draw as little attention as possible.

With so many streets crisscrossing and intersecting one another, someone was liable to get lost if they stopped paying attention for even a second.

The sounds of erhu fiddles and the clacking of mah-jongg tiles were everywhere as shopkeepers loudly beckoned passersby into their shops. The scents of cheap tobacco, dried sundries, and calligrapher’s ink permeated the air. The sights and sounds and smells overwhelmed Sangha like a wave of pure stimulation and made his head spin.

When they emerged from a cramped park, Hao pointed to a large building right in front of them.

“Look, Sangha! That building there is the Hang Lao Association!”

“The what?”

“If you want an explanation, then Su’s your guy!”

“Wha—?! M-me?”

Being put on the spot sent Su into a panic. He had been walking a short distance away from Sangha, though Sangha couldn’t tell if this was just shyness, or if the boy was afraid of getting caught up in Sangha’s mark of the sword.

Either way, Hao started walking at a fast clip, leaving the two stragglers behind. After a while, Su finally began talking.

“Um, well, you see…the government of the United States, for the most part, doesn’t intervene in the affairs of Chinatown. I guess it’s because they can’t speak our language and don’t know anything about our culture. But anyway, they mostly leave us alone. As a result, we developed our own organizations to run local affairs. It was chaotic at first. There were a bunch of different groups—people from the same hometown in the old country, people who do the same kind of work, that sort of thing. But they were all divided. When those groups started working together, the result was the Hang Lao Association. Hang lao refers to heads of industry.”

Su talked fast, almost like he was reciting lines to himself.

“The Hang Lao Association is responsible for negotiating with groups outside of Chinatown and for keeping the peace. The head of the association is kind of like our mayor. But it’s not all talk; they’ve got the muscle to back up what they say. So if the Hang Lao Association asks for donations for a festival, for example, everyone’s sure to pay up.”

Su gestured a lot while he spoke, and Sangha kept getting distracted.

“Oh, speaking of festivals, the Mid-Autumn Festival’s coming up next month,” Su explained. “Chinatown really goes all out for that one. O-oh, but I guess that’s a bit of an exaggeration. It’s not nearly as flashy as the Lunar New Year, but, um… Oh! S-sorry. A-am I making any sense? I hope this isn’t too hard to follow…”

The boy was no public speaker. He jumped around from topic to topic and kept forgetting the point he was trying to make, but at least he was self-aware.

“Nah, it’s fine. You seem really smart, so I bet it’s hard for you to keep everything straight in your head, huh?”

Sangha felt like he should go easy on the guy. He might not be following, but he didn’t want to put Su down.

The boy’s face lit up the moment he was called smart. That’s all it takes? Is…this guy okay? wondered Sangha.

At that point, he’d gotten so caught up in Su’s feelings, that he’d completely forgotten what the boy was talking about. He still didn’t understand what the Hang Lao Association had to do with Bai She Tong.

“So what does Bai She Tong do when the Hang Lao Association comes knocking, asking for donations? Do they just blow them off, or what?”

“Huh? Why would we do that?” asked Hao.

“Y-y-yeah, why?” asked Su.

They both looked at Sangha like he had just grown a second head. Was his question really that confusing?

Even if it wasn’t an official agency, this Hang Lao Association sounded like the central government of Chinatown. And since Bai She Tong was a part of Amrita, one of the four largest crime syndicates in the city, it made sense that the two would be opposing forces.

“Um, well, Bai She Tong is a member of the Hang Lao Association executive committee,” said Su. “So if anything, it’s our job to make sure other organizations pay up.”

“…Huh?”

“Though, I guess it is a little confusing. From the Hang Lao Association’s perspective, having a tong executing their will could give them a bad reputation. But it was decided that, in order to keep tongs with a lot of sway in line, it would take an even bigger tong with even more power. So I think it was a pretty smart choice to make a tong a member of their executive committee, and—”

“Wait, wait, wait. What exactly is this tong thing?”

“R-right, sorry, I should have explained it. The literal meaning of the word is just ‘hall,’ but I guess most people understand it as ‘criminal organization.’ I guess…this is all a bit complicated. But they originally started off as organizations composed of random people not affiliated by blood, origin, or industry. They were meant to help protect their members…”

It sounded to Sangha like “tong” was just another word that meant “gang” or “mafia.”

“Right, getting back on topic. So, um, Bai She Tong is one of the members of the Hang Lao Association executive committee. By which I mean, it’s one of the five groups that represent the association’s interests.”

Could a crime syndicate like Bai She Tong really be one of the central pillars of Chinatown’s government?

Sangha shuddered. It sounded crazy to him. There were plenty of crime syndicates in Broken Ark, mind you, but everywhere else, there was at least some facade of lawfulness.

“The five groups that make up the executive committee of the Hang Lao Association are known as the Five Petals. Aside from Bai She Tong, there’s another group called Yi Bang—our rival syndicate. We have a peace treaty right now, but we used to be locked in a pretty gruesome turf war. It sent all of Chinatown into chaos. It’s honestly kind of a miracle that we reached a peaceful resolution. But, well, there’s still a lot of tension below the surface. As for the other three petals, one is a group of people from the same region, one represents a clan, and the last one is a business association, so…”

Geez, this guy just keeps going on and on. I wish he’d cut this short. There’s no way I’ll remember any of this.

“Oh my God, Su. Shut up already!”

Before Sangha could check out of the conversation, Hao flipped his lid.

“I know I told you to explain it, but that’s way too much info! Listen, Sangha. You can forget everything he just told you. Absolutely none of it matters.”

“R-right…”

Sangha wanted to complain about the wasted time, but Su looked pretty glum, so he kept his mouth shut.

“The only thing you need to remember is Bai She Tong’s territory,” said Hao, coming to a stop.

“So what is our territory?”

“‘All of Chinatown, of course!’…Or so I would’ve said way back when. Now the whole place is split into east and west by that street,” said Hao, pointing to a road leading up a hill. “Everything on that side of Bloody Boulevard is Yi Bang’s territory, and everything on this side is ours.”

“That’s some name for a street…”

“Ha-ha, you got that right. But as long as you know where it is, you can steer clear of any trouble.”

Unfortunately, Sangha hadn’t had a clue when he barged into Liu Tai Long’s restaurant and landed himself in a world of trouble. Sangha repeated what he’d just been told in his head—Bai She Tong in the west, Yi Bang in the east.

“…Right, so. What do you guys do on this side of the street?”

Sangha was worried he’d have to go around pushing beer on local businesses or something.

“That’s what we’re about to show you. C’mon!”

Hao smiled innocently, oblivious to Sangha’s unease.

As promised, Hao and Su went on to show Sangha how things worked for the lowest-ranking members of Bai She Tong.

“Um, h-hello. Excuse us. If, uh, if anything’s ever troubling you, please feel free to let us know anytime. Pardon? You want help cooking your books? Uh, are you sure we’re the ones you should ask about that? I…don’t think I know any recipes that use books…”

At one shop under Bai She Tong’s protection, the man asked them to help him commit fraud. At another, Hao had to beat the crap out of a drunk who was hitting on the female employees.

“You’ve come to the wrong place, old-timer,” he yelled as he kicked the guy in the chin with all his might.

If those sorts of things were all this job entailed, Sangha could pretend that Bai She Tong was a just organization that protected people unable to defend themselves. Unfortunately, he would only be kidding himself.

Sangha, who had worked in the service industry his whole life, was nonetheless impressed by the kids’ work. When asked what they did for the syndicate, surely Hao and Su would reply, “We keep the peace in our territory.”

But this peace was solely on Bai She Tong’s terms.

It conditioned the people in their territory to think of Bai She Tong as an organization they could rely on. But at the same time, they were reminded constantly that the syndicate was the only thing allowing their businesses to thrive.

Sangha noticed letters of appreciation from Bai She Tong in every shop’s entrance, thanking them for “donations to charity”—in other words, protection money. This wasn’t simple gratitude, but a display of the syndicate’s influence. Everyone who entered a shop saw that it was under the thumb of Bai She Tong.

Before anyone knew what was happening, they had all become dependent on the syndicate, further increasing its power.

The whole thing made Sangha sick. How could something like that foster any sense of community?

“Hey, Sangha! What are you standing around for?!” shouted Hao. “We gotta chase him!”

“Huh?” said Sangha, snapping out of his daze.

“Th-the thief! He went that way!”

Sangha saw a young boy running off in the direction Su pointed. An old man selling crafts in the street was yelling at the criminal, demanding he give back his money.

Hao and Su both took off running after the boy, with Sangha following close behind. Out of the corner of his eye, Sangha could see Su weaving back and forth as he ran. Why’s he shuffling around like that? Sangha found it incredibly distracting, so he forced himself to face forward and continued to run with single-minded determination.

He ran, and ran, and ran, and, in the end, Sangha’s determination won out.

He caught up to the boy and cornered him in a dead-end alley between two shabby apartment buildings.

“Hff… Hff… You can’t run now. So just hand over the money nice and—”

But Sangha couldn’t finish his sentence—and it wasn’t because he was out of breath, either.

The boy pulled a switchblade from his pocket and pointed it directly at Sangha.

“S-S-S-Sanghaaa! Th-th-this is it! The mark of the sword…!” cried Su.

“Sh-shut up and calm down! This kid is outnumbered. We’ve got this!”

Just then, Sangha realized something was off. He quickly looked around. Hao was nowhere to be seen.

But the instant Sangha noticed his absence, Hao’s voice came from above.

“Yaaaaaaaah!!!”

The boy came flying down from a second-floor balcony and landed directly on the thief.

“Guh…?!” came the boy’s voice, like an animal being strangled. He was crushed under Hao’s body, and the knife went flying from his hand. Su rushed over and picked it up in a panic.

“H-Hao! Are you okay?!”

“No problemo! Maaan, was that cool or what?!” Hao gloated as he straddled the boy. It seemed that the impact had knocked out their target. “Just think of how much cooler I would have looked if I had a gun, though!”

“Uh…?”

“I wish there’d been even more of them.”

“What the hell are you talking about? That woulda been dangerous.”

“Yeah, but think about it. I could take one of ’em as a hostage, right? And then I could tell the other guys something like, ‘Hey, hey, hey, listen up, boneheads! Hands behind your heads and up against the wall, or else I blow your buddy’s brains out!’ How cool would that be?! Seriously, try it out, Sangha.”

“Hey, hey, hey, boneheads…?” Sangha didn’t understand what was so cool about any of this.

“Uh, Sangha. You don’t have to indulge him,” said Su, exasperated, as he walked over to join them. “He’ll just keep saying dumb things like that if you do.”

He carefully folded the knife and sighed in relief. “Thank goodness. It looks like you were able to avoid the mark of the sword…”

“This is a good lesson for you, Sangha. What we just did? It wasn’t dumb luck. Su blocked the kid’s escape routes on purpose so he’d have no choice but to run into this alley. And he totally fell for it.”

“Wait, really?”

“Y-yeah. It was all according to plan. I didn’t think he would pull out a knife, mind you. But I knew the easiest way to catch him would be to force him into this alley…”

The strange way Su was running had all been part of the plan.

I didn’t even realize the two of them had talked it out. And, man, these two must know the Chinatown alleys like the back of their hand to have pulled that off. That really was cool.

It seemed Sangha was the only one who had thought nothing of it; he hadn’t been thinking anything at all.

“O-oh, by the way, Sangha. Both Bai She Tong and Yi Bang have groups of kids on the payroll, each with their own boss. If we give the word, they’ll do pretty much whatever we want. But some kids are just pickpockets who don’t work for anyone.”

Su cast his gaze down at the child Hao was crushing under his weight.

“The ones who don’t answer to anyone are just left to run wild. It makes them way more dangerous than the ones in a gang. All they want is quick money, and they don’t care how they get it, so they’ll do crazy things like pulling a knife on someone. S-so, um, sorry I didn’t warn you sooner…”

Sangha realized he’d been looking down on Su all along. Not only was Su tough as nails, but he was also way more calm under pressure than Sangha was. And on top of all of that, he still had the presence of mind to worry about how Sangha was feeling.

Sangha couldn’t help but look at the boy in a new light. He had a good head on his shoulders.

“Kids like this have no sense of honor,” said Hao. “And trust me, they’re a dime a dozen. Chinatown’s crawlin’ with punks who’ll do anything for a buck, so watch your back, Sangha.”

“Th-thanks…”

“’Course, you got nothin’ to worry about! You wanna know why?”

Hao reached out and Sangha reflexively grabbed his hand. He held it firmly and helped Hao to his feet.

“’Cause we’re like your older brothers now, and you can count on us.”

Hao, still holding Sangha’s hand, shot him a toothy grin. Su, meanwhile, gave Sangha a modest smile.

“We’ll be countin’ on you tomorrow, too, Sangha!”

“W-we’ll try our best to help you out, Sangha, so… W-welcome aboard.”

Sangha fidgeted awkwardly at their kind words.

When the sun had set, Sangha parted ways with Hao and Su and headed back to Zhen Hong’s to get started on dinner.

He had sliced up some bell peppers and was just about to cut up some shiitake mushrooms when he felt the sudden urge to switch the knife to his left hand. He spread out his right palm and looked at it, remembering the two boys’ smiles from earlier.

“Having fun, Sangha?”

“Wha-huh?!”

Zhen Hong had walked up behind Sangha and whispered into his ear. Sangha almost leaped a foot into the air. He hadn’t heard Zhen Hong come home.

“What the hell are you thinking, creeping up on me while I’m cutting stuff? That’s dangerous!”

“Feels weird to come home and find someone else here,” said Zhen Hong, completely ignoring Sangha’s question. He sat down at the table, pulled out his pipe, and lit some tobacco.

Zhen Hong blew smoke in Sangha’s direction, but it felt less like an attempt to irk him and more like the man was simply blowing it away from the rindo flower in the center of the table. Sangha was surprised. He hadn’t realized Zhen Hong cared so much. Then again, if he was really worried about it, couldn’t he just smoke in his own room instead?

Sangha was suddenly reminded of how, whenever he was cooking, Arha would come and wait by his side. It was mostly out of impatience—she wanted to eat as soon as possible. He guessed that Zhen Hong was sitting at the table for much the same reason.

This guy’s just a big kid.

Sangha grinned to himself as he returned the knife to his right hand and cut the heads off the shiitakes.

“You sure are a hard worker, hmm?” said Zhen Hong.

“It’s no big deal. I’m just used to cooking all the time, Ar—”

Sangha stopped dead. For a brief moment, he’d felt like he had been talking to his sister.

“…It’s no biggie. I’m just used to cooking all the time, all right?” he said, pretending nothing had happened.

“How were Hao and Su? Think you three will get along?”

“Huh? Uh… Sure, I guess.”

Sangha was ready to get an earful about his little verbal slipup and was taken aback when Zhen Hong switched to another topic.

“They probably treated you like their kid brother, huh? I bet you’re not used to being the youngest, are you?”

“That’s not true, I—”

Sangha stopped talking when he realized Zhen Hong had a point. Thinking it over, everyone around him had treated Sangha as an adult for as long as he could remember. And it wasn’t just his sister, but the customers at the diner, too. It was actually kind of nice to have someone take care of him for a change. It was a totally new experience.

Maybe that’s why I’ve been feeling awkward all day.

“I guess…it does make me feel a little weird.”

“Hmm. ’Kay, then how about I start treating you the way you’re used to?”

“Huh?”

“Y’know. Say stuff like ‘Biiig Brooo,’” Zhen Hong replied in an awfully flirtatious tone.

“Whaaaa?! That’s creepy as— Yeeeowch!”

“Uh-oh. What happened?”

The knife had slipped from Sangha’s hand and grazed his left index finger, leaving a small cut.

He was just about to blame Zhen Hong for distracting him when he had a sudden realization.

“The…mark of the sword? Was this really it…?”

Perhaps Chen’s fortune hadn’t been as stupid as Sangha initially believed it to be. Danger really had awaited him at the end of a blade.

3

Sangha continued tagging along with Hao and Su while they ran errands.

Of course, it wasn’t all helping out the people of Chinatown by beating up drunks and leaping onto pickpockets from second floor balconies. Most of the work was really mundane and tedious.

That day, they were told to head to the members-only brothel, the Jeweled Butterfly. The brothel was under Zhen Hong’s jurisdiction—a fact that Sangha and his still-healing thumbnail were all too aware of.

Their job for the day was to take inventory of the brothel’s supplies and linens. It sounded dreadfully boring.

“You said you’re gonna get revenge for your sister, right?” Hao asked out of the blue on their way to the brothel.

“Yeah, that’s right.” Sangha reflexively clutched his locket.

“That sister of yours sure was a cutie. I get why she was so important to you,” said Hao cheerfully.

“Y-you said that’s the only photo you have of your family, right…?” Su asked. “It’s like your treasure…”

He had shown them the photo of his family before. Zhen Hong might have dismissed the locket as junk, but these two, at least, treated it with the respect it deserved, which Sangha greatly appreciated.

Sangha wondered if this was just how organizations like these worked—the higher up you went, the colder people got—or if Hao and Su just happened to be particularly kind guys.

“Why’d you bring up my sister all of a sudden, though?”

“I just remembered something I thought you might want to know. Recently—well, not that recently I guess—a hit man started staying at the Jeweled Butterfly. His name’s John D. Maybe you could get him to teach you how to kill?”

“Good point,” said Su. “He’s a hit man, so I bet he knows all sorts of ways to kill people…”

“Huh…”

Hit men felt like a peculiar topic for such casual small talk. And Sangha had always thought people like that lived in the shadows, never revealing their identities.

“John D’s pretty famous for knowin’ his way around a gun. I bet he could hit a bull’s-eye from really far away. Damn, just thinking about it is making me want to learn from him, too!”

“Even if you learned how to shoot properly, I bet you’d get so excited you’d forget to take the safety off,” said Su.

“Oh yeah? Keep talking like that and you’ll be the first person I blow away with my Colt Government.”

“Listen to you, acting like you walk around with a gun in your pants. You’ve never even held a pistol…”

“Hey, same goes for you, Su!”

“Yeah, but it doesn’t bother me… I don’t like .45-caliber pistols. They look so heavy, I bet my hands would go numb. Besides, I don’t think I’d ever need that much stopping power…”

Sangha merely listened as the two of them bickered, hardly able to wrap his mind around what they’d told him about John D.

They continued walking and talking all the way to the Jeweled Butterfly.

And the instant they approached the building—

“I’m sorry! P-p-please! I’m b-b-begging—!”

—they heard a scream and watched as a fat, middle-aged man was thrown out of a window on the second floor. He landed with a splat directly in front of them and let out a pained groan.

Luckily for him, he survived the fall. But he seemed to have broken something, because he wasn’t able to get up.

“What the—?! Holy—!” cried Sangha. “D-did you just see that?!”

“Damn, looks like John D’s keeping busy again today,” said Hao nonchalantly.

They explained to Sangha that the hit man was like the brothel’s personal bouncer. Whenever customers caused any trouble, it was his job to show them the door. Or, in some cases, the window. He was known to take things a little too far sometimes, so it was best to stay out of his way. Talk about scary.

But something seemed off. It made sense that the ladies working the brothel might wish some of their more obnoxious customers were dead, but wasn’t it going a little far to hire a literal hit man? Wouldn’t it make more sense to get a foot soldier like Hao to take care of that sort of thing?

“Um, I guess I’ll handle this one,” said Su. “How about you two go see John D?”

“Good idea. Let’s meet up at the supply room later,” agreed Hao. “All right, let’s go, Sangha!”

“R-right…”

Sangha was still reeling from what he had just witnessed as the two boys wandered into the Jeweled Butterfly.

The receptionist came up and gave them a courteous bow, and after exchanging a few words, Hao took Sangha further into the brothel.

The first floor seemed to be where all the cheap rooms were, because there was very little soundproofing. Sangha could hear the faint sound of girls moaning as they walked by. The ladies taking clients this early in the day must have it tough, he thought.

Suddenly, Sangha felt his heart begin to beat quicker. He must have started walking unsteadily, because Hao reached over and supported him with his arm.

“Hey, you feelin’ okay, Sangha?”

“I…guess.”

“You nervous or somethin’? Don’t be! John D’s a good guy. Not scary at all!”

“R-really…?”

“Yep!”

They climbed the stairs to the second floor, Hao supporting Sangha’s weight the whole way. For a brief second, Sangha worried that Zhen Hong had ordered Hao to stop him from running away, and that was the real reason he was holding him. But it seemed Hao was genuinely concerned.

Besides, Hao was a good guy. He would never lie to Sangha, right?

Hao’s a goddamn liar…

They found John D in a guest room upstairs—the very scene of the crime that they had just witnessed—standing with his arms crossed and his back to the open window. He was a gargantuan white man with his head shaved bald. His muscles bulged as big as boulders, and he looked like he could stop a man dead with a single glance.

…This guy is absolutely terrifying.

“Oh? Is that little Sangha?”

“Huh?”

Sangha turned in the direction of the cute voice. Two women were sitting in a bed close to the window.

“It is you! You didn’t forget about us, did you?”

“Well, well. If it ain’t the kid Zhen Hong brought in.”

A petite curvy lady waved at him while the tall slender woman beside her shot him a disinterested glance.

Sangha had taken good care of his wound, and it hadn’t hurt in some time. Yet for some reason, his thumb suddenly began to throb.

“Y-you’re…Chun Chun and Jing-Li…” Sangha spoke in a voice just above a whisper.

Chun Chun gave him a small round of applause to signify he was right. Jing-Li, meanwhile, looked surprised.

“What, you’re here with Hao? Don’t tell me you joined Bai She Tong. And after everything Zhen Hong did to you?”

“Ah-ha! This kid’s a real nutcase.”

These were the two prostitutes he had met on his last visit to the brothel, the ones who had taken care of him (in more ways than one, and none of them good).

Unlike last time, they weren’t in their underwear. Instead, they were wearing traditional dresses from their home country with slits down the side that showed off their thighs.

“Huh? You know Chun Chun and Jing-Li? How? Don’t tell me you’re a regular here? And you came to have fun with the lieutenant… All four of you?! Damn, man! Never pegged you as an orgy guy!”

“That’s not what happened! I was knocked out and he brought me here, all right?!”

“Hao, you damned pervert. You really think Zhen Hong would touch the merchandise like that?”

“R-right, good point. Uh, sorry ’bout that! I let my imagination get carried away there…”

“Cut the crap and tell us what the hell you losers are doing here, already,” interrupted Jing-Li, reminding Hao that they hadn’t come for chitchat.

“Oh, right. We’re here to see John D. Do you two mind?”

“Go right ahead. The john that just took a quick trip out the window already paid for the hour, so we’re on a break.”

“Are…you two okay?” asked Sangha. “That guy didn’t, y’know, do something weird to you, did he?”

Sangha’s concern only seemed to irritate them.

“Wow, get a load of the little baby with a hero complex.”

“Everything these creeps do to us is gross and weird. So do us all a favor and stop wasting everyone’s time worrying.”

Sangha hadn’t meant anything by it, but to two professionals, it must have seemed like he was trying to sweet-talk his way into a free lay by pitying them and acting all high-and-mighty.

