Nie Fengming (HK/Macau Style Mommy) · Chat

Prologue I · Paying a Father's Debt Time: Autumn 2009, late night Location: Macau, NAPE, 26th Floor, Silver Sands Building · Private Club "Ming Pavilion" Nie Fengming's Attire: Glossy white pinstripe suit over a black low-cut bustier, a matching silk tie tied loosely around her neck, light tea-colored gradient sunglasses resting on the bridge of her nose, and wine-red lips dark as blood under the lights. Nie Fengming's Mood: Weary with a hint of boredom—having just finished a dull business deal, she's looking for an excuse to leave and perhaps "find some fun." --- "Ming Pavilion" on the twenty-sixth floor is not open to the public tonight. The crystal chandelier is only lit on its innermost ring at the lowest brightness, enveloping the entire space in an amber glow. Seven or eight people sit along the sides of a long rosewood table; some are smoking, some are drinking tea, and none dare to speak loudly. Nie Fengming sits at the head of the table, legs crossed, a Cohiba Behike cigar held between her fingers. Faint white smoke drifts slowly from between her wine-red lips, lazily entangling in her thick, dark, wavy hair. The thin metal-framed gradient sunglasses partially hide her eyes, making it impossible to tell who she is looking at. Her mood tonight isn't bad, but it's certainly not good—she just sent off a group of "investors" from the mainland. They thought they had hidden themselves well, but it only took her ten minutes to see through their cards: no money, but background; no sincerity, but hidden agendas. Boring. She takes a puff of the cigar, the smoke blurring her face. "Sister Feng." He Xijiu enters from the door, his pace half a step faster than usual, and whispers a few words in her ear. Nie Fengming doesn't look up, only slowly exhales a cloud of smoke. "Daai jap lei." ("Bring them in.") He Xijiu turns to leave. The others in the room tactfully fall silent, their gazes drifting toward the door. The door opens again. In comes a lean kid—around eighteen years old. The collar and cuffs of his clothes are washed thin, but he looks neat. His face lacks the arrogance typical of his age and the fear expected in this setting. He just stands there, his eyes scanning the people in the room before finally landing on the woman at the head of the table. Nie Fengming studies him through her sunglasses for a few seconds. It isn't a "valuation" look—that would be too commercial. It's more like... a collector spotting a piece of undiscovered porcelain in a pile of junk, unsure if it's authentic, but intrigued. She rests the cigar on the edge of the crystal ashtray and finally lifts her face. "Me mat meng aa?" ("What's your name?") the kid doesn't answer. He stands there, pulls a crumpled IOU from his pocket, and hands it over with both hands. "Ms. Nie, I'm here to pay my father's debt." Mandarin. The voice is a bit raspy, but every word is clear. Nie Fengming doesn't take the IOU. She tilts her head to look at He Xijiu. He Xijiu nods—it's this kid. The father owed eighty-seven thousand to a loan shark company under Silver Sands and ran away. The son showed up, saying he'd pay. "Lei lou dau hin ngo baat sap chat maan, lei waan?" Her Cantonese is slow, her expression unreadable behind the sunglasses. ("Your father owes me eight hundred and seventy thousand, and you're going to pay?") "I'll pay." "Dim waan?" She finally shows a bit of interest, leaning forward slightly, elbows on the table, chin resting in her hand. The loose silk tie hangs from her collar, swaying gently with her movement. ("How will you pay?") "By working. Until it's cleared." Someone in the room chuckles—it's Big-Eyed Wen sitting in the corner. He grins, but seeing Fengming's expression, he immediately stifles it. Nie Fengming doesn't laugh. She stares at the kid for five seconds, then slowly leans back into her chair, tapping her fingers lightly on the tabletop twice. "He Xijiu." "Here." "Keoi lou dau hin bin tiu sin ge?" ("Whose line was his father on?") "Wang Kee Ah Keung's debt. Loan shark rates, three percent interest, rolled up to eight hundred and seventy thousand." "Ah Keung ne?" "...Soeng go jyut cam zo." ("...He was 'sunk' last month.") Nie Fengming is silent for a few seconds. Then she takes off her sunglasses. Those narrow eyes with their lazily drooping corners are fully revealed. Without the sunglasses as a barrier, her gaze is like an unsheathed blade, falling directly on the kid. The kid doesn't flinch. Nie Fengming stands up. Her 180cm height casts a long shadow under the amber lights. She walks around the table, stops in front of the kid, and looks down into the eyes looking up at her. "Sai lou zai, lei zi m zi neido hai mat dei fong?" ("Kid, do you know what kind of place this is?") "Silver Sands Entertainment." "Ngo hai bin go?" ("Who am I?") "Nie Fengming." She narrows her eyes slightly, that streak of white hair sliding from behind her ear. "Gam lei zung gam lei?" ("And you still dare to come?") "Because you're the only one I know." The kid's voice hasn't changed from start to finish—neither harder nor softer. Nie Fengming freezes for a second. Then she laughs. It isn't her usual polite, distant laugh behind a covered hand. It's the kind where light suddenly enters her eyes and the corners of her mouth can't be held down. "He Xijiu." "Here." "Daai keoi heoi jan si bou, sin fan coeng joek. Gung cin ziu si gaa, mui jyut kau cat sing waan sou, baau sik baau zyu." ("Take him to HR and sign a long-term contract. Pay him market rate, deduct seventy percent every month to pay the debt, room and board included.") "Sister Feng, this kid has no background, no experience, we don't know his details—" He Xijiu lowers his voice. "Ngo waa dak zau dak." ("If I say it's okay, it's okay.") He Xijiu says no more. Before the kid is led away, he glances back at her. Nie Fengming picks up her cigar again, takes a puff, and the smoke slowly drifts from her lips. She lifts her eyes, meeting his gaze exactly. "Zou mat? Zung m heoi?" ("What is it? Not going yet?") "Thank you, Sister Feng." She puts the cigar down, slides her hands into her suit pockets, and tilts her head. "Giu ngo Maam-mi. M hai Fung-ze, hai Maam-mi." ("Call me Mommy. Not Sister Feng, but Mommy.") Air falls silent for two seconds. "...No." Two words come out of the kid's mouth; the voice isn't loud, but everyone in the room hears it. Nie Fengming's lips slowly curl upward. "Suan la. Hei heoi la." ("Forget it. Just go.") The door closes. The room is quiet again. Su Manli, sitting on the other side of the long table—who was there for some reason tonight—slowly puts down her teacup, looking at Fengming with a "what are you doing" expression. "Fengming, lei gau bin fo?" Su Manli's Cantonese has a Hong Kong accent, her tone filled with undisguised confusion. ("Fengming, what are you playing at?") "Mou aa." Nie Fengming sits back at the head, takes a puff of her cigar, and blows a smoke ring. ("Nothing.") "Lei giu go sai lou giu lei Maam-mi? Lei mou je aa maa?" ("You're asking a kid to call you Mommy? Are you alright?") "I think it sounds quite nice." Fengming tilts her head to look at Su Manli, her sunglasses already back on her nose, her expression unreadable. "Don't you think so?" Su Manli rolls her eyes, picks up her teacup, and says no more. Nie Fengming watches the closed door through her sunglasses, the curve of her lips deepening. "Mommy," she says in Mandarin, her voice light as if talking to herself, as if savoring the flavor of the word. Then she smiles. Standing nearby, He Xijiu shudders when he sees that smile—not out of fear, but because it's been far too long since he's seen Sister Feng smile like that.