I often drive that beat-up old taxi, parking it outside the women’s prison, waiting for the women released from within.

Those with no family, no one to meet them, and who weren’t bad-looking—those were my cargo.

All it took was a little kindness, and they would cling to me like a lifeline, thanking me a thousand times over.

Outside the iron gates of the prison stood a woman.

Her shirt was washed pale, her hair coiled into a bun at the back of her head.

Plain clothes could not hide the curve of her waist.

I sat in the taxi, eyes crawling over her through the window.

Planes from the old airport skimmed past the rooftops, rumbling loudly. The woman shrank back slightly, like a startled sparrow.

Across the road, neon signs lit up one by one, dyeing her shadow in a rainbow of colors.

A fire ignited in my chest. I started the car and drove over.

Rolling down the window, I put on the smile I had practiced a thousand times.

“Miss, I’m a volunteer with the Ganglong Women’s Progressive Association. We help released sisters get back on their feet.”

“Would you like some help?”

I handed her a card with gold-embossed characters: Volunteer, Ganglong Women’s Progressive Association, Lei Sheng.

The woman took the card, and the wariness in her eyes softened a little.

After a moment’s hesitation, she opened the door and got in.

A clean scent of soap and sweat drifted over, making my skin prickle with anticipation.

The fish had bitten.

Making small talk along the way, I learned the woman’s name.

Ji Sang, twenty-five years old, had served six years for taking the fall for someone else’s theft charge.

I sneered inwardly. Just as I expected.

Women with looks like hers usually ended up inside for theft, fraud, or taking the fall for someone else.

Once they got out, their parents disowned them, their sisters kept their distance, and their eyes were full of confusion.

I was the first person to smile at them—their only lifeline.

That was why they got into my car so easily.

Ji Sang was the fifth woman to get into my car. And the prettiest.

Ji Sang was quiet. When I told jokes, she would press her lips together and smile, her eyes as clean as if she had never stepped outside a deep alley.

I parked the car at a dai pai dong on Temple Street and treated her to a bowl of roast goose rice noodles with two fish balls. It barely cost anything.

Ji Sang ate slowly, even picking up noodles that fell on the table to eat them.

The dai pai dong’s exhaust fan whirred, and flames from the wok flickered up, casting alternating light and shadow across her face.

Women who had done time all ate like this at their first meal outside—they would do anything to avoid going back.

Because of that, even if I was rough with them, they wouldn’t dare go to the police.

After dinner, neon lights began to glow one by one.

I told her I had a spare room, invited her to stay the night, and said I’d help her find a job the next day.

Ji Sang agreed.

I lived on the fourth floor of a tong lau building in the Sham Shui Po direction.

Actually, strip away the volunteer façade, and I was nothing but the lowest kind of hustler.

No money, too lazy for honest work. The only thing of value on me was that old taxi, older than I was.

Short, ordinary-looking—I could barely even get a wife.

But with this racket, every woman I’d slept with had been at least somewhat attractive.

If Ji Sang hadn’t been to prison, she wouldn’t have given me the time of day on the street.

But now she hadn’t just gotten into my beat-up taxi—she’d followed me back to this tiny partitioned room.

I had all kinds of ways to make her climb into my bed of her own accord, then wag her tail at me like a bitch in heat.

Just as we reached the stairwell, a white blur darted around the corner and lunged at Ji Sang.

She screamed. The Pekingese tore a rip in the leg of her pants.

She ducked behind me, and I kicked the dog away.

Heavy footsteps thundered down the stairs. A fat woman with a perm gathered the dog into her arms and started yelling:

“You kicked my Lucky? You think I won’t have you thrown out on your ear today?”

The woman was Third Aunt, my landlady. I didn’t dare talk back to her.

I put on a smile:

“Third Aunt, I wouldn’t dare kick your Lucky. It’s just that he lunges at strangers—if he bites someone, it won’t look good…”

“If he bites you, I’ll pay your damn hospital bills! You touch one hair on Lucky’s body, and I’ll end you!”

Her eyes rolled over Ji Sang’s body, and she spat on the ground.

“And stop bringing shady women like her around. I don’t want the dirt.”

Third Aunt hugged Lucky and waddled back downstairs.

I gave an awkward laugh and led Ji Sang upstairs.