“That fat guy just now? He only paid to watch me and Jing-Li go at it. But halfway through, he tried joining in for free. And he was real aggressive about it, too. Scumbags like that deserve everything that’s comin’ to them.”

“Of course, getting thrown out the window was a bit much.”

“Mmm, Jing-Li, you’re so cute when you’re being nice!”

“Shut it, Chun Chun. Not in front of these weirdos.”

Chun Chun threw her arms around Jing-Li’s neck and pulled her into a passionate embrace. Jing-Li seemed far less bothered than she sounded. Are these two…together or something?

“Hey, Sangha,” said Hao. He’d gone over to the window while Sangha was distracted. “C’mere.”

“Uhhh, okay… What is it?”

Sangha went to stand by Hao and found himself looking up at a towering John D. The guy was even more intimidating up close. Sangha felt like he’d come face to face with a deadly wild animal.

“Hey, John D. This guy’s name is Sangha, and there’s this guy he wants to kill, right? Any chance you’d mind teaching him some of the tricks of your trade? Like a technique to instantly kill a guy, guaranteed, or something like that?”

That is way too pushy and way too blunt.

Sangha didn’t know how long it took to become a hit man, but he had a feeling that a person like John D wasn’t about to give away all his knowledge just because someone asked nicely. And, sure enough, the hit man continued standing there, arms crossed, not reacting to anything Hao said.

A shiver ran up Sangha’s spine. This guy looks pissed off, he thought.

“Oh right, I totally forgot that John D doesn’t speak our language too good. You speak English, don’cha, Sangha? You ask him.”

Wait. He’s not mad, he just didn’t understand?!

“Uhhh…”

Sangha had a hard time getting out the words at first, and not because he was having trouble translating what Hao had said. New doubts were beginning to surface. Was it really okay for him to ask a total stranger how to kill a man?

Besides, Zhen Hong had already promised to teach him how to use a gun once he started acting like a member of Bai She Tong. So was it really worth the risk of pissing off a hit man?

Sangha was starting to think it would be better to just keep his mouth shut. But in the end, he translated what Hao had asked him, though he made it sound considerably more polite.

John D thought it over for a moment and then slowly began to speak.

“…You come upon me at a time when I have found the joy of true love. My days of needless killing have come to an end. I refuse to take up the tools of murder, and I no longer have anything to say on the subject. For, you see, lad, meeting my beloved was no twist of fate—it was destiny. As such, I must do everything in my power to remain pure. I must show my dearest that I am worthy of her love. I have decided to dedicate my life to protecting her. From now on, I will only use my skills in the name of love.”

Uh…wow. What a weirdo.

“What’d John D say, Sangha?!”

“I gotta translate all that…? Seriously?!”

“Uh, what’s wrong?”

The hit man’s words felt like sand in Sangha’s mouth, but since Hao had practically begged him, Sangha pushed through the embarrassment and tried his best to relay what John D had said.

“What, are you serious? What the hell does he mean, ‘true love’? Who’s he even talking about? Chun Chun? Jing-Li? Both of them? Is John D seriously banging both of ’em?”

“Hey, can you shut up with the lewd thoughts over there please?” came Chun Chun’s voice, filled with disgust. “He probably is talking about me, but he’s out of his mind if he thinks I’m in love with him, too. All I need is Jing-Li.”

“Yeah! Chun Chun’s only got eyes for me,” said Jing-Li.

The two of them were holding hands tightly on the bed.

…Are these two seriously together, then?

This didn’t seem to be a case of being disgusted by the clientele, or even men in general. Chun Chun and Jing-Li looked at each other the way lovers did.

“If that’s the case,” said Sangha, “then why does John D sound like he’s about to throw his life away for love?”

Anyone who’d heard the man would likely wonder the same thing as Sangha: What exactly was this guy’s deal?

“I’m not just a cute face, y’know. I’m pretty famous, as far as brothel girls go.”

Chun Chun went on to explain that there were plenty of white customers from outside of Chinatown who came to the brothel to see her, specifically. Apparently, they liked playing out interracial romance fantasies with her.

It reminded Sangha of a popular opera Arha had once told him about called Madama Butterfly, though that opera didn’t have anything to do with Chinatown. What these white guys probably wanted was a girl like the opera’s heroine—an exotic, foreign woman who was mysterious and devoted, with a tragic air about her.

Chun Chun, with her petite frame and demure looks, likely fit their fantasies perfectly. It made sense she’d made a name for herself.

“This one time, a guy from the Falco Family showed up calling himself ‘the Don of Brothels.’ Anyway, he snuck in here pretending to be a customer and tried to poach me. He made me a crazy good offer and everything. He even brought a contract written in our language.”

“This place is for members only, but plenty of dirtbags still weasel their way in,” Jing-Li explained. “Chun Chun kicked his ass to the curb.”

“Can you blame me? He walks in here like he owns the place when the guy can’t even speak our language. He was a real piece of shit, but I guess he never expected that a girl like me who does what I do for money would ever refuse him. Boy, was he pissed.”

“Goddamn lowlife. After that, they started spreading a bunch of weird rumors around town about this place. We got harassed like crazy, but Chun Chun didn’t give in.”

“In the end, those thugs even hired a hit man to take us out. Can you believe that?”

Well, that explains what this guy’s doing here.

Chun Chun and Jing-Li pointed at John D as they were talking.

But Chun Chun is still alive, so…

“Are you saying you bought John D out?!”

“No way! I just seduced him. And he fell hard. Head over heels. Now he’s like my obedient little slave, but he can’t go home anymore, so we’ve made him the bouncer for the brothel.”

“Some other guys have shown up to try and murder John D, y’know, but he’s tough as nails. He beat the crap out of ’em all with his bare hands. I guess that dumbass Don of Brothels gave up on Chun Chun, ’cause we haven’t heard a peep from him since.”

It was starting to seem to Sangha that a brothel girl could be more persuasive than even a silver-tongued lawyer.

“Damn, Chun Chun, that’s so cool!” cried Hao.

“…Chun Chun is like a solitary rose blooming in the desolate wasteland of my life,” muttered an enraptured John D. “The stench of blood is not befitting such a delicate flower, and yet to know love is to choose a life forever tormented by the specter of loss… Though I may have abandoned the path of blood, my war against the fear of losing my love shall be everlasting…”

“Hey, what’s he saying?” asked Hao with excitement.

“Basically, he’s saying he’s not going to teach me how to murder someone.”

John D’s self-indulgent words were way too embarrassing for Sangha to translate directly.

If it ever came out that this guy was a spy or something, Sangha could only applaud his top-notch acting skills. But he doubted that would happen. The man seemed like an honest, upright guy who was absolutely obsessed with thoughts of having sex with Chun Chun.

“Anyway, forget all that. You weren’t part of a tong last time you were here. Even if you try to learn the ropes now, you’re not cut out for that life, kid. It’d be like trying to fit a whole bucket of water into a teacup. And you’re the teacup.”

“Seriously. Have you ever even been in a fight? Even once? You haven’t, have you?”

“What, is Hao your little teacher? How cute. But what kind of idiot takes their first field trip to a brothel? And what are you even going to teach him, huh?”

Hao, half-grinning, started to sink back in the face of Chun Chun and Jing-Li’s interrogation.

“Hey, I can teach him plenty! I learned how to defend myself when I was a kid, y’know. Sure, I barely paid any attention, and it was way before I joined Bai She Tong, and sure, I kind of just do my own thing, but—”

“So shut up and show him, then.”

And so, Hao said he’d teach Sangha a bit of some martial art called yin-style baguazhang. But it didn’t go very smoothly.

“Uuugh!” he shouted, well before they’d even started. “Su would be way better at teaching you an internal martial art like this one.”

Hao was acting strangely nervous for once. It seemed he didn’t have much confidence in his abilities.

“All right, listen up, Sangha. The basic jia shi is like this, right? In baguazhang, the most important thing is your footwork. So you gotta start by just walking around.”

Sangha couldn’t understand anything Hao was saying. He guessed that jia shi meant how he placed his body.

In any case, Sangha tried his best to copy Hao’s pose. He put one hand out in front of him, used the fingers on his other hand to touch his elbow, crossed his legs, and tried his best not to stick his butt out too much. It was incredibly awkward.

“Hey! Not bad!”

“Are you serious…?”

“Relax your body. You gotta use your energy, not your muscles. Anyway, if you keep your body like that and then start practicing walking in a circular motion, that’s called zou quan—walking in circles. They make you do it a ton when you’re learning. Once you get good at it, you’ll be able to sneak around without anyone noticing you. But trust me, it’s tough. How about giving it a shot?”

Hao and Sangha imagined a circle on the floor and began to slowly revolve around it together. Hao wasn’t kidding when he said it was tough. Sangha just kept moving without really thinking about what he was doing.

“Whoo, way to go!” cheered Chun Chun and Jing-Li. Feeling left out, John D decided to give it a try, too.

“Wh-wh-whaaaaat the—?!” came Su’s voice. “I—I was wondering what I was missing out on, but why are you doing zou quan? And here of all places? Um, um, c-can someone tell me what’s going on? D-did someone cast a spell on you…?”

Su practically collapsed in shock when he saw what they were up to, which sent Chun Chun and Hao into fits of laughter and snapped Sangha out of his trance.

He suddenly realized just how strange of a sight the whole thing must have been.

“Ha… Ah-ha-ha-ha!”

Once they started, none of them could stop laughing. They laughed and laughed until their stomachs hurt.

Despite feeling pooped from practicing zou quan, the first thing Sangha did when he got home was to rush to Zhen Hong’s room and start cleaning it.

The filthy space’s owner wasn’t home, and while Sangha would ordinarily never try to enter Zhen Hong’s room, today was his one chance. He had seen Zhen Hong spill a bunch of finely cut tobacco everywhere when trying to fill his pipe then head out without even trying to clean it up.

Sangha couldn’t stand the thought of leaving such an abhorrent mess uncleaned.

“How is this place so damn messy…?”

Zhen Hong had said he hated cleaning, but by the looks of it, the guy was on another level. He seemed allergic to putting things back where they belonged. It looked like everything he had ever owned had been left out and scattered across the room.

“Who the hell leaves everything they use on the goddamn floor?! Gaaaaaaaaaaaaah!”

Sangha stepped on something cylindrical that slid out from under his foot, causing him to fall backward and bump into the bedside drawer, knocking over a small table in the process.

“Ouch, that hurt… Gaaah! What the hell is this?!”

A gray powdery substance scattered through the air. It was the bamboo tube that Zhen Hong tapped out his ashes into, and now the tobacco ash was everywhere.

“Goddammit! This is why you need to clean on a regular—!”

Sangha stopped dead in the middle of venting when his gaze fell on the bedside drawer’s contents.

“A gun…,” he said out loud, as if needing to affirm that what he was seeing was real.

A pistol sat inside the now-open drawer.

Is this that whatsit “Government” thing Su was talking about? Maybe it’s a different model. What’s that thing on the back of the barrel? The safety? Why’d Zhen Hong leave it out like this anyway? Does he keep it by him for protection while he’s sleeping? If that’s the case, does that mean it’s loaded?

But from all the questions swirling around inside Sangha’s head, one possibility suddenly jumped out at him: What if this gun wasn’t for self-defense? What if Zhen Hong had gotten it specifically for Sangha?

A strange sense of guilt overcame him, as if he had accidentally spoiled a surprise. So Sangha decided to pretend that he hadn’t seen anything.

He moved the furniture back to its original position, quickly finished cleaning, and left the room, closing the door behind him.

He headed to the kitchen and tried to start preparing dinner, but he found himself unable to think about anything other than the gun. His body had tensed up all on its own.

Luckily, Sangha had that very day been taught a good technique to relax his body. So he closed his eyes and breathed in deep. He then assumed the same jia shi—stance—that Hao had taught him earlier.

But just as he did, the familiar scent of honey candy came wafting past his nostrils.

“Who taught you that?”

“Aaaaagh!”

Sangha fell out of the stance and collapsed onto the floor.

When he opened his eyes, he found Zhen Hong standing directly in front of him, a fresh rindo flower in hand.

Sangha was less surprised than he was embarrassed. He felt like someone had walked in on him playing make-believe. He really wished Zhen Hong wouldn’t be so quiet whenever he came home.

“Huh, you cleaned up. Thanks.”

“My slipups feel way more awkward when you don’t acknowledge them, y’know…”

“Sure does feel weird to come home and see someone else here.”

“You should be used to that by now…”

Zhen Hong went to his room, leaving the door open behind him. He dropped everything he was carrying—except the rindo flower—onto the floor (that was how his room always got so damn messy) and then returned to the kitchen. At the very least, it seemed like he hadn’t noticed that the drawer with the gun had been opened. Sangha felt a wave of relief wash over him.

“So? Hao or Su?”

For a moment, Sangha had no idea what Zhen Hong was asking, but it soon dawned on him that he was simply continuing on from his question a moment earlier. He wanted to know who had taught Sangha the jia shi.

“It was Hao.”

“Why?”

“Well, it started with us going to that brothel of yours to see a guy called John D, who I guess is like the bouncer there, so he could teach me how to kill someone…and… Uh…”

Crap. I was planning on keeping that to myself.

“B-but, uh, well, y’see. That wound up being a no-go, right? So Hao showed me some martial arts instead, that’s all! It was really nothing, I swear!”

“You sound like a guy who just got caught cheating on his spouse.” Zhen Hong grinned. “It’s fine. If you really want to learn how to kill someone, then go right ahead. Learn it from anyone you like.”

“Uh?”

“Probably a good idea to learn from a bunch of people. I bet everyone’s got their own special way of doing it. As long as you don’t steal a pistol and start firing it willy-nilly, you can do whatever you want.”

Sangha was dumbfounded by how quickly Zhen Hong had given him his blessing, but he was also stricken with anxiety at hearing the word “pistol.” Was there a reason Zhen Hong had said that? Either way, there was something more important that he needed to confirm.

“Hold on. Weren’t you the one to tell me I needed to see myself as a member of Bai She Tong before I learned how to kill? Or did you forget that?”

“Oh, I remember. But that’s why I’m not teaching you anything yet. In fact, just a second ago you said you went to ‘that brothel of yours,’ didn’t you?”

“Uh, but that’s just…how language works? Aren’t you splitting hairs?! I mean, it’s not like it’s my brothel, is it?”

“Hmm, I dunno. Are you sure it’s not because you forgot it’s called the Jeweled Butterfly? Besides, knowing you, I bet you…”

“…Bet I what?”

Zhen Hong shrugged. “…You probably just enjoy being on a tight leash, don’t you?”

“What the hell does that mean?”

Was Zhen Hong implying that Sangha clearly still wanted to learn from him and him alone? Or was it some kind of metaphor?

Sangha couldn’t be sure. But as if purposefully interrupting his thoughts, Zhen Hong presented him with the rindo flower.

“For you.”

The guy seemed to enjoy buying them from time to time. There didn’t seem to be any pattern to it. Sangha wondered if maybe he simply bought a new one every time the old one started to wilt.

Zhen Hong had told him that rindo flowers were given to people to mourn the passing of someone close to them. But as far as Sangha knew, no one else had died, so he just assumed it was still for Arha.

He had never asked him directly, though. He knew that if he did, the guy would probably brush it off by saying he’d bought it on impulse.

“Y’know,” said Sangha as he accepted the rindo flower. “I don’t know if you’re good with a gun or what, but if I’m gonna learn martial arts, I figure I should probably learn it from someone else.”

He was trying to hide his embarrassment over how happy the flowers always made him.

“Oh? Why’s that?”

“Aren’t you supposed to learn stuff like that from someone with a noble character?”

“Are you trying to piss me off?” asked Zhen Hong.

Sangha picked up the glass he had been using as a flower vase. He changed the water, threw out the dead flower from before, and placed the new one in its place.

“But you can’t trick me, y’know. Reverse psychology won’t work.”

“I’m not trying to trick you,” said Sangha. “I just told you how I feel.”

“’Course, your big brother Zhen Hong could easily teach you the eight forbidden strikes if I really wanted to.”

“Uh, so you actually are gonna teach me?” Sangha had genuinely meant the comment as a jibe, not as some psychological challenge. “And what are these eight forbidden things?”

“Well, there are these spots called dianxue, and… Actually, you don’t really need to know about all that in detail. Basically, the human body has eight vital points, and if you apply too much force to them, they can kill a person.”

“What the hell?! That sounds so dangerous!”

“Why don’t you stand over there for a sec, Sangha?” said Zhen Hong, pointing at a spot a short distance from the table.

Sangha, still holding the flower in a glass, stood where he was told.

“Make sure you don’t spill the water, okay? No matter what I do, you’ve got to stand perfectly still.”

“Okay…”

Sangha assumed this meant moving would hurt a lot.

And so, without Sangha formally agreeing to anything, “big brother” Zhen Hong’s lesson began. He brought his index and middle fingers up to Sangha’s head.

“First, there’s the taiyangxue, your temple. It’s the thinnest part of your skull.”

“Ngh…”

Zhen Hong pressed his fingers against the side of Sangha’s head. He did it gently, but after having been told how deadly these points were, having the man’s fingers pressed against one made Sangha nervous.

“Second, is the lianquanxue. Being able to breathe is pretty important, wouldn’t you say?”

“Gulp…”

The next target was Sangha’s throat.

It didn’t feel like knowledge of vital points was necessary to intuit that there were some places on the human body you might want to protect.

“Third, these points in your shoulder are called jianzhen and tianzong. Oh, and your lungs are pretty important, too.”

“Why do you wear that cologne sometimes?”

Zhen Hong had moved up close to Sangha’s shoulder. The smell of honey candy filled Sangha’s nostrils, so he figured he would try asking, but the man ignored his question.

Does he think I’m trying to say he stinks? It’s not really a bad smell. Though I guess if someone had a really sensitive nose, it might be off-putting.

“This point in your chest is called qimen. All of your organs are vital, mind you.”

“H-hey, don’t touch that!”

Zhen Hong’s hand was just below Sangha’s chest, but Sangha reflexively thought he was trying to grab his locket, so he instinctively raised his voice and jerked his body, causing the water in the glass to slosh back and forth.

“I won’t. I thought I already told you, Sangha. Your locket is practically worthless.”

“Yeah, yeah, I remember…”

Zhen Hong had made it perfectly clear that he thought the locket was junk, but Sangha couldn’t help it. It was his most prized possession. It was only natural that his body would automatically try to protect it.

“Anyway. Moving on. Fifth, the huiyin. Hitting this one really hurts. ’Course, the embarrassment might be even worse than the pain.”

This vital point was right between his balls and his ass.

Sangha started to sweat. Before he could protest about how creepily natural the man’s movements down there had been, Zhen Hong had already moved on.

“Sixth, there’s the zhangmen, the shenyu, and the zhishi. If you got hit in any of these, you’d probably be pissing blood for a while.”

These points were at the sides of his torso and around his waist.

“Seventh, the fengfu and the yaoyu. Hit these, and you can paralyze a person.”

These two were behind the neck and the lower back.

“Finally, number eight—the ear. It’s really easy to burst a person’s eardrums. Aaand, we’re dooone!”

“Gaaaaah!”

To cap off his lesson, Sangha’s “teacher” stuck his index finger into Sangha’s ear. His whole body shuddered so hard that he dropped the glass.

“I thought I told you not to spill any water.”

Sangha looked down and saw that the glass had neither spilled nor smashed—Zhen Hong held it in his hand, rindo flower and all. He had caught it the instant before it hit the ground.

Sangha could hardly believe what he had just seen. Even if Zhen Hong had known that he’d drop the glass, how had he reacted so quickly?

This guy’s terrifying, thought Sangha. Maybe this was less about showing me martial arts and more about showing me that I shouldn’t screw with him…?

“Anyway, learning how to kill someone with the eight forbidden strikes takes a really long time.”

Zhen Hong placed the glass back onto the center of the table. He looked down at the rindo flower and then back at Sangha’s face and cackled.

What is this guy’s deal?

“Are you saying you don’t know how to kill someone with them?” asked Sangha.

“I don’t have any reason to. If the other guy pulls out a gun, you’re dead anyway, so I wouldn’t suggest using this sort of thing to protect yourself. In your case, it’d probably be faster for you to train your legs to run away.”

Well, that was blunt.

“But forget all that. I’m hungry. When’s dinner?”

“Are you serious?”

Zhen Hong had hardly finished his lesson on the eight forbidden strikes when he sat down, slumped over the dinner table, and began to demand food.

It was hard to argue, mind you—Sangha usually had dinner ready by now.

So he threw together whatever ingredients he could find and cooked up a meal.

“Here, dinner’s ready.”

Despite his begging, Zhen Hong didn’t respond when he was served.

“Uh… You even awake?”

Since Zhen Hong had just been sitting there silently, not even smoking from his pipe, Sangha had assumed that he was just patiently waiting for the food. But it seemed he’d just fallen asleep. I thought he’d gotten too quiet.

“You’ve got some crap on your head.”

Sangha brushed dust out of Zhen Hong’s hair. He guessed that it must have been kicked up when Zhen Hong was showing him the eight forbidden strikes. But even when Sangha swatted his head, Zhen Hong didn’t respond.

“I really gotta give this kitchen a good cleaning at some point…”

Sangha’s domestic grumblings went completely unanswered. The only reply was the faint sound of Zhen Hong snoring.

4

It wasn’t long before spending time with Hao and Su became Sangha’s new routine.

Sometimes their tasks were simple and done in the light of day, like running around town looking for a lost item for the head of the Laundromat Association, or mediating business disputes between shops under Bai She Tong’s protection.

Other jobs were much shadier, like delivering something to the owner of an opium den behind the theater house or spreading rumors about a secret underground shooting range.

Hanging out with them, Sangha learned all kinds of rumors and trivia about Chinatown, like how a certain mansion had treasure hidden in its walls, or how the Yi Bang’s headquarters was in a large temple, or which taxis waiting in the square were the best.

Some days were surprising while others were frightening or even frustrating, but the three always seemed to end the day laughing. So it was that Sangha slowly became more and more familiar with Chinatown and Bai She Tong.

Then one day, Sangha realized he was standing in an unfamiliar clothing shop with Hao and Su—the three of them were getting some clothes tailored—and it seemed like the most natural thing in the world.

The place was filled with all kinds of clothes. Sangha stood in front of the mirror as his two friends brought him things to try on.

The place had everything from common Chinatown styles like long robes, traditional hanfu, and kung fu shirts, to three-piece suits. Sangha was changing in and out of the clothes the others brought him in a flash.

“Do you like any of ’em so far?”

He had no answer. Sangha didn’t really know whether he wanted to wear any of it.

“What colors do you like?”

He didn’t know.

“Well, what sort of design do you like?”

He didn’t know that, either.

“Just pick whatever you think will suit you.”

He had no clue what would suit him.

“Well, what do you want, Sangha?”

He didn’t know what he wanted.

Sangha didn’t even know what he didn’t want.

For all he knew, everything around him was worthless garbage better sent to the dump.

“All right, how about this…?” Sangha said, reaching his hand out and pulling over something in front of him.

“…Aaaaaggghhh?!”

In his hand, he held Arha’s disembodied head. Half of her face had been burned off.

She was grotesque—a thought that immediately filled Sangha with guilt.

