港口之爭 — The Port Dispute
三 | Three Sides of the Coin
It started with nineteen grams.
Not on the manifest.
Not in the crate.
On the invoice: flagged. Rejected. Unforgotten.
Kaohsiung to Hong Kong.
Two ports. Three hands. One error.
At the drop, the 14K handler refused delivery.
“No count, no pay.”
The Bamboo Union rep studied the slip. Said nothing.
Stubbed his cigarette into the crate foam.
Left it smoldering.
The crate was resealed.
The invoice was not.
Someone made a call.
Then another.
Then three.
中立者 — The Neutral One
Dũng arrived in Aberdeen with no luggage.
No brief.
Only a gate code, a room key, and a phrase:
“Speak Cantonese only if you can explain silence.”
He did not speak.
The room smelled of bleach and wet socks.
At 3:03 a.m., a man in a driver’s vest passed him an envelope.
Inside:
– A route slip
– Two invoices
– A third paper: blank, folded, then re-folded
One watermark: 三
The driver nodded once.
Left without starting the engine.
十四堂 — The 14K Meeting
A mahjong parlor with no board.
No tiles. No screens.
Just tea. Six stools. One photograph on the wall—faded red, frame cracked.
Dũng stood. The others sat.
The man at the center wore a belt with no loops.
Tattoo: a single • behind his ear, faded to charcoal.
He spoke softly:
“They count nineteen grams. We count the man who miscounted.”
Dũng said nothing.
Someone poured him bitter tea.
No sugar. No invitation to sit.
遷移 — Movement
A port truck hauled him up the mountain.
Rear doors rattled. Two crates. One open.
A girl sat beside it.
Hands on knees. Sleeves rolled up.
Eyes closed, but not asleep.
At the next stop, she stepped out.
Did not look back.
The crate stayed. Now sealed.
Dũng had not sealed it.
No one had.
入會 — The Induction
He was told to wait outside.
But the driver never returned.
And the inner door never re-locked.
Candlelight flickered beneath the warehouse flap.
Inside:
Three incense sticks, burned to uneven lengths.
Twelve men stood.
One knelt, hand over heart.
A voice recited from memory.
No script. No phones.
「我今日入會 割斷舊情，斷絕俗世恩怨 冇名，冇過去，冇回頭。 從今日起，生為兄弟，死為義氣。 不論天涯海角，誓保會中機密。 若有違背，天打雷劈， 神明作證，永不超生。」
Today I enter the society. I sever all former ties—no more debts, no more entanglements. No name. No past. No return. From this day forward: I live as a brother and die for loyalty. Wherever I go, I vow to protect the secrets of this brotherhood. If I break this oath, may Heaven strike me down. Let the gods witness: I shall never find rest.
A cut.
Paper burned.
The new brother drank.
No applause.
No celebration.
Just ash, drifting in the breath of an unplugged fan.
Dũng stayed behind a pillar.
Breath shallow. Hands open.
攝像 — Surveillance
Later, back at the apartment:
The socket kit had been moved.
One wrench wiped clean.
The rest untouched.
A slip of photo paper sat in the sink.
Wet edges. No envelope.
A candid shot:
The ceremony.
And him—just behind the curtain’s edge.
Not centered. Not obvious.
But there.
On the back:
位置確認。請保持靜止。
Position verified. Remain still.
香港操作 — Operations Continue
Next morning:
Crate marked 003-C
Destination blurred by rain.
The intake clerk nodded—without eye contact.
Scanner blinked red.
Then green.
No prompt.
No explanation.
No warning.
He rode out.
Alone.
Still counted.