by Cole Reid
The Triads had started out on the Kowloon side of Hong Kong. Kowloon meant nine dragons. The eight branches of the Triad family were eight dragons corresponding with Kowloon. The ninth dragon was the city of Hong Kong itself, the egg that gave birth to them all. All eight branches were representative of one traditional Chinese element: Fire; Water; Earth; Air; Metal; Wood; Yin and Yang. The Fire Dragons—the Dragons—represented fire and controlled the Hong Kong Island section east of North Point. The Blue Dragons or the Blues, representing water, were across the Eastern Harbour inward toward the New Territories. Bordering the Blues, were the Thorns, representing wood, whose territory extended around Kowloon Bay, as far as Prince Edward Road. Ma Tau Chung Road was the western border between the Thorns and the Golden Masters. The Masters, representing metal, controlled the area around Hong Kong Coliseum bordered on the west by the rails of New Kowloon Station. The Masters didn’t control much harbor space, but controlled the major distribution grounds of Kowloon. The sun was the traditional representation of yang. The Sons of the Sun—the Sons—controlled most of Western Kowloon and Victoria Harbour. The Sons’ territory overlapped with the Flying Dragons, representing air. The Flyers’ territory was unimagined but traditionally had been west of New Kowloon Station rails, around City Polytechnic of Hong Kong and ending at Nathan Road, stretching back toward Victoria Harbour. The Moon Dragons—the Moons—who had Uncle Woo as Dragon Head, were seated on west Hong Kong Island. The Moons controlled area from the harbor to the University of Hong Kong, including the Central Government Offices and ending roughly around the newly built Hong Kong Convention & Exhibition Centre. Between the Moons on the western side of Hong Kong Island and the Fire Dragons on the eastern side, were the Earth Dragons representing earth. The Earth Dragons fashioned their own translation as Dirt Dragons—the Dirty Ones. The Dirty Ones did their best to breathe life into the name. They were the most ruthless of all eight family branches and were the most creative in terms of killing. They were the only ones who still preferred torture as a method of interrogation. The other branches had moved toward blackmail and bribery in the late 60’s. The Dirty Ones’ territory included the Government Stadium, Causeway Bay and Victoria Park—the highlife. They were the most action-oriented branch, which cast them in continued bad light especially from their more peaceable neighbors, the Moons. The Moons had always felt the Dirty Ones were too unorganized for their territory. Uncle Woo calculated they could be twice as profitable, but they had to make their presence felt. Residents in their territory knew the Triads were active there, unlike the Moons, whose presence went almost unnoticed. But money flowed for the Moons, because they understood the Triads weren’t actually in the drug trade; they were in the real estate business. Trying too hard to stake out territory had consequences. Usually it would bring police presence, like it had at the Moon Luck Hotel. The Moons understood this best of all, because a valuable piece of real estate was within their territory—1 Arsenal Street—Hong Kong Police Force headquarters. For the Moons, money was before status, before tradition, before violence—before everything but loyalty.
It was loyalty that made Uncle Woo question Li Xing’s motives. It wasn’t a matter of how unimportant the money; it was that he took it without permission. Uncle Woo lit a cigarillo. He looked up, as if the answer to the question on his mind was somewhere through the glass ceiling of the veranda—somewhere in the sky.
“What is this something else you brought with you?” asked Uncle Woo.
“A boy like the others. He’s tough, very tough,” said Li Xing.
“A boy?” said Uncle Woo, “You brought a boy here?”
Li Xing shook his head, “He wanted to come himself.”
“Who is he?” asked Uncle Woo.
“My nephew. His parents are dead he has nowhere to go,” said Li Xing.
“And you brought him here?” asked Uncle Woo.
“He wanted to come,” said Li Xing.
