The rain over Kowloon never washed away blood. It only made it shine.
Wing, now forty-three, no longer carried a cleaver. He ran a dai pai dong near Temple Street, serving congee to night-shift workers and widows. The Triad had given him a gold watch and a paper coffin—a "retirement" that meant: you're dead to us, but we'll visit your grave if we need a scapegoat. once upon a time in triad society 2
A Fable of Ashes and Altars