Hong Kong Young Writers Anthologies Fiction Group 3 - 2017 | Page 3

A Tale from Old Shanghai
British International School, Shanghai, Puxi (BISS Puxi), Hoon Yoon, Yeo - 11
I
t was a blistering sunny day. Brian enthusiastically wondered around the busy walkway of Shanghai, still getting
used to the chaos around him. His body was tired from the late arrival yesterday, determined to experience
Shanghainese tranquility in his new home. However, his head said otherwise. He acquiesced to his own demands,
and decided to circle this town. He had come against will, but honestly was starting to like this place. The eccentric
sun reached out its rays, greeting Brian with an innovative feeling. He scrutinized the assiduous inhabitants of
Shanghai, learning that their lifestyles were 180 degrees different from his. “I’ll have to get used to it” Brian
murmured to himself. Nearby people didn’t notice Brian as a western tourist, but as a customer. He already had 20
people ask him “Do you want any sw eets?” or “This one is very cheap!” in Shanghainese, which he wasn’t great at,
but was still able to understand certain questions or offers made by the people.
He put his hand into the pockets of his vintage coat that felt noticeably comfortable. Suddenly. He shocked alert with
realization. He had come to Shanghai for a reason. His parents. It was barely visible or rewriteable history, but was
still alive. The last thing his parents had left him was a note with coordinates on it. He had thought it was his last hope,
so did everything to follow his parent’s trails. That had lead him here. An abstract, incandescent fire burned inside
him: scraping up the last of his happiness and filling him with determination.
The distant howl of the wind played an eerie tune. While the sinister moonlight which was accompanied by a
countless number of fluorescent stars danced around Brian’s head. How do I start? A thousand different questions
clawed mercilessly into his head, haunting him. The damp, mossy cobblestone street was notoriously cold, forcing
Brian to stand on his feet. He stared into the nothingness, his face pale, but he knew he had to move on. He had
walked for a while, jolts of pain shooting up his legs every breathtaking step. Despite the endless route into oblivion,
Brian felt no fear inside him. What he felt was pity; like it was an unavoidable fate he had to face. The only guidance
was the somewhat-flickering lights of the diminutive stars, scattered oddly over the boundaries of the boundless
horizon. And there he was, a 15-year-old with barely any knowledge of this city called Shanghai. Just the second
Brian felt the first drop of rain tap on his forehead, a million others followed it and darkened the mood. He headed
for the nearest shelter. A barbed rhombus roofed building, size colossal, towering up, above all others, was his choice.
He was intrigued to see what was inside the vast ‘Monument of Peace’, which Brian had read from a label he passed.
After he reached the tower, Brian reluctantly shook his wet hair. He noticed a few lanterns glowing bright red. It was
like a soul, cruelly kept into an object that could show its form. What? It was then when he noticed. The building was
blank. Not a trail of human could be seen. Suddenly, all the lights were demolished into an eerie silence. Brian
attempted to open the door. However, he knew best that it would have been locked. “Wh-what are you doing?”
he waited a moment for a response, and hearing nothing, carried on. “Wh-who are you?” again no response was
heard. Unpredictably, a shadow dashed down the everlasting height of the Monument of Peace.
The shadow camouflaged to the pitch black shadows that a wooden pillar made. The pillar was carved into the shape
of a dragon, recklessly fire-blasting into midair. The shadow calmly walked towards Brian. Then held out a candle,
and lighted it. It forced a billion different range of shadows rise onto the decrepit walls of the Monument of Peace.
The shadow revealed its identity to be an old man. He was wearing an obsolescent waist coat that was too long for
him. His crooked back seemed to be higher than the top of his head. The man’s nails were five times longer than an
average human; it was also covered with foreign substances. This made Brian to the edge of vomiting. “I see that you
are on a quest “The man said wisely. Not waiting for an answer, he continued. “Your parents have been lost, is it
not?” A subtle smile glided through the man’s scarred cheeks, his enigmatic, grey
eyes still emotionless. “Yes,” Brian answered.
“Tell me about them,” The man demanded.
“Pardon?” Brian asked, clearly confused.
“I said-” He nearly screamed at Brian. However, lowering his voice he reattempted. “I said,” The man looked
annoyed as if talking to a child gently was a very hard job. “I said, tell me about your parents.”