Standing on the bustling street, Kiu Man drew back his wandering thoughts and squinted at the gilded lettering of the Fu Yung Teahouse signboard.
In his own era, putting an end to Chan Ka Nam’s reckless scheme would have taken nothing more than a single phone call. In 1972, however, mobile phones did not exist; his only option was to stand watch in the flesh.
Hot-headed and violent though Chan Ka Nam was, he was never an utter fool -- otherwise, he would never have risen to become the novel's formidable underworld tycoon. In the original storyline, his assassination of Lam Siu Ming had been so meticulous that he slipped away entirely unharmed, without leaving a shred of evidence behind.
To pull off a hit so cleanly required meticulous preparation -- scouting the terrain, staking out ambushes, and assuming disguises beforehand.
A hollow pang in Kiu Man's stomach reminded him of his depleted energy. Glancing sideways, he spotted a roadside hawker stall selling curried fish balls. He stepped over and purchased a portion. Just as he was about to eat, he felt an intense gaze boring into him. Turning his head, he noticed a scruffy, ragged street urchin staring fixatedly at the piping-hot skewer, mouth agape and drool practically spilling down his chin.
Kiu Man paused. He looked down at the steaming snack in his hand, then extended it with a quiet, gentle voice. "Here. Take it."
The young beggar had likely never encountered such benevolence. Stunned, he snatched the food, bowed profusely in gratitude, and scrambled into a filthy corner nearby. Face buried over the bowl, the boy scarfed down the meal with ravenous bites.
This was a world where some lived amid the splendor of the clouds, while others rotted away in the gutters.
Kiu Man shook his head faintly, spent another dollar to buy a second portion for himself, and walked over to a roadside bench. His legs were still far too weak to sustain prolonged standing, so he sat down to eat slowly while watching the commotion across the street.
Business at the teahouse run by Lam Tsz Fai’s uncle was booming; customers moved in and out in an unending stream.
Rather than fixating on the front doors of Fu Yung Teahouse, Kiu Man swept his eyes across the flanking storefronts.
To the left stood a modest tavern, and to the right was an old sundries shop. In front of the shop sat a newspaper stall where occasional passersby would pause, browse the headlines, and toss down spare coins for an evening edition.
By the time Kiu Man finished his fish balls, his gaze had locked firmly onto a figure standing at the newspaper stand for well over five minutes.
The man stood sideways in the gathering dusk, his features obscured in the shadows. He wore a muted gray-blue collared shirt, dark trousers, a flat cap pulled low, and a leather briefcase tucked beneath his arm -- the spitting image of an ordinary office clerk heading home after hours, blending seamlessly with the tired commuters rushing past.
Yet given the intimate bond between the original body and Chan Ka Nam -- a closeness where either could recognize the other even if reduced to ash -- Kiu Man identified him from his posture alone in a single heartbeat.
He initially considered walking over to intercept him on the spot, but decided against making a scene in the open street.
Across the road, Chan Ka Nam finally purchased a newspaper. Instead of walking away, he struck a match, lit a cigarette, and leaned casually against a utility pole, leisurely leafing through the broadsheet.
After skimming the pages for a few moments, he raised his wrist, checked the hour, folded the paper under his arm, and strode directly into Fu Yung Teahouse.
Tossing his empty cardboard container into a roadside bin, Kiu Man dusted off his hands, crossed the thoroughfare, and followed him inside.
The teahouse was split into two levels. The ground floor was a bustling open hall arranged with standard Eight Immortals tables, while the upper floor housed private booths and partitioned dining nooks.
Kiu Man headed straight up the wooden staircase.
Reaching the second-floor landing, he scanned the room. With a single sweep, he spotted the man in the flat cap seated by a window booth, pretending to sip from an already served pot of tea.
On closer inspection, the man had augmented his disguise with a penciled mustache, making him look noticeably older than his nineteen years. Had the original youth not been so intimately familiar with his silhouette, the masquerade would have been considered remarkably successful.
As Kiu Man hovered near the landing, a floor waitress hurried over. "Table for how many, sir?"
He waved a dismissive hand and walked straight toward the window booth.
Halfway across the floor, the seated man caught the approaching footsteps. Sensing something amiss, he snapped his head around, his handsome brows twisting into an immediate frown.
Kiu Man curled his lips into a faint, mocking smile.
The future fearsome triad overlord suddenly looked as though his jaw had unhinged. The fake mustache above his lip gave two undignified twitches.
"Brother Nam," Kiu Man drawled softly, his voice carrying an effortless lilt. "Out for tea and did not even invite me?"
The seated youth felt the room spin. His dark eyes bulged in utter disbelief, paralyzed in pure shock.
Chan Ka Nam had been born and raised in the Kowloon Walled City. He had watched men beaten dead in the alleys since childhood and had swung fists and machetes through blood and grime to survive. Fearless and reckless by nature, when Kiu Man had fallen critically ill, Chan Ka Nam had gone straight to Chiu Shan Hoi -- better known as Master Leopard -- to demand a loan. When the criminal boss offered him a murder contract worth ten thousand dollars upon completion, he had accepted without blinking.
Desperate to secure the funds to save his sworn brother, he had felt remarkably composed about committing murder for the very first time.
He had even felt a perverse surge of adrenaline at the thought that once the deed was done, he could rush Kiu Man to a white person's hospital. To him, slaughtering a target was no different from butchering a chicken.
Yet the instant Kiu Man materialized before him, every ounce of ruthless swagger evaporated into thin air.
Chan Ka Nam feared neither heaven nor hell -- but he feared this delicate childhood friend more than anything in the mortal realm.
