by Cole Reid
“Why would I do that?” asked Xiaoyu, “I think it’s best to surprise.”
“Surprise is a great advantage for sure,” said the Artist, “I agree that advantage is something you should always think about. But more than what you think about is what you are. And the Mark is a symbol of honor. If you live long enough to earn it, you will have great respect from all who know the Mark. Along with that respect, is the honor that deserves it. So you have to act with honor as a Jade Soldier. We should get started. The tattoo takes nine hours. They will be back to get you around 6 pm.”
The Artist fitted himself with white latex gloves and fished through a wooden box. He fixed a needle-looking tube to the end of a hammer-shaped tool. The tool was wrapped, almost entirely with silver tape. A black two-sided cord hung from the back like a rat’s tail. The rat’s tail connected to a stationary 6-volt battery with a crude looking black switch. The tool was designed to work not lie. It was obviously made not manufactured.
“We have to get started,” said the Artist, “This will take some time and I will have to take a break at some point. We’ll start with your back first, because there’s less to do there. Put this towel for your head and take off your shirt.”
Xiaoyu folded the towel and took off his shirt. He lied on the table on his stomach and put the towel as a cushion for his forehead. He could feel the cold machine touch against his back and politely sting him. He realized that the Artist had left the picture on the wall behind him. He was drawing on Xiaoyu’s back without looking at the picture. Xiaoyu realized that the picture was a teaching tool. It wasn’t a sketch done by the Artist to have something to reference from time to time. The Artist was drawing from memory; the picture had always been for Xiaoyu’s own instruction.
“You said I will have to fight to earn the Mark,” said Xiaoyu.
“Yes,” said the Artist, “Take comfort in the fact that many others have gone before you, it’s an ancient tradition. Many have survived, though many have not.”
“How long will I have to fight?” asked Xiaoyu.
“One year for each branch in the family,” said the Artist, “Then you join the family.”
“Eight branches,” said Xiaoyu, “Eight years.”
Chapter Nine Eight Years
The integrity of the tattoo underscored the integrity of the process, meaning the tattoo had to remain intact. Xiaoyu was given a four-week holiday. It was lonely. To keep the tattoo from smearing Xiaoyu was kept in a room on the ninth floor of the Harbour Gate Suites—garrisoned like a Jade Soldier. He could order as much food as he wanted. Everything would be taken care of, but he couldn’t leave. For the first three days, he was not allowed to take a shower. The Moons were strict. The rule was reinforced by shutting off the water on the ninth floor. For three days, he was the only guest booked on the ninth floor but he wasn’t allowed out, not even in the hallway. He was frozen in place so the Moons could farm the tattoo—planting the right conditions to harvest the Mark.
Xiaoyu spent much of his four week confinement in front of the mirror. Even without water the bathroom was useful. Xiaoyu was an exacting ballerina. He would stand on his toes and turn, angling his head to glimpse his own back. The tattoo became an obsession. He would stare at it—front side and back—and he would stare repeatedly, as if he had no memory of it. As soon as he completed a full turn, seeing the entire thing from start to stop, he would rebalance and start all over again. It didn’t look like performance; it looked like practice. Xiaoyu’s mind reacted to solitude much like other minds did—he thought of the outside, as a side effect. Being alone was being a virus, having his surroundings turn against him. But unlike a virus his surroundings weren’t crowded; they were empty. The path of the Jade Soldier had been carved for centuries and not only carved—mapped. Xiaoyu’s confinement was not unique. The same was done with all would-be Jade Soldiers. The confinement was meant to cutoff the outside world to give the two bonding time, the boy and his tattoo. They would be together until the end. How long, depended on the skill of the candidate. Four weeks of no outside contact began the metamorphosis—the room as a cocoon. The transformation from boy to Jade Soldier candidate was more steady and genuine than the transformation from boy to man. A boy could grow old and stay true to his boyish nature; Xiaoyu didn’t have that option. From the moment he was selected, his boyhood ended. He was neither boy nor man, only a candidate.
