Another person was afoot in the district that morning: Lee Ting-Yan. Ting-Yan had also awoken early, to do her dirty deed before her father and mother woke up in the back bedroom at Cheung’s Tai Hang house, vacated by Cheung and Siu-Wai to accommodate their esteemed guests. She had come from the opposite direction to find a villain hitter to curse Emily and Tak-Wing, those two petty people who had ruined her life forever. She felt hurt and helpless, and she wanted them to die. There was a granny called Kwok in this neighbourhood, famous for the efficacy of her curses. She worked beneath the Goose Neck Bridge, alongside a dozen other grannies with varying degrees of notoriety. Ting-Yan seldom came to this district. It took an hour of wandering, sweating in her black cotton tunic and wide-legged trousers, to find Granny Kwok’s stall. When she got there, there was a long lineup for Granny Kwok, even though it wasn’t yet the season when insects awaken. There were other grannies she could approach, but she wanted the curse to be strong, so she waited. No point wasting her money on a charlatan.

Her heart began to pound as her turn came close. Granny Kwok’s little red-and-green altar was busy with oranges, wine, and gourds. Amidst these offerings the five deities stood proud in painted porcelain, all lined up in a row. Tin Hau exuded calm and compassion in the middle. To her left, Man Cheong, the God of Literature, gazed seriously inward, scroll in hand, his long black beard and moustache flowing gracefully down his face. And to his left stood the serene, dark-faced god Pak Tai who protects against floods. To the right of Tin Hau, the martial, green-robed Guan Gong, the God of Brotherhood who watched over both police and Triads, raised his sword above his head. And to his right, Wong Tai Sin, the God of Healing, smiled beatifically in blue robes and a high hat. In front of each sat a lucky red packet. Incense smouldered in the large, rectangular incense burner that stood before the altar. And in front of that, a table lay covered in neatly stacked paper charms, coins, dice, a ceramic tiger, and several glass jars half full of ashes. Ting-Yan watched Granny Kwok burn spirit money for the customer ahead of her, and sighed impatiently.

“When will luck come to me?” the customer asked Granny Kwok.

“Perhaps at the next high tide, perhaps at the next new moon,” said Granny Kwok. “The gods are not often specific about timing. Know too that the results you wish for can appear in unexpected forms. So you have to be both patient and attentive.”

Why does she go on at such length, Ting-Yan wondered. Is my turn ever going to come?

“You’re the wisest granny under the Goose Neck Bridge,” the customer in front said. “Surely you must be able to predict the timing to some degree.”