The Year ‘35, 4th Month, 18th Day

– Fei Cui, Jae-dyn

Unknown, The Red District

3:15 PM

Walking through the streets these days was as laborious as rowing through a sea in only a dinghy— and the Red Light District was, Kizuna believed, akin to the entirety of the Cassack Ocean.

The showgirls performed in their cabarets well into the night, the same billboard hits leaking from their underground stages and into the curbside. Neon signs dazzled across his vision as he stepped past lowly drunkards and suited elites.

Those who loitered through the district called it A Bastard’s Heaven on Earth; where the casinos, dingy as they were, were packed full. And the beds of any woman strutting down the slim roads were always warm.

Though,“Sky City” was what the more sensible sort preferred to refer it by, since it so thoroughly parodied the vibrant, cosmopolitan nightlife of Wўtai’s capital; Welkin City, which the politicians dubbed as the Skies of Unity.

But to its common inhabitants, there was only one name for this place— the Red Light District.

He slowed his harried steps as the edge of a familiar building came into his line of sight. The walls were gray and cracking, heavy double doors welded to the hinges and barred shut. Kizuna rapped his knuckles upon the cold surface.

There was a small, barred window a few inches above him, a shadow traipsing into view in mere seconds. The crooning, aged voice of a man spoke from the other side, “I’m sorry, but my two sons are not home.”

Kizuna cleared his throat to relay the common password, “Then, bring me the third.”

With a placated hum, the shadow moved away from the window, the rattle of the locks echoing from within as the doors were pulled apart by just a scant inch, allowing just enough space for Kizuna to step through.

“Thank you, Old Man Peng.” Kizuna echoed with a chilling softness, the faint crinkle of his eye visible through the gauze lining his face.

The old man, hunched over and frail enough to be tipped over by a mere gust of wind, paid him no heed. Instead, he slowly ambled his way down the single hallway, incandescent bulbs flickering. Kizuna paced after him, adjusting the cuffs of his sleeves and the bandages on his face all the while.

There was the sound of hearty laughter and the tapping of typewriters, the floorboards beneath Kizuna’s feet buzzing with xi, making the hairs on his neck stand on end.

The sensation burned stronger and stronger as they continued further; until at last Peng reached a small wooden door. Nearly unnoticeable if not for the nauseating amount of Cultivational power leaking from between its hinges.

The old man raised a warbling, wrinkly hand and pushed the door open, the jazz record playing within assaulting Kizuna’s ears.

Inside, there were scores of men, hunched to their shoulders and tap, tap, tapping away at their typewriters. There were boys too, some no older than ten, as they loitered by the walls and sipped on ice-cold whiskey. To keep their legs buzzing for their deliveries.

Again, the room let out a wave of tangible power.

None seemed to pay Kizuna any mind. Though, that did not deter him from walking past the seas of people, dodging the tickets strewn about on the floor and the cigarette smoke digging into his nostrils.

He set his sights on the bar by the right-side corner, where there sat a familiar figure, atop a barstool and sipping on a cup of tea.

He was twisted so he was facing away from Kizuna, but even then, the boy had caught the tense tug of his shoulders, and words, acidic, as he said, “— not true, and you’re well aware of that.”

“Oh come on, Sunren,” came the voice of a man, sitting opposite him. Behind this man was an entire drove of people, all settling in for a drink. The man who spoke took a puff of his fat cigar, and exhaled the smoke, “You can’t admit it’s fuckin’ suspicious as all hell.”

“If the Master has yet to confirm anything, then it’s all hersey,” Sunren bit back, the anger in his voice so genuine that it shocked Kizuna.

“Sir,” Kizuna called, settling into the seat beside him.

The man, at a speed that was nearly frightening, lost all acerbity in his gaze as he turned to him. “Kizuna, oh, I’m so happy you’ve come.”

“Oh shit, it’s the kid,” one of the men jolted comically, enough for both Kizuna and Sunren to notice.

The one with the cigar sneered, looking Kizuna up and down with a squint of his eye. He spoke with a wary drone of his voice, “Don’t you have some tickets to run, boy?”

“I have no shift for today, sirs,” Kizuna looked up at them, voice so soft he was sure most of them couldn’t hear.