Kiu Man was fundamentally different from the street brats in the enclave. When he first arrived in the Walled City with his grandparents at five or six years old, he had worn a neat little sailor suit, his hair parted with glossy pomade, looking like a porcelain jade doll stepped out of a watercolor portrait -- clearly the cherished scion of a prominent, cultured household.
And that was the undeniable truth.
The Kiu family had once been prominent gentry in Jiang Su and Zhe Jiang. Decimated by war and famine, the family splintered and perished until only an aging couple and their young grandson fled south to the Walled City to scratch out a living. By then, the grandfather was already bedridden with disease, passing away shortly after to leave his wife and grandson alone in the world.
Grandma Kiu had been raised as a refined lady of leisure. Even reduced to destitute poverty, she carried herself with unyielding dignity, always clad in a clean, vintage cheongsam with her hair pinned neatly in place. She kept her little grandson meticulously groomed. Even dressed in patched, threadbare hand-me-downs, his fair, delicate features drew turning heads wherever he went.
The other children in the enclave spent their days tumbling through the mud like feral monkeys. Where had Chan Ka Nam ever laid eyes on such an ethereal little creature? Around that time, Chan Ka Nam had sneaked into a teahouse to hear a storyteller recount Romance of the Three Kingdoms. He remembered little of the historical warfare, but he vividly remembered the legendary southern beauty named Little Kiu. Feeling the moniker suited Kiu Man to perfection, he had spent the rest of his childhood barking the nickname Little Kiu every single day.
Aside from his stunning appearance, Kiu Man possessed one other defining trait: he collapsed with illness every few days like a porcelain vase that would shatter at a firm touch or topple in a stiff breeze.
Such an exquisite weakling in the brutal, dog-eat-dog Walled City was naturally a target for torment. Chan Ka Nam had declared himself Kiu Man’s sworn protector on the spot. Whoever dared raise a hand against his Little Kiu was promptly treated to a savage beating from his fists.
Naturally, Kiu Man grew deeply attached to him. The two boys were closer than blood brothers.
Grandma Kiu’s sole wish in this life was for her grandson to escape the clutches of the Walled City and reclaim a respectable existence. She scrimped every penny to send him to an outside Christian missionary academy, schooling him diligently so that he might blossom out of the mud untainted.
Though raised in the slums, Kiu Man held himself to strict moral standards and despised the enclave's sordid criminal underbelly. Whenever he caught Chan Ka Nam engaging in shady mischief, an earful of furious lectures and scoldings was guaranteed to follow.
Consequently, whenever Chan Ka Nam did something dirty, he went to extraordinary lengths to hide it from Kiu Man. He had no fear of fists, clubs, or curses, but he was terrified of making Kiu Man angry. With Kiu Man’s fragile constitution, a severe fit of anger could leave the boy bedridden for days.
Two years ago, when Kiu Man discovered that he had formally joined the Wo Hing Society, the two had fought violently. Following the dispute, Kiu Man collapsed with a fever, forcing Chan Ka Nam to attend to his bedside day and night for an entire week without taking off his clothes before earning his friend's forgiveness.
Given that glass-like frailty, if Kiu Man learned that Chan Ka Nam had accepted a bloody murder contract just to buy him medicine, the boy would probably faint straight into the King of Hell's domain.
How could Chan Ka Nam not be terrified?
Still, Chan Ka Nam was street-smart. Recovering his wits, he reasoned that he had kept this assassination strictly secret -- not even Ah Ho knew the truth, so there was no way Kiu Man could possibly know. Shaking off the initial panic, his racing mind finally processed what his eyes were seeing.
Staring in shock at the youth sliding into the wooden booth opposite him, Chan Ka Nam's wide black eyes swept over him. "Little Kiu? You... your body is all right?"
When he had crept out of Uncle Wah's back-alley clinic that morning, the boy had been hanging by a thread, looking ready to pass over to the other side at any moment. Uncle Wah had even whispered grimly that the end was near, scaring Chan Ka Nam half to death and leaving him to slip away in choked-back tears.
Yet the person seated before him now -- while still delicate and swaying like a willow in the wind -- had a faint, healthy flush warming his pale cheeks. He looked completely removed from death's door.
Kiu Man offered a gentle smile. "I woke up this afternoon. After getting some food into my belly, my strength returned. Uncle Wah said I pulled through."
"Truly?" Chan Ka Nam recalled the corpse-like chill of the boy's skin that morning, still struggling to believe the miracle.
Kiu Man chuckled softly. "Do I look like I am lying to you? Lying in bed for days made my joints ache, so I came out for some fresh air. I never expected to run into you here." He tilted his head, his dark eyes fixing onto the other man. "You still have not explained why you came out for tea all by yourself."
Snapping back to reality, Chan Ka Nam smoothed his expression with practiced ease. "I was just passing through the neighborhood. My stomach was growling, so I popped upstairs for a bite."
Kiu Man watched him with an amused look, choosing not to expose the lie just yet. "What a coincidence. I happen to be hungry as well. Let us eat together."
"Sure... great," Chan Ka Nam replied with a dry, awkward chuckle.
Right at that moment, a youthful figure approached the table with a notepad. "Gentlemen, what can I get for you?"
Kiu Man lifted his gaze. The server was not wearing the teahouse staff uniform; instead, he wore a crisp seersucker collared shirt and round spectacles, carrying the gentle, bookish air of an educated university student.
Lam Tsz Fai.
Without a shred of doubt, Kiu Man instantly identified the novel's destined protagonist.