Samuel Chan set the flat of his fist against the wooden dummy. It was too early for classes and even the most eager of his students hadn’t shown up for practice yet, which meant it was the perfect time for him to get some training of his own in. He straightened his hands and tensed his arm before he let out a long breath to relax the rest of his body.

“Sammy boy.” 

A booming voice dashed all his hopes of a quiet morning alone. But rather than complain, Sam eased back and dropped his arms to nod once toward the man that strolled through the door to the tong, along with two other younger ones, barely men, in tow.

He left the practice dummy and walked in a precise, even pace to the new arrival. “DaiLo.” Big brother. He bowed his head as a sign of respect.

Steven Lau clapped him on the back, hard enough that a less trained person would have stumbled forward. But Sam only remained steady, planted to the floor.

“Hey, what do you say?” his boss barked at the two beside him.

“Ho Sing-go,” they echoed right away, using his Chinese name and tagging “brother” behind it, another common honorific.

“Better. Now go help clean.”

Sam was about to protest, but they sprung to action before he could. One had found the broom and dustpan he had used earlier and began sweeping the already-dustless floor. The other had retrieved the feature duster and worked on the windowsill. 

“Want to take them on? Just initiated yesterday.” Steven grinned at him, wrapping an arm around his shoulder.

It wasn’t a request. DaiLo always phrased things as a question, but they almost never were such. Still, Sam studied the two of them anyway, noting their diligence and the way they snuck glances at both of them. “Sure. They can start with a class here this morning.”

“Good.” Steven leaned closer and lowered his voice while he steered them both away from the curious peeking.

“I also have a job for you.”

“Of course.” There was no other answer he could give, not since he joined the Ming Hain Tong at sixteen and entered the Triad life.

“You remember Bobby Chou?”

The name conjured memories of an unshaven, dumpy man with ashen skin and hair graying on the sides. He had a tendency to grovel, but Bobby knew his way around gang politics, so the mention of him surprised Sam. But Sam was already anticipating what was coming and braced himself. As he stifled a sigh, he schooled his face to a neutral expression. “Yeah.”

“He’s skimmed something off the top with the last batch and you know how much DaiLo hates that shit.”

The poor guy. If Steven’s DaiLo, head of Ming Hain Tong, is the one threatening, there was nowhere the man could run. He would have to act today but at least with him… “I’ll take care of it.”

“Good boy.” Steven clasped Sam’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze, shaking him at the same time while beaming with pride. 

Sam forced a brief smile on his face, but turned his head before his boss could study him. 

“After this job, how about we go on a little vacation? Take the yacht for a couple of days. Bring some girls.”

Damn Steven and his observational skills. He hadn’t climbed the ranks and survived in the Triad so long by being dumb. Still, that didn’t sound like much of a respite. Sam just stopped himself from grimacing. “There are a few classes that need me here.”

Steven chuckled, but to his relief, did not press the issue. Instead, he released him, spun around and took in the sight of the tong with its worn but gleaming wooden panels to the sunlight streaming through the windows. The ones Sam always so tried so hard to keep clean despite the grime that came with being on street level.

“How long have you had this school now?”

Steven knew full well the answer, but Sam replied, anyway. “Three years, thanks to you, DaiLo.”

That was the words Steven was looking for as he paused and walked back to him, setting both hands on his shoulders. “Exactly, because I recognized that you needed a place to call home. DaiLo always knows what you need, right?”

Trapped, Sam tried to smile again and hoped it didn’t come out wrong. “Of course.”

“Excellent. Vacation in three days then.” Steven released him and turned to leave. “And bring a friend or two. I know how much those leng of yours love to party.”

All Sam could do was choke out a grunt of acknowledgement. His subordinates did like a good gathering — over beers amongst themselves. But he didn’t have to reply as Steven lifted one hand in farewell and strolled out of the tong.

Sam rubbed the back of his neck. There was no sense in worrying about any of this. He had a class to teach. And as he turned to the two DaiLo had left him with, he found them standing at attention, their faces lighting up with eagerness. They reminded him so much of his younger self that a wave of both melancholy and weariness hit him hard at the same time. If only they understood the realities of what Triad life was like.

“Ho Sing-go?” The shorter one of the two cocked his head to his left.

He couldn’t stop them, but he could impart the skills they would need to survive. “What’s your name?”

***

Sam knocked through the metal grating.

“Coming! Coming!” There was a shuffling noise of slippers sliding across a laminate floor, a yelp, then silence.

Sam waited with all the patience in the world.

The clicks of chains and locks being undone preceded the door opening. Bobby peered up at him. “Ho Sing-go!” Greeting him like a long-lost relative, he yanked the grating open as well and ushered him inside. Only the slight trembling of his hands betrayed his nerves.

He entered, saying nothing as he studied Bobby’s home while his host busied himself shutting everything close again. Sam knew he cut an imposing figure. He wasn’t extraordinarily tall, but he was solid from all the training Steven had put him through from when he was just a scrawny kid. And now, he leaned on his appearance to lend weight to what he had to do. Because the last thing he wanted was to resort to his fists, especially on an older man.

The apartment, like most in Hong Kong, was tiny and crowded between boxes and furniture. Bobby jumped to grab a pile of clothing off one chair and to transfer it over to the already full couch. “Please, have a seat. I’ll get you some tea.”

Before Sam could protest, he jetted off to the kitchen and returned with a mug. “So good of you to visit,” he exclaimed with a nervous chuckle as he set the steaming drink on the table.

Sam didn’t sit. Instead, he stood with his hands in the pockets of his dark jeans. Enough was enough. He hated these games. “You know why I’m here.”

