The Walled City

DAI

The shot sounds all wrong. It should be loud, clean. Like the one that went into my shoulder — cracking through the gun’s chambers like a lone lightning bolt. Tearing time and matter apart in slow motion.

Instead, it’s muted. Like a firecracker being crushed under someone’s boot. An echo without fire or flare.

And there’s no punch. No new pain taking root under my skin. Just my shoulder and its steady, reliable throb. The one that lets me know the blood in my veins is moving. Still inside me.

My eyes open. I’m still standing. My shoulder is still meat-mushed and throbbing. The cinches of my hoodie are still tight around my throat. Longwai is still standing in front of me, but his pistol has lost its resolve. The O is no longer marking my forehead. It’s shifted, just like the drug lord’s attention. He’s looking over his shoulder, at the open yawn of the door. More shots pop through the dark, and screams tumble up the stairs.

The raid has started.

“What is this?” Longwai’s question drifts through the open door, becomes lost in the growing tempest of noise.

The knife. I don’t wait. I lunge with everything left in my body and grab the ornate, curved blade by its hilt. It’s an old ceremonial piece, more for show than for actual cut and slice.

“What the hell is th—" Longwai is just turning back when I make contact. I throw myself into him, good side first, trying my hardest to bring him down. The drug lord is more solid than I expect, like his lounge slippers are actually cemented to the floor. He stays standing, but the gun hits the floor, spinning like a game-show wheel.

I land back on my feet, facing him. Trying to ignore how my right arm is noodle-limp at my side. How Longwai’s gold-capped teeth are glint and snarl, ready to sink into my throat. How the blade in my left hand feels like nothing much.

Especially when I’m not left-handed.

Longwai is a fighter. He moves fast, throws a nasty version of an uppercut. Knuckles already covered in my blood come again for my face. But — this time — there are no ropes. I whip to the side, let him give the air a good thrashing. At the same time, I bring up the knife.

There’s a schick and his black funeral shirt splits. A long cut runs down his right forearm — straight as a plumb line, neat as a surgeon’s work. The red leaves him at the same time as his scream.

An arm for an arm. Now we’re even.

But there are so many things this god of knives and needles has to pay for, so I keep fighting.

I throw myself at him again. He falls — cursing and howling and splintering in pain.

I land on top of him. My shoulder jars on impact; supernovas of pain light my vision. Star trails swim in my eyes, eating away Longwai’s ugly face. I push through them, slide my blade up to the soft, soft skin at the well of his throat. It tangles with his gold-link chain, pulls a whimper out of him.

“It’s over, Longwai.” The growl that leaves my mouth sounds too animal to be mine, but I don’t know who else would be saying these words. “You’re over.”

I’m over, too. They’re here already, pounding up the stairs, filling Longwai’s quarters with their floodlights and screams. They flood the room like locusts — scouring every corner with bright lights and rifles. Inspecting Longwai, the blood-edged knife at his throat, centering on me.

“Police! Drop the knife! Put your hands where we can see them!” someone says as the lights gather on top of me. Even the backs of my eyelids flare orange when I shut them.

I toss the knife to the floor, out of Longwai’s reach. My good hand lifts high over my head. I brace myself. One of the cops grabs my arms and twists them behind me. The clicks and cranks of the handcuffs fill my ears. They close tight around my wrists — cold, metallic destiny.

MEI YEE

The police are emerging from the brothel in ones and pairs. A mere trickle compared with the force that poured in minutes ago, like a broken dam of guns and searchlights. Almost all of them are leading people. Most, like Fung and the Brotherhood and the lounge clients, are in handcuffs. Others, like Yin Yu and Mama-san, are free. Some don’t come out at all.

I don’t see Dai or my sister anywhere. With every strange face that marches through the door, my heart drops another level, like air being slowly leaked out of a balloon.

Please. Don’t let them be dead—I’m not even fully finished with this thought when Dai’s face appears. He’s being pushed out of the brothel, his arms twisted in knots behind his back. His face is twisted, too — pain, pain, pain. I see the cuffs and the policeman prodding him on; panic rises.

I run to the officer. “You’re making a mistake!”

“Stand back,” the policeman says with a stern face, and gives Dai an extra push forward. Hurt and wince flare on my window-boy’s face, make me look closer at his shoulder. The sweatshirt there is tatters, torn and stiff with old blood. Underneath are bandages, white and rust. The same colors as my nautilus.

“No! You don’t understand! He was in there helping. To rescue me.” I move in front of them, blocking Dai’s forced path with my body. “You can’t arrest him.”

