At first light, while a small fraction of Hong Kong’s night owls were still partying, the streets and alleys of Sham Shui Po had already begun to stir.
The sounds of windows opening and closing, of teeth being brushed and wash water rushing down the drain, carried through windows and poorly insulated walls from one neighbor’s home to another.
People woke from their dreams and greeted another ordinary day.
The sound of her older brother returning from the market and shutting the door woke Yik Ka-yee. Still groggy and unable to open her eyes properly, she heard her younger sister, sleeping in the bunk above, flip over and sit up.
Then her sister climbed down, and the movement shook Ka-yee fully awake. Opening her eyes, she caught sight of the trailing blur of her sister’s nightgown as she ran off, and the mottled old wooden slats of the upper bunk in the dim morning light.
The bed boards were covered with stickers, scraps of paper, notes, and old photographs—traces of the former Ka-yee growing up little by little in this room and on this bed.
Yik Ka-yee had been transported here for nearly a month now. She was gradually accepting her new identity, and gradually getting used to this tiny public-housing flat in Sham Shui Po—less than fifty square meters, shared by four people.
She rolled out of bed. While her sister queued for the bathroom, Ka-yee got dressed and folded her blanket.
“Big Sis.” Yik Ka-yu shuffled in, rubbing at her messy hair.
“You can sleep a little longer,” Ka-yee said. Squeezing past her sister shoulder to shoulder, she stepped out of their cramped, dim but tidy little room.
Through the kitchen’s cloudy glass pane, which could no longer be scrubbed clean, her eldest brother Yik Ka-tung glanced at her and said, “Why not cut your hair? Washing it wastes shampoo, and combing it wastes time. A police officer ought to look sharp.”
Ka-yee touched her thick, smooth, glossy black hair. In her previous life, cramming for graduate-school entrance exams had made her lose so much hair she felt like naming every strand. Now that she finally had such a full head of it—
“I can’t bear to,” she muttered, twisting her hair into a bun and securing it neatly at the back of her head.
A police officer...
Who would have imagined it? Ka-yee had pictured herself doing all sorts of jobs in the future: copywriter, marketer, operations, sales... even livestreaming to sell products. But a police officer?
What did that have to do with her?
And yet, after countless days and nights spent fighting to get into graduate school, she had opened her eyes one morning and become a newly graduated young policewoman in Hong Kong, assigned to clerical work at a police station.
After breakfast, she said goodbye to her brother, carried her battered bicycle through the corridor, and clattered down the stairs.
The moment she unlocked it and mounted, she pushed hard with her right foot. In a flash, bicycle and rider shot forward as one—
Don’t blame her for riding so fast. She had her reasons.
On the way out of the alley toward Oak Street, there were simply too many friendly neighbors.
Hong Kong was crowded, and the public-housing district of Sham Shui Po—home to plenty of ordinary and poor folk—was even more so. The neighbors had all lived in this area for years; everyone knew everyone else. Every elderly man and woman Ka-yee passed would greet her, without exception.
Even those hunched over newspapers in the narrow lanes would look up from the headlines, as if greeting a neighbor were the most important thing in the world.
More important than the rich people’s gossip in the local news? More important than the horrifying murder cases printed in huge, bold type?
Apparently, no one in all of Hong Kong knew how to spell “social anxiety.”
Weaving through the streets and alleyways, Yik Ka-yee occasionally tipped her head back to look at the neon signs—dim beneath the daylight, yet still blanketing the sky. They were an emblem of Hong Kong’s splendor in the 1990s.
After counting seventeen intersections, she arrived safely at the Yau Ma Tei Police Station in West Kowloon. It was really only a little over a kilometer.
She locked her bicycle in a corner, took a deep breath, and wiped the sweat from her forehead and the tip of her nose. Then a low male voice sounded beside her.
“Hey, you—”
Coming back to herself, Yik Ka-yee turned toward the voice. An extraordinarily long leg emerged from a Jeep, with a glimpse of black sock showing beneath the trouser leg.
The man bent down to get out, then straightened to his full height. He was remarkably tall.
He patted down a rolled-up sleeve, frowned at her, and beckoned.
Yik Ka-yee noticed the white sock on his other ankle—mismatched with the black one. He was probably with West Kowloon’s Major Crimes Unit. Only people who dealt with serious cases all day were so busy they had no time to find a matching pair of socks.
Major Crimes... the legendary CID! The kind of people who got to be the leads in TV dramas!
Yik Ka-yee snapped to attention, as obedient and proper as a schoolgirl standing before an instructor.
