Boquin was a shadow within the crowd, slithering past people at such speeds that anyone he accidentally bumped into had no chance to react. Suddenly, his communication device vibrated rapidly in his pocket.
Three buzzes, must be someone from home. Picking up the rectangular device, he slipped it beneath his hood and to his ear.
‘Bo,’ Gan’s voice emanated through the small device, gruff as a mutt but carrying an inherent warmth that was distinctly him. ‘Just checking in. How are you holding up? Are you almost at the estate?’
‘Everything’s going okay. Almost there.’
There was a pause at the other end of the line. When Gan spoke again, his voice was softer. ‘This isn’t just another mission, Boquin. It’s a big one. If we’re successful, it may change everything for us.’
Boquin acknowledged the weight of Gan’s words with a nod, even though his mentor couldn’t see him. ‘I understand. Tell me again why Gajan couldn’t just do this on his own? Isn’t he stationed inside anyways? He can slide this letter under Mingchi’s door whenever he wants.’‘We can’t risk compromising Gajan as one of the estate Kuishi. Under no circumstances can he be linked back to the Yang, his position is far too precious. That’s why it’s gotta be you, no one else can go inside.’
‘Yeah, but why when his entire estate is locked down? Any other day but today would’ve made this easier.’
‘They brushed off our last two letters as pranks, Bo. But imagine this: we interrupt his coronation speech, slip the letter right into his hands, and snatch the audience’s attention for just a moment. The entire district will be buzzing about the mysterious figure who disrupted the flowering of Mingchi and then vanished into thin air. After that, let’s see the royal runt try to ignore our message. And oh, when you meet Gajan, give the lad a bit of reassurance. He’s still finding his feet in all this.’
‘Of course, Gan. I’ll get this done.’‘You’ve come a long way, Bo. Breaking into the estate is no walk in the North, but I know you can do this.’
Gan’s faith in him swelled like a beacon of warmth. He was more than his superior — he was a mentor, a guide, and a paternal figure in his life where he lacked a biological one.
‘Thank you, Gan. I won’t let us down.’
‘I know you won’t. Remember, Bo, you’re never alone. Even inside that estate, Gajan will do everything he can to ensure your success. Our brothers and sisters will be in the audience looking out for you. I’ll let you go now, son. Good luck.’
As the call ended with a soft buzz, Boquin felt a surge of determination. He was prepared for whatever lay ahead. He was ready to deliver the letter to Mingchi.
Drums rolled, and notes drifting from flutes danced through the air. Signature musical styles of East Kowloon, a region steeped in tradition and history, resonated around the streets of Mingchi’s ancestral home. His square-shaped estate spanned from level fifty to sixty-five atop a groundscraper dedicated to Pik nobles. Its roof was dark with elegant sloping tiles, and it contrasted its brown exterior walls. This groundscraper, dedicated to the Pik aristocracy, was encircled by massive buildings spaced fifty meters away, each towering ten to twenty floors higher than the estate’s structure.
Today, the estate had transformed into the stage of festivals. Lanterns were bright, and posters inviting everyone to the coronation plastered the walls. Doubling as the headquarters of the Pik gang, known as the Kuishi, Mingchi’s estate was beautiful and regal, in the style of the enigmatic “Zhongguo architecture,” a style invented by the prophet Dong himself. Gan always reminded Boquin how it loosely resembled the Yu Tower.
The nostalgia-inducing melodies of Eastern Beauty, Dong’s Honeyed Prophecy and The Lord’s Rebirth flowed through the air, a symphony of Eastern folk songs that tugged at the heartstrings. This coronation seemed to have breathed new life into the Easterners, something Boquin thought had been drained by the famine over the past two annui-cycles.
Mingchi had already started the address, his resonant voice floating down from the balcony of the estate. Standing 60 floors above the ground level, Mingchi overlooked his citizens gathered in the surrounding groundscrapers. thousands had already positioned themselves on the upper open-air levels of these buildings, where they stood or sat with their legs dangling over the edge, taking in an unobstructed view of the entire estate. This breathtaking, vertigo-inducing arrangement allowed the citizens of Pik to clearly hear the speeches delivered from the estate balcony.
