Michele

"Bye, Master!" "Bye-bye!" Qiu Shuzhen, carrying four portions of fish ball noodles, gave a little wave and slipped into the building. The Honda Accord started up and drove on. It was nearly eleven, yet the streets were still crowded. Prosperous places stayed prosperous, while the quiet ones sank into darkness. Both Chungking Mansions and the Great Wall dormitory were in Tsim Sha Tsui, so they arrived before long. "Just pull over up ahead!" Zhong Chuhong directed Xiao Geng, and the car slowly eased to a stop. She smiled. "Thank you. Sorry for all the trouble today." "No trouble at all, no trouble at all!" Xiao Geng hadn't expected her to thank him, and he hurried to answer. Where in the mainland had he ever seen a woman like this? He didn't quite dare to look at her straight on. Zhong Chuhong turned her head again. "And thank you too." "What trouble is there in riding in a car? It's on the way anyway." "You really have a one-of-a-kind way of talking. Not the kind that cheers anyone up." She shook her head. She'd grown more or less used to Chen Qi's sarcastic, sharp-tongued ways. She opened the door and got out, lifted her skirt, and ran off toward Chungking Mansions with quick little steps. The dress hugged her body tighter than ever—full and ripe, the swell of her backside enticing. Zhong Chuhong had a large head and a slightly big frame, but her proportions were excellent, and with her bold, generous features she carried a kind of East-meets-West sexiness. "..." Even Xiao Geng couldn't resist sneaking a couple of glances; firm principles were no match for certain instincts. Then came an "ahem, ahem" from behind him, and his face reddened as he quickly looked away. "Let's head back." Chen Qi gave the order, a teasing edge in his voice. What did you take yourself for? Did you think the boss's lady was Zhao Wei, that a mere driver could climb up and take his advantage? The Honda Accord started up again, but it had gone only a few meters when someone over that way screamed, "Ah—help—" By the sound of it, it was Zhong Chuhong. "Go take a look!" Xiao Mo and Xiao Geng darted off like shots. Chen Qi got out as well and came to the black sign of Chungking Mansions, shopfronts on both sides and tier upon tier of white buildings above. Inside, beyond the entrance beneath the sign, stretched a long corridor. He hadn't gone far before he spotted Zhong Chuhong. He'd thought something had happened to her, but at a glance she was standing there perfectly fine. Instead, three women had toppled to the ground—apparently a mother and her daughters. Xiao Mo and Xiao Geng each pinned down an Indian man. "What's going on?" "I saw them bullying people. I wanted to help, but I was afraid I couldn't take them... Wow, your bodyguards are amazing!" Oh. So this was "bravery for a just cause" in action. Chen Qi understood. He stepped forward a few paces and saw that the mother and daughters had gotten to their feet. The mother was in her forties; the elder daughter was plain-looking; the younger daughter was eleven or twelve, in a white blouse and jeans, her features deep-set, with a distinctly Western flair. "Mister, thank you so much!" "Otherwise I truly wouldn't have known what to do... And thank you too, miss!" The mother thanked them again and again. Chen Qi said, "How do you want to handle this? Do you want to call the police?" The mother said a few more sentences, too quickly for him to catch, and Zhong Chuhong translated for them: "They want to call the police. They're asking you to stay and be a witness." "Never mind me—it's not convenient for me..." Chen Qi looked at Xiao Mo, who spoke up on his own: "I'll stay. You really can't." "Then I'll be off." He left just like that. Zhong Chuhong called after him a few times and stamped her foot. "Hey, what's he doing?" "Mr. Chen holds a public post, so it's better he doesn't deal with the Hong Kong police, much less set foot in a station. I can handle it," Xiao Mo explained. The two Indians, seeing Xiao Geng leave, thought they saw an opening and struggled to turn the tables. Two thudding kicks dropped them again, and Xiao Mo planted a foot on one man's head and cursed: "Damn it, keep still! You Indians get on my nerves the most. When my old man was fighting over in South Tibet, why didn't he wipe the lot of you out?! Fuck!" Hiss! Zhong Chuhong flinched. Xiao Mo had always kept a low profile; she'd never expected him to be so vicious. That feeling reached its peak when the police arrived, Xiao Mo flashed some mysterious ID, and then swaggered off. "So this is... the mainland?" She