One of Wu Zhanhan’s early adventures….

“I know who you are Ah Jong,” Uncle Eight Fingers said.

“Who am I?”

“Captain Wu of the Organized Crime and Triad Bureau.”

“I am honored. How long have you known?”

“Long enough,” Uncle Eight Fingers said. “What is it they call you—oh, yes, the hot-handed god of cops.”

Wu shrugged. “I’ve been called lots of things.”

“From this point forward, your name will only be spoken in prayers to the dead.”

Wu shrugged, tossing his cigarette onto the cobblestone floor. He walked to the edge of the steps leading up to the dais. “So, what’s it gonna be, Uncle?” Wu asked. “Chinese black magic? The Hand of Tai Feng? The Six-Demon Bag? The cobra’s venomous bite?”

“None of those are fitting for one such as you.” Uncle Eight Fingers clapped his hands. The large, polished double doors behind him flew open. A horde of Seven Doors Triad members surged into the room, pouring over the dais, and down the steps as Wu retreated to the center of the room.

“I have something far more traditional planned for you, traitor.” Uncle Eight Fingers laughed, his throaty cackle punctuated by the crackle of knuckles as the Triad gang circled Wu. “I will see you beat to death.”

Wu lit another cigarette. He took a long drag and looked over the heads of the gang in front of him. His eyes locked on Uncle Eight Fingers. The old man returned his steely gaze, his rheumy left eye pulsing with hatred.

Wu reached underneath his Hawaiian shirt. Uncle Eight Fingers laughed again when he saw the two Beretta 92FS’s in Wu’s clenched fists. Wu remained expressionless as he inhaled his cigarette, the smoke forking out of his nostrils like the thick swirl of fog over Guangzhou Bay…

Chan Ho Nam sat the box of Crunch Fun Eat suckers on the hood of his car. He flicked his switchblade open and slit the packing tape. He removed a single sucker the size of a child’s fist and crushed it.

He unwrapped it. Inside the thin, candied shell lay a small, baggy of white powder. Chan smiled. Tossing the remains of the sucker aside, he opened the baggy and dipped his pinky in the white powder.

He tasted it.

Heroin.

Chan clapped the captain of The Tiger of Canton, on the back. “Have the men start unloading.”

Suddenly, spotlights seared through the night and sirens shattered the silence. The captain shook and threw his hands toward heaven. Chan tried to blink his eyes into seeing.

A bullhorn crackled, followed by a loud, clear voice echoing over the bay. “This is Officer Mark Lee of OCTB. Lay down your weapons, and come quietly.”

Chan stepped away from his car. He walked toward the bright lights and the shadowy figures looming behind their harsh glare.

He tore open his silk shirt, revealing the tattoo etched in bright scarlet across his hairless chest. “I am Chan Ho Nam, enforcer for the Seven Doors Triad. I am protected by the Lost Sutra, forgotten since the time of the First Sovereign Emperor, Qin Shi Huang. Like a blushing virgin it turns aside the bullet’s kiss. I fear no man and shall remain fearless until the earth quakes, the poison arrows fall from the sky, and the pillars of Heaven shake.”

Mark Lee stepped forward, a thin figure materializing slowly out of the darkness. “Chan Ho Nam,” he said, drawing his weapon, and pointing it at the Triad thug’s head.

Chan laughed and drew his own weapon.

They stood there, facing each other. Outstretched arms almost touching. Guns cocked and pointed at each other’s heads. A silence lay thick and heavy, stretching from Guangzhou to Macau, broken only by the quite, low hum over the floodlights.

Chan licked his yellowed, eyetooth. “I told you, officer. Bullets cannot hurt me.”

As Mark’s gaze fell, drifting to the tattoo, a laugh started to break free from Chan’s clenched teeth.

“Wu—“

“Wu dies as we speak.”

“Wu—“ Mark said, his eyes still locked on Chan’s chest. “Officer—the Captain wanted me to tell you something.”

“Last words from a traitor?”

“I don’t understand it, but I follow orders. A name, he wanted me to tell you a name, before you die.”

Chan laughed, “I told you—“

“Li Shoon,” Mark, said his eyes suddenly locking with Chan’s, as he pulled the trigger. Chan tumbled backwards in a spray of blood, cursing Wu’s name as his life poured out of him…

Wu flicked his tongue against the cigarette clenched in his teeth. The thick column of ash fell and he opened fire, the twin rounds slamming into the two thugs in front of him, bursting out their backs in a scarlet cloud.

The gang stood still, frozen momentarily with shock before the smoke drifting out of the gun barrels swept it aside with the promise of death.

They rushed forward.

Wu sidestepped a front kick, breaking the assailant’s nose with the gun-butt in his right hand. Quickly pivoting around the broken-nosed thug, he fired two more quick shots. Each found their home in the bare breasts of the Triad gang.

Wu pushed off broken-nose and kicked him in the back, sending him tumbling forward into another thug.

Quickly, Wu ducked a vicious roundhouse kick, blocking a knife-hand as he went. He came up quickly, a barrel buried into the gut of one assailant, and the other under the kicker’s chin.

He fired.

The kicker’s brains splattered against the tarnished brass Buddha on the edge of the dais. The pugilist fell to his knees, clutching his seeping guts.

Dodging a thrown knife, Wu dove to the side, both guns blazing as he sailed through the air. He rolled as he landed. Coming up into a crouch he sprung forward, cutting two more gang members down, before pivoting in the air.

He landed on his side and slid along the blood-slickened floor until his back hit the wall where a cowardly Triad had been cowering. Wu snap his shin with a quick kick. The coward screamed and started to fall forward.

Wu kicked him in the chest, sending him sprawling backwards until he thudded on the cold, bloody stone. Wu kip-upped. He spat the butt of his cigarette into the coward’s face and followed it with a single shot to the head.

“How?” Uncle Eight Fingers bellowed as he slowly walked down the dais.

Wu turned, expelling the clips from his now emptied guns. “Easy,” he said, loading two fresh clips. “The Benediction of Li Shoon.”

“How could you know the Benediction of Li Shoon. You are just a cop?”

Wu smiled and raised both guns.

Uncle Eight Finger’s left eye pulsed. “Li Shoon won’t be able to help you defeat the amulet of the Seven Doors.” Uncle Eight Fingers fell into a cat stance. His three fingered right hand contorted into the strange, position called the Fist of Han. He was rumored to have sacrificed two fingers to learn the forbidden technique.

Wu lowered his guns and laughed.

Uncle Eight Fingers scowled.

“You drink too much, Uncle. You should be careful when passing out. Who knows what can happen.”

Uncle Eight Fingers pulled the necklace from under his shirt. He howled. Instead of the mystical Seven Doors amulet, there were was only a child’s trinket on the other end of the leather thong around his neck.

“Shhhhh,” Wu said and shot him in the left eye.