by Chan Ho-Kei
Nga-Yee realized he was right.
“At this point, the internet is the spine of society—” he went on. “We can’t live without it. Yet there are those who take a backward attitude. When you see its good side, you praise the net and talk about the great strides human civilization has made; then you see its more negative side, you blame it for causing harm, and you want to restrict it. People think they’re being so progressive—but actually these ideologies are exactly the same, deep down, as one or two hundred years ago. The problem isn’t the internet, it’s us. You heard part of the presentation earlier, so I guess you understand more or less what Sze Chung-Nam’s company does?”
“It’s a website something like Popcorn? And they also wanted to—what was it—change traditional news media—”
“Their website is called GT Net—it’s a chatboard as well as a news exchange site. In an enlightened, mature society, a site like this might well be able to take over the role of traditional media and be a force for good. As it is, it’s a terrible idea—it just brings out the dark side of people, allowing them to disseminate unsubstantiated rumors and nasty gossip. And the sheer volume of information in the digital age is more than the average person can cope with. Many years ago, the American writer David Shenk coined the term ‘data smog’ to describe this. In a fog like this, the data that ought to help us find the truth becomes a mental drug that keeps us in a state of foolishness. Remember the Boston Marathon bombing?”
Nga-Yee nodded. She’d seen it on the news at the time.
“As soon as it happened, the internet worked together to search for evidence, hoping to pinpoint the culprit from footage of the scene and help the police with their investigation.” N paused a moment. “The problem is, mistakes in situations like this have serious consequences. One poster found a college student, Sunil Tripathi, who looked like the man in the videos and had gone missing a month before the bombing. He immediately became the prime suspect. Then, when the police had the perpetrator surrounded and there was a gunfight, some netizens listened in on their wireless comms and claimed they could confirm that Tripathi was the murderer. Even mainstream outlets started reporting it as fact. This misinformation wasn’t cleared up till the next day. Tripathi’s corpse was discovered a week later; the pathology report found that he’d been dead at the time of the bombing. Before the identity of the true killer was revealed, Tripathi’s family went through hell. They were already suffering—not knowing if he was alive or dead, being attacked on the basis of these false rumors. The problem here wasn’t the internet, even though that’s how the news spread, nor was it the websites that were used, but the stupidity of the human mind. In seeking the truth, we choose to believe unreliable sources, and we spread these untruths in the name of ‘sharing,’ creating a disaster that’s hard to undo.”
Nga-Yee knew there were innocent people all over the world who’d been smeared on the internet, but after hearing this concrete example, her heart tightened. After what happened to Siu-Man, she could empathize with what this student’s family must have suffered.
“The internet is a great place for us to share our knowledge and increase communication.” N sighed. “But human beings naturally love expressing their opinions more than they want to understand other people. We always talk too much and listen too little, which is why the world is so noisy. Only when we understand this will we finally see progress in the world. That’s when humanity will be ready to use the internet as a tool.”
Nga-Yee normally regarded everything N said as twisted logic, but she actually agreed profoundly with this.
“Any other questions? If not, hurry on home and stop getting in my way.” N started looking impatient again.
“One more question. Last one.” Nga-Yee had been puzzling over this ever since N had explained about Sze Chung-Nam in the car on their way back. “Why did you look at the security footage from the day Siu-Man was assaulted? You seemed to know from the very beginning that the real culprit was out there.”
“Correct, I did.”
“How?”
“Do you know the categories of sex offenders who target underage victims?”
Nga-Yee shook her head.
“There are basically two types: the pedophiles, who are attracted only to children, and the indiscriminate ones who’ll take on any age, young or old. Both of these can be further divided into the introverts and the sadists. The introverts are passive—their crimes are opportunistic, usually flashing or molesting. The sadists are more active—their aim is to make their victims feel pain and fear. That’s how they get their kicks. There are also those who use money or other things to lure children into their clutches, but that wasn’t relevant here, so I’ll skip over them.”
“Okay, those are the categories. So what?”