Xiaoyu didn’t take his candidacy for granted; he slowed the minutes. Everything he introduced during those four weeks was meant to count for something. Time taught him about itself. It told him his minutes were best spent writing to his sister. It also told him it wouldn’t give him many opportunities to do so. He used a hotel envelope to record the address that he had painstakingly memorized, with so little light. His challenge came with the empty pad of paper. He had no idea how to fill it. He started by ignoring the letterhead, Harbour Gate Suites. By the time he finished writing, the letterhead remained the only true thing on the piece of paper. The rest were things Xiaofeng would have wanted to hear. He told her he had left for Hong Kong along side Li Xing. He said that Baba and Mama thought it would be better for him and easier to get along with the other boys. He said he was attending a special school and that he was making friends—something he had never done. Making friends was something Xiaofeng had always wanted for her brother but something he had never been interested in. To disguise what he felt was a telltale lie, Xiaoyu tried an appeal to his sister’s vanity. He wrote that his teacher was impressed with his knowledge of Shakespeare, something Xiaofeng alone could take credit for. He iced his cake by thanking her for her instruction and assured her it was paying off. He didn’t bother to explain why he was writing from a hotel. He finished his letter on a Saturday and waited till Sunday morning to give to his minder. The minder made sure Xiaoyu stayed in the room. The minder had to read the letter before Xiaoyu could request it be sent out. The minder smirked at the boy’s ability to engineer a page. The minder himself couldn’t lie better. More to the point, the minder got the feeling the boy could outwit him if he really wanted to. Realizing the letter was imagined from start to finish, the minder had no objection to sending it out.
Sunday of the fourth week was bountiful. Somehow, Xiaoyu had felt it. A daylong restlessness came over him. Blood traveling through his veins was so uncomfortable that he noticed. His heart sped. A sharp pain entered his stomach right beneath the navel. Despite his restlessness, Xiaoyu didn’t move much at all. He spent most of the day in bed falling in and out of consciousness, atop the covers. During his third or fourth bout of consciousness, an eerie feeling came over him that increased the sharp pain beneath his navel. The feeling lasted for most of twenty minutes, when Xiaoyu thought he heard a steady knock on the door. Xiaoyu wasn’t the kind to react to nothing so he stayed put, waiting for another possible knock. The person on the other side of the door felt another knock wasn’t acceptable so the lock turned and the door opened.
The air that came in felt dry and stale. Xiaoyu couldn’t say how many people there were but he knew there was more than one. The minder was the first person to come into view. He laid his right hand out as if presenting a product—the product was Xiaoyu. The minder mumbled something then humbled himself at attention with his head at a 45-degree angle to the floor. The next person to come into view had the movements of a false king. He didn’t move like he had been taught the royal walk but like he had taught himself. He was extra thin, noticeable even through his dark double-breasted suit. He wasn’t tall. He was the same height as the minder, who was considered only tall enough to guard one boy. The man had a steady ambition that telegraphed through his eyes—the longer the stare, the clearer the message. His ambition was of the purest quality. It wasn’t a young man’s ambition it was an old boy’s. He looked at Xiaoyu and gave a smile—so forced—his eyes betrayed his suffering. His one saving grace was the lack of a tie around his neck, relieving the pressure of so much forced emotion. His hair was full but his hair
line receded. His face was smooth except for the tops of whiskers above his lip—lips that were strangely dark for a non-smoker. The man extended his right hand toward Xiaoyu holding his forced smile. Xiaoyu didn’t trust the man or his hand but felt an enormous amount of sympathy for such a fake creature. Xiaoyu had always used his wit to defend himself but felt nothing but pity for a defenseless creature. Xiaoyu could read this man better than anyone else. This man, despite all hints to the contrary, was very weak—a well-dressed coward. He was the most similar creature that Xiaoyu had ever met, a natural-born underdog. But this dog—unlike Xiaoyu—didn’t have the knack to protect himself. Years before, he had done something that Xiaoyu didn’t have to. He had succumb to his tormentors, become one of them. This man had sold out. Xiaoyu leaned forward on the bed and shook the man’s hand. The man sat down on the bed next to Xiaoyu, in the fashion of an unfamiliar uncle.
“Do you know of me?” asked the man.
“No,” said Xiaoyu. The man leaned toward Xiaoyu with the same grin on his face.
“My name’s Deni Tam,” said the man who leaned back for the name to take effect. Xiaoyu couldn’t be sure if he had heard the name or not. The moment grew awkward as if the time was pulling the man and Xiaoyu apart. The man leaned toward Xiaoyu and spoke.