Between the fortress-like estate and the flanking groundscrapers yawned a dizzying chasm, plunging a full hundred metres down to the teeming streets below. None of the groundscrapers physically connected to the estate, so this left a wide moat-like gap connected only by thick plumbing pipes.
Every level on every building surrounding the estate was brimming with bodies, eager to catch a glimpse of their new leader. Faces craned upwards, all eyes fixed on the young figure standing resolutely on the balcony opposite. People stood shoulder to shoulder, arms linked in a tight-knit display of unity, bellies rumbling as they awaited the food that would come after.
Boquin was currently on the 45th floor of one these surrounding groundscrapers, looking up through a window at the crowds from the lower vantage point. The grandeur was palpable, the air crackled with anticipation. Mingchi was on the opposite side of the estate, but that wouldn’t matter soon; he was about to get closer to Mingchi than anyone else in the crowd.
As Boquin stared out into the world, people moved behind him in a blur, everyone rushing to make it to the upper floors for a better view. The dim glow of the far-off lanterns accentuated his dark features, casting shadows that danced across his cheekbones. His tall, lean body was draped in black clothing that blended seamlessly into the backdrop of the dark corner he found himself in, making him nearly indistinguishable from his surroundings. His piercing eyes took in one last look of the crowds behind his shoulder, taking in the busy street as he prepared to embark on his perilous task.
Boquin pushed the window, which swung open on its hinges. Directly in front of him outside was a massive sewage pipe, stretching across the yawning chasm that separated the estate from the groundscrapers. Old and grimy, the thick pipe was strewn with debris from above. Beyond it, the estate’s imposing structure loomed large.
On the grey stone wall of the Mingchi estate, where the massive pipe connected at the lowest levels, a square blue construction tarp was pinned just above the junction, fluttering slightly in the wind.
Behind that should be my way inside. You better have done your part, Gajan!
Boquin’s heart pounded in his chest as he carefully leaned through the window and began inching along the sewage pipe. It felt like a lifeline to him, an unlikely passage into the lair of someone who might either be friend or foe, after months of planning with Gan and securing Gajan a spot within the Kuishi.
Above him, Mingchi’s voice echoed from the estate, reverberating through the circle of groundscrapers surrounding Boquin. It filled the air, a potent reminder of the immense stakes at hand, and his own borrowed time. As he got closer, he stared at the piece of tarp, its top two corners pinned with nails.
Reaching the end of his precarious path, Boquin lifted the tarp and saw a narrow but deep crack in the wall that went all the way to the other side. It was barely a palm and a half wide, and about as tall as Boquin himself. He peered through it, seeing only darkness on the other side.
‘Hey, Gajan?’ Boquin called out through the crack. ‘Are you there?’
There was no response. Damn it, he should be waiting for me. And this crack, Yezu Christ, does he think I have the waist of some skinny, little schoolgirl?
Boquin took a deep breath and slipped behind the tarp, sucking in his stomach and chest as far as they would go. He turned sideways and slid his left shoulder and arm through the opening.
I feel like a sewer rodent travelling through walls all the time, Boquin thought as he turned his head outwards, preferring a view of his escape route rather than the forbidding darkness within. Boquin managed to fit his left leg in, shoving it through the gap and scraping his thigh painfully, when suddenly he could no longer hold his breath any longer. Air escaped in a gasping exhale, his stomach expanded, and he found himself firmly half-way in the crack.
He tried to draw another deep breath, to suck in his stomach again, but his previous dexterity had vanished.
‘Light, this is bloody embarrassing,’ he muttered, imagining an estate servant stumbling upon him in his ludicrous state. But the thought of a Kuishi finding him instead gave him a reality check, and Boquin snapped back to figuring a way out.
Using his right leg for leverage and his left for propulsion, he tried to jostle himself free, but to no avail. At the very least, he felt glad he wasn’t claustrophobic.