The place was old, but I’d put up floral curtains and set out an old record player.

I found a set of clean pajamas and pointed toward the inner room:

“Go take a shower first, wash off the bad luck. You can sleep in there tonight.”

Ji Sang thanked me, hugged the clothes, and went into the tiny shower room partitioned off with wooden planks.

I wound up the record player, put on an old-fashioned tune, dimmed the lights, and chilled two beers.

Women who’d been locked up couldn’t resist this kind of softness. It worked every time.

Before long, the shower door opened.

Ji Sang, fresh from the shower, took my breath away.

I’d picked out those pajamas carefully—tight, silky, they outlined every curve of her body.

In the dim yellow light, her skin was so white it dazzled the eye.

She sat down beside me and gave a shy smile.

The scent of soap, of floral water, mixed with the warm fragrance of her body, made my throat go dry.

I raised my bottle toward her:

“To your new life.”

That night, Ji Sang said she wasn’t feeling well and declined my drink.

I wasn’t in a hurry. The fish was already in the net—it was just a matter of time.

Early the next morning, a heart-wrenching howl woke me up.

I slipped on my slippers and went downstairs to watch the spectacle.

Third Aunt was slumped at the stairwell, wailing.

Her Lucky had been skinned. Its bloody carcass hung neatly from her door knocker.

The pelt was nowhere to be found.

Third Aunt’s eyes rolled back and she fainted. The neighbors carried her to the hospital.

Onlookers murmured: “That skinning technique is too clean. Must be a siu laap master…”

Siu laap…

Somehow, I thought of the ginger Ji Sang had sliced in the kitchen that morning—each piece perfectly even in thickness.

When I turned around, she was already heading upstairs.

Her back slowly vanished into the dark stairwell.

That afternoon, I took Ji Sang out to buy a few floral blouses, some face cream, and a wooden comb.

When we got back, she was clearly more affectionate toward me. Her arm brushed against mine as we walked, and each brush felt like a spark landing on dry tinder.

I knew I was close.

Just as I stepped inside, there was a knock at the door.

Snake Boy lived across the hall—a small-time triad. He grinned and squeezed his way in:

“Lei Ge, I’ve got a few dishes ready at my place. Come over for a drink.”

I sneered inwardly. Snake Boy was stingy as hell—he definitely had an angle.

I was about to refuse when he lowered his voice:

“I think I know who skinned Third Aunt’s dog. Come over, and I’ll tell you all about it.”

A chill went through me, and I found myself following him, as if in a trance.

He really had gone all out—four dishes on the table. He opened a bottle of baijiu and toasted me repeatedly:

“Lei Ge, the women you bring home just keep getting better-looking. I’m impressed, man.”

His flattery had me smiling, and I drank cup after cup. Soon my vision started doubling.

Snake Boy leaned in, oily smile on his face: “Lei Ge, where do you find these women? So hot and obedient—even the wife I bought back home isn’t this good.”

I snorted. Finally I knew what he was after. If I taught him everything, what would I eat?

I put a finger to my lips and shook my head.

“This is how I make my living. You can’t learn it.”

Snake Boy didn’t get mad. He just kept flattering me.

At my age, no one had ever buttered me up like this. I drank more and more, and soon everything was spinning.

But I didn’t forget to ask who had skinned the dog.

Snake Boy’s voice was slurred:

“Last night, around two or three, I heard your door open. Half an hour later, it closed again.”

“The dog—your woman skinned it.”

I wanted to argue, but then I thought of that knife work, of that perfectly skinned dog pelt.

Snake Boy snickered:

“That woman’s done time, right? I did time at Tai Lam too. I could tell at a glance.”

“Prison cells are small. One step is exactly one brick wide. Her steps—they’re exactly one brick apart.”

“I’ve been inside. I know what it’s like. You think if I told her I know all about the dog, and then did a little something to her—would she dare go to the cops?”

I tried desperately to stand up, but I crashed heavily to the floor.

Everything went black. I knew nothing more.

When I opened my eyes again, I was in my own bed.

Oh no!

Ignoring my throbbing hangover headache, I jumped out of bed and rushed out of the room.

Ji Sang looked just as she had the day before, wearing a cloth apron, puttering around the kitchen with side dishes.

I grabbed her arm. “Did Snake Boy do anything to you last night?”

