Lay not aside the fear of the Light, O Eastern Lord, and beware that ye transgress not the bounds which the path of Dong hath fixed. Observe the injunctions laid upon you in his teachings, and take good heed not to overstep their limits. Be vigilant that ye may not do injustice to anyone, be it to the extent of a single algal phytoplankton. Tread ye the path of justice, for this, verily, is the straight path.

  Compose your differences and take up your armaments, so that the burden of your expenditures may be lightened, and that the minds and hearts of our children may be soothed. Heal the dissensions that divide us, and soon you will no longer be in need of any armaments except what the protection of your cities and territories demandeth. Fear ye the Darkness, and take heed of our cause, for soon the Dark shall pass and the Light intervene.

  Boquin squinted, the dark eyeliner around his waterline sharpening its intensity. He checked the hidden text once more, “Reply to 624-31 Ave, Wonto Premium Sweets mail box.”

  ‘The concealed lettering won’t disappear, Boquin. That’s the fifth time you’ve checked,’ Liqui said from behind him.

  ‘A touch of caution never hurt. Picture this: The one people are calling East Kowloon’s saviour warms up to our cause. Only for him to have no way of letting us know. What a disappointment that’d be.’ He clicked his tongue at the thought.

  ‘But what are the odds Lord Mingchi would understand our cause? The man seems too virtuous to want to help us.’

  ‘Liqui, what are you on about?’ Boquin frowned as he turned to look at her. ‘Is our cause not virtuous? Gan is convinced he’ll become an ally, and so am I.’

  ‘Maybe virtuous was the wrong word. Maybe… too proud to help us. But what makes you think he’ll be different to Gaochi?’

  Boquin turned back to face his note. ‘Mingchi’s father was a tyrant. His extravagant lifestyle landed Pik in a famine like the rest of the East. Blew all his money so he could host bigger parties with other lords and ladies. First thing Mingchi did after Lord Gaochi passed was denounce his rule and promise to ‘de-Gaochify’ Pik. He took down statues of his father, renamed cities named after him. Mingchi’s leadership brings a glimmer of hope to many.’

  Liqui gave a gentle huff of laughter. ‘Boquin, ever the historian. Just sign the blasted letter and attend his coronation. I’ve also got business near the Hiram precinct; Gan will have my head if I’m late.’

  ‘You don’t need to stay, Liqui. You can go tend to your duties.’

  Despite his words, Liqui sidled closer, hovering over Boquin’s shoulder. ‘Your handwriting is beautiful,’ she noted softly.

  His mind elsewhere, he removed the ink pen from his ear and signed it with sweeping strokes before sealing it with their mark.

  May your rule be long and just.

  With many hopes,

  the Yang.

  ‘I wish I could write like you,’ Liqui murmured.

  ‘You always know how to make me feel better about my scribbles, Liqui,’ he said, missing the longing in her eyes. ‘If Gan’s waiting for you somewhere, you should get moving.’

  ‘Nah, I enjoy watching you concentrate. Your work always reads like poetry.’

  Boquin swivelled back on his chair to face Liqui, his eyebrows rising in amusement. ‘Would you risk Gan’s ire for my so-called poetry?’

  ‘Perhaps. Or perhaps not. I should go, but I’ll be back for more poetry, Boquin. Good luck making it through the crowds. I heard Mingchi might give out free boulag rolls and alcohol at the end of his fealty celebration. Light knows why that man made such a decision in the middle of a damn famine. May as well be tossing out free money. You take care now and may the Light guide and protect you.’

  ‘You too, Li. I’ll see you around.’

  Her footsteps faded into the quiet night, the creak of the sliding door marking her departure. The room was cloaked in dim shadows, save for the lamp light reflecting off his desk. Alone once more, he looked at the letter one last time, nodding with approval at his calligraphy.

  There, even if he declines our offer, at least he’ll have some nice art to keep.

  His chair scraped against the rugged flooring of the room as he stood. With one last glance at the chaos of his desk, Boquin reached behind it and flicked off the switch to his lamp. Darkness surged into the small, square room, consuming every corner save for the faint dark-blue luminescence seeping through the blinds above his desk. The glow from the single window was just bright enough to guide him past bunkbeds and cluttered furniture towards the sliding door.

