In pursuit of James

Couldn’t resist doing this piece. I figured if anyone will do it, it’s probably me. haha.

It’s a fun piece to do, i enjoyed working on it.

Hope you like it too.

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Lishan, a struggling food delivery lady, rescues a mysterious man near Yishun Dam.

*This is a free to read title*

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The bubble tea was sweating through the plastic bag and Lishan could feel it against her thigh, warm and damp.

Brown sugar milk tea, extra pearls, less ice. Block 504, unit 07-312.

Who the fuck orders a single cup of bubble tea? She thought to herself.

Probably people who have no better place to spend their money. The bubble tea cost $4.50. She gets paid $6 for the delivery due to the peak hour.

As long as she’s paid, she couldn’t be bothered with anything else.

She knew the block, the lift on the left has been broken for a week now. She did her civil duty by sending a notice to Oneservice app a week ago. It should have been fixed by now but hey, Yishun is always an exception.

The woman who opened the door was maybe nineteen, still in her pyjamas at 8.30 in the morning, phone propped between her shoulder and ear.

Lishan : Hi your…

She took the bag without looking at Lishan, tapped her phone to confirm delivery, and closed the door. The whole exchange took four seconds.

Lishan : delivery…

Lishan was already calculating on the way back down. If she kept this pace,ten, maybe twelve orders before lunch she could clear sixty before the afternoon lull.

Sixty wasn’t great but it was the baseline. The number she needed to hit base on her earnings plan which she has broken down into bite size chunks.

When you are counting every dollar, your brain will keep persistently trying to break everything down into fractions. Mortgage was this many days of delivery, utilities and internet this many, her sister’s school fees and pocket money, and whatever remained was the difference between eating Cai png with 2 vege or 3.

Her phone pinged. Chicken rice, Yishun Industrial Park. She accepted it before the screen had fully loaded.

Ah Huat hummed beneath her as she pulled out of the void deck and onto the main road. Ah Huat was not, strictly speaking, a PMD. It was an elderly mobility scooter, four small wheels, a cushioned seat worn thin in the middle, handlebars with a wire basket up front, the kind you saw grandfathers riding to the wet market at six in the morning.

Lishan looked out of place in that device but it was Ah Gong’s scooter. The one he’d ridden every day for the last three years of his life to buy his kopi o and his fish and his 4D lottery ticket from Singapore pools.

Ah Gong had been gone three weeks now.

Pancreatic cancer.

Ah Gong was the kind of man who would rather die than see a doctor. By the time Lishan forced him to the polyclinic, it was already too late.

Three months from diagnosis to the end. Three months of watching the man who raised her shrink into someone she barely recognised, his body folding in on itself like a piece of paper being crumpled slowly.

Three weeks, and Lishan could still smell him on the seat cushion if she pressed her face to it.

She did it once in the dark of the void deck at two in the morning, and would never do again, and would never tell anyone she had done at all. She cried quietly in the void deck as she looked up into the star less skies in Yishun.

Lishan : Ah Gong…don’t worry…i will take care of Lirong…we will be ok…

She couldn’t tell if she was lying to the man that raised and supported her since her parents died 6 years ago.

Lishan had cable tied a phone mount to the handlebars and zip tied the Grab thermal bag to the front basket where his market groceries used to go. She’d wrapped the left handlebar grip in electrical tape where the rubber had worn through from his palm. The scooter was faded, scratched everywhere, slow on inclines and loud on flat ground, and it looked ridiculous, a twenty three year old woman hunched over an old man’s mobility scooter with a delivery bag rattling in the basket.

People stared sometimes. She didn’t care. Before this, she’d done her deliveries on a bicycle. Someone had stolen it from the void deck two days after Ah Gong’s funeral, chain lock and all, and she’d stood in the empty bicycle rack and felt the kind of rage that has grief living directly underneath it.

Life has always been unfair to those at the bottom.

So now she rode Ah Huat. Named after Ah Gong, whose name was Tan Ah Huat, and who had raised two granddaughters when their parents died in a motorcycle accident.

Lishan’s sister, Lirong was only one when their parents died. It was hard for a 65 year old to try and raise 2 girls without help, but Ah Huat never once complained about it.

He loved them in his own way, he gave them everything he could afford to without asking for anything back.

And Lishan loved the scooter in the same way. Unsentimental on the surface and something else entirely underneath.

She cut through the HDB carpark, skirted the edge of the park connector, merged onto the cycling path that ran parallel to Yishun Avenue 1. She knew this stretch well, every crack in the pavement, every awkward bollard. She leaned into the turns, she read the gaps between pedestrians and threaded through without slowing.

It wasn’t graceful but there is something about a PMD that makes people give way to you.

Probably no one wants to get mowed down by one.

The chicken rice went to an office on the third floor of a light industrial building where a man was nice enough to come down to level 1 lobby to collect it. Doesn’t sound like much but this small mercy, is something every one doing gig jobs look forward to.

Three more orders after that. A fish soup to Block 846. A prata set to a tuition centre near the MRT. A birthday cake with ‘Happy 60th Mum’ written in icing to a condo near Northpoint City.

The woman took the cake with both hands like it was something precious.

Woman : Thank you! It’s my mother’s birthday!

She said it as though Lishan needed the context.

Lishan : Enjoy…

Her phone buzzed. A whatsapp from her 7 year old sister.

Lirong msg : Jie…i finished school, walking home now…will text when i get back…

Lishan smiled. She never smiled at customers, rarely smiled at the road, but she smiled at her phone.

Lirong was too young when the accident took her parents. She didn’t remember their parents at all, only the framed photo on the altar that Ah Gong kept clean every day until the day he couldn’t get out of bed anymore.

The flat was Ah Gong’s. A three-room HDB in Yishun that he’d owned since the seventies. He’d left it to Lishan, written it clearly in his will, told her himself, held her hand and said;

Ah Gong : Girl ah… this one is yours, girl, don’t let anyone take it from you…

But Lishan was 23. You needed to be 35 to inherit an HDB flat, and the estate was tangled in paperwork that moved at the speed of government, and in the meantime her uncle, Ah Gong’s younger son, her father’s brother, a man who had visited maybe four times in twenty years and now suddenly had ideas about the house.

During Ah Huat’s funeral, Beng was asking questions about the flat’s valuation. Suggesting, in the oily way he had, that perhaps the girls would be more comfortable somewhere smaller. A rental flat.

Lishan had told him, very politely, to go to hell.

Actually the words she used was;

Lishan : Go fuck yourself…

It was considered polite as long as she didn’t go into the Hokkien language.

But politely telling someone to go fuck themselves didn’t make the mortgage payments, or the utilities, or Lirong’s school fees.

There is also something else, Ah Gong’s debts.

Not to a bank or a credit card company.

It was to private loan sharks.

The sum was not large, Ah Huat took the loans to tide over different months, it was in the range of 500-700 each time. The sum has ballooned to $7000 even with ‘compassionate’ interest rates given by the lenders.

They’d come twice since the funeral, and that the amount they named was getting higher each time.

She would pay them. She would find a way. She has to.

This was why she rode 14 hours a day. This was why $60 before lunch wasn’t enough and $130 at the end of the day still made her jaw tight.

A normal 9-6 job with CPF contributions in an air conditioned office wasn’t possible.

It had never been possible.

After graduating from polytechnic, she had to look after Ah Gong when his health turned, and then it was hospital appointments and medication schedules and learning to cook porridge the way he liked it and putting Lirong through school.

By the time she looked up from all of it she was 23 with no degree and no resume.

Grab delivery was the only thing that fit. Flexible hours. No interview. No boss asking why there was a 3 year gap in her employment history.

Just her, the road, and the next ping.

The last order came in at 11.30pm. Nasi lemak supper to Block 871, which was along the way home.

It felt like a sign from the universe that it was time to stop. She dropped it off, marked the delivery complete, watched her daily total tick over $118 including the incentives, it’s not bad at all considering she’s been out and about from 6.45am. The only break she had was from 2-3pm where she went home to sort out Lirong’s meals and to charge Ah huat.