Out of nowhere, a light chuckle echoed from the shadows beyond the wall inside. Someone was in the room. Boquin’s heart pounded in his chest as he stilled his body.
Hoping that the dark would conceal him, he tried to pivot his head around to look inside, but of course, it was locked in position between the crack. His alarm intensified when a solid grip enclosed his left wrist, the unexpected contact sending jolts of terror through his body. Instinctively, Boquin fought back, flailing and swinging wildly in an attempt to shake off the hold. He managed to free himself of the grip and reached out to grab the person in an attempt to subdue them somehow.
‘Psst, calm down! It’s me, Gajan! I’m trying to pull you through! I bloody knew I should’ve made the gap wider. I thought the girl was going to deliver the message, not you!’
A wave of relief washed over Boquin, easing the racing tension that had threatened to choke him. ‘Oh, thank the Light,’ he exhaled, the words coming out in a rush. ‘Quick, pull my arm while I try to push from my side! I can hardly breathe!’
Gajan’s hands closed around Boquin’s wrist once more, this time in assistance. As Gajan heaved, Boquin pushed, leveraging the force of his legs to dislodge himself. Pain radiated through his torso, and his arm feeling as though it would pop out of its socket. He bit back a cry, teeth clenching, muscles straining, until, suddenly, he burst free. The momentum sent both men tumbling onto the cold stone floor, a cloud of dust billowing up around them in the dim blue light that filtered through the tarp and spilt through the crack.
The discomfort etched into Boquin’s features was as palpable as the pulsating ache coursing through his bruised torso. ‘Are you stupid?! Even Liqui would have struggled to get through…that! The crack of my ass is wider!’ Boquin declared angrily as he stood up, his voice echoing in the dark room. He looked back at the gap, astonished that he even managed to get through. Standing up, his eyes met Gajan’s, still sprawled on the cold stone floor.
‘I’m sorry, I just couldn’t risk someone walking into the cellar and noticing the crack. I’ve already raised a few eyebrows with my frequent visits down here. Maybe if I used a sharper chisel…’
Boquin’s anger faded as he understood Gajan’s reasoning. Recalling Gan’s request to look out for Gajan, he started to feel a little bad for lashing out at the fresh Yang recruit.
With a sigh, Boquin lent a hand down to Gajan. ‘I supposed the important thing is that you managed to do it at all.’ Gajan smiled and accepted the offered help, his gloved hand locking with Boquin’s. With a swift, joint effort, he rose, dusting his clothes off too.
Gajan’s gaze now held a glimmer of curiosity. ‘Why couldn’t I have delivered the message myself? After the coronation, I mean.’
Boquin recalled Gan’s answer to the very question he had also asked. He answered, ‘Gan thinks the letter will only be read if it’s delivered to him during his coronation. But he also doesn’t want you risking your position here in the estate.’ As he spoke, Boquin’s hands were patting off the lingering dust from Gajan’s shoulders and arms.
‘What’s the situation in the estate?’ Boquin’s voice echoed softly as his eyes began to accommodate the shrouding darkness.
‘It’s surprisingly quiet inside. Most of his men are on the streets, prepped for the food distribution.’ Gajan’s voice had a soothing effect, a lighthouse in the murky gloom. ‘You should be able to get close Mingchi undetected. But remember, the balcony he’s on is off-limits to everyone, so you’ll have to rely more on your wit than the disguise once you’re there.’
‘Sounds good, Gajan. Now strip and wait here. I’ll return here and escape through the gap if things go smoothly. If things go sideways, find another escape route, grab your spare clothes and disappear. I’ll do the same.’ His voice carried an undertone of stern command.
‘But…I didn’t pack any spare clothes,’ Gajan admitted sheepishly.
‘Then it looks like you might have to run home in your underwear,’ Boquin quipped. ‘Hurry, Gajan. Hand me your uniform, we don’t have much time.’
