Maggie sat in the back of the sedan as they navigated the congested streets of Mong Kok towards the Walled City. Passing streets faded to monotony and her mind drifted to thoughts tangled and coiled with an unease she found difficult to shake.

  Global tensions infiltrated Hong Kong's borders and invaded Maggie's every decision. The Cultural Revolution tore China apart, and its aftershocks still pulsed through each stroke of Liu Wei's defiant brush. The Party's iron grip slackened against its will, leaving China raw and defensive—too proud to show its scars but desperate to ensure no more would be inflicted.

  The Party proclaimed victory over the Cultural Revolution, its wounds festered beneath China's composed exterior. The nation clutched power with desperate fingers, brandishing strength to mask vulnerability. Beijing's elite startled at each murmur of protest, their grip on order precarious as a spinning coin. Liu Wei's bold marks pierced through official pretense, each painting a challenge to manufactured peace. The Party feared how quickly rebellion might spread through a populace still raw from past upheaval. Maggie understood their terror—she saw it in every rushed decree, every harsh crackdown. One crack in their authority might shatter the entire illusion, leaving only chaos in its wake.

  Insecurity gripped not just Beijing but Westminster too. The Labour government under Jim Callaghan teetered on collapse, its authority crumbling amid economic chaos, labour unrest, and endless strikes. The once-mighty empire shrank to a shadow of its former glory. In Hong Kong, British officials strutted and postured, desperate to convince the world—and perhaps themselves—of their continued right to rule these last imperial fragments. Maggie saw through the performance. Behind closed doors, British bureaucrats trembled at China's growing strength, dreading its implications for their grip on an increasingly volatile Hong Kong.

  Yet beneath this desperation to maintain control, she could see the cracks in the colonial administration widening. The disconnect grew between the policies handed down from London and the realities of life in Hong Kong. British officials, distant and insulated from the daily struggles of the average Hong Kong resident, seemed oblivious to the true dynamics at play. They spoke in abstract terms of law and order, of maintaining stability, but their understanding remained shallow. They failed to see the complex power relationships that actually held sway in Hongkongese society—the informal agreements, the loyalty networks, the undercurrents of resentment and pragmatism that kept the city functioning despite pressures from both China and Britain.

  The dissonance struck Maggie with each colonial decree. Her years in Hong Kong taught her to navigate its intricate web of realities—a skill the British officials lacked entirely. Their proclamations rang hollow, echoing through government chambers where bureaucrats drafted policies for people whose lives they never touched. Beyond their curated offices, shopkeepers slipped protection money to Triad enforcers, desperate families crowded into unlicensed Hak Nam clinics, and entire communities bartered silence for survival. The British authorities strutted through their corridors of illusionary power, blind to the truth: their control existed only through the calculated tolerance of those who found profit in maintaining the charade.

  Their vehicle slowed as they approached the outskirts of the Walled City, its headlights sweeping across the narrow streets.

  Expectations bore down on Maggie's shoulders—demands from her superiors, from Westminster, from colonial officials clinging to their fading authority. A diplomatic incident now would expose Britain's weakening grip on its prized territory. A fragile jewel in an unsteady crown. Liu Wei's fate transcended the man himself; his capture or escape would ripple through corridors of power in London and Beijing alike. The artist's defiant brushstrokes painted more than beauty—they challenged an empire's pride, threatening to shatter its carefully maintained illusion of control.

  Stolen novel; please report.

  The car stopped, and Maggie looked out at the darkened entrance to a close leading into Hak Nam. Buildings loomed above, leaning in as if to swallow them and their vehicle whole. The Walled City existed beyond law, beyond the reach of governments, but tonight, she would step into its depths with the weight of two nations on her shoulders.

  Hak Nam's exterior presented a haphazard mosaic of narrow alleys and tightly packed structures, festooned with overlapping signage advertising the myriad businesses crammed within. Neon signs, some flickering, others brightly lit, announced pawnshops, herbal medicine vendors, mahjong parlours, and even dentists offering their services from rooms hidden deep inside the concrete labyrinth. Small restaurant signs dangled precariously, advertising noodle stalls or dim sum spots, while dai pai dong—open-air food stalls—lined the periphery, their aromas drifting on the humid night air, a mix of sizzling oil, grilled meats, and pungent spices.

  The street itself bustled with activity. Delivery vehicles idled, stacked high with boxes, while men hurriedly loaded and unloaded goods. Foot traffic ebbed and flowed around them—locals carrying groceries, children running in and out of the shadows, a couple arguing quietly at the edge of an alley. This scene had a rhythm of its own, chaotic but deeply familiar to Maggie. She had walked these streets in her youth, albeit never this close to the core of Hak Nam. Something almost magnetic about the Walled City drew people in, whether for opportunity or desperation.

  She stepped out of the car, the smell of cooking food hitting her immediately, bringing with it memories of her childhood. The rich scent of char siu transported her back to times when her mother would buy them skewers from a similar dai pai dong, the sticky sweetness of the roasted pork a rare treat. The rattle of pots and the shouts of the cooks melded with the blaring of a nearby radio playing a mournful Cantonese ballad, and for a moment, Maggie felt the sharp sting of nostalgia. She knew this Hong Kong, the city that had shaped her, yet she had drifted away as her career led her deeper into the colonial establishment.

  Maggie gazed up at the imposing fa?ade, its dark windows stacked one atop the other, laundry hanging between buildings like makeshift bunting. Despite the chaos, it pulsed with a vitality that belied the crushing density. The tangle of wires, the rust-streaked walls, the uneven light of bare bulbs—each detail spoke of a place that had grown organically, without regard for symmetry or stability.

  Signs projected from every angle, advertising businesses stacked upon one another. One proclaimed “中西醫藥局” (Chinese and Western Medicine Pharmacy), while another a few steps away announced “誠樹輝牙科” (Cheng Shuhui Dental Clinic). Red and black characters on numerous banners promoted clinics, pharmacies, and herbalists, offering services from acupuncture to tooth extraction.

  Bold strokes on larger marquees advertised “按摩推拿正骨” (Massage, Acupressure, and Bone Setting) and “跌打損傷科” (Injury and Bruising Specialist), while smaller ones identified individual practitioners. A Coca-Cola logo hung among the traditional banners, an isolated splash of familiar branding. Below, shopkeepers presented their wares in narrow stalls—baskets of fruit, tins of preserved food, and containers of dried herbs overflowing onto the walkway.

  She inhaled, the heavy air thick with grease, sewage, and a hundred unidentifiable spices. For a moment, she paused, the weight of her memories warring with her duty.

  The cacophony, the sights, the smells—they underscored the stakes, not just for Liu Wei but for all those who lived beyond the polished halls of the colonial government, in the cracks and shadows the British never truly saw. She clenched her jaw, her resolve solidifying.

  She had work to do, and she would see it through, no matter the doubts gnawing at her.