“Maybe we’d better skip this Walled City,” Marissa suggested.

“I don’t know,” Tristan said. “If we want to contact the Wing Sin, this place looks promising to me.”

“It looks terrible to me,” Marissa said.

“Come on,” Tristan urged. “As I said before, we’ll leave if it doesn’t work out.”

“You first,” Marissa said reluctantly.

Tristan stepped within the opening; Marissa followed close behind. They walked down the narrow passageway that soon began to smell like a sewer. Just after turning the first corner even Marissa had to bend to keep her head from touching the tangle of electric cables that ran along the ceiling. The farther they trekked, the more the sounds of the city died away.

After several more turns the passageway led to a confluence of tunnels heading in several directions. There were also darkened stairways that led both above and below ground level. Everywhere there was trash and debris.

Choosing at random, they walked down another passage. Rounding a corner, they saw the first signs of life. In a series of ill-lit alcoves sweating men and women labored over antiquated sewing machines. They seemed to be making men’s shirts. Marissa and Tristan nodded greetings but the people just stared at them as if they were ghosts.

“Anybody speak English?” Tristan asked brightly. If anyone did, they didn’t volunteer. “Thanks anyway,” he said. He motioned for Marissa to move on.

They delved deeper into the maze. Marissa began to wonder if they would be able to find their way back. She wavered between disgust and fear. She had never been in a more revolting place in her life. Such standards of living were beyond her imagination.

Rounding another corner that smelled particularly rank, Marissa saw a pile of rotting garbage with a pack of feeding rats. “Oh, God!” she cried. She hated rats.

The passageway opened up again with another series of narrow alcoves. In some, open-pit fires burned, adding to the oppressive smell and heat and transforming the place into a kind of medieval vision of hell. They passed a bakery where loaves of bread were stacked on its dirty floor. Next door was a snake vendor with some of his wares hung up by wire. Others were housed in wicker baskets.

“Are you looking for heroin?” someone asked.

Marissa and Tristan turned. A young Chinese boy of about twelve years of age was standing in the shadows behind them.

“Ah!” Tristan said. “Just what we need. Someone who speaks English. We’re not interested in drugs, mate. We’re looking for someone in the Wing Sin Triad. Can you help?”

The boy shook his head. “This is 14K territory,” he said proudly.

“Is it now?” Tristan said. “Now where would we be apt to find Wing Sin territory?”

The boy pointed to his left down a corridor as a number of fierce-looking teenage boys stepped out of doorways.