Lishan checked the battery level, there’s still 11% left, enough for her to get home. If not, there is always the spare battery she carried around. Fact of life, you cannot cheong delivery for a living on a PMD with only a single battery.

She was exhausted.

The sky had gone the colour of a bruise purple-grey, the way it looked before a storm.

She took the shortcut.

It wasn’t really a shortcut. It was a path that ran along the edge of the park near Yishun Dam, cutting behind the reservoir where the trees pressed close and the streetlights thinned out.

During the day it was all joggers and retirees doing tai chi. At this hour it was just Lishan and Ah Huat’s mechanical whine.

She liked it here.

It was quiet, just the hum of Ah Huat and the warm vegetal smell of the trees and the sound of her own breathing.

She almost didn’t see him.

A shape on the ground, just off the edge of the path, half in the grass. Her headlight caught it late, a dark form that her brain first registered as a bag, then as a person, and by then she was already swerving.

Lishan : mother fu…ahhhhh!

Ah Huat’s front wheel bit into gravel, her body jerking sideways as Ah Huat skidded and stopped at an ugly angle.

Lishan : What the…fuck…

She swore loudly and with feeling. Her heart was hammering. She steadied the PMD, planted her feet, and looked back.

It was a man. Lying on his side, one arm folded under him, one leg bent at an angle that looked uncomfortable but doesn’t look broken.

Her first thought was a drunk, or maybe some dumbass high on laced vape. Or worse, maybe he just took drugs or something. This is Yishun afterall.

She should go. It was dark, she was alone, and she’d learned a long time ago that the world did not generally reward women who stopped for strangers on empty paths.

But she looked, and something stopped her.

He wasn’t moving right. His breathing was shallow and quick. There was a cut on his forehead. And his clothes, she noticed because noticing was what she did every day, reading the details of a situation in the half second before a door opened, if the customer is going to tip her or scream at her for being late with the delivery.

The man’s clothes were wrong for a jog in the park or to get high on vape. He wore a collared shirt, dark trousers. Leather shoes, the kind that should walk only on carpeted floor.

He was wearing a watch too, it looked expensive but she didn’t know stuff like these. The only expensive watch she recognised was a Rolex and the metal didn’t look shiny enough or carried the crown logo.

This was not a jogger and definitely not a drunk uncle.

She crouched beside him but kept a distance.

Lishan : Oei…Bro…oei

His eyelids flickered.

He turned his head slightly toward her voice and she saw his face properly for the first time.

He was younger than she’d expected, maybe her age or a little older. His features were sharp and he’s rather good looking too.

Lishan : You ok? what happened?

The man nodded and tried to give her the thumbs up.

Lishan : Hello? can you hear me? can you tell me your name? do you know where you are?

James: I’m…i’m…James…

She reached for her phone, thumb hovering over the keypad.

Just call the police and let them handle it.

He opened his eyes and looked at Lishan.

James: Hi…i’m…ok…

Lishan : You don’t look ok…

James: Please don’t call the ambu…

Then his eyes rolled back and he was gone again.

She was about to dial for an ambulance when she looked around her. How does she even begin to describe where she was?

In the middle of a short cut by Yishun Dam, look out for an illegally modified PMD that belongs to her deceased grandfather?

She sat back on her heels. Looked at the path. Looked at him. Looked at Ah Huat, which had a maximum load capacity she was almost certainly about to violate.

Lishan : arghh…fuck…

It took her four minutes to get him onto the scooter and it was the worst four minutes of her week.

James was taller than her by a head, heavier by a lot, and mostly unconscious, which made him the worst possible passenger.

The mobility scooter had exactly one seat, Ah Gong’s seat, so she ended up half standing on the footplate with James slumped behind her, his chest against her back and his head lolling on her shoulder, one of his arms draped around her waist like a terrible parody of a romantic movie.

The thermal bag she shoved between his knees. The whole arrangement looked insane. She was sure Ah Gong, wherever he was, was either laughing or shaking his head.

Lishan : oei…you better don’t die ah…

She wanted to bring James onto the main road, at least there’s better access for an ambulance.

When she got to the main path, she saw a group of tattooed teens looking at her.

They stared not because they meant her harm, but because of how ridiculous she looked with James behind her.

Lishan, on her part, was not about to dump an unconscious man in the middle of the road in full view of the teens.

In the end, she rode all the way home.

The scooter with two people on it, the motor whined in protest, barely managing a brisk jog. She gripped the handlebars with white knuckles, feeling the weight of him shift with every turn. The HDB blocks rose up ahead, lit up window by window, hundreds of lives stacked in concrete, and she aimed Ah Huat toward hers.

Staying on the ground floor was an advantage though, Lishan went right to her door and pared Ah huat like a boss staying in a landed property.

It was past midnight by then and Lishan groaned when she realised how fucked she was then.

Now, she has an unconscious man in front of her door.

Calling an ambulance or the police meant more paper work and questions.

Lishan dragged James into her house and the commotion woke up 7 year old Lirong.

Lirong’s tired face went through five expressions in two seconds, mostly confusion.

Lishan : just help me…arghhh..

Lishan said, half dragging and pulling James until they settled him on the sofa.

Lirong : Who is he?

Lishan : James…

Lirong : Did you knock him down?

Lishan : I did not!…go to bed, you have school tomorrow…

Lirong looked at the man on the sofa, then to her sister.

Lirong : Did you pick up a stray…?

Lishan :tsk…

Lirong : You don’t let me keep the kitten…then you bring back a man…

Lishan : go to bed!

Lirong rubbed her eyes and went back to the room, leaving Lishan in the living room with James.

Lishan : oh god..what have i done…

She checked James’ pulse, he’s definitely still alive.

James mumbled something, then he frowned and mumbled something again.

Lishan stared at the man she brought home and was surprised when she saw him cry in his sleep.

James: Ma…i’m sorry…

James then turned the other way and fell into a deep sleep.

Lishan sighed.

Lishan : At least he’s not dead…

Lishan went to the black and white portrait of her grandfather on the living room altar. Putting her hands together she prayed and talked to him as if he was still around.

Lishan :Ah gong…you on duty tonight ok? If he tries anything stupid…come out and bite him…suck his blood or something…i miss you…

She pressed a kiss on the picture and took a quick shower before collasping onto the bed beside Lirong.

…

Outside Lishan’s place, a 3 year old German shepherd sniffed the air. He walked to Ah Huat and looked at the charging cable leading into the house. He sniffed the seat, the handle and then the gate of the house James was in.

Odin marked the unit and peed by the corner of the wall below the window. He made his way back to the path by Yishun dam and to the place where James was found. A little deeper into the forested area, was a thermos flask with a leather handle. Odin sniffed it a couple of times and growled.

He picked up the flask which contained a drink prepared by James’ Aunt. Then Odin began his journey across Yishun dam and towards Seletar. It took him a few attempts before he found where he wanted to go.

A house on Sussex Garden in the middle of Seletar.

Orla hardly barks. She’s been trained not to, and barking was for small toy breeds looking for attention. Not for a trained 3 year old German shepherd in her prime.

Orla was happily snoozing on the porch of her house, enjoying the gentle breeze when her eyes opened. Her nose caught a scent, a familiar one.

Family.

Orla stood up and even before her brother came into view, she started barking.

Terry woke with a jump.

Terry : arghhh…Orla….what’s wrong? i have an early meeting later…

Terry groaned and sat up but the barking continued.

He wanted to dismiss it as a stray walking by or some stranger jogging in the morning but Orla never barks like this. Dogs her size and with her temperament, a single glare or growl was enough to send irritating toy breeds scurrying away.

Terry opened the door and when he saw what Orla was barking at, he immediately ran towards the gate.

Orla was greeting her brother, her tail wagging in between whines and barks.

Terry : Odin…why are you here? what happened?

Terry knelt down and looked at Odin’s bleeding paws.

He immediately brought water and some treats out.

Odin dropped the flask and barked at Terry once, as if he wants to tell him something.

Terry : This is James’…where is he? is he ok?

Terry tried calling his friend but his phone was off.