Gajan complied, swiftly shrugging off his coat, sliding his trousers off, and then peeling off his shirt. The uniform wasn’t the Kuishi standard attire Boquin was used to seeing on the streets. It was a ceremonial uniform, reserved for special occasions. A blast from the past, a reminder of the time when grand ceremonies, festivals, and street carnivals weren’t as scarce as they were during the current famine. It was a tad ostentatious for his taste, but if it served the purpose and got him closer to that coveted balcony, it was a small price to pay.
Boquin removed his dark robes and undergarments but kept his shirt which had the loose collar around the front which he pulled up as his mask.
‘What’s the fastest way to the balcony?’ Boquin asked as he fit his arms into the coat, the ceremonial uniform fitting snugly around his form.
‘As soon as you ascend the stairs from the storage area, find the lift at the end of the hallway. It only goes up to the eighth floor. Once there, make a left and enter the first door you see. That should lead you to a lounge, then to a spiral staircase. Climb until you come across a brown door. That’ll be your gateway to the balcony.’
The directions hung in the silence of the room, casting a map of the path in Boquin’s mind. Gajan continued, ‘After you’ve delivered the message, head to the opposite end of the balcony. You’ll find a door there that leads to the emergency exits. They’re usually locked from the outside, but from the balcony, it’s always accessible. Go down as far as you can, then look for the lift in a corridor. Then, just head back here. Oh, and here —’
With that, Gajan removed his beret, a black feather bobbing from its front, an elaborate part of the Pik ceremonial attire. Boquin accepted it with a nod, adjusted it on his head and shifted it from side to side to secure a comfortable and convincing fit. The beret was the final piece of the disguise. Now, Boquin was ready for discretion and danger that awaited him.
Boquin turned to look at Gajan. He was standing awkwardly, his bare body almost blending with the dark surroundings.
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‘Hey, you don’t actually have to run home in your underwear.’ Boquin began, a hint of laughter rippling through his voice. ‘I was just joking earlier. If things go bad, or even if they don’t, you can always throw on my clothes. They’re a bit more suitable for this chilly room anyway.’
Gajan shrugged. ‘I should be fine. But thanks.’
‘I insist. We can just change clothes once I’m back.’
‘Alright,’ Gajan conceded. ‘If I get cold, I’ll put them on. Good luck up there, Boquin.’
‘Stay hidden,’ Boquin instructed in a tone serious. ‘May the Light guard and protect you.’
‘May it guard and protect you too,’ Gajan returned the blessing, his gaze steady.
Turning away from Gajan, Boquin moved towards the other end of the room, his eyes gradually adjusting to his visions peripheral. Barrels huddled in the gloom around him, their wooden bodies smelling of aged alcohol. Some barrels dripped from their tap, as if recently emptied. Must be for the festivities.
As he reached the base of the ascending stairs, he cast one last look back at Gajan and exchanged a nod. Then, steadying his resolve, he began to climb.
The hall beyond was a sea of muted tones, the carpet beneath his boots plush, and the walls plain, bearing the weathered scars of time. Boquin turned over Gajan’s instructions in his mind, navigating through the maze-like passageway until he came upon the lift. He pressed the call button, and it hummed into motion, its ascent from the upper levels agonisingly slow. As he waited, a sense of apprehension gnawed at him — the Kuishi gang wasn’t large and a chance encounter could raise alarms from their regular members.
Hopefully, the ‘new guard’ excuse works.
Ding.
The lift finally arrived, thankfully empty. He stepped in, punching the button for the highest accessible floor, and the doors swept closed. His fingers fiddled with the loose mask around his neck, the fabric smooth and cool against his skin.
As the lift glided to a stop at the highest level, the doors slid open to reveal a lone guard on the other side. Boquin’s heart stilled, but he schooled his features into an impassive facade, avoiding eye contact with the guard. From the edge of his vision, he could make out the distinctive feathered beret atop the guard’s head. Boquin moved out of the lift, his movements unhurried, and as the other guard stepped in, the doors slid closed, swallowing the tension within.
His heart pounded a steady rhythm against his ribs as he moved away from the lift, the encounter with the guard replaying in his mind.
I’m okay, he reassured himself. I’ve broken into tighter places.