“I’ve heard a lot about you,” said Deni, “Very good things. They say you’re brave and smart, always planning what to do next.” The man paused to see if flattery had any effect on the boy. If it did, it didn’t register.
“We are very much alike in that sense. My mother always told me because I’m small I have to look before I jump—be careful where I land. Did your mother tell you anything like that?” Xiaoyu shook his head.
“She died the day I was born,” said Xiaoyu. Deni tried to play down his lack of information.
“That must be why you’re so brave,” said Deni, “Without your mother to tell you not to be afraid you had to be brave on your own. Mother’s will baby their children forever.” Deni paused and looked out the window. His eyes narrowed into the look of a vendetta.
“With no one there to baby you, you grew strong,” said Deni, “Do you know why you’re here?”
“I was brought here,” said Xiaoyu.
“That’s true for all of us,” said Deni, “Fate brought you here much like me. It’s the choices that Fate brings that brought us here.”
“I’m going to have to fight,” said Xiaoyu.
“You’re going to have to live, same as any other day,” said Deni.
“The Artist said I have to fight,” said Xiaoyu.
“The Artist does his job well,” said Deni, “But fighting is only part of what I will ask of you.” Deni grabbed Xiaoyu’s hand curling it into a fist, slapping the top of Xiaoyu’s fist.
“The fight is in you already; that is where it will always be. But it’s loyalty that we value. That’s what we really want from you,” said Deni, “We like to think we value it more than the other branches. It’s the first thing we look for. They tell me you always use your head. That’s the most basic form of loyalty. You’re given a brain; you have to use it. Otherwise you betray yourself. If you betray yourself you’ll betray others.” Deni released Xiaoyu’s hand and stood up.
“But that’s enough of the ancient wisdom for one day,” said Deni, “Even you could grow old listening to me rattle off the old teachings. And we don’t want you to grow old trapped in here. That would be a waste of your ability. We’ll have more of our talks later. You have three more days here and then we’ll come get you, so you can start training. Sound good?” Xiaoyu nodded his head. Deni regurgitated and reused the same forced smile before letting himself out. The minder repeated three days until the end. It was the first time Xiaoyu was told when he would be let out.
The third day came late, not in time but in his mind. Three days went by as any others would but for Xiaoyu the days were elongated by anticipation. He had the Mark; the ink had dried. But his candidacy was still fresh. The knock on the door was subtle. Xiaoyu’s reaction to it was not. He hopped from his perch on the bathroom counter top and answered the door, as if under orders. Xiaoyu was expecting a horde: Mr. Cheung; Uncle Woo and Deni Tam were all behind the door in his mind. When the door opened, all he saw was the minder. The minder had a bewildered look that was immediately echoed in Xiaoyu’s face.
“Make the room so that it looks as though you were never here,” said the minder. He accented all but one syllable as if he had practiced the line over and over but screwed up.
“I’ll wait outside, it should take you no more than ten minutes,” said the minder sounding even more scripted. Xiaoyu understood the minder was not used to giving orders. He was so unfit for authority he couldn’t properly give orders when ordered to do so. But Xiaoyu knew he wasn’t being ordered by the minder, he was being ordered by Deni Tam, a man he knew better after only one meeting. Deni was a danger. He recited ancient teachings so he could hide behind them. Xiaoyu knew the difference because he had never been able to hide. He had always been too obvious. Deni had the benefit of looking like the others, but keeping the rest to himself. It wasn’t what Xiaoyu saw that made him not trust Deni; it was what was covered up. But Xiaoyu considered himself to have the advantage. His eight-year-old exterior made others look at him from the wrong direction. He knew his relationship with Deni would take the shape of a rainbow. It would rise in multiple hues before it eventually fell. In fact, Xiaoyu knew something even Deni didn’t know. Their relationship would not end well.
The minder entered to inspect the room without looking like he knew what he was inspecting. He looked around for several seconds and made the decision that his superiors wouldn’t want to wait much longer. He told Xiaoyu to follow him and both left the room. Xiaoyu noticed the minder naturally took a submissive role to match his surroundings. In the elevator, the minder stood directly in front of the control panel and pressed the buttons like any attendant would. The elevator let them out on the ground floor and the minder immediately took to the changed environment. The lobby was wide and organic. Like intestines, the plants, tables and chairs were stuffed into space with little regard for landscaping. There was a tall tree in the middle of it all, which obscured views from all directions. The minder nervously walked around with his head pivoting right-to-left, like prey. A simple whistle was all it took and he was able to focus on two men with black sports coats. The men were sitting in adjacent armchairs exchanging a few choice words at a time.