Uncle Woo, always the peaceable man, offered Li Xing a cigarillo. Li Xing slid one out of the pack as Uncle Woo offered his own lit cigarillo to light Li Xing’s—a gestured reserved for family. Uncle Woo was not a man to be angry, but frustration wasn’t beyond anyone at any age. He lamented what he saw as the declining character in his branch of the family. There was declining character in all branches, but he worried only about what he could control and he could control his own house. The other branches had other patriarchs, called Dragon Heads. They could run their houses as they saw fit, Uncle Woo liked to keep things simple. He took personal responsibility for Li Xing’s lack of discipline and character, after all, Uncle Woo had allowed him into his house and Uncle Woo took responsibility for his own. He didn’t blame Li Xing for his lack of character. He blamed himself. The man he put in charge of the Moons was smart but didn’t have much character. Uncle Woo, in his old age, had become more of an acting chairman of the Moons, a keeper of the culture. The Chief Executive was Deni Tam, a man of little character.
“Where is the boy?” asked Uncle Woo.
“He’s just there in the restaurant,” said Li Xing.
“Bring him here,” said Uncle Woo.
Li Xing turned around looking toward the dark room of the restaurant. Xiaoyu stood by the door, still in the darkness. Li Xing looked directly into the boy’s eyes and tried to give him a look that was reassuring. It didn’t work. Li Xing waved the boy to the table. Xiaoyu hesitated, but realized he didn’t have any other move to make. Xiaoyu’s first few steps were unsteady, walking into the light he regained his composure. He made his way steadily toward the table, but stood two steps back. He didn’t feel comfortable near any of the men at the table, not even his uncle.
“Does he speak Cantonese?” asked Uncle Woo.
“Just Mandarin and bits of English,” said Li Xing.
“I can see how good my Mandarin still is,” said Uncle Woo.
“What is your name?” asked Uncle Woo, in Canto-flavored Mandarin.
Xiaoyu hesitated. Li Xing looked at him, seemingly desperate.
“Li Xiaoyu,” said Xiaoyu.
“That’s a good name,” said Uncle Woo. Xiaoyu didn’t believe him.
“What do you want to do here?” asked Uncle Woo. Xiaoyu wasn’t still sure; his silence seemed to unnerve Li Xing.
“He wants to make money,” said Li Xing.
“Let the boy answer,” said Uncle Woo.
“I want to make money,” said Xiaoyu, repeating his uncle.
“Are you sure?” asked Uncle Woo. The boy nodded.
“Do you know what that takes, to make money?” asked Uncle Woo.
“I don’t know,” said Xiaoyu.
“You’re more honest than almost everyone I deal with,” said Uncle Woo, “But if you don’t know, why are you so willing?”
“I want to go to Beijing,” said Xiaoyu.
“Have you been to Beijing?” asked Uncle Woo. Xiaoyu shook his head.
“Then why do you want to go?” asked Uncle Woo, “What’s in Beijing for you?”
“My sister,” said Xiaoyu, remembering his motivation.
Uncle Woo took a long drag off his cigarillo. He looked around the table at the four men, not Li Xing. All four had a slight smile on their face. Uncle Woo couldn’t hide his patriarchal pride. He flicked the ash off his cigarillo, into a glass ashtray. Using his two fingers, cigarette stuck in between, he pointed directly at Xiaoyu.
“You see this boy,” said Uncle Woo, “He already understands what I’ve spent my life trying to teach you all. Family is the most important.” Li Xing smiled a fool’s smile, not realizing the comment was sent toward him.
“Something tells me this boy is here for a reason, we could scratch the streets of Hong Kong and not turn up one like him,” said Uncle Woo, tapping out his cigarillo. Reaching in his pack, he searched for another, brought it to his lips and lit it with a simple lighter.
“We’ll be wanting you to join our family, when you’re old enough,” said Uncle Woo, exhaling smoke. “But first
we need to know how strong you are. That way we can find the right place for you.” Uncle Woo looked to the man seated on his left.
“I’ll take him,” said the man. Uncle Woo nodded.
“Xiaoyu, go with Mr. Cheung,” said Uncle Woo, “He’s one of my best friends; we’ve known each other for a very long time. He’s going to take you to be with other boys your age. It’s them you’ll have to impress, because they’ll be the ones working with you once you get big. Gain their respect now and you’ll never lose it. From now on, don’t hold anything back.”
