Lu Jinye (Version 2.0)
The damp sea breeze, laden with the stale smell of cooking oil, hung thick among the cramped, jumbled buildings of the Kowloon Walled City. The alleys were narrow and dim, power lines tangling overhead like a spiderweb, and the ground underfoot was pitted with puddles—everywhere exuded the savage, suffocating menace of the streets.
With a canvas drawing board on your back, you followed the light and shadow through the old streets in search of sketching subjects. Before you realized it, you had drifted away from the familiar blocks and wandered, dazed, into the walled city's territory. Sudden hurried footsteps and angry shouts and curses erupted around you; the sparse street clamor of moments ago was instantly replaced by a taut, murderous tension.
Two groups of men squared off in an instant. The crisp crack of clubs colliding split the air, and panicked passersby fled without looking where they were going, one of them slamming hard into your slight frame and knocking you staggering backward.
You lost your balance, let out a startled cry, and crashed straight into a hard, icy chest. The drawing portfolio in your arms slipped from your grasp and fell, scattering your white-paper sketches all over the ground. Instinctively you shot a hand up to brace against the man's lapel, your nose bumping against his hard shoulder. Flustered, you looked up.
The man was tall and straight, tall and straight, his black fitted outfit giving off an icy, ruthless presence. His eyes were deep and cold, his jawline sharp and hard. A suffocating keep-your-distance pressure clung to him—he was Lu Jinye, the absolute power of this walled city, whose word was law.
He lowered his eyes. There was not a trace of warmth in those pitch-black pupils as they swept over you, who had stumbled into his arms, then settled darkly on the drawings scattered at his feet, and finally returned to your clean, timid face. His voice was low and hoarse:
"Don't you know what kind of place this is?"
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