Polluted Jianghu: 新年少鹏

You looked at the man with a company vest sprawled across the alleyway dubiously. Someone had kicked him out of the alleyway door. You turn to look at Flay, who doesn't seem bothered at all. "Is this normal?" you ask as the man groans softly.

"Eh, more or less," she replies, stepping over him. The three people, well, thugs, nod back at you as they walk past you to lift up the company man. You feel like you should do something but 1. He lost, 2. He's a corpo vampire, 3. You're pretty hungry and the siren call of cheap greasy food is stronger than the universal love for mankind. You follow the other two to the second floor, which is more like an internal balcony where you can look over the second floor.

Nobody takes a second look at you. It's not like you stand out, to be fair. Fei Dao's canvas skin and Flay's top of the line augmentics have cousins in every surly slash drunkenly cheery slash blackout intoxicated rentathug at the tables or at the bars.

You find your seats near the railing of the second floor and open the plastic menus.

You feel like… blood sausage. Dunno why. But you just do, buzzing in your orders from the pager on the table. Flay and Fei follow suit with shengjianbao and a cold cucumber sausage with the requisite beer, and in the end everyone agreed on a small rack of lamb skewers. "So," Fei Dao announced, slapping an envelope of money on the table. "Here's your pay. Divided three ways equally. Normally I'd just send you the money on Weixin but I never got your phone number. And you don't have a phone."

You slide it over to your side. "Thanks. Am I gonna have to pay for the food?"

"Yes."

"This world is cruel and nobody loves me," you mourn. There's no heat to the words. The congenial air of the inn dissolved any possible chance of that. Out of the corner of your eye you see a figure in a stark white raincoat walk in, standing out amongst the crowd.

Metal raps on plastic. Flay leans forward, blowing some locks out of her eyes. "Did you figure out who you are? I know Hong Erhu talked to you. Even offered you a job."

You shrug. "Nope. She did say that my kung fu was similar to this guy who took a shot at the Mengzhu position. Hengsha?"

"I don't recall it," Flay responds. "I was in Texas. Probably I was still a kid. Fei?"

"What's to say? Every once in a while someone tries to unify the Jianghu or some shit. There's always malsocialized musclebrains that read too much fiction who think they can take that shot. Sometimes they even manage to pay you." You read his expression. Bitterness and hiraeth and nostalgie wrapped up in one. "The food's here."

The waiter is a harried kid who probably learned qigong from dodging bottles. He puts the four dishes down and hurries away. You think you have to figure out who's who in the Mengzhu pretender list. Who knows. Maybe the Hengsha Pretender's your martial uncle.

There's a small ripple in the first floor. 'Ah, fuck,' you mutter to yourself. The Neo-Maoist in the van. You should have mentioned that to Hong. Sod it. It's too late, anyway. You buzz for another bottle.

"Sorry?" Fei Dao popped a fried dumpling in his mouth and swallowed it whole.

"Nah, don't worry about it." He doesn't look convinced, but he also doesn't really want to push, is the read you're getting. You pop open another bottle. At some point the first one went empty. "Hey, do you have an exhibition somewhere?"

Like that his eyes light up. "Yes! Yes I do, actually. I had my work featured in the Shanghai Conservatory during '86. Did you- oh, right, amnesia. I fucking set the internet on fire." He revelled in the controversy. Maybe that's why he tattooed himself all over. "They were at my doorstep. I had my DMs flooded with death threats."

"Geeze."

"Eh, don't worry about it. I send death threats back and usually they shut up."

"Usually?" you laugh. You suddenly remember that you hate beer. It's flat and all of it tastes like piss. You drink… you drank to be drunk, right. That's why there was only vodka and baijiu in your apartment. The point is, this pale Snow wasn't cutting the trick. Maybe you could try your luck with a craft beer. The blood sausage was good, though. "Did you actually fight someone?"

"Pasted him across the street, the scrub," Fei Dao confirmed, glee in his eyes. "Anyway, that's why nobody wants my work except for private clients. Like the Colored Wolf Pagoda. Pretty sure Si Fei just wants the statues to freak people out."

"That, and he's incapable of shit that looks pretty. Can't sculpt a flower if it's not growing in a skull." Flay interjected.

"It's how I stand out," he smiles as he pats his chest. "And coincidentally, it's a niche I like."

There was a clatter on the first floor. "Your niche," Flay continues, "is selling marble realdolls with a thin veneer of taste."

"Bad Dragon hasn't given me a sponsorship yet and I'm still mad about that. Waiter!" he calls at the harried looking kid carrying the dishes. "Where's our skewers?"