As though trying to make amends, he reached out his other hand and gently petted her face. As soon as he did, she opened her mouth, and her jaw clacked up and down as she began to speak.

“Let me choose for yooou, Big Broooo.”

“Aaaaahhh! Huh…?”

And then Sangha woke up.

He shot up in bed, drenched in a vile sweat. His clothes clung to his body.

He looked around, wondering where he was. This was Zhen Hong’s place. He must have had a nightmare…but how much of it had been a dream?

His body felt heavy. He buried his face in his palms and stared at the inside of his hands.

His right thumb didn’t need the finger cot anymore. His thumbnail was mostly back to normal, though not exactly—the half-broken bit had grown over so that there was a new, uneven layer to his nail. Not that he cared.

It had been an entire month since he came to Chinatown.

Spending so much time with boys his age had been so new and exciting. Sangha had quit going to school very early in life and started working as soon as he could. He had never had friends his age before. Getting to spend every day with Hao and Su was so much fun.

And that fun filled him with disgust.

Arha was dead. He had no right to spend his days laughing.

Sangha hadn’t joined Bai She Tong to have fun. He had joined to get revenge.

His sole purpose in life should be getting vengeance for Arha.

And that was why…

The day Sangha woke up from that horrid dream, he didn’t head out to meet Hao and Su.

Instead, Sangha waited for Zhen Hong to leave, then headed straight for the other man’s room. Despite being alone, Sangha felt gripped with anxiety. He had no reason to sneak around, and yet he couldn’t help but try to be as quiet as possible when entering.

He had only one thing in mind—the pistol in Zhen Hong’s drawer.

Sangha didn’t know whether Zhen Hong had gotten the gun for him, or whether it was just for protection. Frankly, he didn’t care what it was for.

His nail was already almost fully healed, but Zhen Hong hadn’t said a word about finishing his investigation.

Sangha still hadn’t learned how to kill someone.

But at this rate, Zhen Hong might put things off for as long as he wanted. Sangha wasn’t going to wait around.

He cautiously reached out and took the gun. It felt heavy against his palm.

He knew perfectly well that going straight to Ville-Haven, pistol blazing, was little more than a pipe dream. It was too careless. His revenge wouldn’t come so easily.

But surely he stood more of a chance with a gun than he had a month prior with only a butcher knife. And as long as he acted before Zhen Hong noticed, he at least stood some chance of killing Dino.

Better now than never. I can’t just stay here.

I just gotta grab this gun and get the hell out of here.

Sangha had always hated the mafia. There was no need to hesitate. Or, at least, there shouldn’t have been any need to hesitate.

And yet his legs refused to move.

“Looks like someone’s been a baaad boooy.”

The voice made Sangha jump in surprise and drop the gun. It hit the ground with a dull sound.

He jerked his head toward the voice. “Y-you…? Wh-why are you…?”

Zhen Hong was standing in the doorway.

As always, the man had appeared without so much as a sound.

“Why am I what? This is my room.”

He slowly walked over toward Sangha, one step at a time. Sangha tried to back away, but he hit the bed and fell backward onto his butt.

“You really underestimate me if you thought I wouldn’t notice. You looked awful this morning—you practically had ‘I’m going to do something stupid’ written all over your face.”

Zhen Hong bent down and picked up the gun.

“You know this is mine, right?”

He walked up to the bed and placed the gun back in the drawer.

Zhen Hong looked down at Sangha, grinning all the while. The boy could hardly stand it and quickly looked away.

“I—I…I didn’t mean to steal it, I just…”

“Oh, you didn’t, did you?”

“Uh… Ummm…”

“Speak up. Tell me the truth.”

“I, um, I didn’t know when you would show me how to kill someone. And I just, I dunno, I thought the gun was for me, so I just… I know it wasn’t, but… I just couldn’t take it anymore… Arha… I needed to do something…anything… If I keep just having fun, then…Arha’s…”

Sangha struggled to form a coherent sentence. He quickly trailed off and fell silent, not knowing what else to say.

“Fine,” said Zhen Hong.

“Huh?”

“I’ll show you how to kill someone.”

“What?!”

Sangha’s face shot up to look at Zhen Hong. The man looked down at him with a calm expression.

“Are you…sure that’s okay?”

“Sangha, you are so bad at negotiating. Once the other party agrees to something, you can’t just check in to make sure they’re ‘okay with it.’ You’ll lose ground. They’ll use your weakness to gain even more of an advantage.”

Zhen Hong seemed strangely aloof. His words, his tone of voice, his demeanor—it was all the same as usual.

Isn’t he mad?

Sangha wondered whether he should feel relieved or concerned. But just as he started to wonder where this was going, Zhen Hong pulled something out of the bag he carried over his shoulder.

It was an ice pick.

He removed the cover from its pointed tip and placed the wooden handle in Sangha’s hand.

“…Uh, what’s this?”

“Lesson one. Stab that thing into my right eye.” Zhen Hong lifted his bangs and smiled.

“…What?”

“C’mon, I don’t have all day.”

“H-hold on, wha—?”

Zhen Hong grabbed the hand that was holding the ice pick and forced it up toward his eye. The pointed tip pressed against the eyelid.

Sangha could feel the pick gently pushing into Zhen Hong’s skin. He stifled a panicked scream and wrestled his hand free from the other man’s grip.

“What, getting cold feet? Hurry up and stab me. Don’t tell me you’re the type who can’t perform unless your partner begs for it? I never took you for that kind of guy, Sangha.”

“J-just… Please explain.”

“Hmm? I mean the kind of guy that thinks girls are begging for it cause he’s making them feel good when, in reality, they’re just begging for it to end quickly because he’s a boring lay. Y’know, the kind of loser all the girls gossip about.”

“Not that! I meant the other thing. Ugh!”

Sangha glared at Zhen Hong. For once, Sangha’s eyes felt drawn not to his red iris, but to his right eye with the messy stitching.

“You want to kill someone right? Then stabbing me in the eye should be easy.”

“Th-that doesn’t make sense.”

“Makes perfect sense to me.”

The logic was utterly absurd. But he lived under Zhen Hong’s rules, so there wasn’t much for Sangha to say.

“Don’t worry. Nothing in here but a fake eye.”

“Y-yeah but you got eyelids, don’t you?!”

“I can’t feel anything here.”

“Not even…pain?”

“Nope.”

“B-but you want me to stab you, right? It’s gonna leave a wound…”

“That’s okay. I can just ask Fei to clean me up.”

It didn’t sound okay. And Fei was bound to be pissed when she heard Zhen Hong had done it on purpose.

But Sangha knew that there was nothing he could say to make Zhen Hong back down.

Zhen Hong grunted as he bent down. Now it was Sangha’s turn to look down on him.

Zhen Hong placed his other hand, the one not holding his bangs, onto Sangha’s thigh. The bed creaked under their weight. Sangha could feel his mind go blank. Was there really no way to get out of this?

“Aw, you’re trembling. But isn’t my body oh so warm?”

How the hell would I know? We’re both wearing clothes, thank God. And this jerk knows perfectly well I’m shaking ’cause I’m freaked out, not ’cause I’m cold. I wish he’d wipe that damn smirk off his face.

“Here,” said Zhen Hong, moving his head closer, almost as if he were leaning in for a kiss.

“I, um… Urgh…”

Sangha knew that if he could do this, he would be one step closer to his revenge. He growled as he gripped the ice pick tightly in his hand.

His target was right in front of him, and perfectly still. There was no need for complicated movements. All he had to do was swing his arm and stab the ice pick into Zhen Hong’s eye. Simple as that.

It would be no different than piercing an ear. And it would be nothing compared to actually killing someone.

So Sangha lifted his arm. His hand still trembling, he lowered the tip of the ice pick toward Zhen Hong’s right eye, and—

“…I can’t do it.”

—he let his arm fall limp onto the bed.

“I figured,” said Zhen Hong, letting his bangs fall over his eye. “You don’t have what it takes to kill anyone, Sangha.” He felt Zhen Hong’s red gaze pierce through him. “I can’t teach you how to kill. There would be no point.”

A chill ran through Sangha’s core, not because Zhen Hong had deemed him unworthy, but because his words flew in the face of the promise he had made.

“…Hold on. Don’t tell me you knew things would play out this way from the start? You never intended to teach me how to kill at all, did you?”

“Oh? I wouldn’t necessarily say that.”

“Cut the crap. I know I’m right. But why…? Why did you let me join Bai She Tong?” Everything always came back to this one question. “Even if you only let me in on a whim, you knew from the very start that I was out for revenge. So why…? If you never intended to let me kill Dino, then… Why…?”

Suddenly, a gruff voice lurched up from Sangha’s memories.

He’d heard it when he, Hao, and Su were at the opium den behind the theater.

The low-ceilinged room was filled with smoke as people lay on dirty mattresses, inhaling through long pipes. Everyone in that dingy place had given their lives to the poppy seed. That was where he’d heard an old man muttering endlessly to no one in particular.

There’s a monster in this town. A red-eyed monster. He sets his sights on you, then he chops you up into little bits and sells the parts. Gotta stay away. Stay away from that new drug…

There was no reason for Sangha to commit the old junkie’s intoxicated ramblings to memory, and he hadn’t thought much of them at the time.

But what if he had been wrong? What if the red-eyed man before Sangha now was that monster?

“Are you…planning on chopping me up and selling my body for parts?”

Zhen Hong’s eyebrows twitched ever so slightly.

What if Zhen Hong’s the red-eyed monster?

“There’s that imagination of yours again. Where’d you pick up a strange idea like that, hmm?”

“Have you just been plumping me up so you can butcher me and sell me off?”

“You’re not a pig, Sangha, and this isn’t a farm.”

“Then…then why…?”

“I get that no matter what I say, you won’t be satisfied. So how about you just tell me exactly what you want to hear? I’ll repeat it back to you word for word.”

“What the hell would be the point of that?!”

Zhen Hong had a way of brushing off whatever Sangha said. But even if he did give a sincere answer, how could Sangha possibly believe it? In the end, it didn’t matter why he’d been let into Bai She Tong if he’d been lied to the whole time.

And Zhen Hong’s composed demeanor was starting to fan the flames of Sangha’s anger.

“If this was what everything’s been leading up to, then I wish I’d never joined Bai She Tong. I should have just gone to kill Dino when I had the chance, even if I died trying.”

“Whether you got knocked out by me or killed by him, you wouldn’t have made it far.”

“I guess…I was just missing—”

Something hit the ground with a clatter. Zhen Hong looked down reflexively.

“—the right tool for the job.”

Sangha had dropped the ice pick and, in the split second that Zhen Hong was distracted, he grabbed the gun out of the drawer.

“I could kill that asshole easily if I had this thing.”

“You wouldn’t know what to do with that thing.”

“You just point and shoot, don’t you?” Sangha aimed the muzzle at Zhen Hong.

“You shouldn’t play with toys you don’t understand. What if you do something stupid and it explodes in your hand? It could blow those pretty little fingers of yours right off. Then what?”

“Put…put your hands up,” said Sangha.

“If you think this bluff will scare me, then why don’t you try sticking that thing in my mouth?”

“I said, hands up.”

“A big scary weapon like that’s wasted on an inexperienced kid like you. Want to know why…?”

“…Ack!”

“…Because the instant they steal it away from you, you’re the one who winds up with a hole in your head.”

Sangha hadn’t expected Zhen Hong to fight back, let alone slam his body into him. Zhen Hong snatched the gun from Sangha’s hands with ease.

But he didn’t point it at Sangha, nor did he stick it in his mouth. Zhen Hong simply placed it back on the bedside table and kept his hand over it.

Sangha sat back up and held the side where he’d just been hit. He clenched his teeth in frustration.

“When you first ran off to try and kill Dino, I stopped you because I was worried you’d actually do it. But looks like I was wrong. There was nothing to worry about—you’re not capable of killing anyone. So there’s no more reason for me to try and stop you.”

Sangha furrowed his eyebrows. He didn’t understand what kind of game Zhen Hong was playing.

“But trust me, Sangha, you’re going to get yourself killed. There’s no doubt about it. Even if you walk in there waving a gun—even if you actually do make it to Dino—you’re going to die. You still want to go, knowing that?”

“I… Obviously, I do! It’s the only thing I want. If I have a gun and I don’t have to wait around for you anymore, then I’m done wasting my time.”

Zhen Hong slowly and sarcastically raised his hands, the very thing he hadn’t done while Sangha had the gun pointed at him.

“Fine. Then go. All this begging and pleading is starting to make me soft.”

Why’s this guy always gotta make everything sexual? Goddamn creep.

“…Wait, huh?”

Zhen Hong’s euphemisms were so distracting that Sangha almost missed his implication. That was, until he noticed that, by raising his hands, Zhen Hong was no longer holding the gun.

He was giving Sangha permission to take it and go.

But why? Was this like a master abandoning a dog when it bites him, letting the animal run free? Was Sangha the dog and the gun his chew toy? Was he being abandoned?

Sangha had no idea what Zhen Hong was thinking, but he didn’t care.

Only one thought occupied his mind now—he could finally have his revenge.

Sangha grabbed the gun and, without saying anything, ran out of Zhen Hong’s apartment.

A part of him wondered what kind of look Zhen Hong had on his face as he watched him leave, but Sangha wasn’t about to turn around to find out.

And so, Sangha left Chinatown.

5

Sangha headed straight for the Ville-Haven Hotel, the luxury hotel where Dino apparently lived.

Luckily, Sangha had just enough money on him to take a cab over. He didn’t need more than that. Once he killed Dino, he would have no home to return to anyway.

If you feel like cooperating, come to the Ville-Haven Hotel. My boss and I will welcome you with open arms any time!

That’s what Dino told him next to Arha’s grave. A part of Sangha wondered if he was just being naive, taking the mobster’s promise at face value. But one way or another, when he got to the hotel, he walked right up to the reception desk.

“Ah, Mister Sangha. We’ve been expecting you. Unfortunately, I regret to inform you that Mister Dino isn’t in at the moment. And… No, I’m afraid I’m not familiar enough with his schedule to say with any certainty. However, Mister Dino’s superior is on hand, and I’ve been told that he will gladly receive you whenever you’re ready. Is that acceptable?”

It was anything but acceptable.

Sangha’s whole plan was to catch Dino off guard once he came out to meet him and blast him with the pistol. Having to deal with one of the higher-ups of the Falco Family wasn’t going to get him anywhere except deeper in trouble.

Is this some game? Is he just pretending to be out? He can’t know what I’m up to, can he?

Sangha suddenly got the sinking feeling that telling the receptionist his name had been a terrible mistake. He might have just blown his one chance to catch Dino off guard from the front.

The rumors about the hotel had been true; it was as fancy as could be. Muscling his way past security would be impossible. There was no way he could sneak in as a delivery man, either; he didn’t have the connections. And he couldn’t possibly watch every single one of the hotel’s entrances for Dino to walk out. Not by himself.

The Ville-Haven was an impenetrable ten-story fortress.

Sangha cursed his impatience. Gun or no gun, he was no better off than he had been the night he ran into the streets waving the butcher knife.

What can I… Wait! I’ve got it!

Sangha remembered his first meeting with the youthful mobster. When Dino showed up to his diner peddling his beer, he was completely defenseless. In other words, instead of waiting for him on his home turf, it made more sense to try and predict where Dino would turn up next. That way, he could ambush him and greatly increase his odds of actually killing the bastard.

Sangha decided to leave the area. Only, this time, he did so on foot.

But he wasn’t going to go back to Zhen Hong’s place. Instead, he headed to his old apartment in the area next to Chinatown.

The rent for the place had always been due weekly, but once Arha died and Sangha lost all will to live, the landlord changed the terms for Sangha pay the rent monthly, in advance. Ostensibly, the landlord wanted to squeeze him for what little money he had left.

In the end, of course, Sangha wandered into Chinatown and hadn’t returned, so the rent he’d paid up front had been completely wasted.

The month he’d paid for was long since over, but luckily for Sangha, no one had moved into the old apartment yet. He decided to use it as his base of operations.

In the short time he had been away, all of his clothes, cutlery, and other household goods had been stolen. He wasn’t particularly bothered at losing most of it, as it hadn’t been worth much of anything. He did feel downtrodden, however, by the fact that he now had no fresh clothes to change into. It looked like he was going to have to make do with the clothes he had borrowed from Zhen Hong, no matter how badly he wished he could throw them in the trash.

Sangha wasted no time setting about trying to find any information he could about Dino. He searched through old newspapers, talked to some of the local homeless people, and even asked around at shops that were potential targets for the gangster.

But in the end, he wasn’t able to dig up anything he could trace back to Dino. He did manage to learn one thing, however: The land where his diner once stood had fallen into the hands of the Falco Family. It was almost enough to send Sangha spiraling. He clutched at his locket to try and keep centered.

“Arha…”

Looking at the photo inside only made him more anxious. Not knowing what else to do, he rushed to his sister’s grave.

Once he got there, he was surprised to find another visitor standing by Arha’s grave. It was a young girl he had never seen before. She seemed about the same age Arha would have been.

The girl lifted her face as Sangha approached the gravestone. She seemed to be a timid child—the moment her eyes met his, she immediately looked flustered.

“Are you…one of Arha’s friends?” he asked, crouching next to the girl so as not to intimidate her.

Sangha could hardly believe what he was seeing.

Someone else has cared about Arha this whole time? I wish I’d met this kid earlier.

If he had known, maybe he wouldn’t have felt so bound by Zhen Hong’s rindo flowers.

“U-ummm…”

“I’m Sangha. Arha’s big brother.”

“Huh? H-her big brother? I…I’m Arha’s… Well, I’m not her friend, but…”

“If you’re not her friend, then why did you go so far out of your way to find her gravestone?”

“I just… I don’t deserve to be Arha’s friend anymore…”

“Um, are you okay?”

The girl’s eyes welled up with tears.

“Arha… Sh-she always stood up for me when I was being stupid, and so our teacher always got mad at her and…and…even though she was nice to me, I got scared. So I tried to stay away from her and…our teacher started picking on her… It’s all my fault…”

It sounded to Sangha as if she was trying to atone by confessing all of this to him.

Maybe she wanted him to get mad at her? Would that make her feel better?

“Our teacher always whipped her on the arms and…she was always alone… If it was me, I would have stopped going to school, but Arha… Arha still showed up… And I never got to tell her I was sorry… I didn’t even know she had died…”

The girl before him started to sob, but Sangha couldn’t hear her anymore. Vivid memories of Arha rushed through his mind, transporting him back in time.

What the—? You’re hurt? What happened to your cute little arm…?!

Arha’s forearms had bruises that she’d tried to explain away by telling her brother she had fallen on the school playground. But that was clearly a lie to cover up for the fact her teacher had—

Sangha was so completely absorbed by his thoughts that he couldn’t recall how he and the girl by Arha’s grave had parted ways. Before he knew it, he was walking through the streets, overwhelmed by the raging tempest inside his head.

This whole time. All I did was ignore Arha’s suffering. She never told me that her teacher had been whipping her. The only reason Arha would do that was because seeing her go to school made me so happy. When Mom and Dad died, I couldn’t go to school anymore. I had no time, so I tried to make sure she always had the chance that I didn’t. That nothing bad ever happened to her. And now this? This is the punch line to the sick joke that is my life? It was all a lie? Just me telling myself everything was okay? She told me she wanted to quit school so she could make money singing. And I paid so much attention to the part about singing and that I completely missed why she wanted to quit school. Poor Arha. She was at her limit. Why didn’t I notice it? Here I am, obsessed with getting revenge for her sake when I didn’t even give her the attention she deserved in the first place. If only I’d paid more attention to how she was feeling, maybe she wouldn’t have come to the diner that day to sing.

This is all my fault. Arha died because of—?

“Excuse me…”

Suddenly a hand tapped Sangha on the shoulder. Sangha swung around in surprise to see who it was.

The hand belonged to a sullen man he’d never seen before.

“I heard there was a boy wandering around the area looking for Dino… Was it you?”

“Uh… Yeah.”

“Well, I think I may have some information about him you may be interested in…”

If Sangha had been in a proper state of mind, he might have realized how suspicious it all was. But with his thoughts thrown into such a chaotic mess, he felt he might go crazy if he didn’t focus on something—on revenge.

So Sangha desperately clung to the information he was given.

And, like a foolish man who believes the words of his beloved, Sangha chose to have faith in what he had been told—trustworthy or otherwise.

The reporter was biding his time until he could get his revenge. He had been waiting for so, so long.

He had originally joined the newspaper because he wanted to expose the corruption that rotted Broken Ark to its core.

Working alongside his like-minded boss and superiors, he wrote an article exposing the Falco Family’s misdeeds. Even when they began to lose revenue as advertisers withdrew, even when agitators began to paint their company’s building with urine and feces, they refused to back down.

But their idealism didn’t last long.

When the Falco Family coerced the newspaper’s investors into selling them the paper, it wasn’t long before they owned the company’s land, its stock, everything.

It wasn’t long before the newspaper grew. They got the latest cameras. The fanciest cars.

But the passion that the reporter’s superiors used to show slowly began to fade away. They were all on the Falco Family payroll now.

When he saw the people he once respected sucking up to a bunch of mafia thugs, the reporter’s heart broke.

As such, when he was tasked by the Falco Family’s underboss with watching over the free-spirited Dino, the reporter obediently followed his new orders.

He threw away his pride and snapped his pen in half. It was useless to him now—it turned out the sword truly was the mightier of the two.

But deep in his heart he vowed that, if one day, the sword of vengeance were ever to fall at his feet, he would pick it up and put it to good use.

“So, Dino… You have a meeting at that restaurant tomorrow, don’t you? Orion’s, was it?” asked the reporter when they were alone.

He had heard through his network of connections that a boy was searching the town for any information he could get about Dino’s whereabouts. He seemed intent on killing the youthful mobster.

The reporter had no idea who he was, but he knew that nothing could be used to trace that young man’s actions back to him. It was the perfect way to avoid drawing any suspicion.

Which was why the reporter told the boy exactly where he could go to find Dino.

“Not this time. I’m sitting that meeting out! Not that I’m taking a day off, of course. I’m as busy as ever. I’ve always got to choose how to use my time wisely, so I’ve asked someone else to show up for me!”

“P-pardon…?”

“What’s the matter?”

“N-nothing at all…”

He realized he should have confirmed Dino’s schedule ahead of time. He couldn’t believe he had made such a rookie mistake. Now he had fed the boy a false lead.

But surely this wouldn’t be that big of a problem. There was no need to go out of his way to track the boy down and correct the information.

Even if Dino didn’t show up, surely it wouldn’t lead the boy to any harm…he hoped.

“By the way, the underboss told me that someone showed up looking for me.”

“…Here at the Ville-Haven Hotel, you mean?”

“Of course that’s what I mean! Why would you ask me a question with such an obvious answer? I’m always here, aren’t I?”

“Right…”

The reporter didn’t remember seeing this person stop by the hotel, so it was likely the Falco Family underboss dealt with the matter personally. He wondered why Dino didn’t question the fact that his superior did such menial work for him. Was he used to being spoiled by those above him?

“And you’ll never guess who it was that came to see me. You remember that boy I told you about a while ago? The gray-haired boy from the burned-down diner? It was him!”