Mr. Cheung stood up and looked at Xiaoyu. He gave a slight smile. He knew Uncle Woo to be a good judge of character. It had been some time since he had seen Uncle Woo put so much faith in someone he didn’t know, especially a boy. Mr. Cheung told himself he’d be attentive to the boy’s progression. He hoped he would have the opportunity to see Xiaoyu as a man. Xiaoyu followed Mr. Cheung instinctively. He had gained a large amount of respect for Uncle Woo, in a brief moment. That had never happened before. If Mr. Cheung was good friends with Uncle Woo, Xiaoyu wouldn’t hesitate to follow him. Xiaoyu felt a wrinkle in his gut. It was the contradictory feeling of trusting a stranger that bothered him. But he admitted to himself, following Mr. Cheung came more naturally than following Li Xing—his own uncle. He didn’t look back at his uncle as he left.
A black Mercedes Benz was waiting in front of The Wesley. Mr. Cheung gave a few bills to the white-cloaked valet. Mr. Cheung sat in the driver’s seat and told Xiaoyu to sit in the back. The valet held the front passenger’s door open for Xiaoyu so he opened the back door himself and climbed in. The car smelled of cigarette smoke. Whatever new rules Xiaoyu would have to learn, he knew not smoking in the car wasn’t one. Mr. Cheung accelerated gingerly. He was a good driver. He stopped at every stop light, stop sign and crosswalk. He didn’t speed, in fact, Xiaoyu noticed many cars passing them on the roads. He began to realize he was around a different kind of people. They weren’t like Baba or even Li Xing. They were meticulous, smart, not taking anything for granted. They were in a Mercedes obeying all traffic rules, while more modest cars sped through red lights and didn’t mind pedestrian crossing. Xiaoyu felt more at home than he ever had, but he didn’t know why. His face lit up as they crossed the Western Harbour Bridge toward Hong Kong Island, into the Moons’ own territory. They headed east along the harbor toward Sheung Wan District. The speed of the Mercedes slowed before a pale green building with a sign—Central Island Self-Storage. The black Mercedes pulled into the parking lot. Mr. Cheung told Xiaoyu it was best for him to get out while he parked the car. Mr. Cheung fit the Mercedes between a medium-sized cargo truck and a concrete wall. The parked Mercedes could not be seen from the street. Mr. Cheung appeared from around the cargo truck wearing dark sunglasses, the kind Li Xing wore. He walked passed Xiaoyu without saying anything. Xiaoyu understood he was meant to follow. Mr. Cheung used an anonymous key to open the glass front door. Inside the storage facility was noticeably cooler than outside. Hanging florescent lights gave the facility a manufactured feel. The florescence assaulted the eyes from all sides, as it shot up from the finished concrete floor and out from polished metal walls. The walls were steel sheets stacked to become hallways, five altogether. Each hallway had different colored steel doors which were individually padlocked.
The first hall had red doors that Xiaoyu could see. The second hall had orange doors as they walked toward the end of the facility. After orange was yellow, then green and blue. As they came upon blue, Xiaoyu heard whispers. Xiaoyu and Mr. Cheung stood in the four-meter wide hall, the whispers were no longer heard, but seen. There were a dozen boys living in the storage spaces of the blue hall. Some were playing cards; others were huddle in a storage space talking. A few were looking through overused magazines, pages falling out. When Mr. Cheung stood in the hallway the boys stopped talking, stopped moving, stopped thinking. Mr. Cheung shouted one word, sounding like Hup. The boys thoughtlessly formed two single-file lines. Their places in line were predetermined—it was obvious. Some boys waited for others to surpass them before taking their spot in line. Xiaoyu didn’t understand why the boys—obvious strays—had been given ranks. Xiaoyu had just remembered he heard the boys speaking Mandarin. A fact that Mr. Cheung reassured him of; he would have no problems communicating. Mr. Cheung ordered the boy at the front of the line on the right to step forward. Mr. Cheung shouted something else, which Xiaoyu thought sounded like Japanese. The other boys went to work. The boys cleared all objects from the hallway and shuttered them into their storage units. After the hallway was clear, the boys closed all storage unit doors and stood against opposite walls. Both lines of boys stood against its respective wall. Mr. Cheung pointed at the one boy he had selected and the boy moved in between both rows of boys. The boy was very athletic. He stood at attention in the space between the other boys. Mr. Cheung looked at Xiaoyu and asked if he remembered what Uncle Woo had said. Xiaoyu nodded. Then beat him, he’s the strongest.