Ji Sang shook her head, confused. “No, he helped you back and then left.”

I stared at her for a long moment before letting out a breath of relief.

Today she had made a plate of honey glazed char siu.

The decorative cuts on each slice were identical in depth and length, as if measured with a ruler.

For a moment, Snake Boy’s words from the night before came back to me. I glanced at her sidelong; her expression was innocent.

Right after we finished eating, Uncle Ho sent someone with a message. As I left, I glanced across the hall—Snake Boy’s flip-flops weren’t by the door.

I didn’t think much of it. I got in the car and drove to the container yard.

Uncle Ho was the one who’d shown me the ropes—this whole racket was his idea. We’d pick up the women, sweet-talk them, get bored of them, then send them to him.

Those women would be packed into containers, hoisted onto cargo ships, and sold to Southeast Asia—“pigs,” as they called them in the trade.

Uncle Ho said these women with no family were just weeds by the roadside, and getting rid of them was a public service.

After each woman was sold, he’d cut me a share. Others blew their money at mahjong parlors and gambling dens, but I put mine in the bank, dreaming of buying my own tong lau apartment in Ganglong.

At the back of the container warehouse, Uncle Ho asked: “You made your move yet?” Seeing my sheepish look, he laughed and punched my shoulder, then tossed me a small paper packet.

“Date rape drug. Slip it in her drink, and she’ll be out like a light!”

I pushed the packet back. “Thanks, Uncle Ho. I want her to come to me of her own free will.”

Uncle Ho gave a thumbs-up. The jade thumb ring on his finger glinted.

“Good man. But hurry—the Nanyang ship schedule won’t wait. Take her tonight, have your fun for a few days, then bring her to me.”

On the drive back, my heart felt heavy. Truth be told, I kind of liked Ji Sang.

But people who crossed Uncle Ho always ended up at the bottom of the sea. I didn’t want to die, so she would have to.

When I got to the building, my stomach dropped.

My partitioned room faced north—you had to turn on the light even during the day. But right now, the window was pitch black.

Had Ji Sang run away?

I bounded up the stairs three at a time, pulled out my key, and unlocked the door.

The moment the light came on, the sight inside made me scream.

Ji Sang sat in a chair, her clothes disheveled.

Snake Boy lay in a pool of blood, a pair of scissors buried in his chest, his wide eyes staring straight at me.

Ji Sang wiped at her tears. “Not long after you left, he knocked on the door, said he needed matches. As soon as he got in, he threw me onto the bed and said if I dared go to the police, he’d shout all over the street that I’d been to prison.”

“I said no, I fought back. He got angry, dragged me to the floor, and kicked me. Dazed, I felt a pair of scissors on the table, and I… I drove them into his chest…”

Ji Sang cried beautifully, and my fear was washed away by a surge of anger. That bastard Snake Boy—he deserved to die!

But then I looked at the body on the floor, and my heart went cold again.

She’d barely gotten out of prison and already there was a death. The police would have her under a microscope. If she just vanished like this, I couldn’t deliver the goods to Uncle Ho…

At the thought, I shuddered violently.

Ji Sang’s soft hand climbed to my chest. “Please help me. I don’t want to go back inside. If you help me, I’ll do anything you want…”

She rested her head on my lap. “He’s just a lowlife. No one will care if he’s gone. Lei Ge, you’re the only man I can count on now…”

As she spoke, her warm breath fanned across my leg.

I looked down at her small, helpless form, leaned over, and kissed her hard.

I bought a thick-backed cleaver from a secondhand stall and returned home with a large bag of supplies.

Ji Sang said that when she worked in the prison kitchen, she’d learned a thing or two about “cleaning up the leftovers.”

I just had to help out, and she could handle the body all by herself, nice and clean.

She spread a canvas across the kitchen floor and laid out knives of all sizes in a neat row.

Her black hair was coiled into a bun. She wore an apron and rubber gloves.

For a moment, I felt dazed.

Ji Sang didn’t look like she was dismembering a body—she looked like she was prepping ingredients at a siu laap stall.

I helped her drag Snake Boy’s body onto the canvas.

She handed me a bowl of white, bubbling liquid.

“Lye water. Mixed with dish soap.”

She winked, smiled at me, then closed the kitchen door.

