91. Eighteen Years of Rain

Shanghai, China. 1960s.

Old tales passed through the generations spoke of the rain as the product of a heaven overflowing with kindness and mercy. After all, the rain nourishes the soul and gives rise to the food that sustains life from infancy until death. Humanity—in all its infinite avarice and fatal disatisfaction—was never content to live sustaining off the land alone. It rose from the cyclical ashes of humility and constructed artificial microcosms with absurdist systems, laws and regulations that only held meaning so long as they monopolised public belief. Settlements of stick, brick and stone gave way over the millennia to metropolises: convoluted, weaving jungles of iron and concrete. These artificial environments became the framework for yet more systems, systems that preyed on others to survive. An endless loop of suffering that strove for meaningless perpetuity, as its continual existence at all costs became the means to its end.

One such system was organised crime—an oxymoron that has existed since the very first definitions of civilisation, and in many historical cultures the symbiotic parasite needed to thrive, at the expense of however many millions had been intentionally exploited over the ages. Over time, such systems found themselves made necessary. They carved nooks for themselves in society and provided indispensable services that guaranteed their longevity, often securing them not just the amnesty but the cooperation of the ruling class. The two often merged to become one and the same, at the inevitable threshold where integrity of government slips down the waterslide of corruption.

The Great Leap Forward had wrought internal opposition within the Communist Party, a scourge that needed eradication. The Suǒ Clan operated within every political echelon, and made a scarily honest living in eliminating dissidents and undesirables. Once a monastic line of martial arts practitioners, they had descended from the mountains forty years prior and soon seized on the rife opportunities present in the developing cities as ruthless mercenaries, tighter woven than steel cable.

As all crime families did, their absent morality allowed free reign to extend tendrils into every unethical business under the sun. They were one of a few key Triads that the political movers and shakers all but endorsed to suit their agenda—live grenades to be handled extremely carefully, lest the shrapnel cripple the agonist as well.

The Suǒ Clan were not unique in that regard. They had not been the first and, so long as humanity remained a constant, they would not be the last. They were one of many to find their niche and burrow down their root, desperate like all the rest to anchor them to the soil against the constant winds of change.

When the rain fell on Shanghai, even back then, it took a long way to reach the soil. The fragments of heaven, excess angels bearing blessing, had their graceful descent rudely interrupted by the cold and grey of brick and slate. Funnelled along gutters, the angels cascaded helpless down the drains, defiled in the sewers, before being thrown back out to sea. Many were spattered on windows, allowing brief glimpses of the systems that replaced all divinity with suffocating efficiency, a religion of industry. So far above the labouring streets, buried in the urban labyrinth like the angler fish, the slim, shuttered windows to a developing tower concealed the cracks and blows that flew free and hit home.

Beyond the walls of the tower, around halfway up, the room was barren and wooden: four stout wooden beams marked the polished arena under its concave ceiling, bathed in a warm glow from above. Outside its bounds, dark wooden panelling gave an area to circle and observe.

Away from the rain, away from the heavens, the sparring match was nearing completion. Four men dressed in black, indistinguishable for their purpose, surrounded a slim teenage girl three-quarters their side. A black bob hugged a cruel, angular face, with a wicked gaze that flashed under every glance from the light. Her arms were raised but relaxed. She took light steps in half-circles, always shifting her blindspot.

The man from behind made no conscious sound but shifted his weight across the floor, striking out with a knife-hand lunge at the back of her neck. Without even turning around, the girl dropped into the splits, and twisted on the floor and hooked one foot in the back of his knee. She pushed off the ground with both hands and retracted her leg in the same motion, rising back to stance and sending him crashing to the floor.

She didn’t gloat, didn’t so much as grin, but snapped right arm up to deflect a bolting cross from her right. Her second assailant stumbled on his outside foot, overextending from the inertia. She twisted at the waist, jabbing at his liver. The gasp didn’t even have time to leave his lungs before he was on the floor. Her eyes flashed over her shoulder, and saw the third feet away from her unprotected back. Pivoting at the hip, she spun into a reverse kick that flashed in a clean black arc. Her heel cracked against the man’s temple. He crashed and sprawled, face embedded into the floor.

Finish every action before the next.

She followed through on her kick and stabilised the momentum with a flex through her knees, before advancing on the fourth. He welcomed her with a taunting flex of the fingers, the smallest hint of a grin. He blocked her first pair of jabs, and they traded the next few glancing blows. His retaliation came in a wicked palm strike to the cheek that sent her reeling. The girl hissed and coiled like a spring. She dove at him, feral, seized his throat with both hands and squeezed. He tore her wrist to wrestle his windpipe free, which gave her all the room she needed to drive a knee into his crotch. His body convulsed, an agonised wheeze breaking from his throat as he collapsed to his knees.