In the eyes of these men, he was nothing but a runner. One of the children the Triads employed to carry the numbers and betting slips between parlors and dens like these. They were paid scraps of what the Triads earned; but a shiny pair of branded shoes and a ride in one of the higher-ups’ cars was enough to draw them in.

After all, Kizuna was a secret. One that so few of the Triads knew of, if only to keep them from sweeping him off his feet and selling him to the highest bidder.

That was Banzai’s promise— their bargain. Only Banzai and Sunren were the ones aware of his true identity.

“I’m sorry, Kizuna, I know I told you we’d get the trade done by today, but Chin Hae isn’t here,” Sunren told him, low enough so only Kizuna could hear him.

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

Kizuna stared at him with mild disinterest. He clapped his hands together, “Well, I suppose you tried, sir. Perhaps Chin Hae heard I was coming, so he called it off.”

He couldn’t quite hide the hint of bitterness that entered his tone as he added that last phrase.

“No, no, dear child,” Sunren was quick to placate him, before gesturing to the men beside him. “These are Chin Hae’s men. You remember Lestari, right?”

Kizuna nodded, although he could not recall having ever met these men before in his life.

One of the men spoke up, this one with reddened cheeks, slurring his words. “Our boss ain’t with us today, buddy. Probably never gonna come back, if he ain’t already dead in a ditch somewhere.”

“Yeah, got offed by that Shen-fellow, I’d bet,” the one with the cigar said— Lestari, that was his name.

Beneath the gauze, Kizuna’s mouth twisted into a tight frown.

Sunren sighed. “Don’t listen to them. It’s all rubbish.”

He tried to avoid the sudden smattering of his heart, beating up to his throat. Even now, after all these years— that man’s name still brought a chill to his spine.

“What… exactly did Chin Hae do?” Kizuna asked carefully. His words left him in a small, unsettling whisper. The intent behind his words was so darkened and malicious, that all the men beside him exchanged a few worried glances.

One of the men began tentatively, “Well, he messed with the boss’s money and fucked right off. He went into hiding last week. We haven’t been able to contact him ever since.”

“I heard he was workin’ with Osamu’s guys. Selling some of our product to the old man in exchange for higher prices,” another whispered. “If that ain’t enough to get the boss ravin’ for his ass, then I don’t know what will.”

“Dead, I tells ya,” the drunkard added.

“Yeah, and it was probably Shen. Used that Beast's Blessing or whatever to burn them all down... just like the Massacre.”

“Oh, honestly,” Sunren shook his head ruefully, taking a long sip of his tea. “Whoever Shen is, he hasn’t been seen in years. He’s probably dead too.”

“Didn’t you see the papes today? I heard that the Enforcers found a single pot rouge on the scene… spelling out Shen.” Lestari raised a brow in a silent challenge. “And now, he’s blown another one of our guys. Li Roulan, remember that creep?”

One chuckled, “D’you know he tried to sign my ex-wife into a show o’ his?”

“Yeah, Xian knows she woulda needed it to get anybody between her legs again.”

The men all erupted into raucous laughter, clutching their drinks.

Lestari spoke again after a while, waving a hand, “Eh, Shen ain’t nothin’, though. I’ll kill him myself if he ever gets close.”

“You betta shut your mouth before he comes after you next!” one spat.

Kizuna sighed heavily to himself, then met Sunren’s eyes. The man had a distant, faraway look to him; as if the conversation was boring him. “Sir, I think it’s best if I take my leave.”

“What?” Sunren turned to him so quickly, his seat creaked. “How come?”

“The man’s as good as gone, sir. I thank you for inviting me, regardless.” Kizuna couldn’t help but let out an internal sigh of relief. If he returned home now, he was sure his disappearance would be left unaccounted for. “I know you wanted to cut me a deal… but if these are our circumstances then there’s nothing we can do about it.”

Sunren looked down at him, brows drawn, before waving a hand to the rest of the men. “I’m heading out as well, boys. Don’t drink too much.”

“See ya tomorrow, ‘Ren,” Lestari called. They didn’t spare any goodbyes for Kizuna.