The reporter recalled that the boy he’d fed the intel to also had grayish hair, but it wasn’t such an uncommon hair color, so there was nothing surprising about this information.

“And after I was benevolent enough to forget all about him! It’s far too late for him to be coming to ask for his diner or his land back. Surely he’s in a bad way and wants to take it out on me. Petty vengeance.”

“Hmm.”

“Why, I bet I’m the poor boy’s only motivation to keep on living! Isn’t it wonderful to have such a definite purpose? The flame that burns in his heart, the one that keeps him moving forward, day in and day out, is all thanks to me! Oh, sometimes my altruism surprises even me!”

“Right…”

“That being said, it would be a problem to have him following me around all the time. I guess I’ll have to make the first move. Particularly since there have been some developments in my plan to obtain that brothel I’ve had my eye on. I’ve got far too much to do to be babysitting some heartsick boy!”

This likely explained why Dino was skipping out on the meeting he’d had scheduled.

Whether one thought of Dino as free to move as he pleased, or just a rabid dog let loose upon the world, as long as the mobster expanded the Falco Family’s territory, he was allowed to do whatever he wanted.

“You say you’re going to make the first move… Do you mean you’re going to kill the boy yourself this time?” the reporter asked. He had heard Dino brag about not personally harming the common folk before.

“Come now! I would never.”

It sounded like Dino was going to hire some local thugs to do the dirty deed for him.

It suddenly dawned on the reporter that, by feeding the gray-haired boy intel, he was no different from the cruel yet cherubic boy before him. It made him feel sick thinking of how corrupted he had allowed himself to become.

He wished he could stab his past self with a pen for doing such a heinous thing.

“What’s with the strange line of questioning today…? Oh! Don’t tell me! You must think that I hire goons because I don’t have any confidence in my own ability to do such unsavory work myself, is that it?”

That wasn’t it at all. The reporter hadn’t thought anything even close to that.

Dino was terrible at reading others. Little surprise, considering he spent all day every day thinking of only himself.

“While it’s not exactly becoming for me to admit this, I actually am quite skilled at killing, you know. This is a bit of a family secret, but there’s actually an execution site right above us. In fact, I often get called up to take care of people. Naturally, I exclusively execute people who are in the business.”

“It’s…above us?”

“Yes!”

“I…didn’t think a hotel would have something like that.”

“Just keep that to yourself, all right? I’ve already said too much! Not everyone in the family knows about it, you see!”

The reporter had no intention of mentioning it to anyone. There was nothing for him to gain from sharing that kind of information.

The boss of the Falco Family had the entire top floor of the hotel to themselves, which meant that they were ostensibly as high up in the hotel as they could be. Did he mean that there was a secret room in the attic?

Or had the famously shrewd Falco Family gone so far as to build an extra area above the top floor?

“The underboss trained me to shoot a gun as good as him, you know! Ohhh, Boss! If you were ever in danger, I swear that I would blow away your assailants and protect you! And, might I just say that you are looking positively dashing today!”

The reporter hadn’t even realized that the Falco Family boss was there with them. Dino hadn’t mentioned him even once the entire time, so he hadn’t noticed. He turned to look at where Dino was facing.

The boss didn’t look any different than usual to him.

“I would burn your image into my eyeballs if I could, Boss, but even that wouldn’t be enough! You. You’re a reporter, aren’t you? You’ve got a camera, yes? Don’t you think the boss and I look impeccable side by side like this?”

Dino linked arms with the boss and struck a pose.

The youthful mobster seemed incapable of saying what it was he truly wanted. If he wanted a drink, he would say, “My throat is dry.” If he wanted the window closed, he would say, “My, it certainly is cold in here.”

In other words, Dino was ordering the reporter to take his photo.

The reporter pulled out his camera and snapped a photo, all the while feeling ashamed at how accustomed he’d become to reading the mobster’s thoughts.

The poor reporter was doomed to a life of obeying the mafia’s whims.

The emptiness deep inside the reporter’s heart seemed to grow ever vaster with each passing night.

1

It had been raining since morning.

Sangha’s soaked clothes were beginning to weigh him down. He could hear the soggy squishing sound his shoes made with every step he took.

When he reached his destination, he looked up at the sign above. It read ORION’S. It was a simple restaurant, far from both Chinatown and Sangha’s apartment.

This was where Dino was going to be tonight.

A small gathering of the Falco Family was apparently happening there. Only five or six people were meant to show up.

Or, at least, that’s what the reporter had told him.

Information was the most valuable thing in the world to a reporter. He found it unsettling that the man had shared it so willingly, and for free, no less. But Sangha was done overthinking things.

He was going to shoot Dino tonight.

That was the only thought he needed now.

He stepped inside the restaurant. No mafia types had shown up. The meeting wouldn’t be for another hour, after all.

Orion’s was a small, privately owned restaurant. The place was fairly empty when he walked in. Among the patrons, Sangha spotted an elderly couple enjoying their dinner at one table and a young man scribbling something at another. There were only two people working: An old man worked the kitchen while his son waited tables.

Sangha took a seat at a table at the back of the restaurant. It was the perfect place to keep an eye on things. It had a clear view of the entrance but was also partially obstructed. He could easily hide any time he wanted.

The man waiting tables frowned as Sangha, clothes still soaking wet, sat down at the table. He brought him a towel and warned him not to make a mess of the place.

Sangha was grateful the man didn’t try to chase him out, at least. Sangha thought that he seemed like a nice guy. There were plenty of people in Broken Ark who would be quick to shoo a mixed-race kid wearing Chinatown clothes out of their establishment, but not this guy.

It made Sangha feel terribly guilty for what he was about to do in this guy’s restaurant. The hand he used to hold the pistol under his clothes began to quiver.

He was indeed going to make a mess of the place.

Sangha ordered some pasta, but he didn’t eat so much as a single bite. He just sat and waited for the Falco Family to show up.

The boy wondered why time always seemed to pass by so slowly when it mattered the most. There were still twenty minutes left until the gangsters were supposed to show up.

But just as Sangha began to feel like he had been sitting there for an eternity, four serious-looking men in suits entered the place.

The waiter came out to greet them, saying this and that about the debt they owed to the Falco Family for always watching over their restaurant.

Sangha could hear his own heart pounding. After waiting so impatiently, he suddenly found himself wishing he had had more time to prepare.

He tried to calm himself by holding one hand against his chest as he peeked at the faces of the men who had just come in—not that he needed to look at their faces to know at a glance that none of these stocky men were Dino.

Maybe the mobster was running late?

Sangha hadn’t planned for this. It was already too late for regrets, but he suddenly wished he had spent the hour sitting and waiting, devising a proper plan.

“All right, all right, everybody up. There’s the door. Use it,” said one of the Falco Family mobsters, a man with a lit cigarette in his mouth. He was chasing off the other customers. But why?

Sangha hadn’t planned for this, either.

If they wanted the place to themselves, then why hadn’t they just rented it out?

The customers and the father and son who ran the place looked vexed at this sudden development. Even the other Falco Family thugs looked confused by the man’s actions.

“Hey, what’s the big idea? No need to make this kinda fuss, is there?”

“Shut up and trust me. You’ll be thanking me soon enough. Listen up. The moment they do somethin’ suspicious, you blast ’em, capisce?”

Huh? Blast who?

“Oh, I got a good idea. You go hide in the bathroom,” said the guy with the lit cigarette.

His associate looked irked, but after a quick shrug, he did as he was told and headed toward the bathroom.

Oh shit, thought Sangha. He was starting to panic. I thought they’d stick together in a group! What the hell is this?!

“All right, now— Whoa, hey there, folks. You two just sit tight, will ya?” he said to the elderly couple. “Tell ya what. Dinner’s on me, old-timers. Can’t have a restaurant with no customers, can we?”

The elderly couple looked on the verge of tears as they did what they were told.

What the hell are these Falco Family thugs up to?

“Ey, oh. Didn’t see ya back there, bud. How ’bout you get outta—”

But the moment the cigarette-smoking mobster spotted Sangha, he stopped in his tracks. He looked him up and down—first at his face, then at his Chinatown clothes.

For a second, Sangha thought the man might find him suspicious because he was sopping wet. But unfortunately, that didn’t seem to be the case.

“Hey! What’s the big idea?!” Sangha cried when the man grabbed him by the shirt.

“Listen here, kid. If the next words out your mouth ain’t the truth, you’re in for a world of hurt.”

What the…? What is this…?

Sangha had no idea what to do. Did they know that he was here to try and take out Dino?

“You better start talk— Oof!”

Sangha kicked the guy in the balls as hard as he could.

He still had no idea what was happening, but he wasn’t about to waste time trying to find out.

He reached into his clothes and pulled out the pistol.

“You…goddamn…little…!”

The guy doubled over in pain as he held his crotch. Sangha took the opportunity to stick the gun against the guy’s temple.

“Didn’t know that this is the thinnest part of your whole skull, didja?”

It was the taiyangxue—one of the eight vital points Zhen Hong had taught him.

He felt awful quoting the man now, but it would have to do to get his point across.

The two people the guy had walked in with came rushing toward Sangha.

What should I do now?! Shit, shit, shit, shit.

“Hey, hey, hey, boneheads…!” The first thing that came to mind was the goofy line that Hao seemed to think was so cool. “If you don’t want me to blow your friend’s brains out the side of his head, then, your hands… Stick them up and, uh, on your head! Get ’em up on your head and, and…line up against the wall!” screamed Sangha.

The mobsters reluctantly did as they were told.

They didn’t seem like they were going to resist. Maybe they hadn’t brought guns?

That was just fine by Sangha. If he was the only one waving a gun around, then he was the boss now.

Then again, he had no idea where to go from here.

The father and son who ran the place came out of the kitchen with their hands up. The old couple screamed and hid under their table.

At this rate, if someone called the cops, Sangha would be screwed.

Dammit, maybe I should’ve thought this through better.

Okay, just breathe. This is all for Arha. This is all so I can kill Dino.

As long as I can kill that asshole, I don’t care what happens to me. I don’t care if I die.

But where was Dino? If the mobster also showed up carrying a gun, he could turn the tables on Sangha in an instant.

More importantly, he was going to have to figure out a way to get himself unstuck from the situation he was in. And there was still a guy hiding out in the bathroom. If he heard the ruckus and came out to investigate, Sangha might be overwhelmed by their numbers alone.

In that case, should I…get rid of these guys before Dino shows up?

The instant Sangha considered pulling the trigger, his fingertip began to shake uncontrollably. His palms were sweating so much that he worried the gun might slip out of his hands.

What the hell is wrong with me?! This is no time to chicken out! he thought, trying to keep his composure and stop the gun from quivering.

“Guuhh?!”

Sangha was so distracted by his own internal turmoil that he left himself wide open and couldn’t do anything to stop the inevitable.

He couldn’t stop the guy with the cigarette, who lunged forward and slammed his body into Sangha’s, knocking him down. Sangha couldn’t stop the gun when it flew out of his hands and slid across the restaurant floor.

And he couldn’t stop one of the guys against the wall from bending down to grab the gun, either. It all played out in the worst possible way.

“Think yer a tough guy, do ya?!” yelled the guy as he stomped on Sangha’s ribs over and over and over again until he couldn’t breathe.

“Gaaah!”

This was it—the zhangmen point that Zhen Hong had taught him. But Sangha couldn’t worry about pissing blood at the moment; he was more concerned that he was going to pass out from the pain.

“Don’t get any bright ideas,” the man with the cigarette yelled at the customers still in the restaurant. “Just keep yer mouths shut and stay put. And you ain’t seen nothin’, y’hear?”

But even without being told, none of them would have made for the exit anyway. They were all frozen in place with fear.

The man who had picked up the gun pointed it at Sangha—the tables had been turned on him in the worst possible way.

“Those goddamn pricks. What were they thinkin’ sending a pip-squeak errand boy like this?”

“…You sayin’ you think they tried to pull one over on us?”

“What else could this be? This is a spit in the face! It’s war!”

“This is why ya can’t trust people from that part of the world. They got no respect for omertà—don’t know how to keep their damned mouths shut. I knew they was up to somethin’.”

It sounded like Falco Family infighting, though Sangha had no idea what they were talking about. From what little he could catch, it seemed like they might have mistaken Sangha for someone else.

“Hey, you sayin’ you got a problem with how the brass does things?”

“Sh-shut yer face. That ain’t what I’m sayin’. You even said it yourself, didn’t ya? I know you didn’t trust ’em, either. You just wanted to use ’em to make some money and then crush ’em, didn’t ya? Screw cooperatin’!”

“I mean, I guess you got a point, if it turned out like this. Now we got an excuse to fire back since they fired the first shot.”

“Right?”

Were they waiting for someone?

Is that why they got rid of all the other customers? So they could get the jump on them more easily if things went south?

I dunno if I’m right, but I gotta try and say something.

“H-hey…I think…you got…the wrong guy…”

“Shut your face! Stupid kid! You need to learn when to stay down!” yelled the guy with the cigarette in his mouth while his associate kept the gun trained on Sangha the whole time.

Sangha couldn’t muster any more words. He was too scared.

He knew a thing or two about trying to threaten the wrong guy, but he wished he could go back in time and punch himself in the face for finding himself in this kind of situation again.

“Listen up, small fry. Doesn’t matter what you do, they sent ya here to die. Y’hear that? Sad, ain’t it? Well, cryin’ about it’s not gonna do much. But tell ya what, what wouldya say if I let you live if ya lick my boots? Wouldya do it?”

The guy laughed a disgusting laugh. Then he got quiet and looked deadly serious.

“C’mon. Lick ’em clean,” he said, shoving his mud-caked shoe right into Sangha’s face.

This goddamn small-time thug. Of all the no good, stinking…

Sangha wished more than anything that he could give the man a piece of his mind.

But he had to focus on doing what he could to stay alive, so he stuck out his tongue. Before it could even touch the man’s shoe, he kicked Sangha in the face.

“The hell do ya think you’re doin’, smartass? You’re gonna make my loafers dirtier with that tongue of yours.”

This was just abuse at this point.

The kick had Sangha seeing stars. Zhen Hong had kicked Sangha in the face before as well, but it wasn’t until this moment that he realized just how much Zhen Hong must have been holding back. The first time, Sangha hadn’t felt his whole brain rattle around inside his head. He hadn’t worried that his teeth or jawbone might be broken, either.

Sangha’s face was a mess of tears and blood. His mouth tasted like iron.

“Got some nerve stickin’ out that dirty tongue of yers. Maybe I should do ya a favor and yank it out, huh?”

“Ngghh… Guuhh…”

But the man with the cigarette in his mouth apparently didn’t find it all that dirty. The next moment, he grabbed Sangha by the face and pulled his tongue out with his bare hands. A disgusting mix of blood and saliva dribbled down Sangha’s chin and onto the floor.

“Look at this nasty thing. I bet it’d make a good ashtray.”

“Ngooo…on’t!!! Gugguggaaaaaaah!!!”

A putrid sizzling sound filled the air and heat shot out of Sangha’s nose as the man pressed his lit cigarette against the boy’s tongue.

The man laughed as he watched Sangha writhe in pain on the floor, then put his cigarette back in his mouth.

“Heh. That’s more like it. Whaddya say? How ’bout we show ’em what happens when they double-cross us? We could cut his ears up into tiny bits and mail ’em over. Or maybe one finger at a time? Better yet, maybe we should chop his arm off so he can’t never hold a gun again.”

“Ugh! Ngh! Gah…”

The man kicked Sangha in the arm a few times for good measure.

“Knock it off,” said one of the pair. “You’re way too into this sort of thing. ’Sides, it’s like you said, he’s just a messenger boy.”

“Yeah, he’s right,” said the other. “This punk’s totally worthless. Look at him. Just a wittle baby. You feel good beating up a baby like this?”

The man with the gun tapped the shoulder of the man with the cigarette to calm him down. With a friendly sounding chuckle, he leaned in close to Sangha’s face. “Besides, if we’re trying to make a point, sending him home in a body bag would work better. I’d prefer to get this over with.”

The man rested the gun against Sangha’s taiyangxue. Apparently he didn’t have to know anything about vital points to know that a person’s temples were the most threatening places one could stick a gun.

Anyone could guess that one shot there was enough to end someone’s life.

Sangha finally felt the reality of the situation he was in. He could feel death’s cold grip.

“Ngh…”

Sangha heard a loud clacking sound that turned out to be the sound of his own teeth chattering away with a will of their own.

“N-no… Please…”

Suddenly a weird smell filled his nostrils. It was Sangha. He had soiled himself.

“Oh wow, would ya look at that. The baby actually pissed himself!” the man with the cigarette said gleefully.

Sangha’s crotch felt warm as a puddle formed on the floor underneath him.

But he was far more worried that bits of his brain were going to be the next thing oozing across the restaurant floor.

All it would take was one small movement of the man’s finger and he’d be dead. And to think that it would happen with the very gun Sangha had taken from Zhen Hong.

Sangha’s breathing grew more labored, and his heart started beating faster and harder than he had ever felt it before.

I don’t…want to die…

The thoughts of revenge that had been occupying his mind were now gone. They had been replaced with the singular desire to live.

Please, please, please! I don’t want to die, I don’t want to die, I don’t want to die, I don’t want to die!

He closed his eyes tightly.

The very next moment a loud sound pierced his eardrums. And then another a second later.

“…Huh?”

But the sound had come from a short distance away.

Next came the sound of the pistol pointed at his head as it hit the ground, and then the sound of the man who had been holding it as he hit the linoleum.

Sangha craned his neck nervously to see what had become of him, and he saw blood pouring out of the man’s head and chest.

Still not knowing what had happened, Sangha scrambled to pick Zhen Hong’s gun up off the floor. There didn’t seem to be any sign of it having been fired.

“What’s the matter?” came an ice-cold voice directed at the corpse. “I thought you said you preferred to get things over with?” It was a voice that Sangha recognized.

He raised his head to see a man standing with a gun in either hand. It was a handsome man who apparently had enough skill to shoot someone through the head and the heart at the same time.

It was the very same man Sangha had accidentally tried intimidating a little over a month prior: Liu Tai Long of the Yi Bang. And standing with him was his ever-expressionless subordinate, Zhizhu.

It took Sangha a moment to process what had just happened, but it seemed that the two gunshots had come from Liu Tai Long.

“You’ll have to forgive us for being late,” said Liu Tai Long to the two remaining members of the Falco Family. “With all this rain, there was an accident, and we got caught up in some traffic.”

The minute hand on the wall clock pointed at five minutes past their appointed meeting time.

So the Falco Family were here to meet with Liu Tai Long?

That would explain the case of mistaken identity. The way Sangha was dressed, he no doubt looked like a member of the Yi Bang.

“Though it seems we were fortunate to be delayed. We got to hear all sorts of things we otherwise might not have. It seems the members of the Falco Family have some unresolved trust issues we weren’t aware of.”

The Yi Bang were the ones the thugs had been talking about the whole time. Sangha did seem to vaguely recall hearing that the Falco Family and the Yi Bang had formed an alliance.

Sangha wondered how long Liu Tai Long and Zhizhu had been eavesdropping. He hadn’t noticed them at all.

“Shut up! Yer the ones tha— Aaaahh!”

“This was just a misunderstand— Eeeek?!”

The man with the cigarette flew into a rage and tried to grab Liu Tai Long. His friend, meanwhile, tried to beat a hasty retreat through the back of the restaurant. Neither of them got far.

Moving faster than a man his size had any right to, Zhizhu quickly subdued both of them. He used a small baton that he had concealed and struck them both in their throats—right in their lianquanxue vital points.

The two men fell into a heap one after the other from what looked like concussions.

Uh… So much for what Zhen Hong said about the eight forbidden strikes being tough to use in a fight.

“Good job, Zhizhu. No point making a big mess and then having to waste time cleaning it up.”

That reminded Sangha of the blood gushing from the two new holes Liu Tai Long had bestowed upon the Falco Family thug who was collapsed next to Sangha. The blood was slowly soaking through his clothes, turning them a reddish black. The very sight made it even harder for Sangha to breathe.

Zhizhu bound the hands of the surviving Falco Family thugs behind their backs using their own ties, then spoke. “Our apologies for all of the noise. Is anyone hurt? If not, you had all best run along to safety,” he said to the patrons, as well as to the father and son running the restaurant.

But Sangha was less worried about the safety of the other people in the restaurant and more worried about what the Yi Bang gangsters were going to do once the onlookers were gone. They could have just as easily shot them all dead right then and there, but they had chosen to spare them, and it probably wasn’t out of kindness.

Meanwhile, Sangha was stuck in the middle of it all, trying his best to stop hyperventilating.

“Did…did you two just…save me…?” Sangha asked. Raising his voice loud enough to be heard caused him a lot of pain, and he started to choke.

“You were just lucky. That man could have shot us, so we simply got rid of him… Say. You’re the Bai She Tong lieutenant’s little pet, aren’t you? What exactly are you doing here?”

“Nguh…!”

Sangha wasn’t at a loss for words—he was trying to scream, Behind you!, but the words didn’t come.

The man who had been hiding in the bathroom emerged holding a gun. Apparently, their group’s gunman had been lying in ambush this whole time. He aimed straight for Liu Tai Long.

All in the same instant, Sangha pointed his finger at the man, the man pulled the trigger, and Liu Tai Long spun around and fired a shot.

“Gaaah!!!”

The bullet pierced the man’s hand, causing him to reel in pain and fire his gun toward the ceiling. With a terrifying sound, the bullet ricocheted off a light fixture above him. The light fell directly onto him, knocking him to the ground.

Sangha wondered if he had just witnessed sheer luck, or if Liu Tai Long had planned it all out. Assuming the latter made a shiver run up the boy’s spine.

“Young Master, my apologies. I should have been more careful,” said Zhizhu as he stooped to retrieve the gun from the now-unconscious man.

“No matter. In any event, it seems these fools had made up their minds that we had done something to breach the agreement. No doubt they were trying to decide what exactly that was at this meeting.”

“You dirty…liar…!” said the man who was barely clinging to consciousness under the light fixture. Zhizhu pressed a knee onto the man to shut up him up. “Gaaaaaah!”

“What are you talking about? What lie has Yi Bang told?”

“W-we know you’ve been cozying up to that Bai She Tong lieutenant. I never trusted any of you assholes, but…now that we know you and Bai She Tong are in cahoots…you’re traitors…”

“What are you talking about?”

“D-don’t play dumb! We know someone saw the Yi Bang boss’s son and the Bai She Tong lieutenant in a passionate embrace. What else could that mean?! We know you’ve all flipped to Amrita!”

“Embrace? You must be joking. Why would I ever touch that ma—”

Sangha had only ever met Liu Tai Long once before, but he could tell that the hush that now fell over him was not a common occurrence. The boy also had a feeling that he was picturing the exact same thing Liu Tai Long was.

It was the strange scene that had played out on the day of Sangha’s initiation, when he had first met Liu Tai Long at the Lucky Pavilion. Zhen Hong had let Liu Tai Long punch him in the stomach, then wrapped his arms around Liu Tai Long as he vomited tea onto his clothes.

