Hollywood Road was awake in the way old places were awake: eyes open, soul elsewhere.

  The shops were shuttered now, metal grates pulled down and tagged with old stickers that no one bothered to scrape off anymore. Neon bled in from the cross streets, reflected in puddles and darkened windows, just enough light to remind the road it used to matter. A delivery cart rattled somewhere uphill and then went quiet. Incense smoke drifted low across the pavement from a stall that never seemed to close, its owner asleep on a plastic chair with his chin on his chest.

  Man Mo sat back from the road behind its low steps and shadowed entrance, brick and timber pressed stubbornly between newer concrete and glass. The temple didn’t hush the street anymore. At this hour, there was hardly anything left to hush. Sound wandered in and out unchallenged: a distant engine, a radio murmuring in a language Iris didn’t catch, the soft clack of bamboo sticks being gathered up inside.

  A few people were still there. Not worshippers, not tourists. Regulars. The kind who came because they always had, because stopping would feel like tempting something they didn’t fully believe in. They moved through the motions without looking at the altars. Three bows. A shake of the cup. One stick pulled free, glanced at, slipped into a pocket to be forgotten later.

  They didn’t react when Iris stepped inside. No pause, no sideways looks, no tightening of posture. Just bodies continuing on rails worn smooth by years of repetition.

  Wulong padded in at her heel.

  Normally, this was where things misbehaved.

  Wards along the doorframe should have bled color at his approach, old cinnabar lines bruising dark, symbols stuttering as they failed to decide whether to hold or give way. Paper charms usually curled at the edges, ink crawling like it wanted to escape the page.

  Nothing happened.

  The wards stayed dead and flat, paint chalky and inert, as if they had never been meant to do anything at all. The charms hanging from the beams didn’t twitch. Incense smoke drifted straight upward, unbothered, as if the space had forgotten what it was supposed to notice. She waited for the moment she usually waited for. It didn’t come, and worse, she couldn’t quite name what she’d been listening for.

  Wulong paused, head tilting slightly, as he too was surprised.

  One of the regulars shook his cup a little too hard. The bamboo sticks rattled, one clattering free and skidding across the floor. He stared at it for a moment, frowning, then bent to pick it up and slid it back into the cup without reading it. He didn’t look at Iris. He didn’t look at Wulong. He stood, bowed out of habit, and left.

  She reached the counter and rested her palms on the worn wood. Up close, she could see where old ward marks had been scraped off and repainted over. Didn’t feel like anyone cared anymore, just enough to satisfy inspection.

  The monk looked up as she approached, eyes rimmed red. He smiled, his teeth same parchment-yellow, but instead of sliding a pack towards her, parted his hands.

  “Sorry,” he said before she spoke.

  His voice was thin, worn down to habit. One hand drifted toward the shelf behind him and stopped halfway, fingers hovering like they were waiting for permission that never came.

  “Shipment’s delayed.”

  Iris nodded once. The wood under her palms was warm from bodies leaning there all night, grain polished smooth by years of the same exchanges. She could feel the faint tremor in her fingers where the city usually pushed back and didn’t. The absence sat wrong.

  “How long?” she asked.

  The monk glanced past her, toward the altar, toward the coils burning low and uneven. One had burned itself out completely, ash sagging inward like it had given up on staying upright.

  “Hard to tell,” he said, as he reached for the shelf again, then stopped himself, as if remembering there was no point. “They don’t say much anymore.”

  Anymore. He didn’t elaborate. He didn’t need to.

  Iris breathed out through her nose. No frustration. No surprise. Just the quiet recalibration that came with a tool failing when it had always worked before.

  “Let me know when it comes in.”

  He inclined his head, already watching her step back from the counter.

  She had just turned when someone hesitated at her side.

  “Uh. Sorry. Excuse me?”

  The voice was young, uncertain. Iris stopped and looked down at a woman clutching a folded pamphlet with both hands, the edges bent soft from worry. Tourist, but not the loud kind. Lost, not curious.

  “Do you speak English?” the woman asked.

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  “Yeah,” Iris said, a corner of her mouth lifting. “I get by.”

  The woman blinked, then laughed at herself. “Right. Sorry. Yes. I speak English.”

  “Kinda figured,” Iris said. “What’s up?”

  The woman unfolded the pamphlet and pointed at a smudged map printed in two colors that had never quite agreed with each other.

  “I’m looking for this place. I thought it was here, but I keep going in circles. Everything looks the same after a while.”

  Iris took the pamphlet, turned it once, then again. The landmarks were wrong. Or outdated. Or both.

  “Not the worst mistake,” Iris said, handing it back. “You’re close. Just not this entrance. Different hill.”

  The woman frowned at the map. “I thought so. I’m completely turned around.”

  “It’s late,” Iris said. “Explaining it would take longer than getting there.”

  The woman hesitated, just a fraction.

  “I can give you a ride,” Iris added. “If you want.”

  Relief won.

  “That would be great. Thank you.” She tucked the pamphlet under her arm. “I’m Anna. Or Annie. Either’s fine.”

  “Iris,” she said. “Nice to meet you.”