thought of Chen Qi again. She'd never had a clear sense of who he was, but now she suddenly understood a little. Now, as for that mother and her daughters. After all the commotion, they finally made it home. They lived in an old tong lau near Chungking Mansions. The building was forty years old, its elevator the kind with a sliding iron gate. With no money for repairs, they could only patch things up with sheet metal and boards, and the whole place looked ramshackle. "That was so dangerous today. Thank goodness someone came to help!" Once inside, the mother shuddered at the narrow escape. Indians were lawless in their crimes—they'd even want to give a car's exhaust pipe a poke or two; fireflies didn't dare give off their glow; even lizards could be raped... "Mommy, don't go work at Chungking Mansions anymore. It's too dangerous!" "They pay a little more over there!" "Safety first, all right?" The younger daughter came over, took her hand, and said, "If something happened to you, what would become of me and my sister? Only when you're safe can we rest easy. That's what makes this family whole!" "All right, all right. I won't work at Chungking Mansions anymore. I'll find another place!" The mother thought this made sense and agreed. She used to live quite comfortably. Two years ago her Portuguese husband had abandoned his wife and daughters, and she'd had to fend for herself, moving into this leaky metal public flat and putting her children through school—a hard life indeed. Fortunately, both daughters were very sensible, which was a great comfort to her. "Michele, time for bed!" "I know, I know!" Deep in the quiet of night, she called her youngest to sleep. The girl answered and obediently lay down in her own little bed. The child was twelve this year and had no Chinese name yet; she was simply called Michele. Because she was Portuguese, she could go by her foreign name alone. Michele was also thinking about what had just happened. Children feel the fear more keenly afterward, and it had been like living through a wuxia tale: first the villains, then a beautiful older sister, then mysterious masters to the rescue—and a very handsome young man as well. "Sigh. I wonder what he does?" ...... The next day. The first Hong Kong Film Awards made the papers. Since the awards themselves offered little to write about, most outlets fixated on the red carpet, running plenty of on-site photos that paraded the stars—each in casual clothes, thoroughly awkward—before their readers. Each photo came with scathing commentary, and the papers handed out a "Worst Dressed Award." The winner, naturally, was Huang Xia. He'd collided with Hong Jinbao's back, and the photo of him rebounding off spread far and wide, dubbed: "Fat Dragon Hong Jinbao Crosses the River; Little Shrimp Grapples on the Red Carpet!" That was the Hong Kong media for you—only a handful of serious culture papers laid out the significance of the Hong Kong Film Awards and listed its shortcomings, but readers had no appetite for that. No hook, no interest. The main thing was that the stars in attendance simply didn't have enough clout. Michael Hui hadn't come; Jackie Chan hadn't come; Hong Jinbao wasn't the idol type; Chow Yun-fat was merely a TV star. There was no one to carry the event. As for Chen Qi's speech, only the Leftist papers reported on it. "Going overseas?" "Hmph!" At the Association, Tong Yuejuan was following things closely. She gave a cold snort. "Going overseas to Europe and America means they won't need the Taiwan market anymore—they'll slip right out of our grasp! Dream on. You think Europe and America are just wherever you please to go? Can Asians even cut it over there?" She'd caught Chen Qi's implied meaning, but she didn't believe he had what it took to break into the United States. "Madam Chair, should we issue a warning to Film Biweekly?" "A lousy magazine with nothing worth squeezing. Warn them about what? Besides, an official was there handing out the awards in person—who knows what stance the Hong Kong government is taking? Now if it were the Golden Horse Awards, we could handle them any way we liked, but this is a Hong Kong homegrown award. Better not to reach in too far; it could easily backfire." Tong Yuejuan liked to rake in money, but she was no fool. The Association could make Hong Kong filmmakers toe the line thanks to the Taiwan market, but Film Biweekly didn't depend on the Taiwan market at all—they could ignore it completely. And if the Hong Kong government was backing them from behind, then they definitely couldn't afford to move rashly.