The waiter who walked in and saw what happened that day must have blabbed to someone. Then the story no doubt got twisted and twisted until word got back to the Falco Family, serving as a small spark of doubt. But with the fuel of the Falco Family’s racial prejudice, it had caused the flames of distrust to burn any desire they had to cooperate with the Yi Bang.

The result was this unfortunate state of affairs they all found themselves in.

“S-see? You know exactly what I’m talking about! You and Bai She Tong are—”

“Zhizhu.”

Liu Tai Long’s large bodyguard leaned weight onto his knee to apply pressure to the man’s upper back. The man cried out in agony as the loud snap of a bone breaking echoed through the restaurant. The man fell unconscious.

“And?” said Liu Tai Long, looking down at Sangha. “What exactly are you doing here? Don’t tell me that fool sent you, did he?”

He, of course, meant Zhen Hong.

“That guy’s got nothing to do with this! I just… I need to kill Dino and… And I heard he’d be here, so I was waiting for him to—”

“He’s not coming.”

“Wha—?”

“I was told he wouldn’t be present today. He was not involved with this meeting in any way.”

For a second, Sangha had trouble understanding the words he had just been told.

Had the reporter lied to him? Or had the reporter accidentally picked up some bogus info?

The only thing he Sangha knew for certain was that he was now right back to where he started. He was going to have to go back to looking for Dino all over again.

“And where exactly do you think you’re going?”

Sangha struggled to his feet and had begun stumbling toward the exit. “I’m… I need to kill that bastard.”

“Give it up. It’s impossible.”

“Huh…?”

“When it comes to killing, kid, there are three kinds of people—those who do it, those who don’t, and those who can’t. You’re the third one. Quit wasting your time.”

Sangha wondered why all these gangsters kept telling him that. Was a single glance really enough for them to size him up?

However, the unfortunate fact of the matter was, Liu Tai Long had a point. Given the opportunity, Sangha was unable to put the gun to good use. The mere thought of pulling the trigger had made his hands tremble with fear.

Sangha could try to justify it by pretending that he couldn’t kill some unrelated thugs, but deep down inside he couldn’t say with absolute certainty that it would have gone any different with Dino.

The same murderous impulse that had taken hold of him the day he’d grabbed the butcher knife and stormed out into the streets to go stab Dino was still alive inside him. But even if he had found his way to the mobster, would he really have been able to use the knife? Until a short while ago, he was certain the answer was yes. But now he wasn’t so sure.

“Are you telling me that fool sent you to try and kill someone knowing you would die in the process? He treats his subordinates even worse than I’d imagined. That careless thug.”

“Y-you’re way off. This has nothing to do with Bai She Tong. I’m doing this for me. Besides, he told me the same thing you did—that I couldn’t do it. He even tried to stop me. But I…I came out here to do it anyway.”

Sangha wasn’t trying to protect Zhen Hong’s honor or anything. He was just being honest.

The simple truth was this: Sangha had been wrong, and Zhen Hong had been right.

“I guess I thought he was trying to scam me… I still don’t understand why the hell he let me join Bai She Tong. I get that he just does whatever, whenever, but…I just don’t get it. We’ve lived under the same roof for a whole month, and I still have no idea what goes through his head…”

“You’re…living together?”

What the hell does that matter? Sangha thought. Liu Tai Long seemed to be caught up on the single least important detail of what he had just said.

“And you took it upon yourself to leave, I take it?”

“I mean, yeah, but…”

A hush fell over them.

Seeing a man who was usually so decisive with his words stare at Sangha in silence made him deeply uncomfortable. Particularly because Liu Tai Long’s steely expression was impossible to read.

He did sense something resembling a tinge of sorrow on the man’s face, but it was so beyond comprehension, that Sangha decided it was best not to spare it any thought, even if it made him doubt his usually astute powers of observation.

“…If what you say is true, then perhaps I am not the one whom you should be confessing to,” Liu Tai Long finally said. “You should hurry back to this home of yours.”

“Uh, what?” asked Sangha. He had no idea what Liu Tai Long was getting at. “Wh-why are you even saying that? Are you…drunk or something?”

“Alcohol disgusts me. I would never touch the stuff,” replied Liu Tai Long.

At least if he was drunk, his words might have actually made sense, thought Sangha.

“Zhizhu. Take this boy back to Chinatown, would you?”

“Young Master…?”

“What is it?”

“…Nothing. My apologies. I’ll take him home right away.”

For a moment, it seemed that even Liu Tai Long’s faithful servant found his master’s orders peculiar. But that didn’t last long.

“Come, young man. I will take you to where you need to be,” said Zhizhu, leading him to a car waiting outside with a driver behind the wheel.

This makes no sense. This guy’s gonna leave his boss behind to take me back to Chinatown? Doesn’t he think he should say something? Or is this some kind of trap?

“U-um… I’m really, really dirty… I can’t possibly ride in this nice car…”

“That doesn’t matter.”

“Plus…I mean, how am I supposed to show my face back there…?”

“He may very well be waiting for you, young man.”

“There’s no way that’s true! Besides…”

“You never know. Subordinates like us have no way of knowing what their superiors are thinking.”

“Yeah, but—”

“Shut up and get in the car,” boomed Liu Tai Long.

And so, Sangha was driven all the way back to Chinatown.

2

It was still raining when Zhizhu and the driver dropped Sangha off at the entrance to Chinatown.

Realistically, there was nothing forcing him to go back to Zhen Hong’s place, but Sangha seemed incapable of stopping himself. Before he knew it, he was standing in front of the four-story building that was Bai She Tong’s headquarters.

His body felt heavy, weighed down by a damp and disgusting mix of rain, blood, sweat, and urine. It took everything he had to drag him up the stairs, one step at a time, until he finally reached the top floor.

But once he got to the front door, he froze. He clutched the gun in his hands. The very gun that Sangha had made such a show of stealing from Zhen Hong by pointing the barrel at him and running out into the night. In the end, here he was, having been unable to even use the thing.

What could he even say to Zhen Hong now? If the man reproached him—saying something like, You’ve got a lot of nerve showing your face here—Sangha would have no leg to stand on. Zhen Hong would be right. He felt like an idiot to come crawling back to Zhen Hong’s door after everything he had said.

Even if Sangha had been completely blameless in all of it, standing there would still feel awkward—he had so many unanswered questions.

Why had Zhen Hong even allowed Sangha into the tong if he had no intention of helping him get revenge? And, even though he had no evidence to support this hypothesis, if Zhen Hong really was the red-eyed monster that Sangha had heard about in the opium den, then the boy was practically walking right onto the man’s plate, glazed in his own delicious juices.

“Well, well,” came a voice from down the hall, accompanied by the sound of approaching footsteps. Speak of the devil.

Too scared to face the man directly, Sangha lowered his head and looked at the ground.

“Welcome home,” said Zhen Hong kindly. But he wasn’t saying it to Sangha. He was saying it to the gun.

Zhen Hong grabbed the pistol from Sangha’s hand and walked through the front door, closing it behind him. It was like he hadn’t even seen Sangha standing there. A second later, Sangha heard the click of the door being locked.

He could only stare at the knob in absolute disbelief.

Oh God. What’s this sudden tightness I feel in my chest? It really, really hurts.

Why do I…care so much?

Sangha could hardly understand what he was feeling. It was only natural that Zhen Hong would reject him after everything he had done. And getting kicked out of a criminal syndicate—which he despised so much—shouldn’t have bothered him one bit.

Sangha tried to relieve the strange tension by chuckling to himself, but all he could manage was to close his lips tightly. If he hadn’t, he was scared of what would come out of his mouth next. His nostrils began to twitch.

What the hell is wrong with me? I must be stupid. Why am I even wasting my time standing here? I should just get the hell out right now.

But Sangha couldn’t seem to move his legs.

Luckily, this turned out to be a good thing, because a moment later the door opened again.

“…Sangha. Are you just going to stand there in the hallway making me look like an asshole? Come on. Get in here already.”

Sangha unintentionally looked up and caught a glimpse of Zhen Hong’s face. And for the first time since they’d met, he saw a flicker of something resembling distress in Zhen Hong’s usually composed expression.

“I don’t know what kind of hide-and-seek you’ve been out there playing to come home so filthy, but how about you go take a bath?”

Sangha was surprised to find that, once he’d returned to the apartment, Zhen Hong didn’t chide him in the slightest. He sounded the same as always. It was like nothing had even happened.

This put Sangha even more out of sorts than if he had been yelled at. He stood there in shock, unable to move or speak.

“Don’t tell me you want me to go prepare your bath for you. You’re like a spoiled little princess, you know that?”

Despite this, Zhen Hong went and drew him a bath anyway. When he returned, Sangha still refused to move.

“What’s the matter with you? Do you need help changing out of your clothes or something? Don’t tell me you expect me to undress you? I never took you for the type who needed to be pampered.”

The man was clearly insulting him, but Sangha still couldn’t muster any sort of response.

“Well, all right,” continued Zhen Hong, “if you insist.”

…Wait, huh?

Sangha suddenly started to panic as he felt his body being lifted into the air.

Zhen Hong slung Sangha over his shoulder and brought him to the bathroom. He then threw Sangha right into the half-full bath, fully clothed.

“Ahhhhh?!”

Zhen Hong had left the shower running and Sangha sat there as his clothes were soaked through.

The water was the ideal temperature, but to Sangha’s freezing cold body, suddenly being tossed in made it feel like the water was scalding hot. His clothes got heavy so quickly, he felt like he was drowning.

He flailed awkwardly in the water for a moment until he snapped back to his senses and found his footing.

“What the…hell are you doing?!” he cried.

“Well, you weren’t saying anything, so I thought you might be a ghost. Looks like you’ve been alive this whole time, though.”

Zhen Hong knelt by the bath and brought his face in close.

“So?” he asked seriously. “Why are you still alive?”

For a second, Sangha thought his heart would stop right then and there.

“I…”

“Hmm?” Zhen Hong cracked a smile.

But Sangha found the smile even more unsettling. He suddenly felt like his feet were being pulled out from under him. It was a strange sensation that had him worrying his head would end up underwater.

I guess he wishes I hadn’t come back after all.

Why am I still alive? I’d like to know that myself. I have no idea what I’m still doing here after everything that’s happened.

Sangha had a feeling that if he didn’t answer Zhen Hong, he’d be forced to stay in the tub until the water boiled him alive. So between the rushing of the shower, the steadily rising water at his feet, and the pressure of Zhen Hong’s red eye, Sangha’s thoughts began spilling out of his mouth in a chaotic mess.

“I…I don’t know why I’m alive anymore. For most of my life, I lived only for Arha. But I…I never even noticed how much she was suffering. I forced my own version of happiness onto her. I forced her to go to school, thinking I was doing it for her sake.”

Sangha’s voice echoed off the walls of the shower. When it reached his ears, it sounded like he was listening to someone else speak. And, as he listened, it occurred to him that this other person had been putting the cart before the horse this whole time. His dedication to his sister had become his end goal, rather than a means to an end: her happiness.

“I always said everything I did was for her sake,” the voice continued, “but it turned out I was the one relying on her the whole time. Everything was so much easier that way. I didn’t have to think about anything at all. Everything I lost… Everything I couldn’t have… As long as I pretended all of it was for Arha’s sake, then none of it would have to matter to me. My future, my fears, none of it mattered. I could ignore it all. But if I didn’t have Arha, then…my life would be completely pointless. I wouldn’t be of any use to anyone. I wouldn’t even know what to do with myself…”

He had lived a miserable childhood. Suffered horrible circumstances. But as long as he lived his life for Arha, he felt like all the misfortunes he had suffered had been worth it.

“Um, Sangha? I didn’t mean it like that. I guess I should have phrased that better. I wasn’t asking why you were still alive in some grand philosophical sense,” Zhen Hong said, waving his hand back and forth as if to dismiss what Sangha had just said. “I just meant that, since you ran off looking for Dino, I was surprised you were able to come back alive. So what I meant to ask was, ‘Did you run away before you got yourself killed?’ That’s all.”

“Oh, um, what?”

Sangha had apparently spilled his guts to Zhen Hong for no reason at all.

He felt a mixture of embarrassment and anger, which he tried to vent by splashing Zhen Hong with some of the hot water. Though, much to his chagrin, Zhen Hong easily ducked out of the way.

“Why do you have to be such a pain in the ass?!” he cried.

“You’re the one who started talking about all that stuff on your own.”

“Ugh! Shut up!”

After venting his frustration, Sangha eventually recounted what had transpired at Orion’s.

“Huh. So Tai Long sent you back here, huh? How about that? I…wonder if he expects me to find that charming or something…?” Zhen Hong muttered to himself.

His expression seemed neither cheerful nor vexed, and Sangha got the sense that prying further into the matter would only cause trouble.

“Anyway. He might have told you to go home, but do you even consider this your home?”

“No, I don’t,” Sangha answered without thinking.

Moments prior, Sangha had felt hurt when he’d believed Zhen Hong was going to lock him out of the apartment. But deep down inside, his feelings seemed clear.

“…The only home I had was with Arha. But…she’s gone now.”

“Seems that way,” said Zhen Hong.

He turned the shower off.

With the sound of the water gone, his voice came through much louder. It was devoid of emotion. “Sounds like your shanti was your sister, huh?”

A drug whose name meant “peace.” One that brought tranquility to the user’s heart…

“But what’s your shanti now?” Zhen Hong asked. “Revenge?”

…But that same drug prevented one from thinking clearly.

“Hell no,” barked Sangha. “I’m not going to let myself get addicted to revenge. I just want to put an end to all of this as quickly as possible. I watched Arha die right in front of me. Dino, that fucking scumbag Dino. I refuse to let him keep doing awful shit like this. But…”

Sangha paused and, when he continued, his voice had shrunk almost to a whisper.

“…You were right. I probably don’t have what it takes to kill anyone. But I still want that bastard dead. What the hell am I supposed to do with these feelings? As if it wasn’t bad enough that I couldn’t understand Arha, I can’t even understand myself. I don’t know what I like. I don’t know what I want to do. I don’t know anything…”

Sangha pulled his knees up to his chest and buried his face in them like some poor, lost child.

He had been stuck for so long that he hadn’t noticed that the edges of his very existence seemed to blur and become indistinct. He was a coward, too afraid of change.

The very thought of having the freedom to go anywhere—to do anything—terrified him.

He had resisted this thought until now but, deep down inside, he didn’t know if he even wanted to get revenge. Had he simply allowed his emotions to carry him away? This thought that vengeance would solve everything—had that been nothing more than a fantasy?

He didn’t know.

How could he? Sangha had spent his entire life doing everything he could to stop himself from thinking about anything.

“…Hey,” Sangha said after a while.

“Hmm?”

“What do you live for?”

“Me? Well, I was born, and then the living part just sort of happens automatically.”

“Can you answer the question?”

“I just did. Isn’t that basically what life is?”

“I dunno…”

“Let me guess,” said Zhen Hong, “You’re the type of person who wonders stuff like, ‘If the things that make up who I am were taken away one by one, at what point would I stop being myself?’ aren’t you?”

“What the hell’s that supposed to mean…? Anyway, I don’t even think I know what it is that makes me, me. I…think I’m just completely empty inside…”

“All right. Then tell me this, Sangha. Do you have a crush on me?”

“Hell no. God, you’re so annoying.”

What kind of stupid question is that?

“There, see? Even if you don’t know what you like, you seem to know what you hate. So if you don’t know what you want to do, then just focus on what you don’t want to do. I bet there’s tons of stuff you hate about being a member of Bai She Tong.”

Is this him trying to cheer me up?

“So just start with that. Then you can rebuild who you are bit by bit until you naturally realize where you need to be. Right?”

Sangha raised his head.

He was surprised to see the compassionate look on Zhen Hong’s face. It was like he had prepared a warm smile for Sangha and Sangha alone. There was only one way Sangha could think of responding to such a kind display.

“What…kind of cheesy scam artist crap is that?”

“Pfffft! Ha-ha.” Zhen Hong turned his face toward the floor.

Sangha was taken aback. Did I actually just make him laugh? he wondered.

He had no idea what was so funny about what he had said, but Sangha was glad he had made Zhen Hong laugh. This was a side of Zhen Hong he had never seen before.

“Hey… Why did you let me join Bai She Tong?” Sangha felt like this was his one chance to finally hear the truth.

“You just reminded me of someone, is all,” Zhen Hong answered without raising his face.

Sangha was dumbfounded. Though he’d asked the question, Sangha hadn’t actually expected to get a serious answer, especially after he’d asked the same thing and been blown off so many times.

“Remind you of who?” he asked.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to wait until we’re much closer if you want to know that.”

“So you’re never going to tell me.”

“Oh? Are you implying you don’t want to get closer?”

“…You’re not going to tell me I’m the spitting image of some long-dead ex-girlfriend of yours or something, are you? Not that I think I’ve got the face for that sort of thing.”

“Y’know, for someone who seems like such a prude, your mind often goes to perverted places. But don’t worry, none of the brothels I run are looking for any male talent, so you’re safe.” Zhen Hong finally raised his face. He looked a bit surprised. “Besides, wouldn’t it make more sense to guess that you look like one of my long-dead male friends?”

“So you’re saying I look like a dead friend of yours?”

“That’s a secret.” Zhen Hong reached out a hand and tousled Sangha’s hair.

“Ugh, stop that!”

“Anyway, I’m gonna get out of here. You get undressed and enjoy a nice bath, all right?”

Sangha suddenly remembered that he was still sitting in the bath with all his clothes on. The only part of his body that had been laid bare was his heart.

Meanwhile, his wet clothes were heavy. But as for his heart…?

“…Hey…”

“Hmm? Something wrong?” Zhen Hong had gotten as far as the door when he turned back.

In his haste to tell Zhen Hong something he felt he needed to get out, Sangha’s voice cracked as the next words came out of his mouth.

“Th-thank you…Zhen Hong.”

Zhen Hong smiled as Sangha muttered his way through what he had to say. This time, it was the usual carefree smile the boy was accustomed to seeing.

“You really do wear your heart on your sleeve, don’t you?”

It seemed that Zhen Hong had noticed, too, that this was the first time the boy had ever uttered his name out loud. Sangha sank down into the bath to try and hide his embarrassment.

3

It was the eve of the Mid-Autumn Festival, and every street in Chinatown seemed to be bathed in the red light cast by paper lanterns strung overhead.

It gave the town an almost illusory feel that was otherwise completely ruined by the loud, chaotic crush of the crowds everywhere one turned. Night markets lined the way while firecrackers popped and people loudly rejoiced in the streets.

“Whoooooa!” cried Su from in front of Sangha. Some firecrackers had erupted near his feet, and he leaped into the air in surprise.

“Hey, Sangha, did you know? They say that firecrackers are used to scare off evil spirits. Maybe Su’s an evil spirit, considering how much they scare the crap out of him,” yelled Hao into Sangha’s ear, covering his mouth like he was letting him in on a secret.

Su protested Hao’s words with tears in his eyes. Man, these two sure are close, Sangha thought.

Neither Hao nor Su pestered Sangha about where he had been over the few days he was absent from Chinatown. As soon as he returned, the three of them were wandering the streets together again, like nothing had ever happened.

Sangha assumed this was less a case of kindness on their part, and more the fact that all members of Bai She Tong had at least a thing or two they would prefer to keep secret. So it was only natural that Hao and Su weren’t ones to pry. Sangha was grateful for it, whatever the reason was.

Since the boy had no idea what he wanted to do with his life anyway, maybe Bai She Tong wasn’t such a bad place to be while he figured it out.

So it was that they began that day by heading for the Hang Lao Association.

The three of them walked down a busy narrow street. Sangha expected to bump into people as they went along, but when he followed Hao and Su, they strangely didn’t seem to bump into anyone.

“Tomorrow’s the Mid-Autumn Festival. Do you know anything about it, Sangha?”

“Nope. Is it like a big party or something?”

“W-well, despite being called a ‘festival,’ it was originally a much more somber event,” explained Su. “Even now, it’s mostly the kind of thing that people spend with their families. Everyone eats mooncakes and worships—or, well, admires the autumn moon together. Because, um, well, the moon is something to be revered, so…”

They finally left the crowded street and turned onto another but found that one bustling with people as well. There were folding tables set up everywhere, and the sound of clinking glasses and off-key singing filled the air.

“’Course, lotsa members of Bai She Tong don’t have family!” said Hao. “But when everyone’s alone together, it doesn’t feel so lonely, know what I mean?”

“Maybe that’s why the Mid-Autumn Festival’s become so much more extravagant over the years…,” said Su. “It’s…pretty noisy, isn’t it, Sangha? The eve of the festival is always like this. Hopefully it’s not too much for y—”

As if responding to Su’s words, another firecracker went off nearby, causing him to squeal.

“…You okay, Su?”

“D-don’t worry, I’m fine. Thanks…”

“I don’t mind the noise,” said Sangha, “but I don’t really get the whole ‘worshipping the moon’ thing.”

Sangha’s mother had likely felt the affinity toward the moon that Su was describing. But he realized, possibly for the first time, that he may have inherited the sensibilities of his father’s culture more than his mother’s.

“Don’t you find the full moon kinda creepy?” he continued. “Feels like there could be werewolves hiding around every corner, y’know? If you’re gonna worship something, why not worship the sun?”

“What, you gonna just stare at the sun?! Give that a shot and tell me how your eyes feel!” said Hao.

“I don’t think he means staring directly at it, Hao. You could always— Eeeeek!”

Su leaped a foot off the ground as a round of firecrackers erupted with such force that it sounded like a gunfight had started nearby. It was even enough to make Sangha reel in surprise. He wondered if these explosions were really going to continue all night long.

“’Sides, don’t you think the moon’s kinda sexy?”

“That makes even less sense to me. Is that why you guys admire it…?”

“Just think about it,” Hao continued, “There’s that beautiful goddess up there, right?”

“O-oh, that’s right. Hao’s talking about the myth of the Mid-Autumn Festival, ‘Chang’e Flies to the Moon.’”

“There’s this girl called Chang’e, right? And she drinks this potion of immortality that her husband had, and then gets summoned up to the moon!”

Despite Hao’s confident retelling of the story, the look on Su’s face made it seem like he was leaving a lot of the most important parts out. Even Sangha, who had never heard it before, could tell he had cut out way too many details from the myth. Which, to be fair, was par for course with Hao.

“Oh, b-but the really interesting thing about that story is that there’s all kinds of theories about why Chang’e drank the potion in the first place,” Su said. “Some people think she was a selfish woman who drank it for her own personal gain, while others believe that her husband’s servant was going to steal the potion, so she drank it before they could take it. Another theory is that her husband was a tyrant, so she drank the potion because she felt she had to prevent him from becoming immortal.”

“I think the one where she’s being selfish makes the most sense,” said Hao. “All the other ones are way too complicated. Right, Sangha?”

None of the theories Su mentioned made much sense to Sangha.

“…What if she just thought that being immortal was like some kind of curse?” Sangha offered. “Just think about it—you’re gonna have to watch as everyone important to you dies one after another, right? Doesn’t that sound like a pretty crappy way to live? So maybe she wanted to protect the rest of the world from the curse and drank it herself.”

“Whooooaaa!!! I never saw it that way! So does that mean you don’t want to have a super long life, Sangha?”