The men stood up as Xiaoyu approached with the minder. The minder formed a triangle with the two men who began to speak in a tone aimed at a certain height. Xiaoyu wasn’t tall enough to understand what was said. When the men separated, the minder followed one of the men and Xiaoyu was left with a looming figure standing over him. Xiaoyu looked up to see a familiar face—the stocky man. The stocky man told Xiaoyu to follow him and they trailed out of the hotel lobby toward the parking lot. Xiaoyu wasn’t surprised to see the stocky man was headed toward a black Mercedes. The Mercedes had the signature of the first one he had been in, but the first Mercedes had the signature of the second. The interior was the same as was the tobacco-flavored aroma. As far as Xiaoyu knew, each driver had been different but the car stayed the same. Xiaoyu instinctively opened the back door to the car and helped himself to the back seat. The stocky man was younger than Mr. Cheung and less wordy. His relative youth buffered him from so much history. Xiaoyu was sure Mr. Cheung would have told a story about the Triads out of habit. The stocky man drove in silence, as Xiaoyu sat in the back trying not to move. His weight shifting across the leather seat would have made countless noise in the smooth-riding car. If noise bothered the stocky man, the silence didn’t bother Xiaoyu.
So precious were the silent moments to the stocky man that he didn’t tell Xiaoyu where they were going or what they would do there. The silence made the drive long and other drivers more interesting. Xiaoyu passed the time with eyes focused on cars passing by. The car slowed down rapidly befor
e turning onto a hard paved driveway. The car tires began to whisper on the smooth concrete as the car passed through a chain-link fence topped with rotted-red barbed wire. The stocky man let Xiaoyu know they had arrived by parking the car in a spot next to a white faded steel exterior. Rust ran down the side of the building like the rainwater that fathered it. The stocky man looked back over his right shoulder, letting Xiaoyu know it was time to get out. The warehouse was half the height of its modern rivals and still only half used. The Moons favored the building not for the space but for the location. The building claimed a lot at the end of Catchick Street in Kennedy Town one street back from the coastline and away from the hustle and bustle of the Western District. The location was quiet and the building was chill—literally. The building rested in the shade of the trees and taller buildings around it, meaning the warehouse stayed naturally cooler than other buildings on Hong Kong Island. It was a good place to work up a sweat, if in Hong Kong.
The bay doors faced the street but the pedestrian entrance was on the side of the building, virtually unseen. The outside door was off-white with a deadbolt key-in-hole lock. It led into a steel trap. The outside door locked from the inside and needed a key to open to get out. On the other side of the outside door was another steel door with keypad lock. When the outside door closed behind them, they were stuck between steel doors and needed a key or a code to get out. The stocky man positioned his wide body between Xiaoyu and the keypad, before reminding the keypad of the code. Memory refreshed, the lock opened. The warehouse fit two and a half steel shelves below the ceiling. The shelves were crowded with anxious cardboard boxes. A lot of the boxes said rice; others said soy sauce, napkins or chopsticks. Xiaoyu wouldn’t have been the one to know and the stocky man wouldn’t have been the one to say, but all contents of the boxes were one-hundred percent legitimate—like the warehouse itself. The products in the boxes weren’t bound for restaurants, they were bound for hotels. Despite misfortunes like the Moon Luck, the Triads had long favored the hotel business. A business that could blur the lines between gains, fair and unfair. All Triad hotels operated a legitimate margin and many of the hotels had restaurants. But food had to be ordered for restaurants and money earned from food sales had to mirror money spent to buy the food. Restaurants couldn’t sell more food than bought without raising eyebrows. Hotels weren’t restaurants. They sold rooms not food. Rooms were on the books always. Whether rented or not the rooms stood, which meant they could be used. There were always a number of rooms that went unreserved at any given time and the Triads used the overcapacity to their own advantage. A certain percentage of unreserved rooms were always recorded as booked, so the Triads could use black money to make up the receipts from non-existing customers. The Moons were particularly good at it. They laundered money like the ticking of clocks.