The blank wall of the officer’s face gives way to uncertainty. His eyes rove over Dai, and for just a second I believe I’ve convinced him.

“Ah. You found him.” The man from the Old South Gate steps next to me. His hands are shoved far into the pockets of his trench coat. The half-finished cigarette between his lips makes his words mumbly. “I was beginning to think you were a no-show altogether.”

“Sorry to disappoint.” Dai looks from me to the smoking man. His words take on the same sharpness he used when we first met. “I was too busy being tied up and tortured.”

The man sucks on his cigarette. It flares extra bright, like a lone dusk star. “It’s not my fault you got yourself caught. Did you find it?”

Dai shakes his head.

The man with the cigarette stands still for a moment. He exhales: air made of ash and sigh and disappointment. When all the smoke has cleared, he nods at the officer. “If you see Chan, let him know the ledger is still missing. Tell him to keep an eye out for it. Take this kid out with the rest. There’s a warrant for him.”

“Wait! No!” I shout. “You can’t do this.”

Trench coat man pulls the smoking roll from his lips. The movement sends sparks swirling through the air. Some land, harmless but bright, on my arm. “He’s a murderer, sweetie. We offered him his chance at redemption and he failed. Best say your good-byes.”

“You want the ledger?” I look at the man — smoke fills his lips like a foggy morning, hazing the air between us. “It’s in Longwai’s office! In the top drawer of his desk.”

Dai shakes his head. “It’s not there, Mei Yee. The drawer was empty.”

“But — but it can’t be…” I keep talking so I won’t have to feel the sinkhole growing in my stomach. “It was there. I saw it! I saw it!”

I’m staring at Dai now, pleading for him to believe me.

His eyes are even deeper than they were before. Somber and yawning and full. There’s a smile on his face as he looks at me. “I’m glad you found her,” he says, and nods somewhere past me. I look back to see Jin Ling behind me, limping and shuffling through the cold. The blood she tried so hard to hide is now an undeniable dark on her dress.

“Get him out of here!” the man next to me barks, and waves a hand into the endless night of these streets. They yawn on either side of us, like the great mountain caves in our province. The ones the spirits lived in, waiting for sacrifices that stopped coming years ago.

“No!” I reach out, try to grab him, but the officer shoves Dai forward, rougher this time, off into the crowd of people.

It’s not the darkness of the street that devours him. It’s the crowd of black suits and handcuffs that finally hides him from my eyes. Instead, I see Longwai — hands bound tight behind him, being dragged by police through the trash and dirt. His one arm is bent the way Sing’s was so long ago, smearing blood and broken.

Part of me feels that I should be happy — seeing him like this. After everything he’s done. To me. To Sing. To all the other shivering, sapped girls gathered under the lone sapphire streetlamp. But I can only look at such brokenness and feel it inside me, echoing long and far, deeper than the darkness between stars.

DAI

The handcuffs are too tight. I can’t feel my fingers anymore, but my shoulder is a different story. It’s like the end of an unknotted rope: fibers twisting, pulling, fraying, coming apart. It doesn’t really help that the cop behind me is shoving and jostling like a half-rate taxi ride. I know better than to complain, though. I had my chance. I had more than my chance.

I can only imagine what my father will say, if he ever comes to see me. I can just picture him, sitting with his flawless business suit and mostly gray hair. He’ll stare through the inches of Plexiglas. All those years of masking his emotions at business meetings and cocktail parties won’t be enough to hide the disappointment on his face. He’ll lean close to his microphone and say, “You should have run.”

I’m beginning to think that myself until I see Mei Yee. Her face is flushed, like she’s been running. Even though she’s dressed in my clothes, hair pulled back, everything about her seems brighter. More alive.

She doesn’t even blink when Tsang calls me a murderer. She’s still looking at me with her nautilus stare. Dusting the sand off my soul and seeing the best parts. The ones that Hiro saw. The ones he tried to tell me about.

And then I see Jin Ling behind her, hobbling desperately to be with her sister. Together again after so many years.

I see them, almost side by side (the way Hiro and I used to walk when we scoured the seashore), and there’s no room for doubt.

It was worth it.

JIN LING

I can’t run and scream at the same time. There’s too much hurt. Not enough air. I can barely even walk with the extra weight around my leg. The distance is short, but it takes me ages. When I finally reach Mei Yee and the smoking man, Dai is gone. Sucked into the tide of criminals and Security Branch.

