Feng Niu was an aging, portly man. With age lines etched deep into his face, they spoke of a hard life he never lived. He sat in a red chair in the midst of the large lounge he owned in the higher end district of Xiring. The lounge was empty, save for himself and a female escort with whom he flirted shamelessly, knowing full well that she had no intentions of pleasuring an old man such as himself -- no matter how promiscuous she seemed.

"Master Feng," a vaguely familiar voice intruded their little game. A man, one of his workers, he presumed, set a sizeable red box onto the table in front of him.

"A gift," the man said, "from Mr. Huang."

Niu looked at the small package; it was a velvet red box, like an oversized container for wedding rings. He withdrew his arm from around his escort and shooed her away. The woman, a tad disgruntled, left anyway, led by the messenger.

Attached to the golden ribbon, was a neatly folded card. Niu opened it, only to see the image of an hourglass -- the symbol of the Shalou Triad.

Hm.

The aging man opened the box, only to see inside lined with dark blue and a lumpy object neatly tied black silk cloth. The businessman's heart caught in his throat, afraid of what could be wrapped up in the fabric. It was, by Chinese belief, that black and dark blue were signs of death and despair. But to offer it in a box clothed with colors of luck and prosperity...

Trembling fingers awkwardly undid the neat little knot. The piece of silk fell away to reveal a clock.

It ticked, patiently counting. Suddenly, it stopped and a tiny little girl's voice slivered into the air from the little time keeper.

"Your time has expired, Mr. Feng."

"Do you think I was a bit too rash?"

The feline looked at its owner with a narrow eyed stare, fluffy white tail snaking idly in the air below. Pale hands hefted the large cat above a shirtless male, his dark brown eyes looking up at it from beneath bowl-cut bangs.

"Moshii," a light tenor breezed past shapely lips. The cat's ear flickered toward his voice at its name before the Persian cat wriggled around restlessly. The owner merely sat up straight in his chair and released the cat to gravity’s control. He watched the animal twist gracefully midair and land on its feet with bored interest. Cats lightly strummed a cord in him -- they piqued his curiosity. They were among the most agile species on earth; they had all the capabilities any man would want (save for flight, of course) and yet they carried on like none of it mattered. All they wanted was to be fed, pampered and laze around for a ridiculous amount of hours.

Moshii trotted off to her satin bed in the corner, tail raised regally.

The young man rolled his eyes and sat back in the armchair. He ran his right hand over his face before letting it fall heavily onto the arm of the brown leather chair. His nose, quite delicate for a man’s, flared from the force of the sigh he’d heaved. Almond eyes trailed over his traditionally styled room. The wooden structures were adorned with blue and silver cloth, the colors meshing well with the dark oak furniture and standing out from white washed walls.

Narrow eyes rolled up lazily to sweep across the ceiling. It was carved like upside down steps to heaven, steepled to the axis where the rather large, round, and ornate paper lamp chandelier dangled.  The man’s eyes bounced off the chandelier to the life sized hourglass in the far corner of the room, right next to the eastern window. The sand in it never seemed to move, to him. Then again, two hundred pounds of sand hardly ever makes it to the bottom of the glass in an hour's time.

The dark haired Chinese snorted and looked elsewhere toward the dresser and the full body mirror which sat opposite him. The only light in the room was the tall lamp beside the armchair, casting pronounced shadows over his bare torso.

He studied himself for a bit.

He seemed, to the untrained eye, a bored twenty two year old sitting haphazardly in an armchair, clad in nothing but black slacks and dark dress socks with his head leaning on his fist, the same wrist gleaming with a silver watch. To the unknowing, the man is gifted with a lean and not overly muscular -- a prime candidate for magazine spreads. Wealthy, unmarried -- happiness was dancing in the palm of his hand.

Idiots.

"Huang Zi Tao," he murmured, lips barely moving to form the words. "Twenty two, and the head of a whole Triad. Just where did your life go?"

His only answer was the faint ‘tick’ of his wristwatch, the second hand stiffly counting down the hours of the day.

A faint knock at the door drew his brown eyed stare to the closed door.

“Lai,¹” he called out. The golden knob turned and the door swung inward to reveal his right hand man, Yen Ji Dan, whom everyone affectionately calls Donnie, ducked in and shut the door behind him. The man was almost as quiet as Zi Tao, but he was dependable and loyal, a damn good fighter skilled in Wing Chun and a brilliant mathematician. Unlike many of the Triad members, he preferred to wear tanks and jeans to the usual suits; when it came to having to dress formally, the thirty-five year old would cave and wear a vest and slacks. Even then, Donnie would fold the sleeves until they reached his elbows. Formality was just something he couldn’t get used to.

“I’ve bought the Liu Xia Lounge,” he said quietly, standing before the Dragon Head with his hands interlaced before him. Today, he was in his trademark white tank, blue jeans and black sneakers. They did nothing to hide the muscles he’d built nor did they do anything to hide the power in his aura. Dangling between his fingers was his leather driver’s cap which he only removed when in a room with Zi Tao or performing negotiations on behalf of the gang.

