Hong Kong film: Rise of Prison Break

At 6:30 a.m., before the sea fog in Victoria Harbour had dissipated, the newsstands along Des Voeux Road in Central were already open for business.

Wearing blue overalls, A-Qiang, a salesman for "Leopard Morning News," stood behind the newsstand, holding a stack of newspapers that still smelled of ink. His voice was already a little hoarse from shouting.

"Secrets of the elite! A Justice of the Peace is a murderer! Fresh and explosive headline news!"

The commuters passing by hurried along, and few stopped to look.

Ah-Qiang was sweating profusely with anxiety. His boss had given him a death order this morning: all of these special editions had to be sold before eight o'clock. The price was two dollars, which meant they were practically selling at a loss.

More importantly, you get a 20 cents commission for each item sold, and today's total prize pool is as high as HK$10,000. The top three sellers will receive additional rewards.

"Hey everyone, don't miss this!" Ah-Qiang jumped out of the newsstand, holding up a newspaper as he walked along the sidewalk, shouting, "The Lu Group's family feud revealed! Son-in-law murders wife and frames father-in-law, $300 million in debt goes missing! Pictures and proof included!"

This shout worked.

Several elderly women returning from their morning exercise stopped in their tracks, an elderly man wearing gold-rimmed glasses adjusted his lenses, and even white-collar workers rushing to catch the subway slowed down.

"Young man, is it true?" An old woman carrying a vegetable basket came over, squinting at the front page with her old eyes—it was a picture of Liu Yaozu beaten into a pig's head and covered in blood, with a striking bold headline: "The Jackal Under the Mask of the Justice of the Peace".

"Grandma, when has the Leopard Morning Post ever lied to anyone?" Ah-Qiang pulled out a newspaper and stuffed it into Grandma's shopping basket. "It's only two dollars, you won't lose out! This news is unique in Hong Kong!"

The old woman hesitated for two seconds, but still took out two coins from her coin purse.

Once the first one was made, the second and the third followed in quick succession.

Ah Qiang was so busy he was frantically collecting money, handing out reports, and giving change, but his mouth was agape in a wide grin. At this rate, he was sure to get a bonus today!

---

"Boss, would you like a newspaper? This is some shocking gossip!"

Suddenly, a burly hand reached out and snatched the newspaper from Ah Qiang's hand.

Ah Qiang looked up and saw a square face full of fat, a fisherman's hat pulled low on his head, sunglasses covering half of his face, and a scar on his cheek extending from his ear to the corner of his mouth.

"Oh? What gossip news?" The man's voice was gruff, with the distinctive tone of a gangster. "Dare to lie to my Brother Big Mi, I'll make sure you die a horrible death!"

Ah Qiang shuddered in fright and quickly smiled apologetically, "Brother Da Mi, you're joking. It's printed in black and white, how could I dare to lie to anyone..."

The man known as "Big Brother Mimi"—who was actually Zhang Wenjie in disguise—had already lowered his head and started flipping through the newspaper.

The entire front page was filled with Liu Yaozu's "deeds": from marrying into the Lu family to his wife's "accidental" fall from a building, from framing his father-in-law and getting him imprisoned to secretly transferring assets, and even a blurry photo of him embracing two women in a nightclub.

The writing is sharp as a knife, and the accompanying pictures are shocking.

"Ten dollars, keep the change."

Zhang Wenjie pulled out some banknotes from his pocket and slapped them on the newsstand. With a newspaper tucked under his arm, he turned and walked toward the "Shun Kee Teahouse" on the street corner.

Shun Kee Tea House is a typical old Hong Kong-style shop with mottled and peeling green wall tiles and ceiling fans that slowly turn overhead, making a "creaking" sound.

At seven o'clock in the morning, the teahouse was already full of diners. The steam from the steamers mixed with the aroma of tea, the smell of smoke, and the voices of people, making it as noisy as a market.

Zhang Wenjie sat down in a booth by the window and had just unfolded his newspaper when the conversation at the next table drifted into his ears.

"Wow! This ungrateful wretch is a role model for us all!"

The speaker was a man wearing a tight purple suit, his hair was slicked back and shiny, and his pointed leather shoes were polished so that they reflected his image.

He held a slender cigarette between his fingers, pointing and gesturing at his similarly dressed companion.

The two of them smelled so strong and pungent that you could smell it even across two tables.

"Big Head Wen, what gossip have you seen this time?" Uncle Shun, the teahouse owner, stopped as he passed by carrying a tray.

This seasoned veteran in his fifties loves to hear gossip. Although he is illiterate, his ears are very sharp.

The man in the purple suit, nicknamed "Big Head Wen," glanced sideways at Uncle Shun and pointed with his orchid finger at the entertainment section on the table: "Uncle Shun, even storytellers under the overpass charge money, and my breakfast..."

"Hey! Youngster trying to rip off your old man?" Uncle Shun put the tray on the table, put his hands on his hips, and said, "Fifteen dollars for macaroni and iced lemon tea is already a great deal! If you don't want to talk about it, fine, I'm not that nosy anyway."

Despite saying that, Uncle Shun didn't move his foot an inch.

Big Head's companion couldn't help but interject, "It says here that the Lu Group case has been overturned! It turns out it wasn't Robinson who killed his daughter, but his ungrateful son-in-law!"

"Oh, I already knew about this!" A middle-aged man at the next table, smoking a cigarette, slammed his hand on the table and said. He was wearing a t-shirt, shorts, and flip-flops. "My cousin works as a correctional officer in Stanley. I heard that Liu Yaozu even tried to hire someone to kill someone while he was in prison!"

"Really?"

Tell me more!

The diners at the surrounding tables all perked up their ears, and even the dim sum chef poked his head out from the kitchen.

The middle-aged man took a smug puff of his cigarette, his voice low but loud enough for half the teahouse to hear: "That ingrate is no ordinary man; he's got connections in both the legitimate and underworld! I heard he has an inside man in Stanley, otherwise how could he have made such a mess of my father-in-law? In the end, one of his underlings couldn't stand it anymore and risked his life to testify against him!"

"No, no," Big Head Wen retorted, shaking his pinky finger. "I heard from a friend of mine who works as a reporter for the Oriental Daily that Robinson Crusoe met a benefactor in prison who had extraordinary abilities and helped him clear his name..."

The teahouse was immediately filled with chatter, with all sorts of versions of "insider information" flying around.

Some people spoke with great enthusiasm, some listened with great interest, and some shook their heads and lamented the decline of morality.

The steam from the steamer rose in wisps, twisting and distorting in the breeze from the ceiling fan, much like the rumors, both true and false, surrounding this saga of a wealthy family feud.

Zhang Wenjie listened quietly, a faint smile playing on his lips. He picked up the teapot and poured himself a cup of Pu'er tea; the deep red tea swirld in the white porcelain cup.

The morning light slanted in through the window, illuminating Liu Yaozu's distorted face on the front page of the newspaper, and also his slender fingers holding the teacup.

---

"bell--"

The ringtone of a mobile phone suddenly rang, drowning out the noise of the teahouse.

Zhang Wenjie put down his teacup, took out the brick-like mobile phone from his suit pocket, and pressed the answer button.

"Feed".

There was a two-second silence on the other end of the phone, followed by a slightly aged but strong voice: "...Thank you."

Zhang Wenjie picked up his teacup, took a sip, and then slowly said, "No need for thanks. We're all in the same boat."

Another silence followed.

He could imagine Robinson's complex expression on the other end of the phone—gratitude, vigilance, fear, and perhaps a hint of resentment.