“W-wait!” I’m wheezing, bent over. Trying to ignore my sunburst pain. The wound is catching up, draining me of my last, vital reserves. “Bring him b-back!”

“If you want to see him, you’ll have to arrange a visitation at the correctional institution.” A frown crosses the man’s face. I think it’s because he’s almost done with his cigarette. “Can’t tell you which one yet.”

“I have what you want.”

This seems to get his attention. He swivels around on his heels. Looks at me. The extra skin of his neck bunches into his chin.

“And what might that be?”

I’m about to reach for it, but I take a longer look at the man’s face. It’s lit up. Orange and hellish. “Bring Dai back and I’ll show you.”

The man scowls and tosses his cigarette to the ground. He doesn’t even bother stamping it out. He disappears into the crowd, calling after Dai and his officer.

I watch the cigarette die. Just one more piece of trash to step on.

Mei Yee stares at it, too. “Do you really have it?”

Before I can answer, the man is back. A bewildered officer and Dai follow him like toy train cars. All three of them stare. Waiting.

I reach down to the binding on my thigh, where Dai’s revolver is wedged tight against the cloth. My hand grabs what it needs out of the thick, stretchy fabric. Pulls.

The man in the trench coat stares. His mouth is open, oddly empty without his cigarette. His hands stretch out. Reaching desperately for what I’m holding.

I reached for it the same way, when the music girl, Nuo, and a girl named Wen Kei showed me what they were hiding. After Longwai barreled through the lounge and blocked all ways to Dai, Nuo grabbed my wrist. Took me back to her room. Her chest was puffed up when she tugged the ledger from under her bed. The pride was in her words, too, when she explained how she snuck up Longwai’s stairs while he was busy questioning Mei Yee. Used hairpins on the locks. A skill she inherited from a girl named Sing.

I pull the book back. Away from the man. The dragon’s gold leafing shines almost green under the streetlights. I hug the soft red leather to my aching chest. It fits well there. “Let Dai go. Like you promised.”

The man stares at the cornerstone book. There’s something like relief in his eyes. In the part of his lips. He turns back to the officer holding Dai. “Uncuff him.”

I wait until the cuffs are completely off. Dai’s arms fall free. The right one heavy and awkward. Dai cradles it tenderly as I hand over Longwai’s book of secrets. The cigaretteless man flips through the pages. His lips are together now. Pulled up into a smile.

“Longwai’s ass on a platter,” he says. Snaps the cover shut like a dragon’s jaws.

“We good, Tsang?” Dai’s syllables are dislocated, sweating with effort and pain. I can’t listen to him without remembering my own hurt.

“It’s after midnight. And technically you weren’t the one to hand over the book. But…” The man — Tsang — reaches into his trench coat. Pulls out a white fold of paper. “I’m in a good mood. I’ll give you this one, Sun Dai Shing.”

Dai takes the paper with hungry fingers. Clenching so tight the edges rumple. He thrusts it deep, deep into the pocket of his hoodie.

Tsang tucks the ledger under his arm. Looks at each of us in turn. Eyes gleaming. “Take my advice, kids. Get out of Hak Nam. They’ll be tearing it down. Turning it into a park.”

“That’s the plan,” I tell him. I look back at my sister.

“Good luck with that.” Tsang turns to go.

“Wait!” Mei Yee’s cry stops him midstep. “What — what’s going to happen? To Longwai? To all the girls?”

Tsang gives the book a fond pat, as if he’s stroking a cat. “There’s enough evidence here to put Longwai and his men in jail for a very long time. And the girls…” His eyes drift over to the streetlamp the girls are huddled under. A self-created, silk-clad herd. “They’re free to go.”

The girls churn and mill in their flimsy, colored dresses. They look so lost and trapped at the same time. Like the bright groups of fish crammed into restaurant tanks.

“Go where?” Mei Yee asks.

“Not my problem.” Tsang shrugs and walks away. No one stops him.

I’m not moving anymore. But the pain is. I have to sit. It doesn’t matter that the ground is covered with glass and spent cigarettes. I got what I came for. My family is whole and I’m done. Done running, fighting, and hiding. Done standing.

I end up on the ground. It’s more of a fall than a sit.

“Jin!” Dai kneels down next to me.

“I’m”—I try to wave him off—“fine… Do you have any money on you?”

“Money?” He frowns. “I gave you all the cash I had. What do you need it for?”

“The vagrants… Kuen’s old gang… they helped get you out.” I’m wheezing. “I promised to pay them.”