“Good,” Zi Tao nodded. The Liu Xia was a paramount stronghold for the Wang Po -- a rival gang. If they lost that, then their hold over power would falter. “See to it that it’s repaired and restored to its original appearance.”

 “Hao.²”

“Have you found who’s left of the men allotted to Feng?”

“Yes, sir. The invitations will be sent exactly one day before the eve of the lounge’s opening.”

Zi Tao looked away from his Vanguard³ and slipped his socked feet into his waxed loafers before rising to his feet. “Hand me my shirt,” he ordered quietly, motioning to the white button down laying neatly across his bed. Donnie retrieved the article of clothing and came to stand behind his leader with it opened. Zi Tao slipped his hands into the starched sleeves, effectively hiding the “489” tattooed at the back of his right shoulder, and fastened the buttons, finally tucking the tail of the shirt into his pants and arranging himself correctly.

Giving himself a once-over in the mirror, Zi Tao walked past the, compared to himself, severely under dressed henchman. “Come,” he instructed blandly. “Gather everyone -- it’s time to celebrate.”

Zi Tao pulled up in his Lincoln town car beside a familiar royal blue Kawasaki Ninja and shut off the engine. He took stock of his surroundings in one of the lower- middle class areas of Hong Kong. The place wasn’t filled with people, but the number was enough to call it ‘night life.’ Zi Tao adjusted the collar of his trench coat and began his walk toward a large stage, tastefully decorated and well-lit, with two performers doing what they did best.

The rows of seats were scantily populated, and only one person held the front row. The young man wasted no time, and slid into the seat beside said male.

They said that Guan Yu was one of the greatest martial artists to ever grace the land of China -- general in the Imperial Army. He was a master of the lance, unrivaled and unmatched. At least until he was used as a pawn in the uniting of the lands of China. Zi Tao admired the general. The man was honorable, dependable, wise, and just. To him, Donnie was his Guan Yu -- his honorable, dependable, and just general. Even though he walked the wrong side of the legislative line, the man was always fair in judgment. Not one of his soldiers would argue the man’s judgment.

That was why not even Jin Min Shuo, his bao zi⁴, could complain when his left eye was removed as penalty for breaking on of their laws four years prior. It was against their code as a Shalou member to murder young children. It wasn’t that he didn’t know;  he was warned amply before his task and he took it upon himself to disobey such orders. Donnie had been lenient, however, since there was promise in the boy. Presently, he holds the role of Zi Tao’s White Paper Fan⁵.

Min Shuo wasn’t at the celebratory function at the Lotus, however. Instead, here he sat, haphazardly on a metal fold-up chair with one ankle slung across the opposite knee, watching a play at an outdoor theatre.

The young administrator cracked the shell off another roasted peanut and popped it into his mouth, his other hand with the brown paper bag held out to Zi Tao in offering.

The Dragon Head took a handful and made himself comfortable where he sat, albeit not as unceremonious as his colleague. The White Paper Fan wore high school clothes -- high-collared, baggy -- and a rather floppy hat to match that bore a snowflake on the front.

“We’ve been successful,” Min Shuo stated, not taking his eyes off the play. He’d seen it countless times -- he was able to recite the lines so accurately, one would think he was the playwright.

“Shi⁶.” Zi Tao watched the costumed actors without an iota of interest. “Aren‘t you tired of watching the same thing week after week?”

“It’s true that I’ve seen this more than a few times,” Min Shuo answered. “But I merely choose to return to admire the details put into its presentation.”

“Stop wasting your time here and come to the Lotus to celebrate with us.”

Min Shuo sighed and stood, the shells of his already eaten peanuts falling off his lap to join the others that had gathered into a rather crunchy nest around his seat.

“You still have no appreciation for the modern Chinese art,” he mumbled, dusting the remnants off his silk pants. It was an argument they indulged in whenever the clan’s leader went looking for Min Shuo -- or rather visited the man. There was no need to go looking when one knew where Min Shuo would be on a regular basis. Min Shuo was an old man at heart, who found something special in everything he took some kind of pleasure from. Both men did not have much in common, and this was one of those opposing ideals.

Zi Tao merely huffed a laugh and led the way to his car.

The town car was followed closely by the royal blue motorcycle as both made it across the city and near the red-light district. The Lotus was a night club like any other, privately owned by the Shalou and supervised by Donnie until they could find someone worthy of taking his place. In China, Lotus meant ‘ultimate purity,’ but this place was anything but. It made Zi Tao smile, albeit grimly, since his ultimate ideals went against such an oxymoron. He’d made it a point to rename the establishment, but it was given to Donnie. What he did with it was his business.