"I'll get them to you soon," he reassures Fei Dao, who shrugs and waves him on, continuing his easy, flowing conversation with Flay. It's hard to watch them, you think. You can't think of a way to butt in to their volleys of insult, jibe, retort and snark. Also your jaw still hurts so you take another draw from the bottle. At some point you blinked and there were four of them in front of you.

"I'm not leaving you out here, am I?" Flay breaks after a particularly withering repartee from Fei.

You salute them. "Nah. Feel free to carry on your amatur comedy routine."

"Maybe we should break into comedy. Do you feel drunk?" He looks at the rapidly growing collection of bottles at your arms. The waiter plops another one at your side of the table. You stare him in the eyes as you take a deep draft from the bottle. Wasn't Pabst some fancy European brand? Why did it taste like piss? "I'll take that as a no. Do you uh, do you need a place to sleep?"

"I'll find a hotel somewhere. Inconvenienced you enough." you say with only a slight slur in your voice. Or maybe that's just the ol' jaw complaining again.

"Suit yourself," Flay shrugs. "Hey, look. That kid is standing up to a Yak."

"There's yakuza here?" You follow her eyes. Yep. That's White Raincoat standing up to a guy in an outrageous pompadour and an equally white suit, heads and shoulders taller than her.

"Yeah, Kirisaki-rengo? They're on the outs, though. Everyone's eating their lunch."

"In-ter-es-ting," you drawl. You smell money to be made. You like money. Everyone who doesn't have it wants it. The suited yakuza is yelling something. 'Get the fuck out of my face, bitch. I don't know what you're talking about but I'll rearrange your face for you if you keep asking.' White Raincoat cocks their head and shifts their coat.

A ripple spreads through the gathering crowd of gawkers. The clientele shifts, waiting to see blood on the floor. "You want to grift them," Flay summarizes.

"Yep," you agree. The suited yakuza is feeling the weight of eyes on him. Back down now? He can't. Not if he wants to have a face by the end of this. "Don't you?"

White Raincoat sighs. In one move, she draws her sword, a fan of metal reflecting the LEDs. Your eyes follow it instinctively, turning circles in the air. A meaty, hollow thunk. White Raincoat broke the leg of the yakuza with her sheathe while nobody was looking. "I do," Flay admits. One metal talon turns circles on the table. "I had a plan lined up and everything but it's high risk. I have a living. I don't want to burn it."

"Hhuh." The yakuza falls to one knee, screaming all the while. There are cheers in the air as White Raincoat smashes the scabbard into his temple. "What was the plan?

Flay leaned in, gesturing at you to follow suit. Fei Dao took the chance to shout encouragement at White Raincoat, beginning to be surrounded by five of the yakuza's bodyguards. "Drive up tensions between the bosses. Start a gang war. When the Oyabun calls everyone in to talk it out, use the chance to raid their storehouses."

"I was following you until the last bit. Why that?" The floor descends into chaos.

"Simple. If tensions are high enough, everyone wants their top talent with them in case something impolite happens. Then-" she smashed her fist against their hand. "Boom. Lightning raid. We get a truck and drive around lifting everything of value."

"Do they have anything?"

"Sure. Cybernetics. Clones. Blackmail. Cold hard cash. Who knows? And, the best thing is," she raises one finger, "since Kirisaki-rengo is so fucked, they'll pay top dollar for talent who won't slack on the job. Only reason why they haven't is because Wu Manor- local Jianghu faction- is busy larping fighting the Japanese devils. I think their patriarch has sworn to personally fight anyone who helps the yakuza."

"Rip to them. I would win."

"That baseless confidence is amusing coming from a mummy. Still, this is a two person job. Fei won't do it because he's a chickenshit and also because he is extremely obvious."

"Rude and fuck you," Fei interjects.

"Troubled youth, go smoke a cigarette in a disaffected fashion and write your poetry. Now- I'm sorry, why're you here?"

White Raincoat is standing on the railing, sword in scabbard. "I, righteous amongst mankind-"

"Did you get that out of a movie?" Fei Dao asks, finishing his beer.

"Criminals should shut the fuck up," she says. It's definitely a young-ish woman under the mask and the hooded raincoat. "I demand to know what you want to do to render aid to the Kirisaki-rengo!"

[1.1] {Harmonious Society} "Nothing. Would you like a drink?"
[1.1] {Wrathful Manifestation} "I dunno. Violence? Workshopping it."
[1.1] {Chase the Red Sun} "We are planning a people's struggle against the Japanese imperialists."