HongKong1960

My name is Chung Sai-Man. I was born in the 1940s into a landlord family in Chaozhou. When I was very young, just as the mainland was undergoing the national liberation, our family faced political persecution due to our class status. So, we had to sneak into Hong Kong. Once in Hong Kong, our whole family sought refuge with a distant cousin of my father's who was serving in the army there. This was when the Kuomintang (KMT) had been defeated and retreated to Taiwan, leaving behind a portion of their forces garrisoned in Hong Kong, often called the "KMT remnants." Since these remnants couldn't go back to the mainland or retreat to Taiwan, they were forced to stay in the territory. The British Hong Kong government demanded all soldiers disarm and be concentrated in an area called Rennie's Mill (***, Tiu Keng Leng in Cantonese). My cousin used to be a general in the KMT's 38th Army, but now he and his men were just ordinary, struggling civilians. When the three of us (my parents and I) moved to Rennie's Mill, life was incredibly tough. Our family fortune had long been liquidated, so we scraped by running a small dessert stall. My mother, meanwhile, repaired watches near Kowloon City. In the 1950s, Rennie's Mill was entirely populated by these KMT remnants. Defeated and stuck between a rock and a hard place, unable to see their families, they were essentially forgotten in a wild, desolate corner of Hong Kong. Many of these soldiers, once full of youthful vigour and patriotism, were now totally demoralized. With no hope, no direction, and feeling like they’d never see the light of day, the atmosphere in Rennie's Mill was crushing. Many people, out of fear and despair, ended up hanging themselves every day. That’s why Rennie’s Mill was infamously nicknamed "Hanging Neck Ridge" (*** - Diu Geng Leng). But as the saying goes: where there is Hell, there is also rebirth. The pent-up frustration and pressure inside these KMT remnants eventually burst out, giving rise to a dark force—a triad society named "No. 14" (14-K), rooted in the Hung Fat Hill (***). And that’s where I grew up. As a boy, I was always very responsible. I attended the school sponsored by the KMT Civilian Affairs Department at Mount Davis, and after school, I went straight to my father’s dessert stall to help out. During holidays, I'd walk a long way to my mother's watch repair shop in Kowloon City to be an apprentice. When I turned eighteen, around 1961, I went to work as a waiter at the "Dragon and Phoenix Teahouse" (Lung Fung Restaurant) in Kwun Chung to help with the family finances. I was still an apprentice then, earning seventy dollars a month. Back then, a pack of decent cigarettes cost five dollars, a nice Hawaiian-style shirt was forty dollars, and even a bowl of wonton noodles or pig’s blood congee cost one dollar. But I was content. I worked hard at the teahouse every day, and I was polite, so besides my salary, I often got a few extra dollars in tips from customers. The owner and staff liked me, always praising me for being "sharp" (** - sing-muk). I worked even harder, not wasting a single cent. I had a biscuit tin where I'd save up my monthly wage and all my tips. I truly believed that through my parents' and my own efforts, we would eventually leave Rennie’s Mill in Junk Bay, buy an apartment in Kowloon or on Hong Kong Island, find a good wife, and live a happy life. These remnants later became one of the most ruthless triad societies in Hong Kong, a legacy that continues to this day! It's a shame that fate always has a twisted sense of humour. I thought I'd be able to work happily at the teahouse and save my money forever. Little did I know, this very teahouse was the beginning of my entry into the jianghu (underworld). This incident has been a deep sorrow for me. Even now, as an old man in the twilight of my life, the memory of it makes my chest ache. It all started because of Ah Fung. Ah Fung was a fellow waitress at the teahouse, and like me, she was Teochew. She was beautiful, with big eyes that shone like the bright moon. She was slender and spoke softly. This girl worked as diligently as I did, and she was always kind to me. Every day after we clocked out, she would secretly go to the kitchen, steam a few unsold pastries in the steamer basket, and give them to me to take home. At the time, my family was in trouble. My mother had contracted consumption (tuberculosis) from years of hard labour, and my father's dessert stall business was poor. To pay for my mother's treatment, I worked extra shifts and spent several months' worth of savings. To save money, I only ate the one meal the teahouse provided a day. Ah Fung couldn't stand seeing that, so she often helped me out, and I was incredibly grateful. "Ah Man, you’re a strong boy, you need to eat more. I know you can get through this, and your auntie will get better," Ah Fung would say, clasping her hands and praying for me. Ah Fung was genuinely good. She was Catholic, and on her days off from the teahouse, she volunteered at the church. She prayed for my mother every day. I slowly started to fall for her. I took on all the hard labour so she could leave early. On some holidays, we’d go to the church together, volunteering and joining the choir. Over time, the way Ah Fung looked at me changed from a simple, innocent fondness to something subtly more romantic.