Recalling the next set of instructions from Gajan, Boquin came upon the first door on his right, its stained-opaque glass rattling slightly in its weathered wooden frame from the commotion inside.
-pop-
‘Aye! There we go!’
The effervescent pop of a bottle of Shangpinchou punctuated the muted hum of voices inside, which rose in a chorus of cheers and applause. Mingchi’s speech resonated through the live broadcast of the Eastern Times, the national news network of Pik. Music also wafted through the gap underneath the door, hinting at the private party on the other side.
Through the frosted glass, Boquin could make out the silhouettes of no more than half a dozen guards huddled around a lounging area on the left. A small bar occupied the right side of the room, its counter top gleaming under the warm glow of the lights. He needed to get through this room.
With a deep, steadying breath, Boquin pushed open the door, its rusty hinges creaking under the motion. He stepped into the room, the air thick with laughter and jovial chatter, his stride unhurried and confident. Skirting around the bar seemed to be the most prudent choice. It offered the path of least resistance across the room, away from the other guards, so he ducked behind the polished tabletop, keeping to the shadows of the grand shelves stacked with expensive spirits and other alcoholic beverages.
Continuing his careful progression through the room, Boquin suddenly stiffened at the sound of an intrusive voice that pierced the buoyant hum of conversations. A guard from the lounge had noticed him, his words somewhat slurred by the Shangpinchou. ‘Hey brother, where are you going?’
‘Just to the door,’ Boquin replied, careful to keep his back to curious Kuishi.
The guard was persistent and a bit tipsy. ‘But them’s the stairs to the balcony. We’re not supposed to go up there until the Lord gets back! Come here, share a drink with us.’
‘That’s okay. If I’m not allowed to go up, I’ll just leave for now. Thanks for letting me know, you spared me from embarrassment in front of the Lord.’
His casual, albeit untruthful excuse had the guards nodding to each other. ‘You sure you don’t want the Shangpinchou? We’ve been saving this up for a long-ass time! We got bottle to go around!’
With every invite, Boquin felt the threads of his disguise straining, the unwanted attention threatening to unravel his covert mission.
‘Yeah, come here! We’re gonna start playing gokm very soon. We’re about to call everyone up. It’ll be a big game!’ came a second voice, calling him over.
A third voice called out too, waving Boquin to join them. It was the wrong day for the Kuishi gangsters to become so inviting, he thought to himself.
‘I’m good thank you, the Lord gave me a few tasks to do, so I aim to stay sober a while longer…’
Boquin became worried he was drawing too much attention to himself. Remaining silent, he retreated back towards the entrance with a deliberate slowness to detract suspicion. From the perspectives of the slightly drunk Kuishis, all they heard was the creak of the door opening, followed by its resonant slam of Boquin apparently leaving.
The loud conversations and laughter continued with a toast and the clattering of glasses. No one paid attention to where he truly went. In reality, as the door slammed shut, Boquin slipped behind the bar at the last moment, the rustle of his coat the only clue to his actual position. Crouching low, he watched the guards from his hidden corner of the lounge, waiting for them to lose themselves once more in the merriment, for the memory of his encounter to evaporate like the fizz from their Shangpinchou.
Slowly, Boquin began to inch to the other side of the counter, hidden behind the cover of the polished wood bar. The door leading to the balcony stairs was tantalisingly close, but still perilously within sight of the celebrating guards. He needed a distraction that would pull their focus away from his path.
As Boquin’s mind spun to conjure a diversion, fortune intervened in the form of the voice of a guard from the lounge. ‘Oh, guys, I need you to listen to this part of the speech. It’s my favourite bit!’
‘And how long must the East suffer from the prejudice of the rest of the world? When we travel to the West, to the core, the North, they laugh and ridicule us! They call us lazy, degenerate criminals; we have been dehumanised with the title of dongfa’shu for hundreds of years!’
Someone turned up the broadcast volume, and all conversations stopped as they tuned in to the speech. This was it; the distraction Boquin had been waiting for.
Like a shadow skittering along the edge of someone’s vision, crouched and nimble, Boquin moved towards the door. His hands, turned the knob, easing it open with a soft squeak.