  Outside in the empty corridor, the walls, lined with rough, faded bricks, bore the remnants of once-vibrant graffiti now dulled by dust. Discarded construction materials – bags of cement, metal rods, and trowels – littered the floor. A string of hanging bulbs bathed the narrow corridor in a warm glow, their warm lights guiding Boquin past boarded-up doors. One of the bulbs were flickering. Gotta remind Gan to bring back a spare.

  A loud squeak made him jump. Turning to the other dead end of the hallway, where the amber lights barely touched, he caught sight of an unusually large sewer rodent struggling to enter a tiny gap. The rat, plump and persistent, kicked and wriggled until it disappeared through the wall.

  Pik’s famine definitely hasn’t reached rodent society.

  Boquin reached the end of the short, brick corridor and came to a wall covered in the same faded graffiti. Near the bottom, a square of missing bricks created an opening just big enough for an adult to pass through. He lay down and crawled into the darkness behind the wall.

  He slowly rose to his feet in the pitch-black, steadying himself against the narrow walls as he found his balance. A subtle breeze caressed his face from the front. That’s the direction I gotta go.

  Inching forward, Boquin felt the walls pressing his shoulders, forcing him to angle sideways. He was in a tight walkway between two walls, shimmying in leftward direction. Behind him was Avenue 23/456, and in front, Avenue 43/516. Between these two worlds, Boquin could hear the collective sounds of District Pik – the thrum of music, voices, laughter, and the patter of moving feet. People from either side were travelling to the same destination: Mingchi’s coronation. In Kowloon, these events were grand affairs, marking the transfer of power from the former lord to their successor. With no term limits to their rule, coronations were rare, typically occurring only near the end of a lord or lady’s lifetime.

  Boquin continued carefully to avoid scraping against the abrasive bricks. He caught glimpses of the city through tiny gaps between the bricks, where needle-thin slits of light pierced the darkness, merging the vibrant sounds of Kowloon with fleeting visual snapshots.

  ‘Did you ask for the money? He conveniently keeps forgetting.’

  And on the other side…

  ‘I’m gonna bring as many boulag rolls as I can carry home… Ma’s starving…’

  As Boquin inched left, the gusts that had been buffeting his side now rushed overhead.

  Finally. Now I gotta climb. He looked up, but the darkness remained constant.

  Pressing his back hard against the wall and pushing off with his legs against the wall in front, Boquin lifted himself off the ground. He took small steps upward, his back scraping against the brick. Boquin was glad the dark robbed him of his sight. Within a few minutes, the climb had him easily ten metres above the walkway, but to his brain, it might as well be just under him.

  Soon, Boquin’s head hit something solid – wooden planks. They gave way with a gentle push and he shifted them aside to create an opening. With a grunt, he hoisted himself up, emerging into yet another narrow, pitch-black passage sandwiched between two walls, one floor higher. The vibrant sounds of life were quieter than before.

  Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  He continued edging left along the tight walkway until he reached his target: a square metallic panel at the base of the wall, its fastening bolts already removed.

  The panel was askew, not quite covering the opening it was meant to conceal – a clear sign of Liqui’s hurried departure earlier.

  I’ve gotta tell her to be more careful. It’s clumsiness like this that’ll blow our cover.

  Shaking his head, Boquin applied force to the heavy panel, which was a toilet seat on the other side. With each push, it inched forward until the gap was just wide enough for him to slip through. Now, on the other side, he pushed the heavy, rusted, toilet back to its original position against the grey-brick wall.

  He stood up straight, stretched and pulled his mask over his nose. Raising the hood over his head, he looked around to see if the coast was clear.

  It was.

  Boquin stood in an empty jail cell within a disused prison complex. This was one of many secret Yang quarters scattered across Kambaland, the capital of District Pik. He and four others used this place for sleep, leaving each day to report to the central Yang hub in the heart of the city, where dozens of comrades gathered to meet, plan, and launch daring operations for their cause. But no Yang base was ever permanent; each was prepared to move at a moment’s notice. Just a few cycles ago, Gan – the leader of their cell – received a warning from the Central Kowlooni Yangs to relocate all bases following Jian’s execution. But they had barely settled for a full menses-cycle, and Gan felt the concerns of the Central Yangs were far too disconnected from the realities of their eastern groups. He refused to move.

  Truthfully, this old prison was too perfect to abandon on suspicion alone. The homeless who lived in some of these jail cells cared little for the comings and goings of unfamiliar faces. Questions about the Yangs would only be met with shrugs and disinterested gazes.

