Hong Kong Young Writers Anthologies Fiction 2020 | Page 69

Hong Kong Young Writers Awards 2020
was a glowing spark; I felt a desire blooming: I did not care for my father’s pride, nor my
insubstantial name — I cared only that she was the one to call my name.
***
The revolving lantern hovered above me, releasing a powder of golden light on the snowy
parchment that lay on the golden mahogany desk; their folds released the scent of musk and
mothballs into the air. My fingertips lingered on the printed characters that spiralled their
way across the scrolls, their strokes bare and drifting, but with purpose.
My head fell forward into my hands — what folly have I landed myself into? I should
have left the glory to my brother. My mind was incapable of such feats as a perfect cure,
despite the countless tutors my father hired to light some intelligence in my witless brain.
I lit another cigarette; I watched the smoke spiral upwards with soulless eyes.
***
My nights with my girl left us wandering in Hong Kong’s empty, darkened streets in the
hour of early morning, where we drowned in the indulgence of alcohol and the flickering
haze of dreams. She asked me often for what lay in my pockets, to facilitate her research, she
said, and I willingly handed over the dollars that would give her the support to find a way to
give the villagers a new life.
She came to the pub one night, her cheeks were flushed with ardour and ecstasy. She took
her wine, and in the midst of soaked euphoria, she told me her findings — an equation that
would lead to the cure she found; but she needed money to procure the ingredients, and forge
an all-curing medication.
“I found it all,” she said, and cast onto the counter before us a piece of parchment. The
characters spun across the manuscript a thread of equilibrium among the treacherous sea of
innovation and medical studies. I felt within them the idea of creation — the world moving
forward —
“Of course I can give you money,” I responded swiftly, my heart hammering away — I felt
a sense of resistless dread mingled with breathless eagerness, and guilt weighed on my heart with
anticipation of what my mind compelled me to do — a dreaded act — a traitorous deed —
“Thank you,” she said languidly as I handed her the fee; amid her drunken haze of liquor,
as she wandered helplessly in the domains of smoky dreams, I folded the scroll shut, and
tucked it into my pocket.
***
The headlines blared the golden news — The champion of this year’s Youth Innovation and
Entrepreneurship Competition — The Son of Famed Businessman comes up with a Cure to Change the
World — How proud must Mr. Li Qian be to have a son equally as accomplished as he!
My normally placid father was moved to jubilance. His eye glinted with surprise and
pride as he bent his gaze upon me. My name was inscribed on the gold trophy. I was no
longer the insubstantial phantom that my father tried desperately to hide, who lurked in the
shadow of his brother’s success; my name was known all across Greater Bay Area.
In the months that followed, filled with bliss and merriment, there was only one flaw,
but it was a flaw that grew day by day. I wandered the empty streets still, but they offered
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