He went to his laptop and turned it on. He has put a tracking app in James phone with his permission.

Terry : Yishun…what is James doing in Yishun?

That dedicated laptop had more than just a live location of James phone, it was also connected to his ring and watch, both of it showed that James’ vitals were fine.

Odin barked again, a single short bark, as if telling Terry he was ready to go despite running all the walk.

Terry : Odin boy, James looks like he’s fine…you…on the other hand…need to rest…

Odin whine and backed away, he wanted to move immediately.

Terry :Listen Odin, go rest, we will get James first thing in the morning…and only…if you are well rested…you understand me?

Odin barked again as Orla nudge him out of the house and towards the porch.

Terry shut the door and then the laptop.

He put the thermos flask into a large ziplock bag.

It’s coming to 5am in the morning.

Terry : It’s happening bro…and things are moving much faster than expected…

He said to himself as he sent an email out. One which got an immediate reply. It was a coded email and with it, came attached with a password.

Terry then left a message to his PA in his law firm.

Terry :Cindy…sorry for the early message, ask Harry to cover for me…i’m not coming in today…

Terry stretched and made himself a coffee while reading through a document James had sent him just a month ago. The same one he just unlocked with the password.

Terry : My god … James ah James…hahaha…Stock market is going to fall tomorrow when this gets out…

…

6am, news began spreading across news desk on the island.

The eldest grandson of the Foo family, is missing. 3 weeks after the family’s patriarch left 75% of the family wealth to him, he’s vanished without a trace.

News were leaked by an unnamed source.

The Foo family refused to comment and said it was a private family matter, there was no need to involve the authorities.

The numerous business interests were not affected by James’ disappearance and operations will continue as usual.

The internet however, is abuzz with conspiracy theories that will put the best drama production to shame.

As the 3rd richest family in Singapore, the Foo family holds significant sway in the building and finance industry. James grandfather, Fooyu, has made no attempt to hide his disdain for his 2 sons fighting for his fortune.

He was ready to donate it all until James came of age.

Fooyu saw a future for the Foos in him.

He groomed him personally why his own sons wasted their lives away, enjoying the wealth and riches he built.

Fooyu understood social media and the internet despite his age. He had strict rules about James’ identity and pictures. Photographs of James growing up, were hard copies only, developed at home in his own studio by hand. He will not have any of those facebook or instagram nonsense, James respected that.

Unless you are within the immediate family circle, or business associates, most of the people in the country do not know how James look like.

Some say he’s fat, like a sumo wrestler, some say he’s sickly and frail. Fooyu thought it was amusing, and he was happy to let the rumors fly unchecked, for he knew one day, when he is no longer around, staying under the radar might just save James’ life.

…

At 6am, before most of the island was awake, the news broke.

It started with a tip to Channel NewsAsia from an unnamed source. Within twenty minutes, it had spread to the Straits Times, Business Times, and every newsroom with a pulse. By 6.15am, it was trending on X, Reddit, and HardwareZone and even sammyboy forum.

FOO FAMILY HEIR MISSING — ELDEST GRANDSON VANISHES THREE WEEKS AFTER PATRIARCH’S WILL REVEALED

The details were thin because the details had always been thin when it came to the Foos.

James Foo, 25, the eldest grandson of Foo Yu, founder and chairman emeritus of FooYu Holdings, had not been seen since yesterday evening.

This, by itself, would not normally make the news.

Rich people disappeared all the time. They went to Bali, or Tokyo, or to a villa in the South of France where the phone signal was conveniently poor.

But James Foo was not just any rich person’s grandson. He was the sole beneficiary of 75% of the Foo family fortune, as stated in the will that Foo Yu had finalised just three weeks before his death.

A will that had, according to those familiar with the matter, left his two sons with the remaining 25%, split evenly, along with what one source described as “a letter that was not kind.”

The Foo family released a statement at 6.30am through their corporate communications office. It was four sentences long.

“The Foo family is aware of the recent media reports. This is a private family matter. There is no need to involve the authorities at this time. The business operations of FooYu Holdings and its subsidiaries remain unaffected and will continue as usual.”

Four sentences. No mention of James by name. No mention of concern for his safety. No appeal for information.

It was rather obvious the family was not interested in a missing grandson, they were only interested in managing the news.

The internet, well, lost its mind.

Within an hour, the conspiracy theories were flowing faster than the comments sections could moderate them. James had fled the country. James had been kidnapped. James was dead and the family was covering it up. James had faked his own disappearance to avoid the inheritance. James has started an erotic blog online and is currently an author on an adult site.

Then more came from the chinese tabloids, James was hiding in a monastery in Chiang Mai. James was secretly working at a bubble tea shop in Geylang.

There was, briefly, a thread on Reddit claiming James had been spotted at a hawker centre in Toa Payoh eating ban mian, which turned out to be a photo of a Korean tourist.

The theories were wild because the raw material was almost nonexistent.

This was by design.

As the third richest family in Singapore, the Foos held significant influence in the construction and financial sectors. FooYu Holdings had built half the commercial towers in the CBD and held stakes in three regional banks. Foo Yu himself had been a fixture of the business pages for decades, photographed at charity galas and industry dinners, always in the same dark suit, always with the same unreadable expression.

In fact, Fooyu would pass off as the grumpy old man in white singlet waiting for his coffee at the coffee shop near your place. Grumpy he may be, he was the face of Fooyu

But James? James was a ghost.

Foo Yu had understood the internet long before most men his age could operate a smartphone. He had watched what social media did to the children of other wealthy families, how it turned them into targets, commodities and content.

While Singapore isn’t exactly Hong Kong in the 70s and 80s where kidnapping is rampant, he could not shake the thought that a kidnapping attempt happened in Singapore in recent years.

One involving an old lady whose children owns a chain of supermarket.

Then there are the stalkers who could build a map of someone’s life from an Instagram story and a geotagged photo. And he had decided, early and absolutely, that his grandson would not be part of it.

There were no photographs of James online. None. Not a school photo, not a graduation shot, not a candid at a family event. Foo Yu had been ruthless about it. Photographs of James growing up were hard copies only, developed in a darkroom that the old man had built himself in the basement of the family estate. Film camera. Chemical processing. Prints stored in a locked cabinet. He refused to have any photograph of his grandson exist in a format that could be uploaded, forwarded, screenshotted, or scraped by a facial recognition algorithm.

No Facebook. No Instagram. No LinkedIn. No digital footprint of any kind. He even hired professionals to make sure it stays that way.

There was also the matter of James’ legal name.

Foo Yu was traditional in ways that surprised people who only knew him as a businessman. He had built a modern empire but his roots were in the old ways, the dialect ways.

When it came to official documents, he insisted on hanyu pinyin. The family name on James’ birth certificate and NRIC was not Foo. It was Fu. And his registered name was not James Foo.

It was Fu Zheng Kai, James.

The English name James was what everyone called him, what the business world knew him as. But on paper, in the systems that mattered, government databases, NRIC records and IRAS, he was Fu Zheng Kai.

Foo Yu had done this deliberately. Another layer. Another wall between his grandson and anyone who might come looking.

The media was searching for James Foo.

They would not find a James Foo in any government record in Singapore.

Foo Yu’s associates, even his own children thought he was paranoid. His sons thought he was ridiculous. But the old man had built a fortune by seeing threats before they arrived, and he applied the same principle to the one person he believed was worth protecting.

The only one in the Foo family that will not squander away the wealth he accumulated.

“One day, when I am no longer around,” he had told James, “staying invisible might save your life.”

James lived quietly. He attended meetings but avoided cameras. He travelled under arrangements made by people who understood discretion. There were of course selfies and the occasional group photos, those were unavoidable but if you were close enough to James to take a picture with him, he trusts you enough not to do something stupid with it.

And since there were no readily pictures of James, plenty of fakes appear online. It amuses Fooyu when he saw so many people were willing to pose and fake their identity , claiming to the the heir to his empire.

It suit his purpose, the more posers there were, the safer James would be.

Unless you were within the immediate family circle, or a close business associate, you had no idea what James Foo looked like.