  Boquin left the cell and ventured down the prison. To his left, a series of cell doors lined the corridor, some locked and some open. Inside were makeshift structures – tarps and tin cobbled together into shanties that housed multiple occupants in a chaotic display of survival ingenuity. Aesthetics didn’t matter; items were joined where they fit, and anything that didn’t had long since collapsed. Boquin even knew of a three-tiered construction in one cell, each floor just tall enough for someone to crawl around in. The chaotic patchwork spoke volumes about the lives contained within each small space.

  During his initial visits, this place had reminded him of a dungeon. However, as time passed on, Boquin’s perspective evolved. Now, he marvelled at the makeshift homes and shops that had sprung up in the prison cells. Lanterns adorned the ceiling, casting a warm, inviting glow. Cells with broken locks had metamorphosed into communal areas for shared meals and impromptu get-togethers. Occasionally, the flicker of a poorly functioning entertainment screen would illuminate huddled figures entranced by a zuche game or an old movie. Here, the community of vagrants celebrated the festivals around Kowloon they weren’t allowed to attend elsewhere.

  Boquin ascended a worn flight of stairs and ventured down another corridor, his observant eyes drinking in his surroundings. Glancing at his handheld computing device, he noted the time: 0800. Lord Mingchi’s fealty celebration was already underway. He quickened his pace, disappearing into the bustling depths of Kowloon.

  As Boquin finally emerged from the old prison cell complex, there was no clearly marked exit or entrance, only a gradual transition from the secluded prison hallways into the bustling streets of Kambaland. The traces of prison-slum faded away, replaced by the dense population of Pik’s citizens.

  Outside, the streets teemed with people moving almost shoulder-to-shoulder towards Mingchi’s estate. A palpable sense of anticipation electrified the air, making the city feel like one gigantic living organism.

  Since the widespread famine, many eastern cities had become ghost towns, their starving inhabitants too weak or unwilling to leave their homes. But with this coronation, the hungry people of Pik clamoured to take part in the festivities. East Kowloon, known for its spirited celebrations, was in its element. I wonder how many people are attending just for the free food.

  His stomach gave an involuntary rumble. He had been rationing his meals too much lately. Being a Yang didn’t equate with a life of luxury. Perhaps one more akin to a sewer rodent – a testament to Boquin’s journey through walls and emergence out of a toilet.

  I hope I get the chance to snag a boulag roll.

  Caught in the slow ebb of the crowd, Boquin realised he needed to speed up. He let his body unwind, releasing the coiled tension from his muscles. His focus shifted downwards to the moving feet of the crowd around him. He inhaled a deep breath, and then, like a sheh stalking its prey, he began his dance towards the estate.

  He barely touched the people coiled around him. He was like water, taking the form of the space it occupied. Boquin was moving forward at least three times faster than the pace of the crowd.

  This particular skill, while not ostentatious, had been critical to many of his assignments. If he claimed he had the power to run through crowds as if they didn’t exist, people would laugh at him.

  ‘The standards for passing shit as a ‘power’ have really hit the dirt, huh?’ The words still echoed in his ears. In fact, they were the exact words someone had thrown at him long ago, when he was a child…

  ‘No one has ever pickpocketed me before. Not until fate put me in your crosshairs. But, seeing as I caught you, I’d hardly call that a successful pickpocket.’ The tall man’s voice resonated within the confines of the square room as he stood over the bound child.

  ‘I told you how I nicked your pants! Can you please just untie me and let me go back to my parents? They’re looking for me.’

  ‘That line’s not gonna work on me, kid. Just as I’m not used to turning and finding my pockets empty, I think you’re not used to getting caught and being tied up in an empty room.’ A slow grin spread across the man’s face. ‘If I remember correctly, my personal record for making it through the Grand Eastern Bazaar is… three minutes? Three minutes thirty? That was long ago. But you… I counted 50 seconds max. I didn’t think it was possible through that many people.’

  ‘You’re a fast old fart. No grown-up has ever caught me before.’

  The man chuckled. ‘Oh, you might be giving me too much credit.’ He squatted down to eye-level with the child. ‘Kid, I’ll let you in on a little secret. I’ve got powers, too. I can run faster than any man alive.’

  ‘Yeah, right! Powers like those are fake!’