“Both introverts and sadists might touch someone up on a train. The former do it for their own gratification, the latter to terrorize their victims. In a situation like this, neither would choose someone who looked like they might retaliate. Introverts wouldn’t anyway, and while sadists like their prey to fight back, they wouldn’t do that on public transport—it would attract too much attention. The sadist’s goal is to isolate the victim and enjoy devouring her at leisure, the way Sze Chung-Nam brought those girls to hotels. So you see, it seemed strange that Shiu Tak-Ping would commit a crime like this.”
“Why? Siu-Man didn’t dare say anything while she was being attacked. She didn’t struggle.”
“But Shiu Tak-Ping wouldn’t think so, because he’d had an argument with your sister at the convenience store before boarding the train. When he was arrested, he claimed right away that she’d falsely accused him because they’d quarreled at Yau Ma Tei station. The shop attendant corroborated this. No pervert would be stupid enough to choose a victim he’d just had an encounter with, especially one who’d shown that she wasn’t afraid of him. Taking this into account, it seemed likely that Shiu Tak-Ping was innocent—and that’s probably why so many people decided your sister had falsely accused him. They may not have analyzed it in that much detail, but they had the gut response that no one would be so stupid.”
“So you also thought from the start that Siu-Man was lying?” said Nga-Yee, a little shocked.
“No, because if you flip it around, the chances of your sister falsely accusing him were also almost zero,” said N, shaking his head a little. “If Shiu Tak-Ping was right and she really was out to get him, she’d have been the one to raise the alarm, not the older woman. It would have been much simpler for her to just grab his arm and scream. Looking at all the evidence, it was very likely that your sister actually had been assaulted, and also that Shiu Tak-Ping was innocent. Which only left one possibility—”
“That the real culprit had got away,” finished Nga-Yee.
“The posters who decided your sister was lying didn’t know how they were being manipulated. Kidkit727 was working hard behind the scenes—not to clear Shiu Tak-Ping’s name, but for other reasons. When Shiu Tak-Ping took the plea deal, that opened the door for kidkit727 to make more trouble. Meanwhile, Sze Chung-Nam, a repeat offender, got away scot-free.” N grinned. “Remember what I said at the start? The only reason I accepted your case was that it turned out to be so much more interesting than I’d expected.”
CHAPTER TEN
Christopher Song had just brewed the coffee when he realized that Violet was standing sleepily behind him, still clutching her pillow.
“Sorry, did I wake you?” he asked.
Violet shook her head and sat herself down at the dining table. Christopher had told her the night before that she should sleep in, but for the last three days she’d been up before he left for work, sitting silently as he drank his coffee and then walked out the door. He knew why she was doing this: she was terrified that she would open her eyes and find herself back in the fancy Broadcast Drive condo, all alone, rather than in this shabby two-hundred-square-foot apartment in Cheung Sha Wan.
It had been less than a w
eek since the night Christopher burst into the To household, but their lives had changed much faster than he could have imagined. It was still too early to tell, but he thought this might turn out to be a good thing.
That night, when the security guard summoned the police, Christopher had hardened his heart and decided to fulfill the promise he’d made to his sister: he’d take her away from that awful home. He told the officer that Violet’s mother had been missing for many years, leaving Violet with a stepfather she shared no blood ties with. He hadn’t mistreated her, but he often left her home alone because of work, which clearly meant he was guilty of neglecting a minor.
Once the courts got involved, they quickly ascertained that Christopher was telling the truth. The Immigration Department confirmed that their mother had left Hong Kong many years earlier and never returned, while Rosalie testified that Violet had slit her wrists a year ago and Mr. To had prevented his daughter from seeking medical help. These were enough grounds for Mr. To to lose custody. In accordance with Violet’s own wishes, she was placed in the care of her brother. The judge reached this decision quickly, not only because of Christopher’s and Rosalie’s statements, but mostly because of the scars still visible on Violet’s forearms and her state of near collapse. It was clear that life with her stepfather wasn’t good for her.