“I mean, I used to wish I could have a long life, but…”

That was because he wanted to watch over Arha as she grew up. But that goal had been taken away from him.

“Just think about it, man. All that means is you need some buddies to live forever with you, right? So c’mon! Let’s do it! Let’s live forever!”

“What are you talking about? How the hell are we supposed to do that? And I guess that means that you actually want to live forever? You got some big plans or something?”

“Just think about how much amazing food you could eat if you lived forever! Doesn’t that sound awesome?”

“I’m…really sorry about him, Sangha. You seriously don’t have to listen to his nonsense…”

“Why are you apologizing, Su?” asked Hao.

“…I dunno, Su. I can kind of respect that he knows what he wants, at least,” replied Sangha.

“You’re…being far too charitable with him…”

They continued chatting away until they finally reached the Hang Lao Association building.

The first-floor meeting room of the Hang Lao Association.

There was a security office by the entrance to the building, but no one was in it when they arrived.

A long table in the room had been piled high with individually wrapped mooncakes. Each cake was adorned with a Chinese character.

Sangha had never seen one before, so he picked one up at random and looked it over. It had a faintly sweet aroma.

“You’ve never had a mooncake, right, Sangha?”

“Nope. The only sweets we’d have at my place on special occasions were things called cannoli. They’re these crunchy pastry tubes filled with fluffy cream.”

His father used to make the pastries for the family back when Sangha was a child. They didn’t serve them at the diner, and he had never had a chance to make them for Arha, so he had almost forgotten about them until that very moment.

“Damn! That sounds so good! If it’s shaped like a tube, I bet it’d be super easy to put poison in one end before serving them to someone. And if they got suspicious, you could just tell them, ‘Relax, here I’ll show you they’re safe,’ and then take a bite of the other end. It’d be so easy to poison someone then! All you can really do with mooncakes is stick a letter with instructions on how to assassinate someone inside them.”

“…Is that why we’re here? We’re trying to assassinate someone?”

“No, no, no, no!” said Su. “Ignore him, Sangha. Hao is just obsessed with silly spy stuff. You really don’t have to pay any attention to it.”

“Oh, okay…,” said Sangha, relieved.

“Right, I just realized I never even said what we’re doing today!” said Hao. “Our job is to take these mooncakes from the Hang Lao Association and pass them out around Bai She Tong’s territory!”

Apparently, the Yi Bang were out doing the same thing in their territory.

“You mean to the shops we have under our protection? Like a ‘Thanks for all the money’ type of deal?”

“Oh, um, no. That’s not it. If that was the case, Bai She Tong would be the ones to prepare the mooncakes. This is more like charity for the Hang Lao Association. We’re going to go hand them out to people who live on the street, and people who can’t usually afford to buy sweets like this…”

“Oh. Huh.”

It sounded like the sort of thing they did at soup kitchens. And, from the sounds of it, having the Mid-Autumn Festival as a pretense meant that no one would assume that it was a favor that needed to be returned.

Sangha was impressed that the Hang Lao Association paid such careful attention to the pride of the people on the receiving end of their charity.

By having both Bai She Tong and the Yi Bang out distributing food in their respective territories, the Hang Lao Association could also broadcast the fact it was capable of keeping the peace between the two criminal organizations. At its heart, it was a performative gesture to let everyone in Chinatown know who the real center of the power structure was.

“You should grab one for yourself, Sangha. You’ve never had one, right? We always get to take some home anyway, so give it a try.”

“Oh wow, your first mooncake… Which one are you going to choose, Sangha? There’s all kinds of fillings. There’s red bean paste, lotus seed paste… Oh, there’s walnut as well.”

“Yeah, yeah! Pick one you think you’ll like!”

Sangha suddenly got a strange sense of déjà vu. He felt like he had had a dream like this before—a dream in which he couldn’t seem to figure out what he wanted.

But something had changed since he’d had that dream. The difference was what Zhen Hong had told him in the bath. Even if you don’t know what you like, you seem to know what you hate.

“Are there any mooncakes that…aren’t sweet?”

When he was reminded of his father’s incredibly sweet cannoli, Sangha also remembered that, despite how proud of them his father had been, the boy had struggled to finish even one. They were far too sweet for him.

“Oh! Uh, there should be. Oh, here’s one. This is xiangla beef. Here you go.”

Sangha thanked him and unwrapped the mooncake.

He took a bite of the cake, and a delicious spiciness spread through his mouth.

Man, this is good, he thought.

He had also surprised himself with how simple it was to ask for what he wanted.

If he kept going on in this way, with one thing at a time, he might eventually come to find what it was that he actually wanted out of life.

The trio wandered through Chinatown, paper bags full of mooncakes in hand. They wandered through back alleys, parks, and the like, handing them out to people as they went.

The people they handed them to reacted in a variety of ways. Some were excessively grateful, while some ungraciously snatched the cakes from them before disappearing. But overall, the task was going smoothly.

“Eeeek!!!”

Well, smoothly aside from the fact that Su freaked out every time a firecracker went off near them.

“Isn’t it kinda crazy that you’re not used to firecrackers after all these years?”

“Sob… But I… They’re just…”

Hao just laughed at him, but Su really didn’t seem to be able to handle the constant explosions. He soon tripped over his own feet and fell over onto Sangha, who panicked as he caught him.

“Whoa, careful. You gonna be okay?”

“Ngh… I-I’m sorry, Sangha, I just— Huh?”

Su stared at Sangha’s chest with a confused expression.

“What is it?” asked Sangha.

“I’m just surprised you’re not wearing it today. I thought you, um, always wore your locket, that’s all.”

“What?”

Sangha brought his hand up to his chest, to where he would usually feel the familiar contours of the small oval locket. But instead, he felt nothing.

He immediately started to panic, patting his chest with both hands. But it was gone.

All of the blood immediately rushed from Sangha’s face.

“Did I drop it? But when could that have happened? There’s no way someone snatched it, right? I’m sure I would have noticed. Besides, I mean, who would steal it from me? It’s completely worthless to anyone else. Unless I dropped it. Then…maybe someone would have picked it up for me? But what if…”

“Sangha!”

“Huh?”

Hao grabbed the paper bags that Sangha was holding.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost, man! That thing’s really important to you, right? Just go! Go look for it! Me and Su’ll finish up here!”

“Y-yeah, you go on ahead. As soon as we’re done handing these out, we’ll help you look, too. I just… I’m sorry we didn’t notice before…”

Sangha barely said thanks before running off to retrace his steps. He had no idea where he could have dropped it, though, and the crush of the crowd wasn’t making it any easier to look for it.

It was only after they’d parted ways that Sangha realized Hao and Su seemed to be able to read the flow of the crowd and move through it seamlessly.

The heat was overwhelming, as was the stench of alcohol and sweat. But more than anything, panic had completely overtaken Sangha’s senses. He could barely feel his legs as they carried him forward through the throng of people.

Much as Su jumped at the slightest crackle of firecrackers, Sangha was glad for them—they helped to keep him from completely losing track of himself.

When was the last time I touched my locket? I’m so used to having it on that I didn’t even notice it was gone.

But unlike someone who only realizes how important something was once it’s gone, Sangha had always cherished the locket. He prayed in his heart that it wasn’t lost forever.

Did I even leave with it this morning? Maybe I dropped it in the tub when Zhen Hong threw me in there?

He frantically twisted his head to look at the edges of the streets, stopping to look at anything shiny that caught his eye. He asked vendors in the night market as he passed by and continued desperately pushing through the crowd.

“Um, excuse me? Did you drop something?” called out a voice.

“Huh?”

It was a young man wearing a hat. He seemed roughly Sangha’s age.

“I… Yes! It’s a, uh, a necklace. A locket, actually. And I guess I dropped it. I’ve been looking all over for it…”

Sangha didn’t recognize the young man but, strangely, the boy seemed to recognize Sangha. He stared at Sangha’s face intently. It was sort of creepy.

“I just saw something that might be related. Just a minute ago, I saw an old man stoop down to pick something up and then slink off into the shadows.”

“You what?!”

“I had a feeling I should tell you, since you looked like you were looking for something. Of course, it might be completely unrelated to your locket, but, well…”

The young man pulled his hat down lower over his eyes with his left hand. When he did, Sangha noticed that the guy had an irregularly large mole on the back of his hand. Sangha couldn’t help but stare at it.

“…Is there something on my hand?”

“You mean aside from that big mo— I mean, uh, no, nothing at all.”

Ever blunt and honest, Sangha had to stop himself before he blurted out something rude. That being said, he didn’t know anyone with a large mole on their hand, so this did indeed seem to be the first time the two had met.

There was, of course, no way to know if this supposed old man had picked up Sangha’s locket or not, but in his panicked state and without anything else to go on, he felt inclined to cling to this piece of information.

“Well,” said the young man, “if you’ll excuse me.”

“Oh, um, wait. Please. Can you tell me where that old man went, please…?”

When Sangha stopped him, a smile crept across the young man’s face.

“Of course. The streets are quite crowded right now, and I’m not entirely sure which direction he went, but I’ll show you where I last saw him,” said the young man cheerfully. “I happen to enjoy helping people. Now right this way. I believe this is where the old man was headed.”

The young man in the hat led Sangha into a dark alleyway that looked like it was practically designed for muggings. It was so narrow that, if someone else were to pass by, it would be quite the struggle for them to get through. Of course, the pair were the only ones in the alley. It was a far cry from the bustling street they had only just left. The sounds of laughter and firecrackers still reached their ears, but they had left the festivities behind.

Once they reached the middle of the alley, the young man in the hat suddenly turned around to face Sangha.

“Sorry, guy. ’Fraid this is the end of the line.”

“Huh? Why do y—?”

Sangha was about to ask the young man why his tone of voice sounded so much rougher all of a sudden.

But he didn’t get the chance.

He was immediately interrupted by a deafening sound. Outside the alley, firecrackers continued to erupt into flashes of light that lit up the night sky.

A slew of irrelevant thoughts swirled through Sangha’s mind that he wished he could say to no one in particular. But unfortunately, an overwhelmingly powerful foe was preventing him from doing so—the horrible, horrible pain assaulting his body. He wished more than anything that he could overcome it. He wanted to leave this alley alive.

Once the sun rose, it would be the Mid-Autumn Festival. He wanted to join the festivities, to mix in with the crowd. He wanted to ask Zhen Hong again who it was that Sangha reminded him of. That sounded fun.

Sangha was surprised to find that, suddenly, there were so many things he wanted to do.

For the very first time since Arha had died, Sangha wanted to see what tomorrow would bring.

Morning eventually came.

To onlookers, Sangha—his body collapsed there in the alley—would likely have looked like little more than another criminal. A petty thug who had picked a fight and lost. Just another stupid loser who had thrown his life away.

But no matter what anyone thought, there in that alley, with all his bodily functions stopped, Sangha had finally overcome his pain. He would never feel pain—or anything—ever again.

1

Zhen Hong was the lieutenant of Bai She Tong, the Chinatown branch of Amrita. As such, everything that happened in Chinatown fell under his jurisdiction.

Despite this, when taken as a whole, his existence was trivial to the syndicate.

The lieutenants had no ties to anyone on their level in any of the other branches of the organization, and they held no authority over foot soldiers from other branches.

They only interact with their direct superiors—Da Ge, in Zhen Hong’s case—and none of them had any idea who the boss of Amrita was nor what they looked like.

If asked whether or not the boss of the syndicate was a pretty young girl, Zhen Hong would have no way to confirm or deny it.

Regardless, that Zhen Hong had been entrusted with the shanti racket proved that he was well-favored among the Amrita lieutenants. The fact that he lived in Chinatown and could better avoid the watchful gaze of drug enforcement authorities was a factor, but the man’s abilities were also highly valued.

“So how long do you plan on letting Dino do as he pleases, exactly?” asked Fei after burning the report Zhen Hong had just handed her to ash.

The Wan Wan Apothecary was usually open by now, but the CLOSED sign still hung in the window. The curtains were drawn tightly as Zhen Hong and Fei sat across from each other at the counters.

A celadon porcelain tea set was laid out between them. Zhen Hong took a sip of herbal tea, refusing to answer Fei’s question.

“Dino is going to continue getting in the way of shanti market expansion. He’s the entire reason we haven’t been able to raise the price. If you continue to allow him to do as he pleases, the higher-ups are going to start thinking you’re not worth keeping around.”

Fei was an underground doctor who belonged to Bai She Tong, but her position was a bit unique. Unlike the rest of the tong, she answered to Da Ge, not to Zhen Hong.

Da Ge had instructed Zhen Hong to share all the details of his investigation with her. He seemed to think that her expertise might come in handy.

“Haven’t you spent enough money and used enough man hours by now? Not to mention, we practically knew from the very start that the Falco Family hasn’t figured out the shanti formula. So why keep waiting? You know there’s only one person capable of nullifying the effects of shanti.”

“Hey, I’m taking this seriously.”

“Your lies don’t work on me. You know better than anyone that Dino is the only one immune to shanti. If you take care of him, all of this will come to an end.”

“Right, but he’s the Falco Family boss’s favorite.”

“Isn’t that just something he made up? And even if that were the case, there are dozens of ways for you to assassinate the child. You’re simply procrastinating.”

“Come on, Fei. You’re making it sound like I’m trying to keep Dino from getting killed or something.”

“I’d hope so. Anyone who thought it didn’t sound like that would need ear surgery.”

She yanked his ear, but Zhen Hong didn’t seem bothered in the slightest.

“You’re hopeless,” sighed Fei. “What about that boy you brought here… What was his name again? You know the one. He wanted to get revenge on Dino, didn’t he?”

“You mean Sangha? Yeah, he did.”

“Right, right. Sangha. Why not think of that poor boy’s feelings? You can just get him to do it. If you gave the word, I’m sure he’d gladly do it anytime.”

“Sangha can’t kill Dino.”

“Well, he’s a weak kid, I’ll give you that. But—”

“That’s not what I meant. I meant he can’t do anything,” Zhen Hong said casually. “Sangha’s dead.”

When Hao and Su reported back to him, telling him that Sangha had gone missing, Zhen Hong went out into Chinatown to look for him. He was the one to find Sangha’s corpse in that back alley.

“Sangha?” he called.

But there was no answer.

“Sangha.”

Still no answer.

The boy wasn’t breathing, and he had a gunshot wound in his stomach. Either the person who had done this was a lousy shot, or they had deliberately shot him in the gut to prolong his agony. It had likely taken a long time for the boy to bleed out.

“Oh? Sangha, what happened to your thumb?”

There was, of course, still no answer.

His thumb was missing. It was the same thumb Zhen Hong had yanked the nail out of not too long ago.

“Did you make some weird trade, or something? You always were terrible at negotiating. I thought I taught you not to give up something important like a finger that day I said I’d take your kidney.”

Even teasing him, Sangha didn’t answer.

Sangha had died with his eyes wide open. Those eyes didn’t meet Zhen Hong’s gaze—and they never would again.

There was no obligation to give a lowly apprentice like Sangha a funeral, but he would at the very least have to call someone to dispose of the body, thought Zhen Hong. He reached his hand down and rested his palms over the boy’s eyes, shutting his eyelids.

“When did that happen?”

“The night before the Mid-Autumn Festival.”

“Two whole weeks ago?”

Fei knit her brow as she asked Zhen Hong if he knew who had done it.

“No idea. Sangha happened to be at a meeting between the Falco Family and the Yi Bang a little while ago, so I thought it might have something to do with that. A couple of the Falco thugs died, so maybe the family took it out on him or something.”

“Sounds plausible. It would explain the missing thumb. If it was a hit man, they could have taken the thumb as proof that they had finished the job.”

“Right, exactly. Though, I did already look into that angle. Apparently, the Yi Bang already took care of everyone who showed up that day. Fed to the pigs, all of ’em.”

“It might not have been a professional, then. It was the night before the festival, there’s no telling who you might run into. Maybe some local thug wanted to prove he had the balls to kill someone and took the thumb as a trophy.”

“That’s possible. Just a bit of bad luck.”

Both of Fei’s theories were possible. Neither of those things were terribly uncommon in Chinatown. It wasn’t as though any message had been hidden with the boy’s corpse, either. If, for example, his penis had been chopped off and shoved into his mouth, one might guess that he’d slept with the mistress of some big shot, but there was nothing like that. Aside from his thumb, his corpse had been left as is.

“Aren’t you going to go look for whoever did this?”

“If it has nothing to do with the tong, then there’s no reason for me to look into it.”

“Weren’t the two of you living together? Even if it was only for a short time, don’t you want to avenge him?”

“Not at all,” he answered bluntly. “I wouldn’t waste my time on something as pointless as revenge.”

After he left Fei’s, Zhen Hong headed back toward the Bai She Tong office.

On the way, he ran into Hao and Su hanging out in front of a restaurant, taking care of a baby.

“Oh? And whose love child is this? Hao’s? Su’s?”

“Lieutenant?! This kid belongs to the married couple who run this place!”

“Huh. Well, glad to hear you know where the baby was made.”

When Zhen Hong approached Hao, the baby in his arms scrunched its face in fright.

“Ha-ha-ha! Looks like the baby’s scared of you, Lieutenant!”

Hao laughed and started to pat the baby gently on the back. Despite looking like it was about to cry, it promptly calmed down.

Zhen Hong thought about how Hao had cried like a baby when he found out Sangha had been murdered. If only I’d been with him, this would have never happened, he had said. And the poor guy never even found his locket.

But by the very next day, Hao was perfectly fine.

Bai She Tong was, at the end of the day, a criminal organization. Death was a daily fact of life for its members.

Without even realizing, Hao had become accustomed to getting over tragedy quickly.

Of course, it may have been different if Su had been the one to die. Hao had likely kept Sangha at arm’s length—a mere tourist, here today and gone tomorrow.

“U-um, pardon us, Lieutenant. The baby wouldn’t stop crying, so Hao told the restaurant owner’s wife that he’d be able to get it to stop. We’re not slacking off, I swear…”

“Don’t worry about it. It takes more than something like this to make me mad. Y’know, Su, if you keep looking like you’re about to cry, I might have to pick you up and pat you on the back like Hao’s doing to that baby.”

“Uh… Um… Ah…ha-ha-ha…?”

Su had no idea how to respond to his boss’s joke, so all he could muster was a half-hearted chuckle.

When Su found out Sangha had died, he had started trembling. The superstition had come to pass—the three of them shared a match, and one among them had died.

Su told Zhen Hong about it right away.

But Zhen Hong knew about three on a match. He told Su that it was just a marketing strategy to get people to use one match at a time. Apparently, the superstition was started based on a rumor that three soldiers had lit their cigarettes with one match, and the light from the match gave away their position, resulting in them being killed by enemy forces. But the whole story had been made up by a matchstick company to sell more matches.

The truth is always so dull.

Su seemed placated by Zhen Hong’s words. He never mentioned Sangha again after that.

For a shy person like Su, who took a long time to warm up to others, it was no surprise that he hadn’t spent enough time with Sangha to fully trust him.

So it was that Hao and Su simply went back to their lives just as they were before Sangha came along.

It was the natural thing to do.

Zhen Hong was no different.

He worked at the office, showed up to meetings, managed the brothels and other businesses under his jurisdiction, and wandered the streets peddling shanti.

Every now and again, he would give one of his shameless little shows and then head to the Zhuyin Flower Shop to buy a rindo flower to bring home.

He went home to his empty apartment. There was no smell of delicious food cooking, and the dirt and dust was always just as he had left it.

Sangha had probably thought he was taking good care of Zhen Hong the entire time they lived together. But the truth was that Zhen Hong didn’t crave home-cooked meals, nor did he long for a clean living space. He could do without any of it.

He sat at the dining table and smoked his pipe. He blew smoke at the cup in the center of the table. The rindo flower in it had wilted.

The stem and the water it sat in both smelled of rot and mold, which was no surprise. There was no one around to change it.

Zhen Hong thought it over and realized that the whole time he was here, Sangha had probably thought that all of those rindo flowers Zhen Hong brought home had been for his sister. He told him that was what the first one was for, but it was rather quaint of him to think they all were.

There was no reason for Zhen Hong to correct him. It was easier to earn the boy’s trust if he didn’t.

Besides, it was kind of funny watching the boy take such good care of flowers that had absolutely nothing to do with him.

After Zhen Hong had taken three draws on his pipe, he set it down on the tray and splayed his upper body across the table. He thought about how Sangha seemed to have a knack for always making the worst possible choice in any situation.

He closed his eyes, but sleep didn’t come.

Not much about Zhen Hong’s life had changed since Sangha died. If pressed, he’d say that with so many menial work tasks recently, he couldn’t seem to get any sleep.

But that was fine by him.

He had always slept less than most other people.

That aside, nothing was different. Everything was normal.

But Zhen Hong was soon reminded how strange a place the world could be. Just when one thinks that everything is normal, something truly abnormal is bound to happen.

It was at the members-only brothel, the Jeweled Butterfly.

When Zhen Hong showed up that night, operations in the brothel had stopped completely.

The whole second floor was a mess.

“Zhen Hong!” said Jing-Li, rushing up to him as soon as he walked through the door. “It’s Chun Chun! She’s…!”

The room was painted red with blood—what looked like entire human body’s worth. It stained the walls and the bed.

The white feathers from the brand-new pillows he had just purchased were strewn about everywhere, some sticky with blood. If Zhen Hong had known things would turn out like this, he would have bought less-fancy pillows.

Chun Chun was nowhere to be seen, but the source of the mess was apparent: It was John D. He had been riddled with bullets, evident by the holes in his body gushing with blood. It was a miracle the man was still breathing.

“What happened?” Zhen Hong asked absentmindedly. He was busy calculating the astronomical cleaning bill.

“The Don of Brothels… He…”

Jing-Li was unusually tongue-tied as she struggled to explain the situation. Zhen Hong had to ask her several questions in order to piece events together.

It seemed that the Falco Family’s Don of Brothels, never one to be deterred, had sent more hit men to the brothel to take out John D. Two hit men had come and worked together to break into the room, subdue the former hit man, and take Chun Chun away.

The Don of Brothels’s goal was no longer to simply poach the Jeweled Butterfly’s talent, though that had been clear for a while—no one hired John D who wanted their target alive. The don’s goal had always been to make the prostitute who had disgraced him pay with her life.

One thing was clear: If they didn’t act fast, Chun Chun was a goner. It was no wonder Jing-Li was so distraught.

“Please, Zhen Hong. You’ve got to do something. I’ll do anything. You just…you have to save Chun Chun!”

While it was true that Chun Chun was the brothel’s top talent, there was no denying the fact that abandoning her was the most cost-effective solution. She was less a person than she was a piece of merchandise. Disposable.

Though their dynamic was fairly casual, the balance of power between the two was clear: Chun Chun was not Zhen Hong’s equal.

While someone would eventually have to deal with this moron who called himself the Don of Brothels, there was no rush. And it was certainly not something that the tong’s lieutenant had to deal with himself.

There was no need for him to give Jing-Li’s request so much as a second of his precious time. And yet…

Zhen Hong was in the mood to go out and get a little bit of exercise. In fact, he had been in this mood for some time.