Squeeak, krrrrthump.
A rush of cool, stale air greeted him as he finally stood up. As the door closed behind him, sealing off the cacophony of voices, a sigh of relief escaped his lips. The climb was steep, the spiral staircase winding upwards into an uncertain darkness. But somewhere above, six flights away, would be a brown door. And through that was Mingchi, who had the attention of everyone in Pik.
Time was his enemy now, chasing at his heels like a relentless hound. Boquin launched himself up the stairs, which creaked under his weight. Every second was vital. His mission would be for nought if Mingchi concluded his speech and moved back inside his estate. Boquin had no time to waste.
The brown door. It was a brown door he was seeking. The beacon guiding his eyes.
Damn Gan and his dramatic ideas! Gajan could have just given him this lousy letter any other time!
Boquin recalled how famously reclusive Mingchi was, tracing the rise of the elusive young Lord after the mysterious passing of Lord Gaochi, the former lord of Pik. Though young, Mingchi had vaulted himself into the heart of danger when he immediately declared war against the drug triads of the East, thought to be one of the forces holding Pik to its corrupt and dark ruin. It was a bold move that immediately turned him into a ghost, earning him a 5,000,000 Hong bounty from Pik’s underworld. To some, he seemed a tyrant in the making, like his father before him. To others, he represented renewed hope for Pik.
Mingchi earned a lot of respect from me when he declared war against Pik’s scum. If he sees reason with this letter, he’ll be an unshakeable ally to our cause.
As Boquin drew nearer to the top, Mingchi’s powerful oratory seeping through the walls and flooded the staircase. His impassioned words pulsed with sincerity and a pledge for reform their struggling district.
‘Pik will be a beautiful state, worthy of the respect of even the Northern rulers. Help me wash out the filth that covers our streets, help me restore Dong’s name in the minds and hearts of our children once more, and I will be the ruler my father never was! A ruler Pik deserves!’
A pang of regret filled Boquin. He wished he could drink in every word of the speech, absorb Mingchi’s vision of transforming Pik. He yearned to understand how he planned to eradicate the deep-rooted issues that plagued the East. Corruption, disease, poverty, societal moral laxity, Godlessness, everything Boquin thought wrong with his home.
Boquin had reluctantly accepted that he might never see the East rise from its post-war ruins. He knew the odds of achieving the Yang dream — living on the surface under God’s Light — were slim, at least within his lifetime. Yet, Mingchi’s impassioned speech rekindled a spark of hope within him. Perhaps he could yet see Pik transform into something better than the world he was born into.
Boquin stopped, huffing and puffing, now in front of the brown door. Mingchi’s voice echoed through the wooden door, amplified by the speakers on the other side. Drawing a deep breath, he adjusted his mask, pulling it up to its rightful place. His hand, steady despite the nerves, clasped the doorknob, and with a gulp, he turned it.
It opened, and harsh light from the outside forced him to squint. Bright lights and lamps were dotted around the banister of the balcony. He pulled the beret down to shade his eyes. He was now on the balcony, but not on the side Mingchi was.
He must be around the bend.
Boquin looked to his left, drawn towards the vertigo-inducing drop that extended to the ground levels — the daunting stretch he had scaled not long ago. Below and across the gap, crowds huddled together, their attention raptly fixed on the distant figure of Mingchi high above them. Sitting on windowsills, on top of railings, some even perched on AC units jutting out of walls.
Suddenly, Boquin heard a surge of cheers rising from the crowd. Onlookers waved, their faces lit with excitement, clapping, whistling and cheering as they spotted Boquin. He felt the unfamiliar flush of feeling like a celebrity as the spontaneous applause echoed around him. He wasn’t Mingchi, just a random guard on the balcony. Maybe the crowds assumed he was someone else important, or the infectious spirit of the gathering had simply taken over, making any mild change in the atmosphere reason to whoop and cheer.
Boquin briefly looked at the audience, smiled, and pressed onwards as he attempted to ignore the unexpected attention.