“Is that all?” The girl ran fingers through her hair, the thin black top hitching up over her navel as she took a deep breath. “Don’t tell me you’re all down for the count already. We’ve barely been at this an hour.”

“Enough of your attitude, Fù-Lián!”

A dry voice cut through the sweat and tension. An older gentleman rose from his seated observation on the outside of the ring. Grey had just stated to take root behind his ears, and the grooves on his face looked purposeful and permanent, a wooden carving. He wore a dismal suit, black in all three parts.

“Your skills are well above what I could have expected. You’ve been training alone. I heard from your maid that you’ve been sneaking out at night past your curfew to practise. Don’t think your attempts at bribery of the guard supersede their loyalty to me, either. It’s clear you’ve put in all the work expected and then some, but I cannot praise you.”

“Father!” She looked outraged.

“Don’t you dare raise your voice against me. You insist on subverting my commandment!” He snapped. Striding across into the arena, he seized his daughter by the ear. The girl yelped and bent her knee. “Your entitlement is proving irksome. You’ve caused more damage to our personnel over the past two months than the Xuhin managed in a year. At this rate, I’ll have no-one left to dispatch than my own childish daughter. At that point I might as well set the clan and its legacy on fire and send you both back to the mountains. There, you will live off the fields in regret, and die cold and alone on the stone.” Suǒ Chen tapped one of the incapacitated men with his foot. “Leave. Don’t embarrass yourselves further.”

All four ceased licking their wounds immediately and made hasty apologies before excusing themselves. The sliding door slid shut without a second’s complaint.

“But what does it matter, father? If our men are pathetic enough to fall and fold, then surely they shouldn’t be in our employ!”

Chen slapped her across the cheek and grabbed a fistful of her hair.

“Need I remind you what an exceptional standard you’ve been raised to? You are my proudest work, my dear Fù-Lián. Your skills are exceptional, your desire to strive is admirable, but undermining all of that, you are still a child! Our legacy will one day be yours to protect and lead to the next generation. All our family will be yours to command. Those men are followers, not leaders. Their skills have been personally selected and trained to the standard I deem acceptable for our work. You are a grade above that. You must move past your immaturity, to see the world beyond your own eyes. You will never be the end-all. Until you see that and embody it, you are unworthy of all the lavish and luxury you’ve been swaddled in since birth.”

Shaking his hand free, he turned and made to leave.

“I was too soft on you both by your mother’s request. Look what an error that turned out to be. In all your selfishness, by disabling those four, you’ve left your brother Láozàn with no-one to train him.” He cast a cutting glare across the room.

A meeker boy sat cross-legged on a cushion, withering and mortified.

“Goodness knows he needs it.” Chen tutted and strode from the training room. The door slammed a little louder this time.

The chastised daughter and shrinking son kept one another’s silence for a few precious moments. The former held her chin high, head tilted back, and stared up into the barely hidden fluorescent bars overhead, hoping its uncaring light would scour the tears beading her lower eyelids. The latter sunk his head.

“I don’t mind, you know.”

Suǒ Láozàn was the same height and build as his sister, with short black hair in a fringe that was shaved around the sides. He was a good deal younger: his cheeks still boyishly round, his brow not quite so set. Unlike her tightly woven shirt and leggings, he wore loose-fitting robes with large sleeves. He rose to his feet and shook his head. “I came just to watch you today anyway. I didn’t want to spend today training. It hurts too much.”

His sister, watching out of the corner of one eye, huffed in amusement and put both hands on her hips. She blinked and kept her eyes closed.

“So stupid. What does it matter anyway,” she repeated, shaking her head. She turned on a heel and stepped towards the window. “You don’t need to say anything to make me feel better, Láozàn. I’m your big sister. I can take it.”

“No, that’s not it at all!” The boy took an earnest step forward. “I’m just saying. I’m actually grateful you took care of them for me. Father was holding this over my head all week. I was dreading it, really.”

“I didn’t do it for your sake.” She chuckled, and pawed at the shutters. The droplets padded against her fingers as she pressed them to the glass.

“Fù-Lián…”

Her eyes narrowed. She flashed her brother a scornful look. “Just Fù.”

“Oh, sorry! I’ve been meaning to ask about that—”

“That’s only the name our father gave me. It’s not my name.”

“You’re choosing your own?”

“He’s lucky I still take his surname.”