  Straightening up, the man lifted his foot and angled it so the child could see the outsole of his boot. He wriggled his toes within the snug confines of the shoe. As he did so, a rubber plate on the bottom toe-side of the boot sprang out a few centimetres before retracting back into place.

  The child’s eyes widened under the dim light.

  ‘That tiny spring kicks into action when I take off. The more force I put into my stride, the faster it propels me,’ the man explained.

  ‘What do you need that for? Do you get pickpocketed often, mister?’

  The man let out a warm laugh in the small room. ‘Oh no, nothing like that. I fight bad guys,’ he revealed, his voice dropping to a dramatic whisper.

  ‘What!! So, you’re like a superhero? Like the Dragons of Yu? Or the Incredible Cheung-Shee from the storybooks?’ The child’s voice was full of awe now, not a sliver of doubt or derision in him.

  The man tensed at the mention of the child having read books. Illiteracy was rife in the East, let alone for someone his age. Incredible.

  ‘Well, maybe not quite the Dragons. But yeah, something akin to Cheung-Shee. You enjoy these books?’

  ‘Yeah! I read them all the time.’ The child’s breath quickened with excitement.

  ‘Who taught you to read? Where do you find your books?’

  The child remained silent, his eyes drifting to the dimly lit corner of the room as he shifted in his bonds on the floor.

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘You won’t like me if I tell you. A lot of people already don’t like me. And I don’t want a superhero to do the same.’

  The man frowned. ‘Hey, superheroes don’t really hate anyone, even the people they beat up. Trust me. That’s what makes them super.’

  ‘Then promise you won’t b-beat me up like what Bianfu-Ren does to the bad guys?’

  Amusement sparked in the man’s eyes. ‘Well, I’ve already caught you breaking the law and I haven’t beaten you up yet, have I?’

  ‘That’s true I guess… Okay, w-well… I find my books from this place near where I s-sleep,’ the child said, darting a glance at the man.

  ‘Find them? Or steal?’ the man asked, already knowing the answer.

  The child’s face coloured.

  ‘Steal…’ he whispered. ‘I sneak in, snag as many superhero books as I can carry, then bolt back to my corner to read till my eyes fall asleep.’

  ‘And how did you learn to read?’ The man asked once again.

  ‘I taught myself, with a little help from Mr Chaqiraku, who makes soup near my place. He shows me the hard words. And since you’re a hero… I have tried to stop my thieving ways. It’s just hard. The books always end with mysteries. I can’t wait to find out what happens next.’

  ‘It’s rare I come across a thief with a conscience. Why did you try to stop stealing?’ the man asked.

  The child paused, a frown creasing his youthful face, ‘In issue #712, Cheung-Shee caught a person stealing food, but he wasn’t even angry at them! He fought the guards chasing them and even let them take more food! But later in the story, they were caught stealing expensive shoes to wear, and Cheung-Shee got so mad at them. He said stealing was okay if it’s to survive. But if it was for fun, stealing is wrong. After finding out reading these books counts as fun… I realised he would be upset with me, too. So, I tried to stop, but then I saw the next volume was a crossover with Cheung-Shee and Zhizhu-Ren and I couldn’t help myself. I just sort of kept stealing from then on. I guess I do feel bad now I know it’s wrong.’

  The man stood silent in contemplation. Then, he gave the child a warm smile. ‘You’re a sweet kid. You’ve got a good heart. Take it from this superhero; keep stealing and stop feeling guilty. Sometimes, doing bad things to bad people is a good thing. Even if it’s not for survival. But try not to do it to ordinary people, people like you or me; they’re the real good people. Protect them instead. Steal from big shops, from people you know are rich. Steal from the authorities; those that protect the rich. They’re the bad guys I fight against. The things you’ll be stealing are the products of exploitation; they were already yours to begin with. Do you get what I mean?’

  The child tilted his head. ‘What’s that word mean? Esk-poi-tayshen?’

  The man chuckled. ‘You’ll find out when you’re older. Or just go ask the soup guy who helps you read. You can go now, kid. I’m not going to ask your name or tell you mine. I have a feeling your pure heart will turn you into a superhero one day, too. Who knows? You may even end up being my sidekick. If that day comes, we’ll exchange names then.’ The man knelt down to untie the binds.

  The child never forgot his first encounter with a real-life superhero.