“There’ve been a lot of mosquitoes in the office these past few days. They’ve bitten me all over.” The policeman crossed the distance between them in two strides, smoothed his slightly tousled short hair, and rolled up his sleeve to show her the mosquito bites covering his arm.
Yik Ka-yee lowered her gaze and found herself staring at his lean, straight wrist; the fine hair on his sun-browned skin; the strong veins pulsing beneath it like rivers; and the bicep that rose slightly even without him flexing—
He probably liked wearing T-shirts with sleeves that reached halfway down his upper arms, too. His biceps had been shielded from the sun, so the skin there was very pale.
They looked especially delicious.
Was this really something she was allowed to look at for free?
Her thoughts raced wildly through her mind, but her face, far more honest, had already turned bright red. Her heart thumped in embarrassment. Only then did she finally notice the tragic battlefield of mosquito bites on his arm.
Those mosquitoes really were vicious. They hadn’t been intimidated in the least by such a sturdy arm.
Pulling herself together, she tried to sound professional and rattled off the words as if defending her graduation thesis.
“Sister Yan already called. The mosquito coils and insect repellent will be delivered today along with this month’s daily supplies.”
Then she looked up and asked, “Which floor are you on? I still have half a bottle of insect repellent over there—”
The man seemed not to have slept well. A faint bluish shadow lay beneath his eyes. Somewhat irritably, he glanced at the black-haired head before him—only to catch sight of her bright, round eyes.
How could someone have eyes so distinctly black and white, so clean and clear, like an innocent little puppy’s?
“All right. Go get to work.” He waved her away with an awkward smile, trying to appear a little friendlier.
But he was probably better at fighting crime than placating children. No matter how hard he tried to restrain it, that fierce, battle-hardened air still seeped from between his brows.
“Yes, sir!” Yik Ka-yee brought her feet together in a salute, answering at full volume.
“...” The man’s lips twitched as he watched her turn smartly and march off. Then he remembered something. “Oh, right—”
Yik Ka-yee stopped short and looked back.
“There’s a puddle under the north window from the rain the day before yesterday. It’ll breed mosquitoes. You call Sister Yan too, and get someone to clear it out.”
The man took several long strides and passed her in an instant.
Yik Ka-yee had another “Yes, sir~” on the tip of her tongue, but she was no longer in the mood to deliver it with crisp, exaggerated enthusiasm. All she could do was call a meek “Okay” after his retreating back.
The man turned and nodded at her. Leaving behind only the faint, invigorating scent of his shampoo, he strode off with an imposing air.
Yik Ka-yee wiped at the sweat that did not exist on her forehead and reflected on whether she had been acting a little too over-the-top just now. Under her breath, she muttered, “Dropping a transmigrator who’s stolen someone else’s life into a police station... isn’t that like sending a sheep into a tiger’s den?”
As the man entered the police station, he ran into a middle-aged uniformed officer, who greeted him with a smile.
“Sergeant Fong.”
Sergeant Fong nodded in response and disappeared through the station entrance. The middle-aged officer, however, lingered outside for several seconds before slowly ambling in, as though reluctant to be seen entering or leaving alongside Sergeant Fong.
A *sha zhan* was a squad leader—the Cantonese term transliterated into English.
So the man who had been badly bitten by mosquitoes was an undercover detective team leader, surnamed Fong.
Yik Ka-yee’s mind whirred as she gathered these clues. She felt rather clever herself—like a detective.
Pleased with herself, she carried her little lunchbox into the station at a brisk trot, then turned toward the changing room to put on her civilian staff uniform.
The rest of the day was filled with miscellaneous tasks: printing materials, delivering documents for filing, finding someone to repair a broken door or a temperamental air conditioner, scanning old case files and uploading them to the internal network. Sometimes, she would suddenly be dispatched to help a department or squad order food and lay it out.
They were all trivial tasks, but none could be neglected.
It sounded like glorified errand-running, yet Yik Ka-yee found it immensely fulfilling. She always felt that the entire police station could only function properly because she was holding it all together.
People newly entering the working world were always full of curiosity and enthusiasm about everything. Yik Ka-yee was exactly like that now.
Having adjusted to her transmigration, she was already rubbing her hands together, eager to make a big success of her new life.
A little after three in the afternoon, Lu Wanyin—the forty-four-year-old senior colleague assigned to guide her—pulled her over to the window for afternoon tea.
Authentic Earl Grey, slightly bitter with a lingering sweetness; Hong Kong-style egg tarts, flaky on the outside and soft within, fragrant and delicious; and a handful of plump, tender lotus seeds, each bite fresh and clean-tasting.
