He got out at the Happy Valley stop and hurried past the racecourse, as the wind picked up. It smelled pleasantly of grass and horse manure. He thought he heard the thunder of hooves, though it might just have been the rain coming down even harder. Ahead of him through the rain and mist Wong Nai Chung Gap spilled between Jardine’s Lookout and Mount Cameron, the hills that had protected him throughout his village childhood. There were buildings all around the village now—the sanatorium and many apartment blocks—extending up into the hills to look down on the racecourse. It was through Wong Nai Chung Gap that the Japanese army had entered Hong Kong and wrought such devastation. Fifteen years earlier, flood waters had poured through the gap, as they were pouring again today. As he drew closer, he could hear those waters rushing.

The sunken village was a swimming pool. Winds whipped around the trees on the bank in front of it. Across the windblown pool, Cheung could see the roof and the upper third of his childhood home. The whole village was submerged.

There was no help for it. He closed the umbrella and wedged it between two large rocks. He took off his coat and laid it on the bank. Put a rock on it so it wouldn’t blow away. It would get drenched regardless, but at least it wouldn’t encumber him in his next move.

He dove into the pool, and began to swim down the alley he’d grown up playing in. Typhoon winds howled over the surface. A big wave smashed him in the face. He inhaled water, coughed, pushed forward again. Somehow, through the murky, swirling water, he reached his childhood house. He tucked his head beneath his armpit to protect his mouth, took a deep breath, and plunged down into the whirling dark. Underwater all he could see was the churning mud before his eyes. So he closed them and kicked downward. Felt for the doorway. It had already been pushed open by the force of the water. Inside the house, but still underwater, he opened his eyes again. The water still turned and churned, but he could make out a rectangular shadow above him. A pair of legs kicked absurdly above his head. His sister’s? He glided up to the surface.

“Ah Goh,” his sister Hok-Yee sputtered. “Big Brother. Thank the Goddess of the Sea you made it.”

Their mother lay atop the kitchen table, which floated thanks to his sister’s kicking. Old Cheung Wan-See’s eyes were only barely open, her grey lashes brushing grey, damp cheeks. “My son. Tin Hau be blessed.”

“She tripped and broke her leg this afternoon, when the water first started coming. Now we’re trapped. There’s no way out.” Hok-Yee had been keeping the table afloat for hours. Her face was gaunt with fear and exhaustion.