With purpose in his strides, Boquin navigated the length of the balcony, rounding the sharp corner. Ahead of him stood Mingchi, enveloped in the adoration of the audience and passionately delivering his speech a mere ten metres away. There were two Kuishi on either side, standing and facing the same crowd Mingchi was addressing. The scene was one of rapt attention, with hundreds and hundreds of eyes intent on their young ruler.
Like a hunter closing in on its prey, Boquin’s focus narrowed to a singular point: Mingchi. The letter in his hand felt heavier than ever, but he moved swiftly and stealthily, an ominous shadow against the light-drenched backdrop of the balcony.
The guard closest to Boquin, on Mingchi’s left, was the first to notice him approaching. A flicker of confusion crossed the guard’s face as Boquin did not slow down. Instinctively, the guard’s hand moved to the pistol at his hip while he raised his other arm to halt Boquin.
Despite the guard’s shout and commanding gesture to stop, Boquin continued forward. As he reached arm’s length, he grabbed the guard’s arm, yanked him forward, pivoted around his back, and found himself between the guard and Mingchi. Mingchi, halting his speech, turned just in time to see Boquin directly in front of him, his expression one of wide-eyed surprise.
He deftly slipped the letter into Mingchi’s hand, but the guard to Mingchi’s right had already drawn his sword. Boquin sidestepped around Mingchi and ducked under the guard’s arm, and sprinted towards the other end of the balcony.
Gajan’s information had been correct — there was indeed an emergency exit there. Boquin could hear the bellows of the two guards running after him.
Holding the unmarked envelope, Mingchi called off the pursuing guards. It clicked for Boquin why delivering the letter during the coronation was clever—Mingchi was more concerned with maintaining the ceremony’s decorum than pursuing the letter’s sender.
Audiences waited patiently, their gazes expectant, waiting for Mingchi’s captivating voice to fill the air once more. As Mingchi resumed his speech, the sea of onlookers assumed whatever they saw to be an ordinary interaction between Mingchi and his Kuishi.
As he plunged through the emergency exit, Boquin felt a rush of adrenaline and relief flood through him — his mission was complete. Mingchi had the letter and would no doubt read it. The pounding of his boots echoed down the barren staircase in sync with the thumping of his heart.
In the storage room, a slightly bemused Gajan, still in his underwear, sat atop a stool near the crack. He sprang to his feet at Boquin’s entrance, a twinkle of hopeful anticipation in his eyes.
‘Did you do it? Does he have the letter?’
‘Yeah, told you. It wasn’t too bad, and no one even tried to chase me. Was really expecting Mingchi to send the estate after me.’ Boquin tossed his shoulders back, swiftly undoing his coat and stepping out of the guard’s uniform.
‘Well, it’s good for you he officially hasn’t taken a stance on the Yangs yet. I’m sure he knew it was us the moment he saw the letter,’ Gajan responded, his eyes gleaming with something akin to hope.
A reflective silence enveloped the room as Boquin, his optimism renewed, pondered on the future. ‘Maybe Gan was right; I think he’ll give us a shot. The Southern Yangs have made a lot of progress toward swaying public opinion, so now it’s our turn to do the same.’
Gajan’s face split into a grin, ‘This is so exciting! I haven’t even been with you guys for too long and already I feel like I am a part of an important turning point for the Eastern clusters. We’ll be so much better than those Yangs in the core districts. They’ve forgotten diplomacy comes before violence.’
‘For sure, Gajan. We can start to be an example for those godless heathens. But, that all being said, you did well here today Gajan. Be proud of yourself. We may not be the largest of Yang clusters, but if we’re made up of brave soldiers like you, then Kowloon better watch out,’ Boquin gave a pat on Gajan’s shoulders.
‘Thank you. After the coronation, I’m going to treat my girlfriend and I to some fine dining, but tomorrow I’ll be ready for more action. Mingchi has it in him to understand our cause, I just know it.’
Gajan had a spark in his eye. Boquin could see his drive to fight just by the tone of his voice. Was this the same spark Gan says he saw in me all those years ago?