The public had never seen his face. Media outlets had no file photo to run with their stories. The best the Straits Times could manage was a stock photo of FooYu Holdings’ headquarters on Shenton Way, captioned The Foo family has declined to comment.

Online, the speculation about his appearance was its own comedy. Some forums claimed he was overweight, the pampered grandson of a billionaire who had never worked a day in his life. Others said he was sickly and frail, kept out of the public eye because of a medical condition.

One particularly creative thread on HardwareZone had decided he was disfigured in a childhood accident, which was why the family kept him hidden.

Foo Yu, when he was alive, had found all of it amusing. Let them guess. Let them draw cartoons. Every wrong image in the public imagination was another layer of protection for the real one.

And now the real one was missing.

And nobody knew what he looked like.

…

Lishan woke up at 6.12am to the sound of someone throwing up in her bathroom.

She was on her feet before her brain caught up with her body.

Then she remembered.

James.

She found him kneeling in front of the toilet bowl, one hand braced on the rim, the other pressed against the wall.

He looked terrible. The cut on his forehead had crusted overnight into an ugly brown line.

Lishan : You alive?

James looked up. His eyes were clearer now and for the first time she saw him properly in the light. He was maybe mid twenties. Clean shaven. The kind of face you’d see on a dental clinic poster. Even while throwing up, he somehow managed to look like he belonged in a different tax bracket.

James : I’m…sorry…I couldn’t find the…

He threw up again.

Lishan leaned against the doorframe and waited.She was definitely not equipped for whatever this was.

Lishan : When you’re done, there’s water in the kitchen. Don’t touch anything else.

She closed the door and went to check on Lirong, who was already dressed in her school uniform, brushing her teeth at kitchen sink because the bathroom was occupied by a stranger.

Lishan : why are you here, use the toilet in Ah gong’s room…

Lirong came out on purpose to steal a peek at the man. She quickly changed the subject.

Lirong : Is the man still alive?

Lishan : yes…

Lirong : What’s his name again?

Lishan : James.

Lirong : James what?

Lishan : How would i know?

Lirong rinsed her mouth and looked at her sister with the particular expression of a 7 year old who thinks she is the smartest person in the room.

Lirong : You brought home a man and you don’t even know his full name.

Lishan : Go to school la…late already.

Lirong : You said I cannot talk to strangers.

Lishan : You’re not talking to him. I am.

Lirong : You also said men are useless…unreliable…

Lishan : I was referring to your uncle…he is useless. Go. To. School.

Lirong picked up her bag, slipped on her shoes, and paused at the door.

Lirong : If he’s still here when I come back, can I ask him to help me with my English homework? You’re bad at composition.

Lishan : I am not bad at…you know what, just go!

The door closed. Lishan exhaled.

She made herself a cup of kopi from the packet mix Ah Gong used to buy in bulk from Sheng Siong. The tin was almost empty. She hadn’t been able to bring herself to buy a new one because buying a new one meant the old one was finished and the old one was his.

James appeared in the kitchen doorway. He’d washed his face, smoothed down his hair. His shirt was wrinkled and there was a grass stain on the elbow.

Lishan stared at the man and she cursed softly under her breath.

Damm he’s good looking, she thought to herself.

James : I owe you an explanation.

Lishan : You owe me a lot more than that. You threw up in my toilet. And you’re standing on my Ah Gong’s slippers.

James looked down. He was, in fact, wearing the blue rubber slippers that had been sitting by the bathroom door since Ah Gong’s passing because Lishan hadn’t moved them.

He stepped out of them immediately.

James : I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. For everything. I know how this looks.

Lishan : were you robbed or something? If you’re fine, you should go…i need to go out and work.

James : I was…I was attacked last night. At the dam. I don’t…I can’t go to the police. And I can’t go home.

Lishan : Why not?

James looked at his hands.

James : Because the people who did this to me…they know where I live.

Lishan : Then go to a hotel. A friend’s house. A shelter. I’m sure you have options.

James : I don’t. Not right now. If I use my card, or my phone, or check into anywhere that asks for an IC, they’ll find me.

Lishan studied him. She had spent years reading people. Customers who would complain. Hawkers who would shortchange her. The loan sharks who would show up at the door. She was good at it. And this man, sitting at her kitchen table with vomit breath and a head wound, was doing something she didn’t expect.

He was telling the truth.

She didn’t know how she knew. Maybe it was the way his hands were shaking even though his voice was steady. Maybe it was the fact that he’d cried in his sleep. Maybe it was the way he’d said called out to his mother…

Lishan : How long?

James : What?

Lishan : How long do you need to hide?

James blinked. He clearly hadn’t expected her to skip past the part where she tells him to get out.

James : I…I don’t know. A few weeks. Maybe a month. I know that’s…I know that’s a lot to ask.

Lishan : i was…thinking along the line of a few hours…

James: I…I’ll pay rent. Whatever you think is fair. I’ll stay out of your way. I won’t cause trouble. I just need a place where no one would think to look for me and…no offence…

Lishan : No one would think to look for you in a 3 room HDB flat in Yishun?

James : …yes.

Lishan almost laughed.The audacity was so pure it circled back around to something like honesty.

She almost screamed ‘ how dare you’ at the man in front of her.

It was madness to have a stranger stay in your house, even more so when there are 2 females in it.

Lishan : I have a 7 year old sister. If you are in any way a danger to her, I will kill you myself and I will not lose sleep over it. You understand?

James : I would never…

Lishan : I don’t care what you would never. I care what you WILL never. Say it.

James : I will never hurt your sister. Or you. I swear.

Lishan : How much rent?

James went quiet.

A kind of awkward quiet.

Lishan : You don’t have money.

James : Not on me. Not right now. I can’t use electronic transfers. If I move money, they can trace it. It would put you and your sister at risk. I don’t want to do that.

Lishan : So you’re asking to stay in my house, eat my food, use my toilet, for free?

James : I know how it sounds.

Lishan : It sounds like you’re a freeloader.

James : I’m not. I promise you, when this is over, I will pay you back everything. With interest.

Lishan : Everyone who owes money says that.

She knew because she owed money too.

She looked at him for a long time. Longer than was comfortable for either of them.

Lishan : You sleep on the sofa. You don’t go near our room. You don’t open the front door for anyone. You don’t touch Ah Gong’s altar. And you clean that toilet.

James : Yes. Yes to all of it. Thank you. I…

Lishan : Don’t thank me. I haven’t decided if I’m keeping you yet.

She stood up, put her cup in the sink, and picked up her phone. 6.45am. She was already behind on her first delivery window.

Lishan : There’s bread in the cupboard. Don’t eat the omega 3 eggs, those are Lirong’s. If you want to make yourself useful, sweep the floor. The broom is behind the fridge.

She spoke to the altar, telling her deceased grandfather to keep an eye on James.

She grabbed her thermal bag and walked out.

Ah Huat was waiting at the gate, still plugged in from last night. She unplugged the charger, put the spare battery in the basket, and pulled out of the void deck.

She didn’t look back.

When Lishan came home at 2.30pm to charge Ah Huat, the flat looked different.

Not different in a dramatic way. Different in neat way.

The floor was swept. The kitchen counter had been wiped down. The dishes from last night, which she had left in the sink because she was too tired to wash them, were clean and drying on the rack.

The pile of old newspapers that Ah Gong used to stack by the shoe cabinet, the ones Lishan hadn’t touched since he died, had been neatly bundled and tied with string, ready for the garang guni man.

The toilet didn’t smell like vomit anymore. It smelled like Dettol.

James was sitting on the sofa reading one of Lirong’s primary school textbooks.

He looked up when she came in.

James : I swept. And mopped. And I cleaned the toilet. Twice.

Lishan : I can see that.

James : I also found the laundry. I hope it’s okay that I hung it up. I didn’t…I didn’t touch anything that wasn’t…I mean I only washed and hung the towels and…

He was flustered. As if hanging laundry was a social minefield he hadn’t been trained for.

Lishan looked at the bamboo pole outside the kitchen window. Her towels and Lirong’s school uniform were hung neatly. Nothing else. He’d left their undergarments in the pail. Smart, no pervert behavior so far.

