The survivor

Eighty-Three

The memories of being Child 157 settled in Shen Sun’s brain like cold fall mists in the Danum Valley. They left him fragmented and drained. As they always did. Amidst the fading recollections, a light clicked on and stole him from the stupor. He focused left. There, in the first ground-window of a nearby house, an old white woman was having tea.

For a moment, Shen Sun almost ignored her. He was tired and felt weak — as thin as rice paper. But something in her living room caught his eye. The television screen. The news was on, with a blonde woman reviewing the high-school massacre. Behind her pale face flashed the image of the gwailo.

Detective Jacob Striker, the headline read. Hero cop.

The image twisted Shen Sun’s guts. He turned his whole body away, and the bundle of papers Sheung Fa had given him fell from his pocket.

Information on Detective Jacob Striker.

Shen Sun picked the paperwork up, stared at it with bad thoughts. As he flipped through the pages, the last one — the photocopy of Jacob Striker’s picture — unexpectedly broke into two, and Shen Sun realised there were actually two pictures stuck together. He separated them and studied the photograph he had not seen.

The image was that of a young girl. About sixteen, with long, curly, reddish-brown hair, milky skin and light freckles. Her eyes were a soft, sad blue.

The image filled him with excitement and renewed vigour. And he laughed out loud, silently praising Sheung Fa for protecting him still. It all made sense to him now. He had found The Way.

He would kill the Man with the Bamboo Spine, saving Father. And then he would repay Detective Striker for all that the man had stolen from him — Sheung Fa, Tran, his future with the Triads, his entire life. Shen Sun stared at the picture of the young girl and felt everything fall into place.

A daughter for a brother. It was more than fitting.

It was karma.