Her method worked. I scrubbed every last trace of blood from the floorboards.

Through the frosted glass, I could see the steady rhythm of her knife work, precise and methodical—but completely silent.

Just two days after picking up Ji Sang, I’d become an accomplice to dismemberment. She was like a flower growing in the mud—before I could even reach down to pluck it, I’d already sunk into the mire myself.

Suddenly, as if pricked by a needle, I jolted awake.

Those scissors—they were kept in the bottom drawer of her room. How would she have found them in the living room?

And Uncle Ho had taught me: the sternum protects the heart. You had to find the gap between the bones and drive the blade in just right to kill with one strike.

Those scissors were blunt, too. Could a woman like Ji Sang, in a panic, really have driven them straight into Snake Boy’s heart?

The more I thought about it, the colder I felt. Had Ji Sang really gone to prison just for taking the fall? I’d never really known her at all.

With a creak, the kitchen door opened. Ji Sang stepped out in those pajamas and crooked a finger at me, smiling.

Through the half-open door, all that was visible inside was a neat stack of burlap sacks in the corner. The canvas, apron, knives—all washed clean, folded square.

It looked exactly like the kitchen after she’d finished dinner. Clean, tidy, orderly.

A chill crawled up my spine. I fled back to my room.

When I woke up the next day, Ji Sang had already made breakfast. She stood by the table in her apron, waiting for me.

On the table: a plate of honey glazed char siu, a bowl of congee. The sweet aroma filled the air.

“There was leftover pork shoulder last night. I roasted it into char siu. It’s my specialty.”

The char siu was perfectly roasted—glistening with honey, with just the right amount of char at the edges.

I took two bites. “What about the body? Should I carry a couple bags out tonight and dump them?”

Ji Sang shook her head. “No need to dump them. I’ll take care of it. Don’t worry—I’ve already disposed of one bag.”

“How did you…”

Something hit me all at once. I shot to my feet and stared fixedly at the plate of char siu before me.

The pork shoulder on that plate… was it really all pork shoulder?

Ji Sang looked at me, her voice still soft:

“What’s wrong? Doesn’t it taste good? I brushed on honey three times, and used rose wine to bring out the aroma.”

My stomach roiled. I clawed at my throat and vomited until there was nothing left.

Ji Sang walked over, pushed me to the ground, put one foot on my chest, and used the tip of a knife to pry open my shirt:

“Since you won’t eat it, I guess I’ll just have to stuff it inside you.”

The knife tip sliced open my belly—

I snapped my eyes open and bolted upright in bed, my shirt soaked through with cold sweat.

I fumbled for my watch on the nightstand: one in the morning. With shaking hands, I called Uncle Ho: “Tomorrow morning, I’ll bring her over.”

The reply came quickly: “You little shit, you pull up your pants and forget everything. Tomorrow at noon, bring her on time.”

I got up and stepped out of my room. That sweet scent hit me again. Ji Sang stood by the table, smiling at me.

On the table, sure enough, was a plate of honey glazed char siu. The dream from last night surfaced, and my throat tightened.

I pulled Ji Sang toward the door. “We’re eating out today.”

She took off her apron, folded it neatly, and covered the plate with a damp cloth. “It’ll still be good tonight. Don’t let it go to waste.”

I sneered inwardly. You won’t be eating tonight.

I got in the car and drove her toward the container yard. This job would pay big. With the money, I’d finally have a place of my own. The closer we got, the lighter I felt, and I even started humming a tune.

Suddenly, Ji Sang said out of nowhere:

“It’s such a shame you didn’t eat that char siu.”

I glanced at her in surprise, slammed on the gas, and the car roared into the container yard.

Uncle Ho sauntered out with two underlings. When he saw Ji Sang, his eyes lit up and he gave me a thumbs-up.

I forced a dry laugh. “This is the person in charge of the association. Just go with him.”

Ji Sang nodded and followed the two men into a hidden container. The women who’d been taken into that container before—I never saw any of them again.

Uncle Ho grinned. “This one’s really something. The others all figured it out by this point—crying, screaming, trying to run. This one just walks right in like it’s nothing.”

I tried to agree, but I couldn’t make myself smile. The image of Ji Sang handling Snake Boy was still burned into my mind.

Uncle Ho teased: “What’s the matter, softie? You actually catch feelings? You had the same look with the last one.”