Lishan : Did you eat?

James : yes…the bread…

She plugged in Ah Huat, put the spare battery on the charger, and started packing Lirong’s dinner into the containers she used. Rice, stir fried egg with tomato, some cabbage.

James watched her from the sofa with the expression of a man who wanted to help but didn’t know how to ask.

Lishan : You can peel the garlic if you want. Four cloves. Don’t smash them, just peel.

He got up so fast he almost tripped on the coffee table.

He was terrible at it. His fingers fumbled with the papery skin and he kept crushing the cloves when he tried to separate them. Lishan watched him destroy three cloves before she took the garlic back.

Lishan : Have you never cooked in your life?

James : ermm… I’ve…ordered food?

James replied as he thought about Auntie poh who cooked his meals when he was young, then Uncle George who won a michelin star in Hong Kong before settling as his grandfather’s cook, then all the different chefs doing tours of billionaire families.

Lishan : wow…

Lirong came home at 3.15pm, dropped her bag by the door, saw James at the kitchen table, and lit up like someone had plugged her into a power socket.

Lirong : You’re still here!

James : I’m still here.

Lirong : What’s your full name?

James : James erm…Lee.

There was the slightest pause. Lishan caught it. Lirong didn’t.

Lirong : James Lee. Ok. Can you do English compo?

James : I … guess so.

Lirong pulled out her homework and slapped it on the table in front of him with the confidence of a CEO handing over a contract.

Lirong : Page 12. Composition. I have to describe this picture and write a story about it. Jie always writes like a police report.

Lishan : I do NOT write like a…

Lirong : She does. Last time she helped me, teacher wrote ‘too brief’ in red pen. Three times. wah lau, very malu…

James looked at the page. It was a simple illustration, the kind you find in every primary school English workbook. A park scene. A girl sitting under a tree. A dog beside her. A kite stuck in the branches above.

James : Ok. Lt me teach you a trick…So when you describe a picture, you don’t just say what you see. You say what it feels like to be there.

Lirong : Huh?

James : Like this picture. What do you see?

Lirong : A girl. And a dog. And a kite stuck in a tree.

James : Good. Now close your eyes. Pretend you’re the girl. What do you feel?

Lirong closed her eyes with the dramatic commitment only a seven year old could manage.

Lirong : …hot? It’s always hot in Singapore.

James laughed.

James : Ok, so the sun is warm. What else? What do you hear? What do you smell?

Lirong : mmm…the wind?

James : Good. So maybe we write it like this. The wind pushed through the leaves like it was trying to whisper a secret, but the leaves were too busy dancing to listen. See? Now the wind isn’t just wind. It’s doing something. It has a personality.

Lirong opened her eyes.

Lishan snorted like a pig before she laughed.

Lishan : Siao bo…bro…Primary 1 leh…you like this, confirm the teacher know someone wrote it for her…it should start with ‘ on a bright and sunny day, xiaoming…’

Lirong cut her sister off.

Lirong : The wind cannot whisper.

James : It can in a story. That’s what makes writing fun. You get to make things come alive.

Lirong : What about the dog?

James : What kind of dog do you want it to be?

Lirong : A big one. Like a German shepherd. Those are the coolest.

Something flickered across James’ face.

James : Ok. A German shepherd. So maybe we say…The dog sat close to the girl, not because he was told to, but because that was where he chose to be. His ears stood tall like small tents, catching every sound the girl could not hear.

Lirong was writing furiously, her tongue poking out the side of her mouth.

Lishan : bro…mai lai la…

Lirong : Wah…that one is nice…ears like small tents…

Lishan : Lirong i’m telling you, you write that, i’m going to have to see your teacher when she marks it, she will think i wrote it …

Lirong : you?

Lirong rolled her eyes.

Lishan : You believe i smack you or not…

James : stop it…let her learn…What about the kite?

Lirong chewed her pencil.

Lirong : The kite…was stuck in the tree…and it was sad because it wanted to fly?

James : That’s beautiful, Lirong.

Lirong : Really?

James : Really. Now write it down exactly like you said it. Don’t change a word.

Lishan : really is pattern more than badminton…

Lishan stood at the stove, listening. Her back was to them so they couldn’t see her face, which was useful because her face was doing something she didn’t want anyone to see.

His words were simple. Primary school level. Nothing a seven year old couldn’t understand. But the way he put them together had a gentleness to it, a rhythm, like he was used to seeing beauty in small things and knew how to hand that ability to someone else.

No one had sat with Lirong like that since Ah Gong. And Ah Gong had never been good with words. He’d been good with presence, with patience, with just being there. James was doing the same thing, but with language and it was beautiful, and Lirong was leaning in like a plant toward light.

Unsure if she could trust James, Lishan pushed back her delivery runs to stay longer with her sister.

They ate dinner together at 6pm. Lishan had cooked more than usual without thinking about it. There was rice, the egg and tomato, cabbage, and a small dish of braised tofu she’d picked up from the economy rice stall downstairs for $2.50.

Lirong talked through most of it, the way 7 year olds do, one moment about her teacher Mrs Lim who sneezed six times in class, and her friend Amira who could do a cartwheel, and the boy in her class who ate glue on a dare and had to go to the general office.

James listened. Not the way adults usually listen to children, waiting for a them to finally stop yapping. He actually listened.

Lishan ate and watched.

There was a feeling at the table she hadn’t expected. A warmth. Something domestic and unremarkable and completely ordinary, which was exactly what made it feel extraordinary, because ordinary was a luxury she hadn’t been able to afford in a long time.

No one at this table wanted anything from anyone else.

It was just rice and tofu and a child talking about her day.

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door.

She knew the knock. 5 hard raps, a pause, then a fist against the metal gate.

Bang bang bang bang bang!

This knock had a debt behind it.

Lishan : Lirong, go to the room. Now.

Lirong knew the drill. She didn’t argue. She took her plate and went.

James looked at Lishan.

James : What is it?

Lishan didn’t answer. She was already on her feet, moving to the door.

She opened it.

Two men stood behind the gate. One she recognised, Seng, the older one, the one who did the talking. Gold chain, a toothpick rolling between his lips. The other was new. Younger and bigger.

And behind both of them, leaning against the corridor railing with his arms folded like he was watching a show, was her uncle Beng.

Beng : Ah girl…aiyah…long time never come and visit your uncle is it? I brought your friends here to come chat…

Lishan : Get lost.

Beng : Wah…like that ah girl? this kind of attitute? i’m your uncle ok? When Pa was around…

Lishan : Ah gong is no longer here…your father…pas passed on…

Beng : exactly! and i’m

Seng : quiet quiet…all keep quiet… $7,800 now, girl. Interest is running. Every month you wait, it goes up.

Lishan : It was $7,000 two weeks ago.

Seng : Two weeks of interest girl. You think money is free? We run a legitimate business. Licensed and Legal. You don’t pay, we go to court. and make you pay for the expenses…

Lishan : And what business does he have here?

She looked at Beng.

Beng : Lishan ah…I’m here because I care about you two girls. I’m trying to help. These gentlemen, they are reasonable people. But you know lah…money is money. Better to settle early.

Lishan : You don’t give a fuck about us. You want the flat.

Beng : I want what’s fair. Pa was senile…he was old, ok? He wasn’t thinking clearly when he made that will. A 23 year old girl cannot inherit an HDB. You know this. I know this. Better to sell, split the money, you take your share and find a nice rental somewhere…

Lishan :Fuck you…

Beng sighed the way men sigh when they want you to think they’re being patient.

Beng : Lishan ah…don’t be like this. You think you can fight? You’re a little girl on a mobility scooter delivering chicken rice. Be practical.

The bigger man shifted.

Seng : Two weeks girl. After that, we file the claim. Don’t say we never warn you. Everything we do is by the book, above board. Court order, enforcement, the works. You want to fight, we fight in court. Sell the place and give us the money…win win for everyone.

Lishan’s jaw was clenched so tight her molars hurt. She wanted to slam the gate. She wanted to scream. She wanted to take the wooden back scratcher and break it across Seng’s face and his gold chain and his toothpick.

