Hong Kong Young Writers Anthologies Fiction 2020complete | Page 476

and… such physical outdated methods. And cell phones! Too old, children nowadays don’t want to hear about
those.” Well, now it was all a matter of touches and the use of the standard digital currency. The Bay was all
about connectivity and progress now. It would be a burden to rely on such physical and primitive exchanges.
“It’s important to remember the roots of history. At least some culture from the original city was
preserved. I heard the Guanian Ancient Town remained mostly untouched.”
This century was thriving, there was no doubt of that. Imports, exports. The rise of new technologies,
attracting foreign talent… you name it.
He wanders to the ports, watching ancient container ships lie like tombstones by the harbour, memories
by the water, waiting silently. For what, no one seems to know. Next to them the aqua-spaceships, shining in
the simmering sun.
Nobody gives him a second glance. He is nothing but one in a crowd, lost in the wave of societal
forces. He can hear their thoughts, from the back of his mind, see their comments on social media, flick through
their entire online album and review their profiles…
The grinding never stops. Manufacturing machines are set to work, eco-friendly farms booming,
increased use of clean energy. The bridges linger, a symbol of the past physical connections, a little more. The
economic connections remained intact, the flow of capital and investment. It’s busy, it’s bustling, it’s exploding,
commotion. The Bay culture, that’s what they were calling it, like a trendy and modern fashion other economic
hubs were trying hard to replicate.
He’s lost, but not really; no one’s ever lost nowadays. If you don’t know where you are, the whole
world seems so much larger, he remembers. A wise quote, but no longer applicable, since location tracking
became widespread. He’d probably take the high-speed rail down the bay. There's the higher-end option too,
the car tube. Ever since the new transportation plan was implemented, well…
He blinks.
And witnesses today’s architecture along the skyline change, a new skyscraper morphing into the shape
of a spiral lantern. The new material was capable of such elegant and swift shifts, transforming the city horizon
each and every day. In the breaking sunset, the silhouette protrudes from the masses rushing below, a mere
glimpse of the potential technology to come.
And in the corner of his iris he spots a humble food gathering center, its old-fashioned luminescent
billboard shining in the gathering dark of the night. The crowd is gathering too, eager tourists and oldies alike
seeking the taste of authentic food - after all, everyone ate vitamin supplements and the newbies preferred the
taste stimulator. Siu mai from Hong Kong, a bowl of steaming wonton noodles, crispy buttery egg rolls and
creamy chilled egg tarts, the tantalising scent of delicacies tempting with an unknown sense of comfort.
The smell triggers his senses, a shared memory recalled from the back of his mind. He isn’t hungry - he
never is. But it smells of warmth. Of raw hunger. Inside the center, he watches the civilized wolf down their
treats, unsatisfied appetites and unfinished conversations unfolding all in a moment.
A light spring rain drizzles over the city. Chitter, chatter; Pitter, patter.
From beyond the window, he hears the hub bustling at night, firecrackers bursting. Inhaling, he smells
warmth. No one sleeps. The Bay comes alive, like a dragon from the depths of its slumber, the proud celebration
song pronounced in Cantonesia, and the growing cacophony of rapid exchanges of dialect as the people unite
over food.
It’s raining, pouring outside now.