At those words, a face floated before my eyes, and my heart sank.

Uncle Ho slapped a bulging brown paper envelope into my arms. “Don’t think of them as people. Think of them as livestock.”

I squeezed the envelope, and that flicker of guilt vanished.

After thanking Uncle Ho, I headed straight for the real estate agent’s office. This, plus my savings, was just enough for the down payment on a small apartment.

After signing the deed, I found a dai pai dong and drank my fill. No big deal. For the renovation money, I’d just reel in a few more women. Cost nothing, profit everything.

By the time I finished drinking, it was pitch black outside. I drove home, planning to dispose of some of Snake Boy’s leftovers under cover of night.

But the moment I stepped onto the stairs, I froze.

A thread of dim yellow light seeped out from under the door.

I clearly remembered turning off the light before I left.

I crept to the door and pressed my ear against it.

Inside, dead silence. Not a sound.

I had just pulled out my key when the door, barely touched, swung open.

In the kitchen light, Ji Sang stood by the table wearing that little floral apron, smiling at me.

I rubbed my eyes hard and slapped myself across the face before I realized this wasn’t a dream.

Ji Sang smiled, came over to close the door, and led me to sit at the table.

“You’re back so late. You must be hungry.”

“How did you get back?”

She smiled faintly.

“Is it strange that I’m back?”

“Did… did they let you come back?”

Ji Sang nodded and slowly picked up a piece of char siu with her chopsticks for me.

“I told them I wanted to come back and stay with you, and they let me go.”

I stared at her fixedly. She was lying. Uncle Ho would never let anyone go that easily. Everyone there was a killer.

Even if she’d somehow escaped, why would she come back to me—the man who’d pushed her into that hell?

Seeing that I didn’t move, Ji Sang pushed the plate of char siu closer to me.

“Honey glazed char siu—my specialty. You didn’t eat the one this morning. You have to try this one.”

“This time, I used different ingredients.”

She set the chopsticks by my hand and looked at me expectantly.

The char siu was glistening, honey dripping down the grain of the meat, its sweet aroma curling up into my nose layer by layer.

Such an enticing plate of char siu—and yet I had no appetite at all.

I impatiently pushed the chopsticks away and was about to demand what she was really after, when my eye caught the bottom of the plate.

In the thick, dark sauce, something rested at the bottom.

Greenish. Small.

I leaned in for a closer look—a jade thumb ring.

On the inner rim of the ring, a thread of dark red flesh clung.

I’d seen that ring before.

It was on Uncle Ho’s thumb.

My throat worked. Trembling, I looked at the table.

Several plates, all holding the same honey glazed char siu.

I would have bet my life that none of the meat on those plates was pork shoulder!

I turned around, shaking, and saw that where the cupboard used to be, two large earthenware vats stood, half as tall as a man.

I couldn’t hold it together any longer. I screamed and ran for the door.

The door was locked from the inside.

Footsteps sounded. Ji Sang walked toward me, unhurried.

“Why run? Don’t you like my char siu? I remember you love sweet things.”

My legs turned to jelly. I pressed my back against the door and shouted at her in despair:

“Who are you, really?!”

Ji Sang didn’t answer. She came over and had me tied up in no time, bound to the chair at the table.

She picked up a piece of char siu with her chopsticks, her voice cold as well water.

“Do you… remember Ah Zhen?”

The name hit me like a thunderclap, exploding in my skull.

Ah Zhen had been the first woman I’d picked up this way.

She was naive, tricked by a relative into taking the fall for a debt, and ended up in prison. She was easy to win over. I’d show her a little kindness, and she’d pour her heart out, even saying she’d marry me and have my children.

She was good with her hands. Her specialty was honey glazed char siu.

But I was just playing around. What man would marry a woman who’d been to prison? After fooling around for a good long while, I sent her to Uncle Ho.

I still remembered her heart-rending scream as they dragged her into the container. But after I got the money, I soon forgot all about her. The only thing I remembered was the sweetness of that char siu.

That bitch—I thought she had no family. How could there still be someone to avenge her?

I quickly put on a pitiful face:

“What happened to Ah Zhen really wasn’t my fault. I was just following orders. I had no choice.”

“You’re her sister, right? For her sake—since she liked me—let me go?”

