Wuxiapunk
Wuxiapunk - Non betaed, no proofreading. All mistakes are mine. Inspired by a small discussion about the Hong Kong slums, The Chungqing Mansions (I stayed in a guest house there a few years ago), the place's whole -punk feeling and the coining of the word 'Chinapunk'.
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The dirty corridors feel like a warm, comfortable hug around Guomei. She is home. The floor is her city, this block is her state, the building is her country.
She steps quickly towards The Guest House, The Chungqing Mansions whispering dirty secrets around her, hidden in the low hum of electricity and human voices.
The door she looked for is there, now painted green, the ever present New Year's red decoration hanging from it. Harmony, it said. Guomei looked around nervously. She wouldn't dare doing this if anyone was walking the corridors.
Her feet slid apart, her knees folding lightly. She felt her whole body aligning and raised her hands, palm up, towards her chest. She could feel her qi flowing towards her hands.
Exhaling, she moved her hands once more, palms now turned to the door in front of her and she heard a continuous clicking, which meant the door was unlocking.
With a small sigh the door opened itself to her; she stepped forward, hand inside her robes, searching for the envelope she was supposed to bring.
A fresh jiangshi was guarding the reception; really fresh, she didn' show any signs of decomposition. She was blueish-pale, her clothes hanging akwardly over her body and she looked bored, playing with the yellow fú hanging from her head. Guomei smiled, the small spell paper always reminded herself of her little sister and the little talisman prayers hanging from her window.
The noise Guomei made as she entered alerted the jiangshi, who moved her head towards the evermoving woman and screamed 'she's here', with a voice that came from the afterworld itself.
Guomei nodded, stopped in the middle of the reception and rearranged her clothes. With a deep breath she moved even deeper into The Guest House. As she walked, she could feel the temperature rising, it always made her smile.
A red door at the very end of the corridor marked the objective of Guomei's journey. She knocked and opened it, instinctively squinting as she prepared for the heat and the light.
"Master Zhurong." Guomei said, promptly kneeling, her right forearm resting against her right knee, her head down.
"Welcome back to the Jianghu, child. What message did you bring for me?"
"The contraband will be delivered tonight, as was the deal. Mr. Williams demands a meeting to arrange the next delivery."
"Laowai." Zhurong said, shaking his head. Guomei moved so she could watch him. She had to admit she enjoyed the difference between the man in the paintings over the walls and the man in front of her. The paintings portrayed a clean faced Zhurong, clad in an ancient ritual armor. He was always pictured brandishing his sword, riding a tiger, fire around him, his long hair arranged as the warriors of yore. The man in front of her wore a pinstriped 3 piece suit with a red tie; his hair was shorter, but looked shaggy and he let his goatee grow. His sword now rested by one side of his throne, the tiger alert, sitting on the other side.
Zhurong chose to embrace the modern world while some gods stayed behind, moaning and complaining about how they missed the old times, grumbling about how they thought Jianghu should be shaped after their desires.
The reality was that Jianghu changed, the world changed. And while the gods could keep their powers and a few pockets of magic around the world (the Guest House was an example of that), they couldn't stop the future, they couldn't stall progress.
That's how The God of Fire became a Hong Kong contrabandist. That's how against all odds and all rules, he chose a laowai as his protegé.
Guomei was proud of serving him. She was proud of living by the sword and being a hero in the modern Jianghu. She was thankful.
"Tonight I'll receive the cargo myself. You will come with me, Guomei. Armed. bring a shotgun. I don't like demanding middlemen. They should know their place." Zhurong turned, his hands playing with his goatee. "It's time to change things around here."
"Yes, sir!" Guomei answered, raising from the floor, smiling. It was time to start a war.
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The dirty corridors feel like a warm, comfortable hug around Guomei. She is home. The floor is her city, this block is her state, the building is her country.
She steps quickly towards The Guest House, The Chungqing Mansions whispering dirty secrets around her, hidden in the low hum of electricity and human voices.
The door she looked for is there, now painted green, the ever present New Year's red decoration hanging from it. Harmony, it said. Guomei looked around nervously. She wouldn't dare doing this if anyone was walking the corridors.
Her feet slid apart, her knees folding lightly. She felt her whole body aligning and raised her hands, palm up, towards her chest. She could feel her qi flowing towards her hands.
Exhaling, she moved her hands once more, palms now turned to the door in front of her and she heard a continuous clicking, which meant the door was unlocking.
With a small sigh the door opened itself to her; she stepped forward, hand inside her robes, searching for the envelope she was supposed to bring.
A fresh jiangshi was guarding the reception; really fresh, she didn' show any signs of decomposition. She was blueish-pale, her clothes hanging akwardly over her body and she looked bored, playing with the yellow fú hanging from her head. Guomei smiled, the small spell paper always reminded herself of her little sister and the little talisman prayers hanging from her window.
The noise Guomei made as she entered alerted the jiangshi, who moved her head towards the evermoving woman and screamed 'she's here', with a voice that came from the afterworld itself.
Guomei nodded, stopped in the middle of the reception and rearranged her clothes. With a deep breath she moved even deeper into The Guest House. As she walked, she could feel the temperature rising, it always made her smile.
A red door at the very end of the corridor marked the objective of Guomei's journey. She knocked and opened it, instinctively squinting as she prepared for the heat and the light.
"Master Zhurong." Guomei said, promptly kneeling, her right forearm resting against her right knee, her head down.
"Welcome back to the Jianghu, child. What message did you bring for me?"
"The contraband will be delivered tonight, as was the deal. Mr. Williams demands a meeting to arrange the next delivery."
"Laowai." Zhurong said, shaking his head. Guomei moved so she could watch him. She had to admit she enjoyed the difference between the man in the paintings over the walls and the man in front of her. The paintings portrayed a clean faced Zhurong, clad in an ancient ritual armor. He was always pictured brandishing his sword, riding a tiger, fire around him, his long hair arranged as the warriors of yore. The man in front of her wore a pinstriped 3 piece suit with a red tie; his hair was shorter, but looked shaggy and he let his goatee grow. His sword now rested by one side of his throne, the tiger alert, sitting on the other side.
Zhurong chose to embrace the modern world while some gods stayed behind, moaning and complaining about how they missed the old times, grumbling about how they thought Jianghu should be shaped after their desires.
The reality was that Jianghu changed, the world changed. And while the gods could keep their powers and a few pockets of magic around the world (the Guest House was an example of that), they couldn't stop the future, they couldn't stall progress.
That's how The God of Fire became a Hong Kong contrabandist. That's how against all odds and all rules, he chose a laowai as his protegé.
Guomei was proud of serving him. She was proud of living by the sword and being a hero in the modern Jianghu. She was thankful.
"Tonight I'll receive the cargo myself. You will come with me, Guomei. Armed. bring a shotgun. I don't like demanding middlemen. They should know their place." Zhurong turned, his hands playing with his goatee. "It's time to change things around here."
"Yes, sir!" Guomei answered, raising from the floor, smiling. It was time to start a war.
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