“We’ll get the money,” he tells me. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

I nod.

“You’re bleeding,” he says. Points at the dark, wet spot on my dress.

“So are you,” I point to his shoulder. “I just need to rest. That’s all.”

He settles next to me. Lands straight on top of Tsang’s discarded cigarette. “I think we all do.”

MEI YEE

They’re all here: Nuo, Wen Kei, and Yin Yu. The girls from the other halls. Fewer than twenty in all, blinking and shivering and gaping in the blue, blue light. Even Mama-san hovers at the fringe of the group, where the reach of the streetlight fades — her face one part shadow, the other part shame. They don’t recognize me at first, all bound up in a jacket and boots. When I step forward, they shy away, a single, shirking creature that’s seen too many fists.

Wen Kei is the first to realize who I am. She pulls out from the pale, withdrawn faces, throws herself into me. “Mei Yee! You’re okay!”

The other girls shift and start at the sound of my name. Nuo comes to my other side, buries her face into my shoulder. I hold them both tight, let myself breathe. All of us are shaking.

Even Yin Yu. She’s trying to be unseen, slipping against the corner of my vision, but she doesn’t go far enough. I can still see how her lips wrinkle against her face, trembling like the edges of my imperfect ceiling stars.

“You got us out,” Wen Kei squeaks when she finally unburies her face.

Out. The other girls shift again. The word is not as holy to them; it doesn’t settle well.

“It wasn’t me.” I look over my shoulder, over Nuo’s stray wisps of angel hairs. My sister is still bent over on the ground, looking like a drop of blood in that serving dress. My window-boy is crouched next to her, and even from this distance — even through his pain — those eyes shine.

“What happens now?” Nuo asks.

I turn back and stare at the group. Nineteen faces. Nineteen beautiful, torn, needing faces.

What happens now? I spent so long thirsting, yearning, dreaming for this freedom. And now it’s here and the streets are very dark and we’re not the police’s problem.

“I–I’m not sure.”

“You’re not sure?” The pierce of Yin Yu’s voice is a needle of its own, filling me with fault and rattle. “Where are we going to sleep? What are we going to eat?”

Nuo and Wen Kei have pulled away, but they’re still looking at me. They’re all looking at me, waiting for answers I do not have.

And then, a presence. A heat next to me and a hand sliding into mine. Fingers meeting fingers. Warmth against warmth. The feel of Dai is so vastly different from anyone else I’ve ever touched. It makes my insides burst and soar, and I know, somehow, that things are going to be okay.

“Thank you for the keys,” he says to Yin Yu. “And your silence.”

She blinks at him, tilts her head so she’s staring at him through her bangs. The way she does when she wants to watch without being seen.

Dai looks to me. His fingers are so gentle, threading through the empty spaces between mine, filling the gaps. “Are all the girls here?”

I look over their faces again. Only Sing is missing. The thought makes my heart ache and bloat. I nod anyway.

My window-boy clears his throat. His voice is so solid, so clear without the glass between us. “I know none of you really know me — besides Mei Yee and Yin Yu. But I wanted to let you know that if you want somewhere to stay tonight, somewhere safe, you can come with me. There will be food. And tea. And mats for sleeping. If you want.”

The girls all stare at him as if he’s a wild thing. I wonder if this is how my face looked that first night he tapped on my window and I saw another life stretching out, calling me into a different chamber.

I think of the tiny room with the tiles colored like a smoker’s teeth. How just Jin Ling and the cat and I felt like a crowd. “But your apartment isn’t big enough for all of us.”

“We’re not going to my apartment,” Dai says. “We’re leaving Hak Nam. We’re going home.”

Home. He says the word like a song. Something different from wilting rice fields and knuckle-laced nights. Something worth singing about.

“You trust him, Mei Yee? " a girl from the south hall asks.

I stare back at this boy whose hand I’m holding. Whose hair is mussed and whose eyes are lined with tired gray. Who’s smiling in a way I’ve never seen before. It looks the way his home sounded: safe and whole and full of warmth.

This answer comes easy: “With my life.”

Dai’s fingers tighten in mine. His smile grows and he looks back at the other girls. “If any of you want to come, then follow me.”

Wen Kei steps out first. Then Nuo. The rest of the girls wash after them — a wave of color and timid steps. In the end, there’s only one left. She stands alone in the island of lamplight.

“Mama-san.” My fingers slide from Dai’s and I walk back to her. “You can come, too.”