‘Will you be going back to Gan?’ Gajan asked.
‘Probably, but I —’ Boquin’s words were abruptly drowned out by a deafening roar from outside. Battle cries charged with fervour, raw energy, with a tone of impending doom echoed through the air, complete opposite from the earlier calm. The building seemed to tremble under the intense clamour.
‘What the hell is with all that commotion?’ Gajan’s eyes were wide as he looked toward the thin concrete wall separating them from the uproar. They had just finished slipping back into their original attire — Boquin in his shadowy robes and Gajan in his ceremonial guard uniform.
A sense of foreboding gnawing at his gut, Boquin approached the crack and reached through to shift the tarp aside. Pressing his eye to the opening, he tried to discern the nature of the chaos above. All he could see was a blur of frantic activity on the upper balconies.
‘Nothing good. I best get going,’ Boquin said, still looking out the crack.
‘Good idea, I should go up and join the guards. They might need help. I’ll see you soon, Boquin.’ Flashing a brief smile and a wave, Gajan took off, his boots pounding against the stairs in a hasty sprint.
The roaring continued, escalating in intensity. It was clear now that these were the voices of the crowds that had gathered to hear Mingchi’s speech. But now, their cheers had morphed into screams…a chilling symphony of chaos and fear. Boquin hurried as he fit into the crack, immediately cursing himself as he remembered that he should have asked Gajan to push him through before he left. No matter, Boquin tried to squeeze through regardless. And just as before, he was stuck halfway, behind the blue-tinted shadows of the tarp. Using the arm on the outside, he waved the tarp aside once more and looked up at the surrounding groundscrapers to see what was happening more clearly…
Four bodies plummeted down to the ground from levels unseen above Boquin, their screams tearing through the thick, humid air like ragged cloth as they fell from the railing-less balconies of the surrounding groundscrapers. From above, people were stampeding in one direction. He could hear Mingchi shouting desperately for order.
‘Everyone! Please, there is enough food for everyone present! Don’t panic! Please!’
But his voice was but a flashlight in a storm, drowned out in the furious current of human fear and madness. Boquin now knew the stampeding chaos was due to the desperation of people trying to get the food and drinks Mingchi’s guards were handing out. His good deed had taken a devastating turn.
Pure, unadulterated panic seized Boquin. It propelled him, writhing and clawing, through the unforgiving grip of the crack. In a burst of frustration, he seized the tarp and yanked it down, ripping it from the wall. The air was filled with a terrifying crescendo of screams from above. Summoning all his strength, Boquin finally freed himself from the cold grip of the crack. He began precariously rushing over the wide sewer pipe that connected the estate to a groundscraper opposite.
Suddenly, another body slammed into the rusted sewage pipe Boquin was balancing on, the metallic clank muffled by the sickening crunch of breaking bones. The pipe shuddered violently beneath his feet, causing his heart to leap into his throat. Boquin swayed his outstretched arms from side to side as he battled to remain balanced. The unfortunate soul, back shattered on impact, began an agonisingly slow slide down the pipe before plummeting into the grim abyss of Kowloon’s ground level, not even a final scream leaving the mouth of the lifeless human-turned-ragdoll. Not wasting a moment, Boquin picked up the pace, leaping over the grotesque dent in the pipe, a grim marker of a life abruptly ended, and plunged back through the balcony of the towering groundscraper he had entered from earlier.
For now, he was safe. But the echoes of the horrors he’d just witnessed lingered in his mind, painting a dreadful tableau his heart strained to bear. Even amidst his success, the weight of the morbid turn of the coronation lay heavy upon him. And beneath it all, the gnawing hunger in his stomach was an ever-present reminder of the reality in which he lived.
A veil of sombre realisation descended on Boquin: Pik was beyond salvation and Kowloon a sinking boat no amount of bailing could save. His previous optimism, vibrant and resilient, now seemed as fragile as glass under the crushing weight of this reality.
The only truth was the Yang. And their truth was Dong’s prophecy: Kowloon’s salvation lies in our exodus to the surface.