Xiaoyu walked toward the boy at a measured pace. He had never tried to fight another boy one-on-one. It wasn’t because he was afraid to, it was because he couldn’t. He was the Black Devil. Heigui. He couldn’t square off against anyone because there would always be others. In Kuandian, no one would have to fight alone if they were fighting Heigui. Anyone else would jump in. Everyone else wanted to get a lick in. It wouldn’t matter if he was winning or losing. Kuandian wouldn’t let him win. In Kuandian, he was different—public enemy. But the boy waiting was like him: unlucky; unwanted; another stray. Xiaoyu took his time observing the other boys, forming the gauntlet. They stood motionless, an impossibility for young boys. Xiaoyu had a strange feeling; his heart skipped a beat. It was something he had never felt before. This fight was going to be fair. An uncertain euphoria came over him. His head pivoted to the right and he stared at the other boy. The boy was taller than him and more muscular. He thought about charging in at the boy, but his mind stopped him. It reminded him that he had never done that, in fact, his life was built on not doing that. He had always taken his time and found a weak spot. He told himself his opportunity would come if he took his time. He stepped into the gauntlet. The area was completely silent. The silence confused Xiaoyu. He didn’t know if he would be attacked or if he could attack. He misunderstood what was supposed to happen. Out of Xiaoyu’s view, Mr. Cheung lit a cigarillo. The sound of scratching flint roamed free without any predators to gobble it up. The sound echoed and echoed, until it came—Hup.
The other boy spun round thrusting his right leg out toward Xiaoyu’s gut. Xiaoyu’s eye picked up on the boy’s motion and narrowed its gaze. As soon as the boy put substantial weight on his left leg, Xiaoyu figured he had plans for his right leg. As the boy’s right leg came round, Xiaoyu sidestepped and the boy’s foot narrowly missed him. But the boy was fast. Before the boy had completely regained his balance, he threw a punch with his left. The punch misfired and hit a still moving Xiaoyu in the front right shoulder. The punch deadened the sensation in Xiaoyu’s right chest, while increasing the sensation in his shoulder. Xiaoyu’s arm was still stinging, when the boy landed a hard kick in the side of his left thigh. Xiaoyu was able to tolerate the kick, but realized he couldn’t sustain many more. Xiaoyu fought the urge to charge the boy. He didn’t know what he should do, but he knew rushing in wasn’t it. The boy inched closer to Xiaoyu, who reacted by faking a kick with his left leg. The boy seemed to know it was a fake, because his pride got the better of him. The boy jumped in the air and spun 360 degrees waving his right leg in the air. The same leg came round to where Xiaoyu would have been, had he stood still. But Xiaoyu let the boy manage the fighting, as he managed the time. While the boy was in the air, Xiaoyu had taken two baby steps to the right and set his feet. When the boy landed, he gave Xiaoyu a target—his rear end. Xiaoyu kicked the boy as hard as he could. The boys in the gauntlet coughed, bottling laughter. The boy’s skillful acrobatics had ended in embarrassment, which was hard to swallow with onlookers. The boy sto
pped wanting to put on a show and started wanting to end the fight quickly. While the other boy was dealing with his emotions, Xiaoyu was dealing with them as well. Xiaoyu looked intensely at the boy and remembered he was talking to another boy, when Xiaoyu first saw him. Others were playing cards and competing with each other, a few were flipping through magazine pictures. But this boy—the strongest one—was talking to another boy. He didn’t just want to be the strongest of the group; he wanted to be part of the group. Xiaoyu had known this feeling once, but only once. He had shared a room with his sister as far back as he could remember. And he had always felt secure in the idea that they were a group. When she left, he was hit by paralysis—both physical and mental. He had run further and faster than he had ever done. He had pushed his own limit until he fell and couldn’t move. But as he lied on the ground he was emotionally paralyzed as well. He didn’t know whether to stay there until his legs regained their strength and keep running or to lie there until he was run over. In the end, he did neither; he got up and turned around, not running, walking.