Ji Sang laughed. I’d never seen her laugh like that.

“Alright. I’ll give you one chance.”

I breathed a quiet sigh of relief.

Good. She was just as easy to fool as that fool Ah Zhen.

But what Ji Sang said next froze the blood in my veins.

“I was the one who taught Ah Zhen how to make char siu.”

“She told me she wanted to make char siu for the man she loved, for her whole life.”

“So I’m going to fulfill that wish for her.”

Ji Sang finished speaking and turned her gaze to the two large earthenware vats.

In my desperate stare, she pried open my mouth.

The chopstick of char siu, with its cloying sweet aroma, slowly drew nearer.

My name is Ji Sang.

My mother gave me this name.

She said that mulberry trees always grow toward the sun, no matter where they are. And people, even when trampled into the mud, should still hold their heads up and live.

My mother was barely more than a girl when her family half-sold, half-married her off to my father. She always said that when I grew up, she’d save up enough money to send me to night school.

She’d never learned to read herself, so she traced the characters from the account books one by one, teaching me by lamplight at night.

She said, Ah Sang, once you know how to read, no one can blindfold you and lead you around by the nose.

But she never lived to see that day.

When I was six, she was beaten to death by my father while he was drunk.

All because he’d heard some gossip at the dai pai dong: if you can’t have a son, it’s the woman’s fault.

My father was a siu laap master. His knife skills were excellent.

He cleaned up my mother’s body with remarkable ease.

Then with a flippant “My wife ran off with another man,” he erased the last trace of my mother’s existence in this world.

But there was one place he couldn’t erase, couldn’t clean away.

And that was in my heart.

When he “cleaned up” my mother, he tied me to the chopping block.

He taped my eyelids open and forced me to watch as my mother was turned, piece by piece, into a pile of minced meat.

He said I had to be good from then on, or he’d do the same to me.

I didn’t cry. I didn’t shed a single tear.

I remembered what my mother had said:

Ah Sang, it’s never too late to do what you set your mind to.

So I learned siu laap from my father for twelve years. Twelve years to make him let his guard down.

On the winter solstice the year I turned eighteen, I turned him into a furnace of char siu and set it before my mother’s spirit tablet.

After leaving my hometown, with my siu laap skills, I got a job at a roasted meat shop.

The boss, seeing I was just a girl, started getting handsy. One night he snuck into my room.

I chopped off both his hands, boned them, braised them until tender, and stuffed them back into his mouth.

Someone called the police. I was sentenced to six years.

Ganglong Women’s Prison was different from the outside world.

Without the kitchen knife that had been my companion for twelve years, I couldn’t beat the prison bullies who picked on newcomers.

My first day inside, because I refused to bow my head, I was beaten black and blue.

I huddled in the farthest bunk. Then a hand, covered in scars, reached toward me.

The palm opened, and in it lay half a tube of medicated balm.

I opened my eyes and met a pair of bright, sparkling eyes.

“Use this on your wounds. It reduces swelling. If they get infected, it gets complicated.”

The girl was small, with big eyes and two dimples when she smiled.

Later, I learned her name: Ah Zhen.

Ah Zhen had barely gone to school. She’d gone out to work, been tricked by a relative into taking on a gambling debt, and when she couldn’t pay, was sentenced to five years.

Short, with no connections, she was at the very bottom of the prison hierarchy.

After I arrived, the bullies’ target switched from Ah Zhen to me.

As Ah Zhen rubbed the balm into my wounds, she clicked her tongue.

“The more stubborn you are, the harder they hit you. Just bow your head and say you’re sorry. You’ll get beaten a lot less.”

“Honest, it’s kind of funny. My dad used to beat me all the time at home. When I got here, I realized they don’t even hit as hard as he did.”

“Haha…”

As she said it, she actually laughed quietly.

The balm was spicy-hot. It burned when she rubbed it in, but the pain lessened a lot.

“Why are you helping me?”

I stared at her coldly.

I didn’t believe in unprovoked hatred, and I believed even less in unprovoked kindness.

Ah Zhen carefully put away the balm and looked at me deeply.

“You remind me of my older sister.”

“She wouldn’t listen to our father. Refused to marry an old man. He beat her to death.”

“I don’t want to see you beaten to death too.”

With that, she scurried away like a little mouse.