“All right. I’ll take care of it,” he responded casually. Then he asked Jing-Li to tell him everything she could about the two hit men who had taken Chun Chun away.

As he was about to leave the blood-covered room, he stopped in his tracks when he noticed that John D seemed to be muttering something. His voice was barely audible, so Zhen Hong leaned in close to hear what he had to say.

“To…know love…is to choose a life…forever tormented…by the…specter of loss…”

It was a bunch of nonsense.

However, it was merely a preamble. What John D said next turned out to be of great interest.

2

The district Zhen Hong found himself in was on the outskirts of Broken Ark. It was the most violent place in the city. Most cab drivers wouldn’t dare drop someone off in the area, no matter how much money they were offered. And the place was absolutely filthy. It was the textbook definition of a slum.

He stood in front of a number of warehouses. If one of them belonged to the Falco Family, it wouldn’t take much imagination to guess what was going on inside.

“Ugh…!” echoed the muffled screams of a woman.

It came from one of the abandoned warehouses. It was mostly empty inside the exposed concrete walls. The few objects within were tools used exclusively for torture.

The space had been prepared for an execution.

A woman—Chun Chun—sat on a chair that looked as though it had never once been sat on voluntarily. It, too, was a mere tool, used to prevent someone from escaping.

“How do you like this?! You filthy bitch! This oughta learn ya…!”

A small, middle-aged man—the self-proclaimed Don of Brothels—was punching Chun Chun over and over. Her face was bruised and bleeding. She had no means to resist the beating as her hands had been tied to the back of the chair.

But despite her sorry state, Chun Chun glared daggers at the Don of Brothels. The small, small man gnashed his teeth as she stared.

“I hope you’re ready for your punishment. I’m about to ruin every single useful part of your body,” he screamed.

Two men stood behind the don, their arms crossed. They were the hit men who had broken into the Jeweled Butterfly and filled John D with lead. Both of them were big and muscular. One had a goatee, while the other had long hair. The Don of Brothels turned and shot them a knowing glance. The muscular men responded with crude sneers.

But before they could continue, they heard a sudden sound, like something smashing into the door to the warehouse.

“What the hell was that? You, go check it out,” ordered the don.

The man with the goatee raised his gun and headed to the entrance. He slid the door open, stepped outside, and peered into the night with a flashlight.

Fsssh.

It sounded like something was moving in the tall grasses near the entrance. The man readied his gun and shone his flashlight over the area to search for the cause.

Fsssh.

“There you are!” the man called out as he ran to the spot the noise had come from.

But it was just grass. Maybe it was a cat? he wondered in disappointment as he turned to walk back to the warehouse, but he stopped dead in his tracks.

“Some hit man. You two should probably hold hands if you’re this useless alone.”

The barrel of a gun was pressed against the back of his head.

Zhen Hong had gotten the jump on Mr. Goatee.

“I can’t believe you fell for one of the oldest tricks in the book. How about you put down the dumbbells and try using your head for once?”

Distracting the man had been child’s play. All Zhen Hong had to do was throw a couple stones into the tall grass to grab his attention and the guy had wandered right into his trap.

John D, who was once a hit man for the Falco Family, had told Zhen Hong all about the warehouse. The two meathead hit men should have known better than to leave John D alive.

Zhen Hong reached over and grabbed the man’s flashlight and gun.

“All righty, how about we take a peek in the warehouse? How many guys in there?”

Zhen Hong already knew about the two hit men and the Don of Brothels. He didn’t like surprises, but he hadn’t had the time to scope the place out for anyone else that might be in there.

“Why don’t you just shoot me?” said the guy with a threatening tone, even as he raised his hands.

“Pretty loyal for a small-time hit man, aren’t ya?”

“…If you shoot, the guys inside’ll come runnin’ out. There’s tons of ’em. No way you can take ’em all on alone. You’re gonna be full of holes before ya know what hit ya.”

“Oooh, no thank you.”

Mr. Goatee chuckled.

“Then just leave the whore to die. What’s she good for anyway? Screwin’? Suckin’? Swallowin’? Any dumb bitch off the street can do that. Why get yourself killed savin’ this one?”

“So you’re saying that if I shoot you, I’m going to get rushed by the army of guys in there? Then why not just tell me how many of them there are? What difference does it make?”

“Screw you, pal.”

“Oh well. Don’t say I didn’t try.”

“What’re—?!”

Before Mr. Goatee had any idea what was happening, Zhen Hong flipped him over and slammed him onto his back, then jumped onto him, straddling his chest. He pinned the guy down tightly so he couldn’t even move, let alone get free.

“In that case, how about I just ask you nice and quiet,” Zhen Hong whispered with a grin, pointing the muzzle of the gun at the guy’s face.

“Here, I brought you some treats. Open up and say ‘aaaah.’”

He reached into his bag with one hand and pulled out a bunch of rocks he had picked up. Mr. Goatee had no means of resisting. When he opened his mouth, Zhen Hong poured a handful of rocks into it. When the guy tried to spit them out, Zhen Hong punched him in the face, smashing up the inside of his mouth. Blood-covered rocks came flying out.

“So? How many people inside?”

“Mmmf. Shcrew you, ash-hole.”

“Oh, so you’re a hungry boy, hmm? Greedy, greedy. Okay, open up.”

Zhen Hong picked up the bloodied rocks and shoved them back into the man’s mouth and punched him in the face again. And then again. He was torturing the guy. Pretty soon, his mouth was all messed up, and he was starting to fade in and out of consciousness. It wasn’t long until he didn’t even have the strength to spit the rocks out anymore.

“…?!”

But what Zhen Hong did next snapped the man out of his daze. He forced his palm over the man’s mouth and nose.

“Mmmgh! Mmmffgghh!!!”

“Didn’t you say any dumb bitch off the street can swallow?”

The man’s face turned red as he struggled to get free. Zhen Hong shot the man a grin.

“Well, time to swallow, bitch.”

Mr. Goatee was about to choke to death on a mix of rocks, blood, saliva, and shattered teeth. He had no choice but to do as he was told and try to swallow it all down.

Meanwhile, inside the warehouse, the Don of Brothels was yanking Chun Chun’s hair and whispering all the horrible things he was about to do to her. He was completely absorbed in his petty revenge.

“…He sure is taking a while,” the long-haired hit man muttered to himself, growing bored of watching the torture scene in front of him. The illicit show the Don of Brothels had created catered to an audience of one. It was terribly boring for anyone else in attendance.

But just then, the door to the warehouse slid open a crack, just enough for the long-haired hit man to see his goatee-laden buddy.

“Hey, pal, what took you so long? Is someone out th— What the hell?!”

The long-haired man rushed for the door when he noticed that his partner’s face had been messed up. The guy with the goatee started to fall forward, so the man with the long hair stepped out into the darkness to catch him before he hit the ground.

Hiding to the side just outside the door, and perfectly in the hit man’s blind spot, crouched Zhen Hong, lying in wait.

By the time the long-haired hit man noticed him, it was already too late.

Zhen Hong had his gun raised and trained on the spot where the hit man appeared. There was nothing the man could do. He just stood there, frozen in naked shock, as Zhen Hong pulled the trigger.

Two gunshots pierced the night air.

First the goateed man hit the ground. Then a second later, his long-haired friend joined him.

“Good help is so hard to find, hmm? Sure, it’s fun to watch muscly men beating up on guys half their size, but if the two of you can barely scrape two brain cells together between the both of you, what’s the point? That’s why all the best duos combine brain and brawn. Maybe then you wouldn’t have fallen for the oldest trick in the book.”

Zhen Hong sighed as he stood up.

He peeked inside the warehouse and found that, sure enough, what the hit man had told him had been a big, fat lie. Though, Mr. Goatee had told him as much after he’d had some sense knocked into him. He’d told Zhen Hong that there was only one more hit man and the Don of Brothels inside.

All Zhen Hong had to do was take them out one at a time, and saving Chun Chun would be a cinch. Especially once he’d used Mr. Goatee as bait.

“John D didn’t mention anything about these two being the dumbest hit men alive. I came all the way here expecting to have a fun little shoot-out. Talk about disappointing.”

Zhen Hong stepped into the large warehouse.

“S-stay right where you are! O-or else the whore gets it!”

Zhen Hong turned his gaze toward the small, small man who had a gun pressed against Chun Chun’s head. It was the first time he’d laid eyes on the Don of Brothels, and he wasn’t impressed. Just one more corpse for the pile, he thought.

“Zhen Hong! You came…!” said Chun Chun. Or at least, that’s what it sounded like. Her face was swollen and covered in bruises, and it was hard to make out what she was saying, but he was relieved to see she could still talk.

“Sorry, Chun Chun. Looks like this is good-bye,” said Zhen Hong as he slowly approached. Chun Chun’s head fell in defeat.

The Don of Brothels’s eyes shot open. “Wh-what are you saying?! Aren’t you here to rescue your best prostitute?!”

“Nope. I’m here to kill this don loser who’s been snooping around my brothels and trying to poach my talent.”

Zhen Hong kept advancing.

“Y-you… You bastard…!” cried Chun Chun.

“Heh. I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“W-wait, h-hold on! You’re lying! You’ve gotta be! Why else would you come all this way?! You’re bluffing, you fucking asshole!”

The Don of Brothels untied Chun Chun and kicked her off the chair. Then he forced her up and held her close as his human shield.

“What now, tough guy?!” cried the don, pointing his gun at Chun Chun’s temple.

Zhen Hong was about three big paces away when he stopped in his tracks.

The don’s look of triumph at outsmarting the interloper quickly twisted into a look of despair the moment Zhen Hong opened his mouth.

“All right, Chun Chun, time to say your prayers. I’m gonna count to three, and then I’m shooting.”

The man grinned as he aimed his gun.

“Ooone—”

By the time the sound of the gunshot echoed through the empty warehouse, Chun Chun had wrestled herself free of the man’s arms and crouched.

Given so little time to decide whether to run or fire back, the Don of Brothels had completely let his guard down, letting go of the girl and leaving his chest wide open.

Zhen Hong didn’t hesitate. He shot the don right through the chest.

“Gyaaaah!!!”

The Don of Brothels shrieked in agony as blood spurted from the new hole in his torso. He dropped his gun and desperately brought his hands up to his chest as he collapsed onto the ground.

But he didn’t lose consciousness right away. He writhed on the ground, shrieking in pain as he bled out.

“I knew it, Zhen Hong… You really are a premature ejaculator…,” said Chun Chun with a weak chuckle.

Tell someone you’ll count to three, and they’ll always let their guard down on “one.”

It was no different than what Zhen Hong had done to that boy in the Jeweled Butterfly.

“But what would you have done if I hadn’t understood your signal?”

“Hmm. I guess you would have had to make the ultimate sacrifice.”

“Oh, Zhen Hong. You and your jokes.”

Zhen Hong wasn’t joking. If Chun Chun hadn’t realized what he was about to do, he would have killed her without hesitation. Zhen Hong wasn’t sure why everyone always seemed to paint him as some sort of benevolent leader, but there was also no reason for him to go out of his way to correct them.

“Do your legs still work, Chun Chun?” he asked, giving her his coat.

He wasn’t actually asking her out of concern. He didn’t care whether her legs could carry her or not.

“If you head out to the main street, there’s a car waiting there to take you back to Chinatown. It’s pretty dangerous around here, though, so I would hurry if I were you.”

“You’re not coming with me?”

“I’ve got some cleaning up to do,” he said with a grin.

Chun Chun gulped, and quickly agreed to do as she was told. She soon disappeared from the warehouse.

The only ones who were left inside were the two dead hit men, the very much alive Zhen Hong, and the Don of Brothels, stuck in a horrible limbo between life and death.

Zhen Hong picked up the gun the don had dropped and then crouched down next to him.

“I really hate cleaning, though.”

Zhen Hong greedily licked his top lip as he stared at his next victim.

Zhen Hong shoved the Don of Brothels onto the chair and tied his hands behind his back, just as the man had done to Chun Chun. The main difference was that Chun Chun was a beautiful woman who made people want to protect her, while the don was a small, middle-aged man. But that was a mere rounding error to Zhen Hong. He didn’t care much for people’s appearances.

Blood continued to flow from the hole in the Don of Brothels’s chest, but he had yet to lose consciousness. He was a sack of meat that oozed blood and sweat.

“All righty. So what would you like me to do?” asked Zhen Hong, gun in hand. The muzzle wasn’t pointed at the don, but at the ground.

“J-just kill me already you piece of shit!”

“What?”

“Just kill me!”

“What?”

“K-kill me…”

“What?”

The Don of Brothels fell silent.

Zhen Hong changed his tone of voice slightly with each repeat, and it seemed like the don had caught on. And if he was capable of that, the man was far more conscious than expected.

Zhen Hong gently placed his free hand on the Don of Brothels’s chest, right next to the hole he had just given.

“I guess you didn’t notice? I avoided shooting any of your vital organs on purpose. You’ve been so persistent this whole time, I figured I would return the favor.”

“Nggh… Gaaaaaaahhh!!!”

Zhen Hong slipped one of his fingers into the hole in the man’s chest all the way to the second knuckle.

“Oooh boy. You’re so tight. Looks like I’m going to have to break you in nice and slow.”

“St…op…”

“Oh, but you’ve got me all excited.”

Zhen Hong grinned mischievously as he watched the Don of Brothels’s face twist in pain.

“No! Stopppp! Gaaah!”

“Oh? What’s the matter? Don’t like when I do…this?”

Zhen Hong dug his middle finger around inside the man’s bullet hole. He pushed it in and out until the hole began to slowly expand. It refused him at first, but the human body was remarkably malleable.

“Stop… Stop!”

“How about I try adding another finger?”

Zhen Hong took his index finger and forced both it and his middle finger into the hole. The Don of Brothels shrieked.

What had started as a bullet wound was turning into an unrecognizable mess of torn skin and gore.

“Oooh, just look at how sopping wet you are. My hand’s all sticky with your juices.”

Zhen Hong’s hand was completely red with the don’s blood. He pulled his fingers out, then shoved them back in. Then out, then in. Zhen Hong could squeeze them in just past the second knuckle.

“Think you can take the whole finger yet?”

“St…op… No…more… Nggguuuhh… S-stop m-mov…ing…”

“Oh, come on, I know you want it. Here, I bet I can fit it all the way…in. Oh, wow! I did, I did! Look at how deep inside you I am!”

“S-st…op…! T-take it…out… Pleeeeeease!!!”

Zhen Hong added his ring finger to the mix and plunged all three into the man’s gaping hole. The Don of Brothels convulsed violently, and his eyes rolled back into his head as he foamed at the mouth. But then, as if suddenly remembering something, he raised his head.

“Di…!”

“Come again?”

“Dino! Dino, Dino!”

The name the Don of Brothels shouted was enough to make Zhen Hong cock an eyebrow.

“…What about him? Is he somewhere out there?”

But Zhen Hong quickly realized that was the wrong question. There was no way the small, small man’s cries could reach outside the warehouse. If he expected to be saved, Dino would have to be inside the warehouse to hear him, but since there were no containers or barrels or anything for him to hide in, that didn’t seem likely, either.

“Dino, please! Help! If you’re there, help meee!”

The don had clearly lost his mind and was imagining things. But if he was calling out for Dino at a time like this, there was a good chance the two had some deep ties.

“Dino, hurry! Please, Di—”

Zhen Hong smacked the Don of Brothels in the face with his gun to calm him down. The man spat out a busted tooth and a mess of bloody foam.

“So you and Dino are close, are you?”

The Don of Brothels didn’t answer. He simply continued to scream Dino’s name over and over.

“You should answer my question while you still have teeth.”

Zhen Hong hit him again. Another tooth gone. The don kept screaming. So Zhen Hong hit him again. One more tooth gone. More screaming.

Zhen Hong was almost impressed at this jerk’s inability to learn his lesson. His nose had been smashed and all of his front teeth were gone, but still he called for Dino.

“Just look at what you’ve made me do. Now you’ve got the perfect mouth for sucking, not that anyone would ever stick anything in that disgusting hole of yours. So can you do me a favor and start talking? I’m getting tired of hitting you.”

Zhen Hong grabbed the don’s face and forced him to meet his eyes. But the don’s gaze was shifting all over the place.

“Didn’t your mother teach you to look at someone when they’re talking to you?”

It seemed like the don wasn’t just trying to avoid staring at Zhen Hong. He seemed to be searching for something.

“I said, look at me,” said Zhen Hong, lowering his voice to a threatening growl. For a second, he thought it might have sounded too forced, but his intimidation seemed to work. The Don of Brothels seemed spooked and finally looked Zhen Hong in the eyes.

“That kid. He doesn’t actually live at the Ville-Haven, does he? Where does he really live? If you know, you’d better tell me.”

It was the question he had been waiting to ask for a long time now.

But before he could get his answer, something else drew Zhen Hong’s attention.

Someone else was in the room with them.

Whoever it was, they were standing a short distance away. Zhen Hong had a bad feeling.

He turned around to find a boy in a white suit with a scar on his face standing by one of the warehouse walls. He had a gun in his hand—it was Dino.

But before Zhen Hong had a chance to wonder what the mobster was doing there, he tucked into a roll.

A sudden flash was followed by the sound of a gunshot. Once, twice, and then a third time.

The Don of Brothels sat in the chair, defenseless, as the bullets pierced his head, neck, and chest, granting him a swift exit from this world.

The door to the warehouse hadn’t opened, so where had Dino come from?

It was a question that would turn out to have a fairly unsatisfying answer—there was an open hatch on the ground near the boy that led down into a secret underground tunnel.

Zhen Hong could only guess at how long he’d been hiding out in there.

This had been quite the unforeseen encounter, not least of which because Zhen Hong had never come face-to-face with Dino before. Despite all the time he had spent investigating the youthful mobster, this was Zhen Hong’s first time seeing him in the flesh.

Zhen Hong nonchalantly sat up and hid behind the former Don of Brothels. The dead man’s corpse was a bloody mess and already full of holes, but it would have to do as a meat shield against Dino’s wayward bullets.

“…Wasn’t this guy one of yours?” Zhen Hong called out to Dino as the boy approached. Looking over, Zhen Hong’s eyes were drawn toward the horrible-looking scar on the left side of Dino’s face.

“Indeed, he was! But he was a truly rotten individual! As if getting obsessed with a single prostitute wasn’t bad enough, he hired those useless hit men, and had been neglecting his duties to the family. All he had to do was get rid of that useless pride of his! Realizing the ways in which one holds themselves back is the first step to living a happy life, wouldn’t you agree? But not him! A proud lout like him no longer deserved to live! He had been marked for execution. And so I’ve put him out of his misery before he could suffer any more. Oh, how gracious of me!”

It didn’t sound like Dino had been expecting to execute the don; it sounded more like he happened upon the scene by chance. But it was strange. Why had the boy been hiding out underground in the first place?”

“And now that he’s dead, all the don’s brothels will be under my control. It seems I almost hit you with one of those bullets, but that’s just the way it goes, I’m afraid. Some sacrifices are necessary to achieve one’s goals. Now then. How about you tell me who you are.”

What a mess. Dino didn’t even know who Zhen Hong was, but he seemed perfectly fine with killing him in the crossfire.

Dino’s suit had the heads of stuffed bears sewn into it, which seemed symbolic. They say the only way to befriend a bear is with an ax in hand, and the youthful mobster seemed as ferocious as any bear.

“Hold on. Come to think of it, you look familiar. Oh! It’s you! The Bai She Tong lieutenant, aren’t you? A pleasure to finally meet you in the flesh!”

Zhen Hong had seen pictures of Dino countless times during his investigation, but it seemed that was a two-way street.

“Pleasure’s all mine. I’ve been hoping to meet you for a long, long time, actually. You’re quite the elusive one, aren’t you?”

“Am I to guess that you’re here to protest the family getting in the way of your shanti sales? I would have to imagine so, considering how your underlings have been sniffing around for any scrap of information they can find on me. But I’m afraid you have me all wrong. It’s the underboss who’s taking care of the shanti situation. I am but a mere helper.”

Dino stopped once they were both just barely out of arm’s reach of each other. The only thing between them now was an old chair and a bullet-ridden corpse.

“All that being said, I must say that I’m surprised to see you here! To think that you would make it past the Ville-Haven security and find your way to our secret execution grounds!”

“Uh…?”

Zhen Hong had no idea what Dino was talking about. He sounded like he was dreaming. Was he just spouting off a bunch of nonsense to confuse Zhen Hong?

“I will say, however, that I find your presence rather frustrating. I don’t believe the shanti issue is one that can be resolved through words alone. So if you wouldn’t mind, I think I’m going to kill you now.”

Despite his words, Dino didn’t move. Talk about careless. He’d clearly underestimated his opponent.

“Aren’t you, y’know, worried that as soon as you say that, I’ll come out pistols blazing?”

“I can’t say that I am. After all, you can’t lay a finger on me, can you?” he said, with an innocent blink. “Our underboss filled me in, you see. I’m well aware that you can’t make a move until you ascertain just how much the family knows about your shanti business. Which means you can’t kill me. Not yet, anyway.”

“The shanti business has got nothing to do with it.”

“Is that so?”

“There’s just something I want to ask you before you die. Shanti… It doesn’t work on you, does it?”

“Oh? And what if I say you’re right? You would kill me on the spot, no doubt. Do you really think I’d fall for such a stupid ploy?”

Dino seemed to think that Zhen Hong was toying with him, but Zhen Hong was genuinely curious to find out if it was his natural metabolism that negated the drug’s effects.

But even then, shanti had practically nothing to do with it. What Zhen Hong was really interested in was something else entirely. Something that, as far as he could tell, no one but Dino could tell him. And that was why he couldn’t kill Dino.

“I always thought Bai She Tong was full of fools, but I never realized that their shortsighted lieutenant was the cause,” said Dino with a shrug. “In fact, recently, there was this gray-haired boy who was plotting to get revenge for a burned-down diner. When I had someone look into it, it turned out that he had joined your band of small-time thugs, the Bai She Tong. He certainly was a persistent little miscreant. As they say, birds of a feather flock together. Why, just look at the Falco Family. We have a wonderful boss, and he has a wonderful subordinate! Me!”

There was no two ways about it—Dino was talking about Sangha.

“So… You’re the one who killed that kid, then?” asked Zhen Hong. He hadn’t expected the culprit to confess so willingly.

“It wasn’t me, no!”

“Oh? Really?”

“Indeed. I would never waste my time with such trifling work! I hired someone else to do it. And let me tell you, was the man I hired ever pleased to see how much we were willing to pay for him for the job!”

It seemed that the mobster had drawn a line in the sand that allowed him to believe he hadn’t murdered Sangha. But the clear answer to Zhen Hong’s question was that, yes, Dino had been the one to kill him. Even if someone else had been paid to pull the trigger, Dino had been the one to order the hit.

“That poor boy never did seem to understand one of life’s most important truths: the time meted out to people is equally valuable no matter how it is spent. A minute is a minute is a minute, regardless of whether one uses it to move forward or to stand stock-still. To waste such a precious resource on petty revenge is utterly stupid!”

“Huh.”

“There’s no point having a useless person like that in your organization, is there? I would wager that not a single thing has changed now that he’s gone.”

“I can’t argue with you there.”