Both men parked their vehicles behind the building and made their way back around to the front. Half a step behind his leader, Min Shuo also entered the night club. And as soon as Zi Tao had crossed the threshold, a thunderous roar of applause and cheers shook the strobe-lit room. As they passed through the respectfully parting throng of Forty-niners⁷, stripper and member alike threw out their congratulations, although the club’s employees weren’t sure what for, Zi Tao was paying them so they made sure they did everything in their power to remain on the payroll.

Out of the crowd stepped his Vanguard, who led them both to a private booth just up the stairs from the dance floor. Inside was red and white, brightly lit compared to the dusky atmosphere in the club itself. Zi Tao took a seat and relaxed, enjoying the feel of the soft seats. Min Shuo sat to his left, immediately helping himself to the hand-rolled cigars placed on the center table.

“Go on and enjoy yourselves,” Zi Tao said, making a shooing motion as he moved toward a cigar for himself.

“I was quite fine at the play,” Min Shuo shrugged, watching idly as the smoke billowed into the air.

“There’s a new casino on the underground level,” Donnie piped up.

“But I guess it wouldn’t hurt,” Min Shuo added shamelessly, rising to his feet and leaving the room. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

“I thought that was our line?” Donnie asked with a raised eyebrow, eliciting a snort from his leader. Zi Tao rose to his feet as well, moving to look out of the one-sided mirror overlooking the main floor. His people were enjoying themselves to the fullest degree -- men indulged with the strippers, the bar was packed, and joyous laughter sung low under the harsh beat of the music. It did his heart good when his men could be happy for just a night before either of them could be whisked away on an assignment.

This was good for them. At any given opportunity, they were allowed to unwind and have fun like normal men without a care in the world. They could laugh, joke, banter and drink and chatter light heartedly with no fear of danger. Even if for one night…

A slight metallic tang on his taste buds brought the Dragon Head back to his senses and he ran his tongue over the inside of his left cheek where the pain was starting to spike. With an inward sigh, he mentally shook himself. He’d wallow in silence and solitude when he got home. Tonight however, he could be satisfied with the contentment of his brothers.

“Go on and have a good time with the others,” Zi Tao spoke aloud to his Vanguard. “I’ll be down in a few moments.”

“Hao, lau da,⁷” was the response at length.

With all his inner strength, Zi Tao tried to ignore the pang of hurt at the sound of the lock sliding into place behind the other man. It was pure nonsense to have such a feeling of despair at a simple sound. No, he didn't want to be alone, but he wasn't about to pull someone else away from their own lives to keep company with a man of so few words.

But it ate at him, this lonliness. It tore at him ever since reality had hit him at the age of eighteen when he took up his position as Dragon Head of the Shalou Triad. His friends would be few to none, smiling faces were purely masks of evil and open ears would only be deaf if none of the words spoke benefit for the listening party. And here, at this celebration where men would fall over themselves to gain the tentative confidence of their Lau Da, he just couldn't bring himself to do it. He was trapped. Alone, kicking and screaming for just one person he could put his entire trust into. Inside, he was a wreck, seeking reprieve if only for one moment.

Zi Tao merely whistled low, the smoke from his cigar clouding the glass. He backed away from the view, stubbing the cigar in the ash tray before leaving the private room.

1 - Lai = come

2 - Hao = Yes [okay]

3 - Vanguard = The operations officer in a Triad gang

4 - Bao Zi = Little Bun [one of XiuMin’s nick names]

5 - White Paper Fan = the Administrator of a Triad gang

6 - Shi = Yes [correct]

7 - Forty-niners = Ordinary members of the gang

8 - Lau Da = Leader

I apologize for the long wait for this chapter. And it wasn't even long or anything. But it's the start of a journey for our little loveable Panda who's not so little in this case. Enter the world of the Dragon Head. If any of you even like hard-action and great Kung Fu, Yen Ji Dan [Donnie] is a very good actor and director of those kinds of movies. Donnie Yen is just amazing. You have to watch his movies. If you want something modern, try Flash Point. If you want something on the slightly historical side, try IP Man. If you really want to return to the past then try The Lost Bladesman [he plays Guan Yu so that's where my reference came from]. He's the Jackie Chan that actually kills his enemies :3

Again, this is a TaoRis, in every sense of the word. I'm going to put a lot of thought and effort into this so the updates may be slower in coming than usual. It's not hard and fast and when I usually write, I go for something easy. But as of late, I'd been trying to challenge myself and looking back, these things take a lot of time and dedication. For fanfiction, it shouldn't be so, but I'm a writer at heart so this is like, my holy grail right now.

In the meantime I'm going to work on my Writer's Guide to Preserving Good Plots so that it can be over and done with. It currently has thirteen chapters, the last one being about Historical Fiction and its many facets. No, it's not another one of those just to get me popular. I'm actually teaching the use and the ideas that come with. Feel free to raid my library though.

Drop a comment and let me know what you think :3