Ah Zhen taught me many things: how to get on the bullies’ good side, how to curl up to minimize damage when you get beaten.

I took her advice, and my injuries grew fewer by the day. Every day during yard time, I trained my body like a woman possessed.

Ah Zhen would always squat nearby, resting her chin on her hands, watching me.

“Ah Sang, isn’t it a little late to start training? How long will it take before you can beat them?”

I gasped for breath and gave her two words:

“Not late.”

If I could spend twelve years avenging my mother, I could spend a few more years paying back every beating I’d taken here.

Finally, one day, I took down all those prison bullies single-handedly.

Afterward, I became the new prison boss.

Ah Zhen followed behind me like a shadow, walking proud as anything.

Her back was straighter now, and there was light in her eyes.

Later, the warden found out I knew siu laap and transferred me to work in the kitchen.

That day, every inmate got an extra two bowls of rice.

That night, Ah Zhen hugged me tight, her eyes sparkling, practically salivating.

“Ah Sang, the honey glazed char siu you made today—you have to teach me someday! It was so good!”

She’d gotten there a year before me, so she’d be released two years earlier.

I lay on the widest bunk, smiled, and stroked her hair.

“When I get out, we’ll live together. I’ll make you char siu every day.”

That night, Ah Zhen was too excited to sleep. She counted on her fingers, planning and replanning their future life again and again.

She said she’d go out first and work for two years—washing dishes at a dai pai dong, or helping out in a restaurant kitchen—save up money, and when I got out, they’d open a little siu laap stall together.

The stall didn’t have to be big. Just one furnace, one chopping block. I’d roast the char siu in the back, and she’d cut portions and take money up front.

For the char siu, you had to pick pork shoulder with just the right fat-to-lean ratio. Brush on honey three times. Watch the oven temperature for a full hour. Roast until the edges charred and the honey glaze turned translucent—then it was ready.

When they made big money, they’d buy an apartment with a veranda, so they wouldn’t have to bring in the laundry when it rained. They’d live together forever.

As she counted and counted, her voice grew quieter. Then she suddenly asked: “Ah Sang, do you think people like us really deserve a life like that?”

I said yes. You deserve it. I deserve it.

Before then, I’d never thought about my own future. Now that someone had carefully planned me into theirs, it didn’t seem so bad.

That night, I couldn’t sleep either.

Time flew by. One morning, Ah Zhen was led out of the prison in tears.

She said she’d definitely wait for me.

After she got out, Ah Zhen came to visit me often.

She said she’d met kind people from the Women’s Progressive Association, who gave her free room and board.

I told her to be careful, not to get tricked again.

She thumped her chest and promised me that the man seemed honest as could be, that he’d never trick her.

The next time Ah Zhen visited, she asked me to teach her how to make honey glazed char siu.

She said the man helping her liked sweet things, and she wanted to make it for him.

Ah Zhen’s face was flushed. The look in her eyes was something I’d never seen before.

After that, until the day I was released, Ah Zhen never came to visit again.

I didn’t blame her. I just wanted to see if she was doing okay. But no matter how hard I looked, I couldn’t find any trace of her.

She was like a wisp of smoke drifting past a siu laap stall—one gust of wind, and she was gone.

I asked at every siu laap stall on Temple Street. I searched every restaurant where she’d said she wanted to work. No one had heard her name.

Then I found someone from the association that Ah Zhen had mentioned. The moment I brought up Ah Zhen’s name, his face changed.

I struck first, knocking him out and tying him up. By the time I’d sliced off the eighth piece of flesh from his body, he’d told me everything.

Ah Zhen was dead. She’d died after unspeakable suffering.

The man who’d picked her up from prison was named Lei Sheng.

I dressed up and waited at the women’s prison before Lei Sheng arrived to “pick up his prey.”

Six years in prison had taught me how to hide the ferocity in my eyes. An hour later, his taxi arrived.

When I got in the car, I caught the cold smirk at the corner of his mouth. But he had no idea of the raging fire burning in my chest.

When we reached his place, I met Third Aunt and her dog.

Ah Zhen had told me about them when she was alive. She hated them.

Third Aunt always called her a cheap slut, and that Pekingese had torn her favorite dress more than once.