Bobby’s simper faltered before he recovered, sniffed, and rubbed his nose with the back of his hand. “Ah, times are tough and all. I’ll have the money in a week, I promise.”

“You snorted the goods yourself, didn’t you?” Once more, Sam kept his voice soft.

“Well…” Bobby opened his mouth, but no other words came out.

“How much?”

He blinked at Sam in surprise.

Sam stared harder at him, boring holes into the older man. “How much of it did you use up?”

“Just a little.” Bobby pinched his fingers together with a sheepish grin, as if it would help endear him to Sam.

“Bobby.” A growl of warning rumbled in the back of his throat.

“A tiny corner of a brick?” Bobby mumbled. At Sam’s arch brow, he ducked his head. “Okay, maybe an eighth? A hundred grams tops, I swear.”

As his brain spun to do the math, he struggled to keep his straight face. Diu, that was not a small amount of money. With a sigh, he sat down in the seat Bobby had offered before and snapped his fingers. “Give me a pen and a piece of paper.”

Bobby’s eyes widened in surprise, and he stood there in shock before he jumped into action. He rummaged through the stacks and returned with what he had requested. Sam accepted the writing tool and scribbled an address down from the top of his head.

“Go here tonight after I leave. Tell them I sent you and that you require a hundred grams. No more. No less. They’re independent so no one at Ming Hain will realize and you musn’t tell a soul, do you understand?”

Bobby took the piece of paper with shaky hands. “I don’t have—”

“I know. Look. You need to either cough up the goods or the money, so this should cover it. This is your only get out of jail free card.” Just as Bobby was about to speak again, Sam held up his hand. “Do not snort this up too or I will come for your ass.”

“Of course. Thank you! Thank you so much Ho Sing-go,” Bobby shot up and bowed deep to him again and again, his head almost touching the table.

“You owe me.”

“Any time.”

Sam rose to leave. “I’ll come back at the same hour tomorrow. Have the stuff ready for me.”

“Not a problem.” Bobby stuck two fingers up to his forehead, giving him a salute. “And any moment, anything you want. Ho Sing-go shouts and I will be there to back you up even if I have to lay my life on the line.”

Embarrassed by this declaration of loyalty, Sam cleared his throat and walked to the door. Bobby scrambled after him to open it and its grating peer.

“Take care. Have a good night,” Bobby called after him. 

He nodded and left, making his way out of the building into the evening air. The humidity had eased somewhat, but being in the tropics, it never quite dissipated. Not that Sam knew anything else. 

And that was how life was for him. One favor for another, he built a delicate ecosystem of them as a fallback safety net for others in the gang. It was a way to survive without resorting to the glorified violence depicted often in movies. Sam wasn’t sure when it first started, but so far it had worked. He only hoped that Bobby understood and would keep his mouth shut. That was not a small marker Sam was calling in.

He pulled out his phone to dial. Best to give them a heads-up that Bobby would pay them a visit.

Chapter Three

Charlotte sat on the opposite side of David at a traditional round table in the private room of her father’s favorite restaurant. Despite there only being two of them, a feast enough to feed ten spread out of the large lazy Susan. Although the waitstaff had tried to stagger the dishes coming out, the sheer impossibility of finishing any of those giant portions meant that inevitably, each of them remained almost untouched. 

The appetizer plate of cold cuts and translucent jellyfish salad vied for space with the fragrant lobster in cream sauce. An ornate winter melon hollowed out as a bowl containing the restaurant’s famed eight-treasure soup had long cooled. The roasted squab, her favorite, sat uneaten next to the mountain of dried scallop fried rice. All the dishes reminded her of her childhood, but she had no appetite for any of it. The only thing that tempted her was the bottle of red wine and the Hennessy XO cognac to the left of it.

All too aware of David’s eyes on her, she cut off another dainty portion of the oversized abalone and slipped it into her mouth. It should leave a pleasant umami aftertaste. Instead, it was ash on her tongue.

“How are you settling in?” David asked as he dabbed the napkin against the corner of his lips.

A younger and more naïve version of her would have complained about the dismissal of Ayi. But she knew this was a test, so she gave him a polite smile. “Well enough, thank you.” She forced another bite to keep herself from making any regrettable remarks.

“Good.” He stared down at the wine, swirling the liquid before taking a sip. “However, it is a large place for one, and I’m certain it’s full of memories. Lung-go has always been good to me and I’d like to see you are taken care of. So, if you need a break, you can call on me anytime.”

Excuse me? The meal at this point had been filled with terse snippets of small talk, and David’s most recent comment caught her off guard. Is he… hitting on me? That couldn’t be right. She was his rival. His reasoning was complete bullshit.

“Mung Mung!” 

Before she could plan a response, a new voice cut in. She looked up, her eyes widening in surprise as an older man in a traditional silk red kung fu jacket walked in, flanked by two younger guys she didn’t recognize. But she knew the one that had called out her childhood nickname well enough, even as she cringed on the inside.

“Ji Suk.” Charlotte addressed and rose from her seat as he approached and clasped her shoulders. As her father’s close friend and an uncle of the Feng Lung Group, he wielded considerable influence despite being retired. So why was he here?  

“Look at you. All grown up. Oh, your father would be proud.”

She flushed. “Thank you.” That was all she could reply, still uncertain how she felt regarding him and his passing. Theirs was a complex relationship and evoked so many conflicting emotions, made even more confusing by the lack of closure from not being able to say goodbye before his death.

“Ji Suk. Please join us. I’ll get them to bring something out.”

Already, a server had scrambled to put a third setting on the table. David rose to retrieve the small, patterned china cup and filled it with steaming dark liquid from the pot.

“Don’t worry about it. I just came from another dinner.” He sat but waved the waitstaff off. His