“But, Fù… How can you—” Láozàn cut himself off, burying his gaze by his feet. “I’m worried about you.”

Fù’s fingers released the blinds, and she folded her arms. “I don’t need you to be.”

“Still! All this extra training, going behind Father’s back… Don’t you think you’re taking this a bit too far?”

She eyed him warily. “Meaning?”

“You’ve always been strong. I’ve never known anything else from you. You don’t need to go that far always. Just, please. I’ve been watching this for so long, but never been able to say anything about it. You’ll hate me for being such a coward, I know. You’re amazing, sis, but…” He flinched preemptively. “Father does have a point. Please listen to what he has to say sometimes. He says all this for a reason. It’s for both our sakes, and our family.”

Fù’s eyes crinkled, and she gave a sad smile. “I was an idiot for ever hoping you’d understand.” The smile wiped from her lips the moment she turned back around. Yanking up the shutters, the oppressive cloud washed her in grey. In the distance, it broke into something clearer, brighter. She stared towards it, and put her full palm on the pane.

“Eighteen years of rain. Do you know what that feels like? I’ve lived my entire life in this tower, Láozàn. I knew nothing of the world outside before I left, likely by design. I was taught to beguile before I was taught to love; to strangle, before hold. If that’s all my life is ever meant to hold, then there’s no point me living it. Someone else can in my stead—I don’t care.”

Muscles fought in confusion on the boy’s face. “What do you mean?”

“Mother was too weak to seize her own life. She let herself get married to our father to settle a political dispute. Of course, you’d know all about that kind of diplomacy, wouldn’t you? I know you’ve been studying under Father as he considers my suitors.” She bit her lip. “She wasn’t proud of how she lived, and told me to never become like her. So I won’t.”

Taking it always a step further, Fù lifted up the full length window as far as it would go, and sat on the sill. A freezing draught swept the room, and speckles of rain peppered her front and face. Chills rippled over her skin, but she didn’t shy away. Fù teetered on the brink, took a deep breath and closed her eyes. “I discovered another shipment the other day.”

Láozàn swallowed. “You mean—”

“Yeah.” Fù’s glare was icy. “Girls as young as eight from all over, to be sold off and used however. Our family is founded on filth, Láozàn. Father sits us up here in his tower, and our entire livelihood is built off so much suffering, and my destiny is to take up this mantle. It’s only a matter of time, and I have no say.”

“It’s all we have, sister…” The boy pleaded. “Can’t you see? That’s just how the world is. If we didn’t do it, someone else would, and—”

“So, you’re becoming just like him.” Fù shook her head. “If this is all we have, we shouldn’t have anything at all.” She stared back out of the window. “You may be on the path he wants you, but you’re still my brother. I held you in my arms when you were weeks old; I can only pray you won’t breath a word of this. Soon, you might not see me anymore.”

Láozàn leant up against the wall. His knees shook beneath his robes. “You’re going to leave me behind?”

“Only if you stay put.” Fù slid her outside leg back through the window and shut it, folding the shutters back into place. She didn’t look at her brother, but he shivered on seeing her gaze, frozen over. “I refuse any life that isn’t my own.”

And she too walked towards the far door, leaving Láozàn to stumble after her. “Fù—Sis—Wait!”

But she didn’t. The doors slid shut behind Suǒ Fù, leaving the remaining heir alone. He fell on bruised knees, and wept into roughened hands.

---

“Finally, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

Suǒ Láozàn had lost his boyishness long ago. The man had regressed into something almost decrepit, consumed from the inside out by the thrall of inescapable, passing time. The old man perched behind an expansive desk. The lighting in the office was sparse and unobtrusive. Most came from behind him, a gigantic window to a rainy skyfront that often overshadowed the city in winter.

Much as ever, the rain pattered against the glass.

“I’ll make no pretences. You know exactly why I’m here.” Gus Ishimatsu lowered himself onto a sofa that looked only just enough to support his weight. Larger than life in all respects, he took up nearly all of it.

The elevator’s ascent and walk along the guarded corridors had proceeded in silence. Gus had spent far too long skulking around Nowhere’s infinite depths to ever trust the sanctity of such a transitory space ever again. Elevators were like all walls. They listened far too closely.

“I had intended to be here sooner. The delay is my own fault. I meant no disrespect.”

“I heard of your plane being shot down over the sea.” Láozàn didn’t sound remotely offended. “The media are rationalising it as a rogue terrorist attack. The Japanese government has already thrown its blame at the North Korean armed forces, and our own.” He tittered, the prospect of widespread conflict vaguely amusing. “Your prime minister is a confident man.”