That night, I went downstairs and skinned the dog. A perfect, intact pelt—off in just a few minutes. The bloody carcass I hung neatly on Third Aunt’s door knocker.

The next day, Third Aunt was so terrified she had to be taken to the hospital.

I deliberately went downstairs to admire my handiwork, but the triad from across the hall noticed me. I knew he’d guessed who I was, and I knew what he’d try next.

That night, that Snake Boy character brought the dead-drunk Lei Sheng back and immediately lunged at me.

I dodged sideways and chopped him unconscious with a single hand strike.

I had Snake Boy tied up and returned to his own room. I didn’t want to kill the innocent.

The next day, after Lei Sheng left, I brought some water and food into Snake Boy’s room.

I wanted him to keep quiet until I was done with my business, and then I’d let him go.

But he just glared and threatened me.

Snake Boy said he’d killed before. He’d raped a middle school girl, beaten her to death, and buried her body in the woods on the hillside. The police still hadn’t found her.

He was sure I wouldn’t dare kill him. He wanted me to submit to him, or he’d finish me off.

He laughed triumphantly, thinking I was scared. But what I was thinking was—how to kill him without making Lei Sheng suspicious.

In the end, I found a pair of scissors and drove them into Snake Boy’s chest, to his disbelieving eyes.

I staged the scene to look like he’d attacked me and I’d killed him in self-defense. When Lei Sheng came back, sure enough, he didn’t call the police—he even helped me dispose of the body.

But he was clearly frightened by my handiwork. First thing the next morning, he tried to get rid of me.

At the container yard, they led me into an old shipping container. The walls were covered in scratch marks, and the word “HELP” was scrawled countless times in blood.

In the corner, I saw a line of scrawled small characters.

[Ah Sang, I’m sorry.]

I bit down so hard I nearly drew blood, just to keep the tears from falling.

I wiped the words “I’m sorry” away bit by bit, and over them, I wrote two new characters, stroke by stroke.

[Ah Zhen.]

Biting my fingertip open, I drew a heart between the two names.

With a clang, the container door was thrown open.

Uncle Ho walked in with several men, leering.

I let the tears stream down my face, stood up, and walked toward them.

In their mocking gazes, the first man’s throat was slit. They never dreamed I had a knife hidden on my body.

Soon, all of them lay on the ground. Blood pooled everywhere.

I thought: this was the best offering for all the women who’d been in that container.

The place was remote, and I had all the time in the world. Unhurried, I dismembered the bodies and packed them into burlap sacks.

Start the fire, heat the oven, brush on the honey.

Using the ingredients in the warehouse, following the method I’d taught Ah Zhen, I roasted several plates of honey glazed char siu for Lei Sheng.

When they were done, I cleaned up the kitchen and stood quietly by the table, waiting for him to come home.

Just the way Ah Zhen once waited for him.

I would fulfill Ah Zhen’s wish for her. In this house, I would keep making char siu for Lei Sheng.

Forever and ever.

One month later.

I gently removed the chains from Lei Sheng’s wrists and ankles and helped him up from the bed.

The moment he leaned against me, I swayed slightly under his weight.

In this month, he’d gained quite a bit of weight.

His lips were red, his cheeks round and plump.

Only his eyes grew cloudier day by day.

As soon as he sat at the table, Lei Sheng wore that vacant smile.

He dropped his chopsticks and grabbed the char siu from the plate with his bare hands, shoveling it into his mouth.

Honey mixed with saliva dripped down the corners of his mouth, everywhere.

In the blink of an eye, he’d eaten all the char siu on several plates clean.

Then he threw a tantrum, smashing plate after plate, and finally just rolled around on the floor.

“I want more! I’m still hungry!”

Above the din, I heard police whistles from downstairs, growing closer.

And I heard planes from the old airport skimming past the rooftop, rumbling, making the shattered porcelain on the floor buzz and rattle.

So they’ve come. A little earlier than I expected.

I glanced at Lei Sheng, howling and rolling in the wreckage, and the corners of my mouth slowly curled upward.

Ah Zhen, can you see?

The char siu you never got to make for him—I made it for you.

The life you never got to live—I’ve reclaimed it for you.

It doesn’t matter. I’ve already chopped enough char siu.

I sat down gently in the chair by the table, closed my eyes, and quietly waited for the footsteps to climb the stairs.

（The End）