  Behind her, Wulong stood and waited, tail wrapped neatly around his paws, watching the exchange with unblinking focus.

  They stepped back out into the rain together.

  Hollywood Road had thinned further while they were inside. The streetlights hummed softly, reflections stretching long and warped across wet asphalt. Iris swung a leg over the bike and settled in with a smooth, practiced motion, helmet coming up and on without thought. She glanced back over her shoulder.

  “Hop on. Hold the grab bar, not me. It’s not a date.”

  Annie laughed, a short, surprised sound, and did as told. The bike dipped slightly with the extra weight, then steadied.

  “What brings you to Hong Kong?” Iris asked as she eased them into traffic.

  There was a pause while Annie adjusted her grip.

  “Midlife crisis,” she said, then amended, “Quarter-life crisis, I guess. Just graduated. Wanted to see the world before I get a boring job and pretend I know what I’m doing.”

  “Bold strategy,” Iris said. “Become Chinese?”

  Annie snorted. “I don’t think that’s how it works.”

  “Pity. Would save time.”

  They rolled through an intersection, rain beading on the visor, the city sliding past in streaks of color and shadow.

  “So,” Iris said. “How’s it going so far?”

  Another pause. Thoughtful, this time.

  “A few weeks in,” Annie said. “Can’t say much yet. But I like it. Hong Kong feels… busy. Like it doesn’t care if you’re ready.”

  “That’s accurate,” Iris said. She didn’t add anything else.

  “I kind of like that,” Annie added. “Feels reliable, you know. Like it’ll just keep going no matter what.”

  Iris didn’t respond to it. It wasn’t wrong, just unfinished.

  “What about you?” Annie asked. “You seem like someone who has it figured out.”

  Iris tilted the bike into a turn, engine humming low.

  “Hard to say,” she said. “Got some family stuff to deal with. After that… I’ll see what’s left to figure out.”

  “That sounds very grown-up.”

  “It’s mostly avoidance with better branding.”

  Annie laughed again, warmer now.

  “Any advice?” she asked. “Since you’re clearly wise.”

  “In Hong Kong?” Iris said. “Ancient Chinese wisdom.”

  “Oh?”

  “Always look both ways before crossing the street.”

  Annie laughed so hard she had to tighten her grip. The bike slowed near a low wall and a recessed courtyard set back from the street. Light spilled out into the rain, warm and uneven. Inside, a class was still in session.

  Despite the hour.

  Despite the weather.

  Students moved barefoot across slick stone, repeating forms with stubborn precision. Rain darkened their clothes. Steam rose faintly from exertion. A monk paced the edge of the space, tapping a bamboo staff lightly against the ground to keep rhythm.

  Annie leaned forward slightly. “Oh. This is it.”

  Two guards stepped forward as they approached, expressions already set to dismiss.

  “Closed,” one said.

  Before Iris could answer, the monk lifted a hand.

  “That’s enough.”

  The guards hesitated, then stepped back.

  Annie’s eyes were bright now, excitement cutting through fatigue. “I watch a lot of martial arts movies,” she said, a little sheepish. “I’ve always wanted to learn those moves, like, ki-ya!”

  The monk looked at her, then at Iris.

  “And you?” he asked. “Same reason?”

  Iris smiled faintly. “Something like that.”

  He studied her for a moment longer, then nodded.

  “Wait,” he said. “I know you.”

  She sighed. “Yes, Master Kwo.”

  Recognition settled in his expression. “Iris Lau. You stopped coming.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Because of your girlfriend.”

  “That too.”

  He glanced at Annie. “Are you bringing another one here now?”

  Annie flushed. “Oh. No. I just—”

  Iris snorted quietly.

  He looked back at her. “You left without saying goodbye.”

  “I’m bad at endings,” Iris said. “And middles.”

  “That’s not an excuse,” he said, hesitating for a moment as if weighing whether to finish the thought, then didn’t. “At least you didn’t join Black River.”

  Iris lifted one shoulder. “Low bar, but I cleared it.”

  He allowed himself a thin smile. “Many young ones want easy strength. I can only hope they make better choices once they leave.”

  Behind them, one of the students slipped on the wet stone and caught himself just in time. No one laughed. They reset and continued.

  Master Kwo’s gaze lingered on Iris a second longer, then inclined his head and turned back to the class a little too quickly, tapping the staff once harder than necessary. Routine reclaimed the space.

  Annie let out a breath she’d clearly been holding. “Wow,” she said softly. “That was… intense.”

  “Yeah,” Iris said. “He’s mellowed.”

  They stepped back toward the gate. The guards watched them go but didn’t move to stop them.

  At the edge of the courtyard, Annie hesitated. “Thank you. For the ride. And for not laughing.”

  “I laughed,” Iris said. “Just internally.”

  Annie smiled. “I should probably head home for now. But I’ll call you. For sure.”

  “Right,” Iris said, as she watched Annie step outside and start flailing her hands, trying to get attention of a cab driver. “Figures.”

  She reached for her pack out of habit, then stopped. There was nothing to light, and no reason to stand there waiting.