Preview: The Man Without A Name

Since January 2021, I've been serializing a novel through my story subscription program. This yet-to-be-titled novel is about Mira Wang, a young mind reader, who must use her abilities as she survives on the road and evades a mysterious presence known as The Sheriff. A fabulist adventure with western motifs, this story incorporates themes I’ve learned from my martial arts background. Each month, I share a new installment of Mira's story with readers. Here's an excerpt from this month's installment, The Man Without A Name:

The city was known as the Fragrant Harbor, and Little Shadow thought it was true to its name. The first time he walked along the marina—curious to see the ships anchored in the bay—he was stunned by the sharp brine of the sea. He passed oyster farmers and fisheries made of floating net pens. He passed rows of haam yu tied with red string left to shrivel in the sun and sold to sailors for their long voyages. Little Shadow walked through the sprawling bazaar that dwarfed the market in his village. There were stalls offering crates of bright vegetables and stacked jars of preserved fruit, noodles pulled thin and spices from distant lands. There were stands offering steaming rice porridge and shops with delicate cakes inspired by the West. With all the wonders held in this city, Little Shadow thought he would find the secret of the lost land, and went searching for work. 

He thought, since he could chop vegetables and cook fish in a sizzling wok, he could find work in a kitchen. 

He thought, since he could sew, he could find work in a factory. 

He thought, since he could barter well, he could work in a shop. 

But no one wanted to hire a boy from the countryside with a strange name. 

Little Shadow understood why Xiao Ming turned to the Black Lotus for work, and decided, then, to search for them. 

But when he inquired about the Black Lotus, faces went pale and Little Shadow was shooed away.

Little Shadow was ready to give up, but decided to walk by the river to contemplate his meager options. He was collecting smooth stones to skip under the shade of a bridge when he heard a conversation in French:

“They meet nightly at the Tian Di Tea House.”

Standing on the bridge were two men. Little Shadow could tell by their jeweled rings and coat sleeves—which weren’t military standard and were bolder colors than the clothes worn by the wealthy merchants in the city—the men were pirates. He hid against the bridge to listen to their exchange. 

“The tea house closes after lunch. There’s an hour or so when they clean up and prepare for breakfast the next day, and then the Black Lotus takes over.”

“How can you be sure?”

“I was told by one of the members.”

“And what proof do you have that he’s truly a member?”

“He shared the password to enter the gambling den.”

“What was he given in exchange?”

“300. And safe passage to Paris.”

The other man whistled through his teeth.

“Well, betrayal comes at a price,” the first man said. “And without the Black Lotus, we can trade our product unfettered in the Fragrant Harbor.”

“When will we attack?”

“He suggested we move tonight.”

“Very well. Tonight.”

Little Shadow hastened through the streets, searching for the Tian Di Tea House. He found the tea house on a quiet side street on the edge of the Eastern territory, where the British commanders and diplomats resided. It was a typical wooden storefront with a hand-painted sign, hardly the kind of place that would harbor a dangerous gang. 

Still, Little Shadow was determined to find them. 

Through the front windows, he could see the dining room bustled with customers enjoying tea and cakes at tables covered in white linen. Little Shadow knew he could not afford such a meal. 

Instead: he darted to the back alley and ducked behind a stack of crates, where he could watch the tea house’s back door through wooden slats. A cook approached, the strings of his apron swaying behind his hips as he carried an oversized sack of rice. 

Little Shadow watched the cook pound his fist against the door—but no one opened it. He watched the cook prop the sack of rice on his knee as he struggled to pull the door open, letting it rest on his back as he leaned the heavy bag into his arms, and stepped through the threshold, the door swaying open just long enough for Little Shadow to slip into the tea house—

—and into the kitchen, where the waddling cook complained to his associates, who shouted back their annoyance at him. Among the commotion, it was easy for Little Shadow to slip unnoticed into a closet—though he regret hiding among the tea house’s folded linens and not a room where they stored any of their delicious offerings. 

He waited until the tea house emptied—first of the customers, then of the cooks. Then, he waited for the Black Lotus.

The back door unlocked. 

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