That night, Christopher had realized that his sister had been about to kill herself, but he had no idea what brought her to this point. Violet said that she knew he was in trouble, and that the only way to get him out of it was to remove herself from this world. It saddened him to hear her talk that way. What a state she must have been in! He was only glad he’d arrived in time to prevent a tragedy.
Mr. To had cut short his business trip and returned to Hong Kong, where he was preparing to appeal the judgment. Sometime in the near future, Christopher would have to face an onslaught from Mr. To’s legal team, who’d try to prove that Christopher was even less fit to be Violet’s guardian. That was fine. He felt sure he could deal with anything they might throw at him.
He’d promised his sister he would make her happy.
The previous summer, just two months after she slit her wrists, he’d realized that she hadn’t given up on the idea of ending her life. One night, she snuck out and they met in the little park between Broadcast Drive and Junction Road. He found her in a state of anxiety bordering on despair, even though it was still vacation time and she didn’t have to go to school.
“Violet, promise me you won’t do anything stupid,” he’d said. “Are you really willing to sacrifice your life just because of those bastards at your school?”
“I’m—I don’t want to, but—I can’t take it anymore …” she sobbed.
“I’ll be right here, supporting you.” He took her icy hands. “Our society is broken, and the weak are destined to be bullied and exploited. But that just means we have to go on living until we’re able to make those scumbags suffer everything we’ve been through.”
“But I don’t even know who hacked into the student aide’s account and posted that attack on me—”
“I’ll find a way to take revenge for you. Whichever bastard did that will get what they deserve. Violet, just promise me you won’t try again.”
That was last July 27.
From that day, Christopher had known he had to rescue his sister, even if it meant becoming someone he abhorred.
Still, he regretted not having found a better way to persuade her. After Au Siu-Man’s suicide, Violet’s psychological state had become even more fragile. All he could do to calm her down was insist over and over that the girl’s death wasn’t Violet’s fault.
“Last night’s leftovers are in the fridge. Just heat them up in the microwave for your lunch,” he now said, putting on his shoes in the vestibule. “I’m sorry I’m not earning more money, or I’d buy you a proper meal.”
“No, this is fine,” Violet murmured, biting her lower lip.
Christopher said goodbye and headed for the MTR. In the crowded train, he found a spot by the door, standing with his briefcase in one hand, cell phone in the other, distractedly scrolling through the latest news. Should he arrange for his sister to transfer schools? Should she change her surname back to Song? Should he get a second job behind his boss’s back so he could afford to rent a slightly bigger apartment? For days now, these questions had been swirling around in his head.
“Huh?”
As his finger flicked along the screen, he saw a familiar face. This was a report about a scandalous case in which the accused blackmailed underage girls into sexual acts by threatening to release nude photos of them. Christopher thought he’d seen this man’s face before on some IT chatboard. Even so, he didn’t bother reading the whole article, just glanced at it before moving on to the next item.
It briefly crossed his mind that if his sister’s delusions were actually true and someone had discovered how he’d stirred up public opinion on the internet to make that girl kill herself, then he’d probably find himself starring in a news item too.
If that day ever came, he wouldn’t try to run. He knew that Au Siu-Man’s death was on his head.
As long as his sister could go on living, that was enough. For her sake, he would descend into hell without a word of complaint.
He would bear the guilt alone, he thought, until his dying day.
EPILOGUE
“Where do you want these, Nga-Yee?” Wendy held up some cups from a cardboard box.
“Cupboard by the fridge, please.”
On Sunday, July 12, Wendy helped Nga-Yee move in. She couldn’t afford movers, thanks to N having drained her savings account, and just as she was wondering how she was going to handle this, Wendy had spontaneously offered—she’d overheard Nga-Yee giving their supervisor her new address. Nga-Yee thought of refusing, but she didn’t have anywhere else to turn. Besides, she’d already accepted so many favors from Wendy, what was one more?
“Wow, Miss Au, I’d never have thought he’d give you one of his apartments.”
That was Mr. Mok, Wendy’s uncle, who’d come along to help drive the truck.
“Who are you talking about, Uncle?” asked Wendy.