Suddenly,she heard footsteps behind her.

James appeared at her shoulder. He stood beside her, close enough that the men at the gate could see him.

Seng looked at James. Then at Lishan. Then back at James.

He was assessing.

James looked back at him with an expression Lishan hadn’t seen before. It was calm. Completely calm. The calm of someone who had sat across from people far more dangerous than a Yishun loan shark and had not blinked.

It was Beng who reacted first.

Beng : Who is this? Your boyfriend ah? Wah Lishan, got money for boyfriend but no money to pay debts?

Lishan : He’s…

James : I’m a tenant.

His voice was level. The accent was different from the one he’d been using all day with Lirong and with her.

It was corporate. The voice of boardrooms and lawyers’ offices.

He looked at Seng.

James : You said you run a legitimate business. Licensed. That’s good. Then you’ll have no issue providing a copy of your moneylending licence, a statement of account compliant with the Moneylenders Act, and a breakdown of your interest calculations for the debtor’s estate to review.

Seng’s toothpick stopped moving.

James : You mentioned filing a claim. Sure. Small claims tribunal caps at $20,000 so the amount qualifies. But you’ll need to engage a lawyer for the filing, it’s a bitch to do it yourself, you will also need to attend multiple sessions, and produce documentation that your lending terms comply with the Moneylenders Rules. Legal fees for that process, even on the low end, will run you somewhere between $3,000 to $5,000, possibly more if proceedings are contested. For a $7,800 claim, you’re looking at spending half the value of the debt just to argue it in front of a tribunal officer who may or may not accept your interest calculations.

He paused and Seng’s toothpick has dropped on the floor by then.

James : And if the interest rate applied exceeds the caps mandated under the Act, the tribunal has discretionary power to reopen the transaction and revise the terms. Which means your $7,800 could become $3,500 or less once the original principal is recalculated with lawful interest.

Seng stared at him.

James : On top of that, showing up at a residential unit with two men at this hour to demand payment from a young woman constitutes harassment under the Protection from Harassment Act. That’s a criminal matter, not a civil one. The penalties include a fine, a protection order, or both. And if a protection order is granted, any subsequent contact, including phone calls, will be treated as a breach.

He said all of it the way someone reads terms and conditions before checking the box.

It was in a way, the most boring possible version of fuck off.

The big guy beside Seng shifted, taking a step backward.

Seng puffed up his chest, not willing to back off yet.

Seng : Oi…you lawyer ah?

James said nothing. He just held the look.

Beng : Who the hell are you?

James : I’m a tenant. And I’ve said everything I need to say. The rest can be said through the proper legal channels, if you’d like to go that route. I’d encourage you to calculate the cost benefit before you do.

Seng sucked his teeth. He looked at the big guy. The big guy looked at the floor.

There was a long moment where nobody moved.

Then Seng turned and walked. The big guy followed. Beng lingered for a second, glared at James before shaking a finger at him with a warning glare.

Lishan shut the gate and turned to James.

Lishan : What the hell was that?

James : I’m sorry. I …

Lishan : What kind of tenant quotes the Protection from Harassment Act?

James : A…well-informed one?

Lishan : Who the fuck…are you?

James hesitated.

James : i’m…i’m someone who knows what it looks like when people are trying to take something that…doesn’t belong to them.

Lishan : I don’t need your help.

She’d been handling things on her own since she was 17.

Lishan : Clean …up the table. I need to charge my… phone.

Later that night, after Lirong had fallen asleep, Lishan sat in the kitchen with her earnings journal.

Every day’s income on the left. Every expense on the right. The math never balanced the way she wanted it to. And today, she didn’t go out the whole evening because of James and her uncle and the debt collectors.

It’s a bad negative day for her.

She could hear James on the sofa, shifting, trying to get comfortable.

Lishan closed the notebook and walked to Ah Gong’s altar. She wanted to light a joss stick but decided to save it because it’s late. She just pressed her palms together.

Lishan : Ah Gong…I don’t know what I’m doing anymore…

In the living room, James lay in the dark with his eyes open, staring at the ceiling.

He thought about the thermos his aunt Meiling had given him. The warm drink she’d prepared herself, pressed into his hands with that smile of hers.

Meiling : Drink this, James. You look tired. It’ll help you sleep.

She wasn’t wrong about the sleeping part.

It was Odin who had saved him. The dog had growled at the thermos, nudged it out of his hand before he could finish it, but he’d already taken a mouthful. Enough to make his legs go soft and his vision blur.

Then Meiling and her bodyguard tried to push him into the water. He resisted, but they managed to send him stumbling down the path by the dam. Odin barked, and tried to attack but took a jab of a stun gun the bodyguard had prepared.

Instead of going down, Odin growled and tried to attack. He wobbled and barked like a rabid dog, muscles still in spasm as he half dragged, half crawled towards Meiling and her bodyguard, chasing them all the way to the carpark.

Meiling hoped for a tragic accident.

A young man, stressed by the family dispute, who wandered too close to the reservoir at night.

A sedative, strong enough to knock him out, subtle enough to dissolve in warm chrysanthemum tea. That was all she needed. And she almost succeeded.

His own auntie tried to kill him.

James thought about the woman in the next room who had pulled him off a path by a dam.

He had spent his whole life surrounded by people who wanted something from him. His money. His name. His inheritance. His silence. His death.

James couldn’t sleep.

He got up from the sofa quietly and walked to the living room window. The corridor outside was lit by a single fluorescent tube. Beyond the corridor, the ground floor opened up to the void deck and the common area between blocks. Landscaped shrubs lined the edges, overgrown and lush, as if the town council had planted them and then forgotten they existed.

Something moved in the shrubs.

James froze.

He saw the shape shift, keeping close to the ground.

Then he saw the dark fur catching the edge of the fluorescent light.

Then a head lifted, ears tall like small tents, and James felt something crack open in his chest.

Odin.

The German shepherd was sitting in the shadow of a cluster of bougainvillea, partially hidden, his body angled toward the unit. His paws were dirty. One of them looked raw, the pad worn from running on hard ground. He must have crossed half of Yishun to get here.

When Odin saw James at the window, his tail moved. Not a full wag, not the kind he did when James came home. It was a slow, careful sweep. A wag that says ’bro i’m here’.

James smiled. He could feel his eyes burning.

He put a finger to his lips.

Odin stopped wagging. His ears rotated forward. He tilted his head once, the way he always did when he was processing a command, and then he went still. He understood.

Odin lowered his head and nosed at something on the ground beside him. A small drawstring bag, dark fabric, the kind you could buy from Daiso. He pushed it forward with his snout until it sat at the edge of the shrub, visible from the window, then looked up at James.

One bark.

Delivery complete.

Then Odin turned. He didn’t linger, he didn’t whine either. He looked at James one more time, and James could swear the dog nodded, just slightly, the way Terry did when something was understood between them without needing to be said.

Odin ran.

He disappeared into the dark between the blocks, moving fast despite his worn paws, heading toward Seletar. Back toward Terry’s house.

Terry’s place on Sussex Garden backed onto a narrow service road that ran behind a row of old colonial houses, separated from the main street by a wall of frangipani. It was through this gate that Odin would slip back in, unseen by the men parked in the silver Honda at the end of the main road, the ones who had been watching Terry’s house for the past week, logging his movements, noting who visited and when.

They were not street thugs. They were professionals. Foreign operatives, hired by someone with the resources to bring in people. Terry had spotted them on his second day back from James’ grandfather’s funeral. He said nothing. He continued driving to his law firm every morning, living his life as though everything was normal as they should be.

The sedan watched the front.

Nobody watched the back.

And nobody knew about Odin. As far as the Foo family and their hired eyes were concerned, James’ German shepherd had vanished the same night James did.

Terry intended to keep it that way. Odin was not just a dog. He was a courier and the only living thing that could move between Terry and James without leaving a digital trace. No phone signal. No transaction record. No CCTV footage that anyone would think to flag, because who tracks a German Shepherd running through Yishun at 3am?