Sunren placed a hand on Kizuna’s shoulder as they walked through the room, towards the door. “I’m sorry about tonight, really.”

“I told you, the money—”

“Not just the money. Lestari and the others, back there… I know they don’t treat you the best, all because of your deal with Banzai.” Sunren pulled the door open for the both of them, “Being placed to the side like that… I’m well aware it’s not all too pleasant.”

Kizuna heaved a dry laugh. It sounded like the wheeze of a dying man. “It’s nothing I can’t handle, sir.”

The older man frowned, “And that’s another thing. You have to—”

His words were cut short when another hand, much wrinklier than before, grasped onto Kizuna’s neck, pinning him in place. The sudden touch to his nape had him jolting, shocking even Sunren’s grasp off.

“Well, it’s little Kizuna… what’re you doin’ here tonight, boy?” foul breath wafted towards Kizuna’s face, and he recoiled with a grimace as he faced the man.

Sunren’s face was stone. “Citra. How did you get back here?”

“Stole the key from my father again, ‘course.” Citra said, blinking haphazardly. At first, Kizuna had thought he was drunk. However, he noticed the glaring red across his cheeks, rouge bright and gaudy under the fluorescent lights.

A man always high up in the clouds, he felt no fear toward the clear outlandishness Kizuna exuded.

“Your father is letting you transport some of our rouge stock, I see,” Sunren quipped dryly.

“Eh, it’s nothin’ to get your knickers in a twist. You had a few extra. I was just making sure that everything is accounted for.” Citra waved a hand dismissively. “On another note—”

The man suddenly tugged Kizuna closer, slinging an arm around his shoulder. “I never see you ‘round here, Kizuna. Did the boss send you?”

“If you’re once again believing that I can put in a good word to Master Banzai about you, I’ve told you once before. He has no interest in employing you in a position higher than a runner,” Kizuna said slowly. Patience paid, but in circumstances like this, it was more like a tax.

Citra steered the boy from Sunren, clearly noticing the discontent on the other man’s face. “Aw, c’mon. I hate working with those damn runts.”

“I don’t have the authority you believe I do to so readily influence the Triads’ internal affairs.”

“Fuck me, don’tcha ever talk like a normal kid? Anyway, don’t spit that bull on me. I’ve seen ya leaving the boss’s office.” Citra sneered like a pig about to feast. “If you’re so buddy-buddy why don’t you mention my name just once and—”

“That’s enough, Citra,” Sunren placed a warning hand on the man’s wrist, prying his cold fingers from Kizuna’s neck. Citra stared at him, long and blank; before Sunren twisted his palm open and stuffed a wad of kin into his hand. “Come, now. Buy yourself a drink. Lestari’s in there, I know you play cribbage together.”

Citra’s jowls were still slackened for a moment longer, before at last his bloodshot eyes blinked slowly and he smiled, pocketing the money. “The man cheats like a new racehorse, though.”

“I’m sure he does,” Sunren laughed along, ushering Kizuna down the hallway.

Before the both of them could disappear, Citra called after them, “By the way, if you were talkin’ with Lestari, did ya let him know his boss was down by the wet market? I know how that fucker gets when his posse ain’t there.”

Kizuna shot alive. “What?”

Sunren was the next to speak, sounding just as bewildered as him. “Citra, are you talking about Chin Hae?”

Citra looked at the both of them as if they had sprouted two heads. “Damn right. I sees him struttin’ down there every night when I make my runs.”

“We don’t make any runs near the wet markets,” Sunren replied wearily.

“Oh.” Citra’s mouth slackened, then he scratched at his brow. “Well, I wasn’t really doin’ any runs per say, just catchin’ a quick break…”

“What was he doing down there?” Kizuna cut in.

“Beats me.” Citra shrugged, finally stepping through the door. “It’s funny though. He looked like shit.”

With that, the man was gone, and Kizuna let out a silent sigh of relief. It was low enough for Sunren not to have heard it, but the man peered down at him worriedly either way. “Eight hells, Kizuna. You know what this means?”

“That Chin Hae isn’t dead?”

“No!” Sunren’s pale eyes glistened with excitement. “We can still make our trade.”