“Miss Au’s new landlord. He’s a strange guy.” Mr. Mok laughed.
Wendy accepted this without asking any more questions. Nga-Yee wondered at her lack of perception—everything about this situation ought to be setting off alarm bells, but Wendy seemed quite happy to vaguely assume that Mr. Mok had somehow found Nga-Yee a new place in the course of investigating her case.
Mr. Mok helped carry the many boxes up to the fourth floor before he had to leave for work, leaving Wendy and Nga-Yee to unpack them. Wendy was agog at this place—a crumbling tenement building from the outside, a neat, well-maintained apartment on the inside. Nga-Yee had been equally surprised a few days earlier, when she walked in there for the first time. It was obvious that no one lived there—the furniture was under white sheets—but the floorboards and bathroom were perfectly clean. All the furniture and appliances she needed were already there, and she didn’t have to bring any of that from her old place. What she had wasn’t worth reselling, so she simply gave it away to her neighbors.
She would miss Wun Wah House, but she knew this was a good chance to begin a new life. She read in the papers that many young women came forward after Sze Chung-Nam was arrested, and he was facing a stiff sentence. Yet she didn’t follow his case beyond that. Better to forget the past and keep moving ahead. She had to go on living well, for the sake of her parents and sister.
“The last tenant must have been very neat!” said Wendy, inspecting the kitchen. “You’ve lucked out, Nga-Yee. Sure, there’s no elevator, but finding an apartment like this near the city center is incredible.”
Nga-Yee smiled but said nothing. She didn’t want to explain that there was no previous tenant. The previous morning, while dropping off some stuff, she’d bumped into Heung.
“Oh, morning, Miss Au,” Heung had said. She was
coming from the stairwell out into the street, just like their first meeting.
“Morning. Just finished cleaning, Heung? You have quite a few apartments to get through—that must be hard work.”
“It is.” Heung smiled. “But at least I won’t have to do the fourth floor anymore.”
So N had already told Heung she’d be moving in. Nga-Yee suddenly remembered their second meeting, the morning after she’d spent the night at N’s place. And now she was moving into his building—what must the cleaning lady think?
“Um, Heung, please don’t misunderstand, N and I …”
“I know—don’t worry. You were one of his clients too?” said Heung cheerfully. “That guy. He puts up all kinds of defenses, but underneath it all he’s a good person.”
“Too?” Nga-Yee had been about to disagree with her assessment of N’s character, but the word caught her attention. “Heung, are you cleaning the building for free because you owe him money?”
“For free?” She looked puzzled. “No. He was the one who didn’t get—”
She stopped abruptly, looked around to make sure no one else was nearby. “Miss Au, you’re N’s friend and he’s letting you stay here, so I don’t think it matters if I tell you. N could have taken the ten million dollars, but in the end he wouldn’t accept a cent, and he gave it all to me and the other clients. Where else would you find such a generous soul?”
“Ten million!” Nga-Yee gaped. She’d never have guessed that Heung was rich.
“Shh! It didn’t all come to me,” Heung hastily explained. “I guess I should tell you the whole story. I live in a fifty-year-old tenement building in Sheung Wan. Most of my neighbors are older folk. The government said we had to strengthen the outer wall of the building, so the two dozen households pooled our money and hired a contractor to manage the project. We got cheated. The fees ballooned from a few million, like they’d initially said, to ten million. Sure, you could say it was our fault for not reading the contract more carefully, but the contractor was obviously acting in bad faith. He even took money people were saving for their funerals. My upstairs neighbor Uncle Wong was so angry, he had a heart attack and got sent to the hospital. I happened to mention this to N—I had no idea what he was capable of. He did his thing, and the contractor eventually paid us back twenty million—everything he’d taken, plus interest. I’d been working for N for four years at that point, and I had no idea he was anything more than some software engineer who made apps for a living. We’d have been happy getting the initial sum back, and N could have kept the other ten million as his fee—but he refused to take any of it. He said that was just pocket change, we should keep it for our old age. These days, there are evil people everywhere you look, and then there’s N—a modern-day knight in shining armor.”