“Who knows what happened this time,” Lu Wanyin said. “The Major Crimes Unit is rushing about inside and out. In this heat—they’re really suffering.”
With the air conditioner blowing over her, she peeled lotus seeds and watched through the window as police cars and detectives hurried about beneath the blazing sun.
Happiness was relative.
Yik Ka-yee turned to look down as well. The detectives striding hurriedly below left behind grave, fleeting silhouettes, making the sweltering air seem even more stifling.
Thank goodness, thank goodness she was civilian staff. She did not have to go out on the streets, and she did not have to deal with murder cases or criminals.
She could sit in an air-conditioned room, sipping tea at leisure and watching it all through the window.
Resting her chin on one hand, Yik Ka-yee secretly glanced at Lu Wanyin as she blew on her tea and sipped it slowly, her heart full of gratitude.
It was fortunate that Sister Yan was there to guide her. Otherwise, she truly would not have understood anything. How could she possibly have adapted so quickly?
Just as the young policewoman’s heart brimmed with gratitude for all the kindness the world had shown her, the very person she felt indebted to—seated across from her—cast a sidelong glance at Yik Ka-yee and quietly began scheming against this trusting little follower of hers.
From where Lu Wanyin sat, all she had to do was tilt her head to see the people in the corridor.
When she spotted Lam Wong-kau, the bane of Major Crimes Unit B, hurrying over with a miserable expression, taking two steps at a time, she knew trouble was coming.
Her eyes flickered. Thinking of the police cars that had been coming and going earlier, she more or less understood what was happening.
Without giving anything away, she rose to her feet and left behind a single sentence: “Ka-yee, I’m going to the restroom. If someone comes to drop off files, just do it the way I taught you, okay?”
She set a plastic-covered file folder in front of Yik Ka-yee, then swiftly slipped away through the back door.
Yik Ka-yee’s mind was still full of gratitude—for this, for that—when Lam Wong-kau burst in. Seeing how young and unfamiliar she looked, he frowned and asked, “Where’s Sister Yan?”
“She went to the restroom. Are you here to deliver files? You can just give them to me,” Yik Ka-yee replied promptly, covering the spread of snacks and drinks on the desk with a newspaper.
Lam Wong-kau glanced at her desk. The case consolidation files were right in front of her, so he assumed Sister Yan had already taught the newcomer how to handle the job.
“Take the file and come with me,” he said.
“?” What was this about?
Yik Ka-yee picked up the folder, pulled out a pen, and hurried after Lam Wong-kau at a jog.
The two of them crossed the corridor and clattered down the stairs. Only then did the restroom door open. Sister Yan waved a hand before her nose as though dispersing a smell that did not exist, then leisurely turned back toward the office.
The tea on the desk was still hot. She poured herself a cup.
Taking a loud sip, she ate pastries while reading the newspaper. Every now and then, she tapped at an article with her finger and muttered a reproach or two: “Bloody nonsense. Making things up again.”
...
As Yik Ka-yee followed Lam Wong-kau in circles down the stairs, she still thought they were merely going to collect some documents or sort through archives.
That was, until Lam Wong-kau handed her a mask and a surgical cap and led her into a room that was distinctly unlike the others.
She felt the air-conditioning turn sharply colder. She saw people in white coats and masks. Only then did she begin to sense that something was wrong.
Before she could fully grasp what it all meant, she was already standing in a frigid, cavernous room.
Medical instruments filled the space. Two or three plainclothes officers stood scattered about with their arms folded.
Lam Wong-kau left Yik Ka-yee behind and moved to the side of a “hospital bed,” where he spoke in a low voice with the sergeant leading the team.
Yik Ka-yee’s gaze swept quickly over them, then inevitably settled on the “bed” and the doctors performing “surgery” around it...
A bolt of lightning seemed to split through her mind. At last, Yik Ka-yee realized where she was.
And that was certainly no hospital bed.
Before she could cover her eyes, the naked corpse sprawled openly before her had already burned itself onto her retinas.
The unprepared young policewoman went cold from head to toe, her face drained of color. Terror made her dizzy; her ears rang.
Before her body could even react, another sound suddenly rang in her ears. The image before her shifted, instantly overlaying the autopsy room.
In that moment, Yik Ka-yee froze where she stood, as though her soul had been carried into another world—
She heard the cries of the victim being dissected, saw the killer’s face, and witnessed the entire murder from beginning to end.