“He was.” Gus scowled.

“And the fact you stand before me means you are indeed something extraordinary. The transgressions are mine. I’ve been cognisant of you for some time, but I had to verify your feats for my own eyes.”

Gus’ face darkened further still. “Are you satisfied?”

“Seeing as half my armed guard have been obliterated, quite. If my men are pathetic enough to fall and fold, then they surely shouldn’t be in my employ.”

“Your employ, yes…” Gus pinched the bridge of his nose, then reached into his pocket. “Your family and its operations are a close-guarded secret, aren’t they?”

Láozàn steepled his fingers, both elbows on his desk. “The clandestine nature of our work requires precaution.”

“I believe there’s someone you’ve been seeking for quite a while.” Gus stood and approached the desk and held the glass orb out to his side. “It was a subordinate of mine who first highlighted our common vested interests. He went through a lot of trouble to acquire this information but, as I stated over the phone, I have a proposition that’ll work in both our favour.”

The briefest flash of light accompanied a light touchdown of footsteps. Hideyori Hakana, the tails of his coat still fluttering in the breeze of motion, plucked the orb from between his boss’ fingers and pocketed it.

Suǒ Láozàn’s brow lifted, eyes wide, but the old man kept his nerve.

“Pardon the intrusion.” The executive debonair briefly swept his hat from his head and ran a hand through long hair with a bow. “Hideyori Hakana—aforementioned subordinate. It’s no pleasure of mine.” He shot Gus a glare and murmured, “Couldn’t you have given me at least a little more warning for my cue?”

His exasperation was returned with a withering stare and silence from the collossus.

Hakana sighed theatrically, replaced his hat and pulled out another orb. Shimmying it between his palms, the glimmering crystal ball swelled twenty-fold. He placed it on Láozàn’s desk, and clicked his fingers. The murky depths of the Moment swirled and shifted, before revealing a woman’s unmistakable likeness.

“I don’t even need your blatant reaction to tell me this woman means something to you,” said Hakana. “She’s evaded your grasp, and the resulting tombstone, yet she hasn’t exactly kept a low profile. All the history I found suggests she was, at one point, quite the target—am I wrong?” His grin gleamed in the pale cloudlight.

Suǒ Láozàn stared in fascination at the demon wizardry he was witnessing unfold. Never in all his years. But in the face of the confounding, in his line of work, to hesitate meant certain death. “It has been over fifty years, but I would never forget her face.”

“She’s gone by another name now—though I suspect you knew that already. It just so happens, Shibaru Harigane has proven quite the obstacle to us as of recent. She’s resided in Chiba city for the last twenty years. Retired, and a widow. Two children, two grandchildren—she’s done pretty well for herself, and done a fine job at making it just look that way, too.”

“And you come to me with this why, exactly?”

Hakana coughed and dragged a finger down one cheek, exasperated. “Cast your mind back to Kyushu, 80s. A lot of juicy history there—no point playing dumb, either. Just let me weave my yarn a little longer. It was a pain to pull this together—” From another orb, he whisked into existence a bound ream of paper just to serve as a prop before he vanished it again— “But despite doctoring of the events on official records, my associates on the force down that way were able to pull together a paper trail that all leads back here. The Suǒ Clan wanted Shibaru Harigane dead. The fact she still lives so carefree is telling enough, a black mark on your record and, frankly, a bit of a joke.”

A vein in the old man’s forehead twitched. His lip curled. “Watch what you say when you know where you stand.”

“Intimidation won’t work against us, Suǒ Láozàn.” Gus growled, and the third eye on his forehead gave a sickly, fleshy twitch. “And I hope you’re learned enough not to follow through.”

“My question stands. Did you come here to gloat? Did you wade across an entire sea just to throw my family’s greatest embarrassment in my face?”

“Not so.” Gus grinned, and unsheathed a wicked, curved dagger from the clasp under his jacket. The metal of the Ascension Blade gleamed under the sparse office lighting. His third eye gleamed, and Láozàn stared within its depths, transfixed. “The Suǒ Clan are one of China’s most feared Triads. Hell, your influence reached as far as where I grew up in Detroit. But, like all other organisations, your ambitions have always been kept in check by the overarching rules of reality. All collectives, no matter how united, reach a critical mass in their spread and influence, beyond which they implode under the pressure.”

Gently, he bestowed the artefact to Suǒ Láozàn’s reverent, wrinkled hands. He traced a finger down the grooves in the surface, and admired the mirroring sheen.

“I came to offer not just a means of final closure,” Gus said, “but further opportunity for the sake of your Clan’s future.”