Year of the Rat
The night the crime boss died, the world didn’t stop. The stars still glimmered over the rooftops of Hong Kong, and the neon signs still hummed in the damp air, flickering over alleyways that had seen more blood than rain.
Aris was only twelve, old enough to understand that something terrible had happened but too young to grasp the full weight of it. She huddled with her brother—Xi, stoic as always—while their father knelt in front of the man who had just taken over.
Charles Langdon stood like a statue; his tailored suit untouched by the carnage surrounding him. The former crime boss, the man who had controlled their lives with a smile and a loaded gun, lay crumpled at his feet, his blood pooling into the cracks of the floor. Aris could still hear the final gunshot ringing in her ears.
“Your debt doesn’t die with him,” Langdon said, voice smooth and firm. “It belongs to me now.”
Her father, Alexander Tan, bowed his head. He didn’t argue. He didn’t beg. That was the moment Aris knew he was broken.
For months, things seemed bearable. Langdon had no interest in making their lives worse—so long as their father worked. But the weight of servitude pressed down on him, and when Xunmei, Aris’ mother, became pregnant again, the strain only grew.
Then came the night her mother didn’t make it. The baby, Alexander Tan II arrived healthy. Xunmei did not.
Aris had never seen her father cry before. He didn’t weep at the funeral, either. He just came home, locked himself in his room, and when he finally emerged, there was nothing left in his eyes but an empty sort of rage.
The bottles piled up. The shouting began. Aris learned how to navigate the chaos. How to keep Xi and Alexander safe.
And through it all, Charles Langdon watched...