And most important of all, who dares to stop one?

Odin ran the distance back without hesitation, because that was what loyalty looked like when it had four legs.

James waited five minutes. Then he slipped out of the front door, walked barefoot to the shrub, and picked up the bag.

Inside was a cheap Nokia phone, old school stuff. It was pre loaded with a tourist SIM card. No data plan or GPS.

There was a small piece of paper folded inside the phone’s battery compartment. James smiled when he saw Terry’s handwriting.

New number saved under “Pizza Delivery.” Don’t call unless urgent. Odin says hello. So does Orla. — T

James smiled again.

He went back inside. Locked the gate. Sat down on the sofa and turned the Nokia on. The screen glowed a pale blue, the colour of something from another era.

He typed a single message to the number saved as Pizza Delivery:

Arrived safely. Extra toppings appreciated. Will order again soon.

The reply came in thirty seconds:

Roger. Vet appointment booked for the delivery boy. His paws need work. Menu is being prepared. Will send when ready. Stay low.

James deleted both messages. Turned the phone off and slid it under the sofa cushion.

War is coming.

…

Lishan’s daily earnings target used to be $130.

That was the number for two people.

$130 was tight but it was survivable.

Now there were three people in the flat.

she could tell James deliberately ate like a man trying to control his portions. He’ll take the smallest scoop of rice, scrape a thin layer of dishes, then say it’s ok, he’s not very hungry.

It was a blatant lie and Lishan could see it.

On his second day, she caught him eating plain bread with kaya for lunch and dinner, and on the third day he skipped lunch entirely and pretended he’d eaten when she came home.

Lishan wasn’t stupid. She could see his ribs starting to show when he changed into Ah gong’s old tops. It affected her ego in a way.

A man, trying to eat less because he was worried she is not making enough? It was casting serious doubt on her capabilities. It made her cheong harder on her deliveries while making small changes to refine her thrifty ways.

She adjusted the numbers. Cut the cai png from three vegetables to two. Switched from the $2 chicken rice to the $1.50 mixed rice without the meat. Bought the discount bread from Sheng Siong, the ones near expiry date marked down to $1.10.

She even made bigger pots of porridge because rice stretched further as congee.

The new target was $150 a day. Twenty more dollars. It didn’t sound like much until you calculated it in hours on Ah Huat, which worked out to roughly two more hours of riding.

She didn’t tell James any of this. What was the point?

She couldn’t tell if she was being silly or stupid, perhaps both.

On the third night, while Lishan was out on her late shift and Lirong was asleep, James did something he had been thinking about since his first day in the flat.

He took off his watch.

It was a Patek Philippe. Ref 5711. White gold. His grandfather had given it to him on his 21st birthday, not in a box with a ribbon, but pressed into his palm.

Fooyu : This watch is not for showing off. It’s for reminding you that time is the only thing money cannot buy. And it’s your insurance. If everything falls apart, this watch will keep you alive for a year.

It was worth about $200,000 on the secondary market. Maybe more, given the provenance.

James wrapped it in a plastic bag, then in a sock, and placed it inside the old mooncake tin on the top shelf of the kitchen cabinet, the one Lishan used to store rubber bands and a stack of red packets from Chinese New Years past.

No one opened that tin. It had a layer of dust on the lid that told him it hadn’t been touched in months.

If something happened to him, if he had to leave suddenly, if the worst came and he couldn’t pay her back, that watch would keep Lishan and Lirong going for a while.

It wouldn’t fix everything but $200,000 was enough to clear the mortgage, pay off the loan sharks, cover Lirong’s school fees through secondary school, and still leave enough for Lishan to breathe.

She would find it eventually. And she would be furious.

And hopefully then, she would understand.

He didn’t tell her. Telling her would mean explaining what a Patek Philippe was, and what it was worth, and why a man who claimed to be between jobs owned a watch that cost more than her flat.

There are some debts you pay in silence.

…

As for Lishan, normally she would have thrown someone like him out in a heartbeat, but James has been staying in her place for a week.

The man couldn’t even peel garlic, but at least he could help with the housework. He now walks Lirong to school and wait for her after she’s done to walk back with her.

It was hard to wrap her head around what is going on.

Someone along the way, she felt that James was contributing in other ways. Lirong likes him, that much was obvious, and he has been such a gentleman so far. Growing up, Lishan prides herself on her asshole radar. She’s not bad looking herself and has her fair share of fuck boys and assholes trying to get into her pants. James is nothing like that.

On one hand, he appears to be doing nothing at home aside from housework, helping Lirong with her homework and art, but he had this focus that she could not put her finger to. His eyes, when he was looking out the window or into the dark at night, she caught that glimpse of concentration and focus.

There’s something more about this man. She just don’t know what it was.

The Ongs lived three units down from Lishan.

Mr Ong, 58, and Mrs Ong, 55, ran a small, mixed vegetable rice stall at a kopitiam near Yishun MRT. They’d been running it for nineteen years on their own.

The stall made enough to pay the rent, their CPF, with just enough left over for the occasional Genting trip.

They had known Ah Gong for decades. The Ongs are the kind of neighbours who left their doors open during the day and didn’t lock their gates until bedtime.

When Ah Gong was sick, Mrs Ong would bring over soup. When Ah Gong died, Mr Ong helped carry the coffin. And in the weeks since, they had quietly taken on the role of checking in on the girls, because that was what good neighbours did.

Mrs Ong brought food occasionally. It was usually leftover dishes from the stall, nothing fancy but it helped.

A container of braised pork belly. A bag of stir fried kangkong. A tupperware of curry chicken that Mrs Ong swore was not selling well.

Lishan knew it was charity dressed as convenience.

She accepted it because pride didn’t feed Lirong, and also because Mrs Ong’s curry chicken was genuinely excellent and refusing it would have been an insult to both the woman and the dish.

Mr Ong was the quieter of the two. He showed his care differently. Fixed the light when it blew the night after Ah Gong passed. He helped her fix Ah Huat’s brakes.

Sometimes, he will pace about the corridor topless, pretending to exercise but Lishan knew Mr Ong was checking in on Lirong. A 7 year old child alone at home from 3pm to 10pm, it was reason enough to ‘pretend’ to walk pass a few times just to peek in.

Sometimes he will see Lirong playing by herself, sometimes he sees her having milo with sugar crackers, sometimes, she will come to the gate to talk to him.

Mr Ong : Lirong ah…if you need anything…come and knock on our door ok? No need Shy…

Lirong : Ok Uncle Ong…

One week after James arrival, Lishan bumped into Mrs Ong on her way out to deliver stuff.

Mrs Ong : Aiyoh girl, so early already going out? Eat breakfast first lah…

Lishan : Ate already, Auntie Ong.

Mrs Ong paused, She looked at Lishan. Then she looked past her, through the open gate, to where James was visible on the sofa, folding Lirong’s school uniform.

Mrs Ong’s eyebrows went up so high they nearly left her face.

Mrs Ong : Lishan ah…who is that?

Lishan : A tenant.

Mrs Ong : Since when you have a tenant?

Lishan : ermm…Since…recently.

Mrs Ong : That one is a man.

Lishan : I know…

Mrs Ong : A young man…is he a Tiko pek or not?

Lishan : Auntie…

Mrs Ong : Hmmm…Good looking some more.

Lishan : Auntie Ong…stop it…he can hear you!

Mrs Ong leaned in conspiratorially.

Mrs Ong : Where you find one? Is it one of those internet match making thing?

Lishan sighed. She gave the short version. Found him injured. Brought him home. He needed a place to stay for a while. She left out the part where he wasn’t actually paying rent.

Mrs Ong listened with an expression that cycled between concern, suspicion, and the look of a Chinese auntie who is already writing a love story in her head.

Mrs Ong : You be careful ah. Don’t anyhow trust men. This world, a lot of men, open mouth say one thing, close the door do another thing. You are young girl, you and Lirong, no parents, no Ah Gong now, people will take advantage…

Lishan : I know, Auntie. I’ll be careful.

Mrs Ong : I know you’re smart. But smart girls also kena before. Any funny business, or you not comfortable… you tell us. ok?

