Liu Wei’s journey to his precarious sanctuary began weeks earlier, on a moonless night. The boat from Tianjin slipped quietly to a stop near Shenzhen, casting him into the darkness. The fixer barely glanced at him, shoving a crumpled stack of bank notes and forged passport into Liu’s hands, a flimsy promise of freedom that seemed almost mocking. Liu understood the fragility of his situation, teetering on lies and the desperation of those with nothing left to lose. He’d become one of them—a silhouette in a city that offered no welcome.

  Liu stepped into Hong Kong’s sticky embrace, the air heavy with impending rain. The customs officer’s cursory glance skimmed his papers, a dismissive wave sending him onward. Sweat pooled at his collar, his shirt clinging. Outside, the harbour exploded with the city’s chorus—engines roaring, voices clashing, seagulls squawking over refuse. The skyline towered, indifferent and overwhelming.

  With only fifty dollars, his margin for error was razor-thin. No luggage, no change of clothes, just the resolve etched in every stride. He drifted through the throng, Cantonese chatter a rapid-fire mystery. Faces blurred past, their urgency highlighting his own aimlessness. He needed refuge—a place to vanish. Hak Nam, the Walled City, promised such obscurity. An enclave where the hunted disappeared, safe from prying eyes.

  Dusk deepened as Liu stumbled into Kowloon, each step guided by whispered directions. Alleyways narrowed, pulling him into their grip until he faced a towering monstrosity. The Walled City rose before him, a patchwork of concrete and steel, windows piled atop one another like restless eyes in a sprawling beast. Laundry hung from rusted railings, signs jutted out at odd angles, and wires twisted overhead in a chaotic tangle. The scent of frying food, sewage, and an unplaceable tang clung to the air. Something that perhaps evoked the raw human struggle for survival.

  Liu’s throat tightened, his tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth. This was the haven he’d heard of—a labyrinth where questions vanished. He moved onward, threading through the throng that clustered around sizzling skewers, vendors’ voices crashing like waves as they vied for attention. He felt like a ghost, drifting past faces that looked like his own but felt so foreign.

  The unfamiliar syllables of Cantonese caught in his throat as he fumbled through basic phrases. Faces turned away, but weathered hands pointed onward, guiding him through the maze of shadows and steam.

  Eventually, a middle-aged woman took pity on him. She stood at the entrance of a tiny eatery—a place with no more than four tables, the atmosphere thick with the scent of frying garlic and chilli. She looked him up and down, her eyes narrowing as she took in the state of him: his thin frame, the exhaustion etched into his face, the desperation in his eyes. She said something in rapid Cantonese, and Liu could only blink, struggling to understand.

  She sighed, shaking her head, and switched to halting Mandarin. “You look lost. Hungry?”

  Liu nodded, relief washing over him. He held out the few crumpled notes, and she waved them away with a snort. “Keep it. Sit down,” she said, jerking her head towards one of the empty tables.

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  He obeyed, sinking into the rickety chair as she disappeared into the back. He heard her shout something to someone he couldn’t see, her voice muffled by the clatter of pots and pans. The first real warmth he’d felt since leaving the mainland spread through him, settling in his chest. She returned with a bowl of rice, some stir-fried vegetables, and a cup of tea. She set them in front of him, her expression softening just a fraction.

  “Eat.” The command brooked no argument. Liu shoveled the first spoonful into his mouth, appreciating the simple combination of rice and vegetables. Steam rose from the tea, its bitter notes cutting through the garlic and oil. His chopsticks scraped the bottom of the bowl as his gaze wandered. Paint curled from the walls in yellowed strips. A calendar hung askew, its date frozen in 1976. Dark patches spread across the ceiling like ink blots.

  When he finished, he looked up at her, gratitude in his eyes. “Thank you,” he said, awkwardly in his exhaustion.

  She waved him off, but her eyes were not unkind. “You need a place to stay, don’t you?” she asked, though it was more a statement than a question. Liu nodded, unsure of what to say. She studied him for a moment, then sighed again. “Wait here. I know someone who might help.”

  She departed, leaving Liu in the thrumming heart of the Walled City. Through the doorway drifted the echoes of children at play, the rumble of an argument, the clink of dishes being stacked. Closing his eyes briefly, he absorbed the city’s pulse. He had reached this shelter, still breathing. The future lay shrouded in uncertainty, but the stranger’s kindness anchored him in the present.

  The woman reappeared, a man trailing behind her. He was tall, his shoulders wide, and his face marked by a history etched in scars. His gaze swept over Liu, lingered on the woman, then returned to Liu, assessing. He spoke in Cantonese, his tone unyielding.

  “You need a place to stay?”

  Liu nodded. “Yes,” he managed, the word thick in his throat.

  The man’s eyes lingered, weighing him silently, before he tilted his head towards the exit. “Come. I know a place. It’s not much, but it will do.”

  Rising to his feet, Liu gave the woman one last look. She nodded at him, her lips pressed into a thin line. “Stay out of trouble,” she said, before turning back to her kitchen, framed in silhouette by the dim light.

  The man led Liu deeper into the Walled City, through passageways so narrow that he had to turn sideways to pass, up staircases that twisted like the intestines of some great beast. Damp permeated the walls, covered in graffiti and grime. The air smelled of mildew and neglect. Yet life persisted—people talking, laughing, a television audible somewhere behind a thin wall. Not home, but a space to breathe, a chance to dissolve into the fabric of the city.

  The man stopped at a door, its paint peeling in long strips like dead skin. Inside, light and dark played across bare concrete walls. A mattress lay directly on the floor, its springs visible through worn fabric. A naked bulb swayed overhead, casting moving patterns that made the tiny space seem to breathe.

  The man gestured. “You can stay here. It’s not free, but we’ll talk about that later. For now, rest.”

  Liu stepped inside, the floorboards creaking beneath his feet. The space measured five steps by three—barely enough to lie down and stand up. But it granted shelter deep in the City’s concrete maze. Hidden from those who hunted him.

  Looking back to his saviour, Liu nodded in thanks. The man grunted in response, then pulled the door shut, leaving Liu alone in the dim light.

  His knees buckled. The mattress springs groaned as he collapsed onto them, each muscle screaming in protest. His vision blurred, the bare walls melting into a haze of greys and browns. Freedom had cost him everything—his home, his art, his identity. Yet here, buried in the bowels of Hak Nam, he could rest. Tomorrow’s problems belonged to tomorrow. The naked bulb flickered once, twice, before oblivion claimed him.