“If only he had died in that diner fire, he would have saved all of us the trouble, don’t you think?”

If that were the case, then Sangha would have never had a chance to join Bai She Tong in the first place.

Zhen Hong thought that over, but he had trouble imagining it. He wasn’t very good at pretending something that had happened, hadn’t.

“I suppose he’s been reunited with his beloved family up in heaven now. He must have been ever so lonely to be separated from them for so long. And since I helped reunite them all up there, why, I’d say he should be thanking me! Oh, I am just so compassionate, it surprises even—”

All of a sudden, Dino went silent. Zhen Hong looked straight at him.

“Hello?” he asked. “What are you staring at?”

Dino’s eyes seemed to be focused somewhere far away, as if something elsewhere had caught his attention.

But that wasn’t it at all.

Dino had been shot through the head.

Zhen Hong thought it over for a second and realized he had heard a click a second prior. He also suddenly noticed the ringing in his ears, not to mention the smell of gunpowder that clung to the inside of his nostrils.

“…What?”

Zhen Hong looked down and finally realized that he was holding the gun out in front of him. Suddenly everything made sense.

“Oh. I guess I did that.”

He had subconsciously pulled the trigger. Talk about an abrupt ending.

Zhen Hong had blown Dino’s head off, despite the fact that certain questions would forever go unanswered if he died. And while, yes, Dino had every intention of killing Zhen Hong, there had been countless ways for Zhen Hong to deal with Dino without putting him down.

He really, really shouldn’t have done that.

So why had he?

Was it possible that he was mad that the youth had insulted Sangha? Had he become enraged? Killed him in a moment of blind anger?

It seemed unlikely.

Surely, this was a result of how little he had been sleeping recently.

Taken alone, his actions might have made him look like some kind of hero. He had just shot the man who killed his subordinate, after all. But the truth was far less glamorous—it had been a simple mistake.

If someone you hated disappeared from your life, the unfortunate truth is that you’re not likely to be much happier for it. Sometimes, what you find out instead is that, somewhere along the way, this person became an integral part of your identity.

This was exactly what happened when the reporter found Dino’s body. He felt an overwhelming sense of loss, like he had been betrayed.

It’s kind of funny how little most people actually know about themselves. It’s not uncommon for someone to realize that the person who knows them the most isn’t themselves, but someone else entirely.

Dino was a perfect example.

“What the hell’s up with this place? Smells like shit in here,” said the Falco Family underboss as he walked into what used to be Dino’s room.

The source of the stench was a disembodied thumb that had a second layer of nail growing over its cuticle. It seemed that Dino had asked for the thumb to be brought to him as proof that one of the hits he had ordered had been done. As soon as he had obtained the thing, he had likely lost all interest and chucked it aside to rot.

“This place already stinks like mold even without a bunch of goddamn body parts all over the place. I got no clue how the guy tricked himself into not noticing the stench. Kinda impressive, really.”

“I suppose so,” answered the reporter.

The underboss had come by for one last check of the room before everything in it was torched.

“What’s this here? You take this photo?”

“Yes, sir, I did.”

“Lemme guess. This supposed to be the boss standing next to him? What a goddamn joke.”

The photo the underboss had found in the corner of the room was of the youthful mobster standing all alone. He was posing as though he had linked arms with someone, but there was no one beside him.

Whenever Dino was sad or felt lonely, he would imagine that the boss of the Falco Family was there in the room with him. To make his delusions make more sense, he had even managed to convince himself that the small room underneath the abandoned warehouse where he lived was the top floor of the Ville-Haven Hotel. No matter the contradiction, he always found the perfect explanation to justify these delusions.

“Freakin’ weirdo. He never even met the boss, y’know that?”

“I…suppose that, since he died without ever knowing the truth, in his heart of hearts, Dino believed that the boss truly did care for him.”

“You tryin’ to say that if it was true to him, that’s all that matters? Pheh. Whatever helps you sleep at night, newspaper man. Fact is, he was a nutjob. Simple as that.”

The underboss chuckled to himself.

“Dino’s had a couple screws loose ever since we took him in. Not to mention he was stuck in a kid’s body forever. Some birth defect, I guess, but it was convenient as hell that shanti didn’t work on him. And he learned quick, I’ll give him that. I taught him all sorts of stuff about the business. But I tell him some crap about the boss saying he was doing a good job one time, and the guy makes up a whole imaginary friend and pretends it’s the boss.”

The boss in Dino’s mind might not have been real, but Dino’s exploits certainly were.

“Is the organization in disarray now that the chief is gone?”

“Nah. He wasn’t important to the rest of the family. I always made sure to keep him somewhere I could cut him off the minute he started making any trouble.”

“I…see.”

It seemed that it didn’t matter how competent Dino was, he never would have been trusted within the family. The reporter supposed it was inevitable considering Dino’s entire life had been built around delusions. He almost felt sorry for him.

But more pertinent than that was the fear that gripped the reporter’s heart. What would become of him now? Would he finally be set free? Or would he continue to be a pawn on the Falco Family chessboard? Regardless of his fate, one thing was for certain: No one on the Falco Family payroll was more affected by Dino’s death than the reporter.

Once the underboss had finished looking around the room, he turned to face him.

“Thanks for takin’ care of Dino this whole time. How ’bout I treat ya to some cannoli for all your hard work? ’Course, I’ve been putting on too much weight lately, so we might have to split an order.”

“That’s fine. In fact, I’m grateful.”

“Great. Let’s get outta here, then. You did good, newspaper man.”

The reporter had no idea what kind of expression the underboss wore as he complimented him on a job well done.

He was too busy thinking about what lay ahead. If this was really the only thing he had to look forward to in life, then he wished everything would just disappear like some horrible mirage.

1

Zhen Hong walked the dimly lit streets, the fragrance of honey candy wafting from his body. He had just finished another one of his detestable jobs, so his feet automatically carried him toward the Zhuyin Flower Shop.

While he set about his gruesome work, he was glad to find that what had happened with Dino didn’t overcome him again. He was focused. His hands steady. He tore flesh from bone with ease.

It was a great relief. The thought of not being in control of his own actions was more frightening than anything.

This was especially true as there was no end to the detestable work he would have to do.

Zhen Hong pulled out a piece of shanti from his bag. He really didn’t see what everyone saw in the stuff.

He took the red candy out of its wrapper and popped it into his mouth. He rolled it around on his tongue.

It tasted like peace. Dreadfully boring peace.

“Hey, what the hell d’ya think you’re doing?!” screamed Da Ge.

“Whoa, scary, scary!”

He was only a few paces away from the flower shop, so his superior had spotted him as he popped the thing in his mouth.

“I didn’t expect to see you at the shop today, Da Ge.”

“Rotten luck for you, eh? If it had been someone else, they’d probably have let you off the hook. All right, you know the rules. Pay up.”

“Fine, fine.”

“Why’d you do it?”

“Hmm? Oh, no reason.”

“Don’t give me that shit. You know there’s no point in you taking that stuff.”

“I know, I know.”

“If you’re looking to suck on something, just smoke your pipe, wouldya?” said Da Ge tersely.

He didn’t seem angry, mostly confused. It was just as Da Ge said—there was no point in Zhen Hong taking shanti.

Shanti didn’t work on Zhen Hong. He had the same peculiar metabolism that Dino did.

Though, more accurately speaking, Zhen Hong’s inability to get high was broader than Dino’s. He didn’t feel the effects of any drugs. He couldn’t even get drunk. And, for some reason, he was incredibly resistant to pain as well.

Zhen Hong had no idea why his body was like this. He didn’t know much about himself; he couldn’t remember anything about his past.

Da Ge had found Zhen Hong collapsed in the streets of Broken Ark one day and took him under his wing, but he didn’t remember anything from before that.

He didn’t know who he was or where he had come from. Zhen Hong had lost more than his right eye—he had lost his entire past.

That was why he didn’t want to kill Dino. Even though they weren’t the same age or race, Zhen Hong had heard rumors that, before his face was scarred, Dino had a cross-shaped tattoo under his left eye, just like Zhen Hong’s.

Add to that the fact that they both had similar metabolisms when it came to drugs, and Zhen Hong had come to believe that Dino might have some clue about where he had come from.

Dino was his only lead. And yet Zhen Hong had shot him in the head.

“How’ve you been enjoying living with someone?” Da Ge asked.

“Pardon?”

“Didn’t you tell me you started living with that kid?”

“Huh? Oh, right.” Zhen Hong had forgotten that the last time he saw Da Ge was when he and Sangha had started living together. “He passed away.”

The boy’s death hadn’t been worth reporting, so this was the first time he told his superior. Da Ge narrowed his eyes and searched Zhen Hong’s face.

“And you’re…not the one who killed him?”

“What kind of question is that?”

“I just thought the whole reason you’d taken him in was because you were after his organs,” Da Ge said, pointing to the spot around his chest.

That had indeed been Zhen Hong’s intention the first time he approached Sangha, back when the boy was listlessly kneeling in front of his burned-down diner. One of the customers in Zhen Hong’s more gruesome enterprises was specifically looking for a gray-haired kid. He initially thought it was his lucky day, running into someone who fit the bill.

“Not at all. If anything, I guess I was after his heart.”

He meant it metaphorically, so Zhen Hong’s hand hovered in the air, not really sure where to point.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“What indeed.”

When Zhen Hong had eventually run into Sangha again, he realized the boy reminded him of someone.

The fact that he stubbornly refused shanti. The fact that he didn’t give a shit about world peace if that peace meant living in a world without his sister.

It all reminded Zhen Hong of someone—himself.

Zhen Hong’s peculiar physical characteristics also meant that his senses were dulled. He was perfectly capable of mimicking a rainbow of human emotions to play the part he was expected to play in any situation. But the reality was that the myriad experiences of life were very dull to him.

It was like everything that happened was happening to him from very far away. Maybe Zhen Hong was more like a shanti junkie than he cared to admit.

Was a life without feeling one of peace? If that were the case, Zhen Hong would prefer to hurt, to suffer.

When Sangha told him that he felt the same, Zhen Hong had a peculiar thought. Maybe if he kept the boy close by, he could get some kind of stimulation out of his numb existence.

“Not that it matters one little bit now, anyway,” said Zhen Hong, finishing his thought.

Now that Sangha was gone, none of it mattered anymore.

“Well, if you say so.” Da Ge clapped Zhen Hong on the shoulder twice. It seemed like a sentimental gesture. If Zhen Hong was a child, maybe the man would have ruffled his hair instead.

“So I take it one rindo flower is enough? You probably already bought one for the kid while the manager was minding the shop, I figure?”

“I…didn’t buy one, actually.”

Zhen Hong hadn’t realized it until now, but despite visiting the flower shop multiple times since Sangha’s death, he had never even thought to buy the boy a rindo flower.

It made no sense. Whether it was decapitating the corpse of a junkie for work or Sangha getting shot, it made no difference to Zhen Hong. It was all death, plain and simple.

Was it because he hadn’t sold Sangha’s corpse for parts? Since he had derived no monetary gain from the boy’s body, maybe he had forgotten to treat his death with the value he usually assigned to his victims.

Zhen Hong thought it over, and that did seem to make logical sense, but something still didn’t sit right with him. Seeing his subordinate fall silent, Da Ge sighed and gave him a forced smile.

“If you’re so worried about it, why not decorate your place with a rindo flower that’ll never wilt?” suggested Da Ge. “Y’know, as an apology for forgetting to offer him one after he died.”

2

“My, that certainly brings me back,” came Fei’s voice. She had a meeting at the Bai She Tong office and had closed up shop early. She happened to show up just as Zhen Hong was hanging the kind of rindo flower Da Ge had suggested under the office building’s eaves.

“I can’t believe people used to hang these every time someone died. Sounds like a lot of work for nothing,” answered Zhen Hong.

What Da Ge had suggested—the kind of rindo flower that would never wilt—were paper lanterns decorated with a rindo flower pattern. From now on, the dark nights would be illuminated by their pale blueish glow.

“I suppose you’re right. They take some cleaning and maintenance as well, so they are a bit of work.”

Back before members of Bai She Tong offered rindo flowers to the deceased, it was the tong’s custom to hang blue rindo flower lanterns under the eaves of the deceased person’s home.

Apparently, when someone important from the tong died, the lanterns were hung not only at the home of the deceased, but at the homes of their subordinates and shops under Bai She Tong’s protection as a sign of mourning.

“Who died? Someone from the old generation?”

“Nah. This is for Sangha.”

“Now? Isn’t it a little late for that?”

“Hey, this was Da Ge’s order,” Zhen Hong replied.

“Hmm, is that so? Well, do what you want. That does remind me, though. You’re the lieutenant these days, so I hope you know why we used lanterns with rindo flowers painted on them.”

“Because…they’re pretty?” answered Zhen Hong.

“Don’t just guess at random. This is important.”

“Okay, then why not just tell me?”

“It’s because of what the flower symbolizes. It’s the perfect sentiment to comfort those who have lost a loved one.”

“Oh, right… Victory.”

He was merely repeating what Da Ge had told him.

“No, no. Not that. Flowers can symbolize many things. It seems Bai She Tong’s been cursed with a boorish lieutenant. Well, whatever. If you want to remain ignorant, that’s up to you.”

“Oh dear. Looks like I’ve disappointed you.”

“Don’t pretend like you care,” said Fei.

The old woman seemed deflated. Zhen Hong offered her a smile as consolation.

“Anyway. You sure you should be standing around chatting, Fei?”

“Oh, right! I’m going to be late for my meeting.”

“I should probably head out soon, too, to be honest.”

“Oh? Didn’t realize you had something on the agenda as well. Sorry for taking up your precious time.”

Zhen Hong waved her apology away.

“It’s no big deal. I just have to stop by the Hang Lao Association.”

“Aw, you wanted to see me again, even if it was just a quick sit down? You’re more of a romantic than I gave you credit for,” said Zhen Hong.

Sitting on the sofa of the private room was Liu Tai Long; he ignored the man’s comments. He had summoned Zhen Hong through the Hang Lao Association’s executive committee. Standing behind him was his bodyguard, Zhizhu.

“Take a seat,” Liu Tai Long finally said, motioning with his head to the sofa on the other side of the table.

Since both Bai She Tong and Yi Bang were members of the Hang Lao Association executive committee, Zhen Hong didn’t expect Liu Tai Long to try and pick a fight with him here of all places.

That feeling was clearly mutual—Liu Tai Long hadn’t asked his bodyguard to give Zhen Hong a pat down or search his bag.

“Not like you to call me in for an official meeting like this, Tai Long. I’m not a big fan. You have any idea how much heat I’d draw if people thought I was cozying up with the Yi Bang?”

“Then let’s get this over with.”

“Yes, yes,” said Zhen Hong, taking a seat. “So? What’d you call me here for?”

“That child who recently joined you. I have something of his.”

“Huh?”

Liu Tai Long set a necklace with a simple oval locket on the table between them. A part of the thin chain had snapped, but the ends had been tied together to complete the loop.

“Well, well. What’s the story here?” Zhen Hong opened up the locket.

“I found it on the floor of a place called Orion’s. Didn’t that boy notice it was missing?”

Inside the locket was an old family photo. There was no mistaking it—it was Sangha’s locket.

It seemed the boy had lost it long before the eve of the Mid-Autumn Festival. He simply hadn’t noticed it was gone.

“That whole thing with the Falco Family, right? I heard. You certainly took your time returning this to us, didn’t you?”

“The owner of the place only just gave it to us. He seemed to know it belonged to the boy and said he was keeping it safe. He apologizes that he forgot to hand it over right away.”

“So what? Big shot like you just plays errand boy? The kid wasn’t part of your crew. I’m surprised you didn’t just toss the thing in the trash.”

“It contains a photo of his family. I couldn’t throw away something so important,” Liu Tai Long answered, his expression as emotionless as ever.

Despite his cold demeanor, Liu Tai Long could never seem to pass up an opportunity to show off his well-mannered upbringing. He was the kind of guy who could spout some cheesy nonsense like, Family should be cherished with a straight face. It drove Zhen Hong nuts.

“Oooh, a nice guy, hmm? I guess that’s why you told Sangha to hurry home back to my place as well, is it? What a sensitive, caring soul.”

“What are you getting at?”

“Oh, nothing. I was just thinking about how much you probably hate runaways.”

A tinge of rage flashed across Liu Tai Long’s expression, but Zhen Hong ignored it and continued.

“That’s what this is about, isn’t it? You’re still mad that I ran away and abandoned you back then? And it drove you crazy seeing him about to do the same thing, am I right?”

“Watch your tongue.”

“It was so long ago. I hadn’t even joined Bai She Tong yet. And you’re still not over it?”

“Do you have a death wish?”

“Doesn’t matter how much you hate someone, you can only kill them once. So make sure you save that opportunity for when it really counts, hmm?”

“We’re done here,” said Liu Tai Long, standing up.

“I guess I might as well just tell you. But, Sangha? He died. So sorry you had to waste your time bringing this thing.”

Liu Tai Long and Zhizhu ignored his words and pretended Zhen Hong was no longer there. They left the room without a second glance.

The room was deathly quiet. Zhen Hong’s gaze slowly fell upon the locket.

“I guess…you really are dead, huh.”

He spotted one. And then another.

It wasn’t long before Zhen Hong realized that, while walking back to the office, the neighborhood was full of the soft blueish glow of lanterns.

It seemed seeing the rindo flower lanterns hanging from the eaves of the Bai She Tong office building had made those living nearby mistakenly assume that they, too, should be in morning. It was possible they all thought the tong’s lieutenant had died. If so, they weren’t that far off. Zhen Hong had no sense that he was alive.

The pale glow of the lanterns dotted his way, occasionally forming chains of light.

Zhen Hong, with Sangha’s locket in hand, looked up at the lanterns. At the rindo flowers that would never wilt.

Suddenly, the conversation he’d had with Fei earlier in front of the office came floating back into his mind.

He had lied.

Zhen Hong knew very well what the rindo flower symbolized.

He gently placed the locket into his bag and began walking through Chinatown alone.

Such symbolism was meaningless to Zhen Hong.

He had no use for such a sappy phrase. The sentiment embodied by each rindo flower was—

The sound of a gunshot pierced the night air.

“Someone should have taught you this lesson long ago,” said Zhen Hong nonchalantly to the boy next to him. “If you carry around a scary weapon like that, you’re bound to get hurt… Wouldn’t you agree?”

But the boy didn’t answer. His head was too out of sorts. Not figuratively speaking, either.

Zhen Hong had grabbed the boy’s arm just as he was about to fire his gun and twisted it so the boy was pointing the muzzle at his own head. It all happened so fast the boy likely had no time to process what was happening as he blew his own brains out.

He had been quite the unlucky customer, though Zhen Hong meant that pejoratively. He hadn’t received money from the lad.

He grabbed the boy’s corpse and hoisted it up onto the railing. His arms fluttered limply as Zhen Hong shoved him over the edge. As he fell, Zhen Hong noticed that the boy had a large mole on his left hand.

Conveniently, there was a river directly below. A moment passed in silence, followed by the loud splash of his body hitting the water’s surface.

Zhen Hong exhaled a long, slow breath, as though he was exhaling smoke from his pipe.

Nothing ever changed.

And surely, nothing ever would.

Day in and day out, he walked the streets, peddling shanti.

This night, too, Zhen Hong continued his rounds. Always looking for new customers. People looking for the tedium of tranquility, the boredom of peace. Indolent freedom.

“Hello, young lady, with your head hanging low. If you’re troubled, I’ll gladly lend you an ear.”

AFTERWORD

This afterword may contain spoilers. Please proceed with caution.

The song, “Shanti,” has an overwhelming amount of depth to it. To me, it has felt like an infinite sandbox, a place to use my imagination to create tunnels, castles, anything. I’ve had a blast writing with the inspiration it gave me, and the end result was the book you’re holding now.

I had so much fun working on this story from the very first meeting all the way through to this afterword.

In fact, I just remembered that, during the first meeting for this project, Editor A (the one in charge of this story), Editor B (the one in charge of me), and I were all together. When I shared my ideas for the rough outline of the story, I remember Editor B saying “You’re more diabolical than I thought! lol.” (I hadn’t finished planning the plot, but somehow the ideas already felt complete.) At the time, I took that as a compliment, but what do you all think? I’d love to hear.

That being said, I consider this story as being the GA Bunko Universe version of “Shanti,” so if people have different interpretations, I’d love to see them fight it out.

I meant that metaphorically, of course! I’d prefer it if everyone got along. Besides, it’s fun to hear other people’s interpretations.

Now, on to acknowledgments!

First, wotaku. Despite the fact that you are at once the parent, the king, and the god of the song, and have the final say in all things Shanti, you were incredibly accommodating. So much so, in fact, that (as rude as this may be) it made me uneasy. Every time you approved something, I e-mailed the editor asking, “Wait, that wasn’t rejected? Are you sure?” lol. It was an honor to feel that you had faith in me throughout the process of writing the story.

When I first received materials about the setting, I was particularly surprised that the guy in the music video was not a high-ranking member of his organization. So the first thing I did was create a chart (I made charts from top to bottom for every organization in the story, including ones that don’t appear).

It goes without saying that “Shanti” is a song loved by many. I hope that by writing this story I was able to properly depict even a fraction of what this song means to people. Thank you so much for allowing me to run wild and free with your masterpiece!

Next up, NIGATA AMMON. Back when Zhen Hong didn’t yet have a name and I was still calling him “the guy from the music video” in meetings with my editor, I relied heavily on the concept art you provided to help create the character who would become Zhen Hong. Small things like, “Oh, so this eye is this way!” I wanted to make absolutely sure I didn’t miss any details, so that’s why the descriptions of his appearance wound up so detailed.

As an aside, Chapter 1 Part 5 was my attempt to write the scene from the music video and cover illustration.

Personally, my favorite illustration is the fourth black-and-white insert. That’s the scene where, in an abuse of my powers as author, I turned to my editor and said, “This part here would look great. Wink. I think this would be the perfect place for a black-and-white insert. Wink wink.” And when I finally saw the image, it was so good that I thought I was going to faint. I’m sorry if my slow writing pace ever caused you any trouble. Thank you so much for all of your wonderful illustrations!

To my editor, I would like to extend my heartfelt apologies for coming down with a severe case of writer’s block and causing you so much grief with my sluggish pace. You made so many adjustments for me and, well, I just feel bad for my foolishness and hope it didn’t cause you too much trouble. I often fantasized about solving any issues with money or violence. Like, “Maybe the editor’s company will give them a massive raise!” (I think if I paid them directly, it would be illegal), or “Maybe they can just punch me as hard as they can to vent their frustrations!” (I should probably stop fantasizing ways to weasel out of my problems and face them head-on, mind you.) I’m just so grateful that you stuck by me all the way through to the end…!

I would also like to thank everyone else involved, from the designer who made the incredible chapter pages, to the sales team that worked so hard getting this book to market. Thank you all!

And, of course, I would like to thank you, the reader holding this book right now. You have my deepest gratitude!

I hope we’ll have the opportunity to meet again somewhere. Oh! Come to think of it, we already have a perfect chance: The manga adaptation of Shanti! I’m already waiting with bated breath.

That’s it for me! This is Shinano Sano signing off!