“There’s no room.” The old woman sounds different out here in the open air. The dragoness has vanished from her voice. It’s so soft, almost lost.

“You heard Dai. We can all go,” I tell her.

Mama-san shakes her head. Her tight, tight bun is coming undone, wisps of hair falling free into her face. She pulls them back with fingers like rakes.

“There’s no room out there,” she says again. “It’s not our world. People like us belong in the shadows. I’m staying in Hak Nam.”

I know the look — the way her shoulders are hunched, the way the whites of her eyes go wide. She’s been caged too long. It’s the open, unknown door she fears. Just like my mother.

I reach out my hand, will her to take it. “Mama-san—"

“Go.” She cuts me off, edges farther from the streetlamp. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

Dai and the girls are waiting for me, and Mama-san keeps shrinking. Away from my outstretched hand, away from the light and into the shadows she thinks are her own. And the dark keeps coming, envelops her until she’s gone.

Now I’m the one who’s alone. Adrift under the lamp, in the blue pool of light.

Dai’s next to me again. “Are you okay, Mei Yee?”

“I can’t—" I swallow back the sick helplessness in my gut, keep staring into the darkness. “I don’t want to just leave her here.”

“This is her choice,” he says softly, “and thanks to you, she’s free to make it.”

My window-boy is right. No matter how much I want to grab Mama-san by the wrfst and take her to a safe place, I can’t. The choice is hers alone.

“Are you ready to go? " he asks.

Our hands come back together, tight. I can’t tell if I’m the one clinging to him or if he’s the one holding me. I think — maybe — it’s both. I look over to the girls and my sister. To the road that’s folding open — ready to take us out and away.

I choose not to stay in the dark.

“Let’s go home,” I say.

DAI

I support Jin Ling’s weak steps with my good arm, taking her all the way to the Old South Gate. Just like before. Only this time her blood isn’t on my shirt, and I don’t have to run. I’ve got all the time in the world.

Mei Yee walks on my other side, by my wounded shoulder. It throbs whenever she presses too close, but I ignore it. Some things are worth the hurt.

The rest of the girls trail behind her — an exodus of wide eyes and shiny dresses. I can only imagine the look on my father’s face when I knock on the door of 55 Tai Ping Hill this time. I’m guessing he’ll have something to say and I’ll have something to say back. We’ll seesaw the way we always do, and in the end, the girls will stay. All twenty of them.

Of course, it’s not a permanent solution. But right now I’m not thinking much further than the next twenty-four hours: a visit between Dr. Kwan and my shoulder, a good dose of pain meds, a hot meal, and a firm mattress.

And after that…

I don’t know, but I have a feeling it’s all going to work itself out.

An extra silhouette has joined us, bobbing tailless over rubbish heaps and door stoops. When the shadows run out, he trots close to my ankles, yowling louder than any cat should.

“Don’t worry.” I look down at Chma when our strange procession reaches the rusted cannons. He leaps up on top of one of the ancient artifacts, piercing me with his yellow headlight eyes. “We won’t leave you behind.”

The streets of Seng Ngoi are alive, pouring over with parades and happy drunks. Everything is bright gold and vibrant poppy-petal red. There are lanterns and sweet cakes and children dancing with new shoes, delighted to be up past their bedtime. One old man walks past, offers me a swig from his bottle of rice liquor. I shake my head, but he smiles anyway, showing his absence of teeth.

“Happy Year of the Snake!” He takes a swig of his own and teeters off into the festivities.

It’s too much for Mei Yee. I can tell by the stun on her face. She’s staring at the flare and color of the street, fingers half covering her eyes to shield them from the brightness. The sky is no longer black, but streaked with every color. Fireworks thunder and sparkle above us, showering the streets of Seng Ngoi like magical rain. We stand and watch them, even Chma.

“They’re beautiful,” I hear Mei Yee whisper, even though each boom of color makes her jump like a nervous rabbit. “This whole place is so beautiful. A city of lights.”

“In a few days I’ll take you to see the sea,” I promise.

The colors of the evening’s celebration flash over her face. She smiles and looks over at me. Sees me. My heart is full and burning — brighter than this night. “I’d like that.”

I look down and realize that despite all the noise and chaos around us, Jin Ling has fallen asleep. She’s leaning into me — every ounce of her featherweight — her face smudged and shameless against my hoodie. Reminds me of how tired I am. How tired all of us are.

I look at Chma and my two girls. I take in the fires of the sky. Fresh colors to mark a new year. A new day — day one of the rest of my life.

Our lives.

Let’s get started.