Lishan nodded, because arguing with Mrs Ong was like arguing with weather. You just had to wait for it to pass.

James met the Ongs properly that same evening, and it was not by choice.

Mrs Ong had come over with a container of leftover sweet and sour pork from the stall and had effectively invited herself in by standing at the gate until Lishan had no option but to open it.

Mr Ong trailed behind, carrying a bag of oranges and the expression of a man who had been told he was coming because his wife wants to take a closer look at the good looking man in Lishan’s place.

James stood up from the sofa the way someone stands when they’ve been trained in basic manners since birth.

Mrs Ong studied him the way she studied fish at the market. Thoroughly. If James had gills, she would have flipped it to make sure it’s red and fresh.

Mrs Ong : So you are the tenant.

James : Yes, Auntie. I’m James. Nice to meet you.

Mrs Ong : James what?

James : Lee.

Mrs Ong : Where you from? You Singaporean? Malaysian? Chinese?

James : I’m Singaporean…

Mrs Ong : Got job or not?

James : I’m…erm…between jobs at the moment.

Mrs Ong exchanged a look with Mr Ong. Mr Ong said nothing. Mr Ong was a man who had perfected the art of communicating through silence and the occasional grunt.

Mrs Ong : Between jobs…means no money la… Stay in a girl’s house. Eat her food…mmmh…

James : I ermm… I intend to pay rent as soon as I’m able. In the meantime, I’m helping with housework and Lirong’s homework.

Mrs Ong : Homework? What you teach?

James : English composition. She’s very talented actually. Her teacher gave her a star.

This was, strategically, the correct thing to say, because nothing won over a Chinese auntie faster than academic praise of the child she’d practically helped raise.

Mrs Ong’s expression shifted slightly but she stopped herself in time.

Mrs Ong : She is smart, that girl. Takes after her Ah Gong. He was sharp one, you know, even at that age.

Mr Ong nodded.

The evening could have ended there, if not for what happened next.

Mr Ong had been coughing intermittently through the visit, a dry, persistent cough that he kept waving away. Mrs Ong had been ignoring it the way wives ignore things they’ve gotten used to.

James noticed.

James : Uncle Ong, how long have you had that cough?

Mr Ong looked at him, surprised. People didn’t usually notice him.

Mr Ong : Couple weeks. It’s nothing. Haze season.

James : The haze cleared ten days ago. Has it been getting worse at night?

Mr Ong shifted in his seat.

Mr Ong : …a bit.

James : Does it get worse when you’re at the stall? Near the cooking station?

Mr Ong stared at him.

Mrs Ong stared at him a second later.

Mr Ong : How you know?

James : Commercial wok hei generates a lot of fine oil particulate, especially if the ventilation hood is older. If the filters haven’t been serviced recently, you’re breathing in aerosolised cooking oil for ten, twelve hours a day. It presents like a persistent dry cough that worsens with exposure and at night when you lie flat.

There was a long pause.

Lishan stared at James, her jaw had dropped a full inch.

She was about to go WTF if Lirong was not there.

Mrs Ong : wow…

James : It’s not serious if you address it early. Get the ventilation hood serviced, change the filters and Uncle Ong should see a GP for a chest X-ray, just to rule out anything. In the meantime, a simple N95 mask during the peak frying hours would help.

Mr Ong looked at Mrs Ong.

Mr Ong : I told you the hood needs servicing.

Mrs Ong : You told me it was expensive!

Mr Ong : It IS expensive!

James : I…ermm…have a friend that does this…if you like, i can give you his contact…

Mrs Ong : Wah, i know what this is, you kana sai, want to intro work then take commission right!

James: No no no…it’s not like that haha…

Mr Ong : Yah, this kind of servicing, it’s expensive…and they try to upsell you a lot of things…what contract and all…

James laughed and replied.

James: My friend ermm… army buddy. His parents started an engineering firm dealing with commercial exhaust and ventilation. Army time, i literally carry him up a hill… He owes me a big one. How about this…i’ll ask him down to take a look and fix it for you. You see how it goes, then you decide. If not happy, don’t pay.

Mr Ong : Your army friend? mmmhh… What unit?

James : Guardsman…

Mr Ong nodded.

Mr Ong : you don’t look like the guardsman type…

James : i know…i’m the medic…i know a thing or 2 about…medicine and health.

Mr Ong : hahah

Mrs Ong : wah…zhun bo?

Mr Ong looked at James like he was seeing him for the first time.

Mr Ong grunted again. But it was a different grunt. A grunt of respect.

When the Ongs left that evening, Mrs Ong squeezed Lishan’s arm at the gate and whispered.

Mrs Ong : This one…not simple. You be careful. But also…don’t chase away too fast. Smart men are hard to find. Especially ones who notice when your husband is sick before the husband does.

Lishan : yes yes…i know…

Later that evening, Lishan brought some laundry to the living room, folding them together with James.

Lishan : What were you doing before this?

James: I’m a consultant…on projects…

Lishan : Consultant…that must pay well…what does a consultant do exactly?

James : Con and insult people without them knowing…make them feel good at the same time.

Lishan blinked twice before she burst out laughing at James’ jokes.

She looked at James for a couple of seconds longer than she thought she was capable of.

…

Two days later, something arrived in the mail.

It was a letter from a law firm, Yeo, Chan & Associates. Lishan didn’t recognise the name but she recognised the tone. Legal letters all sounded the same but it’s still like a knife.

The letter was addressed to The Occupant of the flat. It was on behalf of one Mr Tan ah Beng, who was seeking to clarify the tenancy and ownership status of the aforementioned unit in light of the ongoing estate proceedings. It cited the HDB resale regulations. It cited the age requirements for flat ownership. It cited the Intestate Succession Act.

The key paragraph was the last one.

Our client wishes to note that under the current HDB regulations, a single person under the age of 35 is not eligible to purchase or own an HDB flat under the Singles Scheme. As such, should the estate matter not be resolved within the stipulated timeframe, our client reserves the right to petition HDB for a review of the unit’s occupancy status.

Lishan read it twice. Then she put it down and stared at the wall.

Lishan : mother fucker…

Beng was building a case. He probably ganged up with the money lenders to do this.

She could feel the walls closing in. The loan sharks on one side. Beng on the other. The mortgage in the middle. And her, on Ah Huat, trying to outrun all of it at 15 kilometres an hour.

She put the letter in the drawer under the TV console. She would deal with it later, When she had time.

When she had money.

The next afternoon, while making a delivery near Yishun MRT, Lishan stopped at a kopitiam while waiting for the stall to prepare a large order.

The TV mounted on the wall was tuned to Channel NewsAsia, and the ticker at the bottom was running the story she’d been seeing everywhere for the past few days.

FOO FAMILY HEIR STILL MISSING — SEARCH ENTERS FIFTH DAY

Lishan glanced at it.

Newsreader : The search for James Foo, the 25-year-old grandson of the late Foo Yu, continues as the Foo family maintains its silence…

James.

Lishan looked at the screen. Same name. But James was one of the most common names in Singapore. You couldn’t throw a rock without hitting a James.

Before she could even think about it, the segment cut to a montage that made her almost choke on her kopi.

A series of people, clearly influencers and content creators, had posted videos claiming to be James Foo.

One guy in a Lamborghini said he was coming out of hiding.

A woman on TikTok claimed James was her secret boyfriend.

A Twitch streamer did a live reveal that turned out to be a promotion for a facial brand.

One uncle in a singlet had posted a Facebook video insisting he was James Foo and that the will was fake, and his video had somehow gotten 40,000 shares because the internet rewarded chaos.

Lishan burst out laughing.

The segment continued with a graphic showing the popularity of the name in Singapore.

James was the fourth most common English name among Singaporean males aged 20 to 30. There were approximately 12,400 men named James in that demographic alone.

Lishan shook her head and picked up her phone. New order. Pickup from a Western food stall in the same coffee shop

Customer name: James.

She laughed again.

Lishan : wah…billionaire order grabfood…

She picked up the orders and delivered them.

When she was done with those on hand, she accepted the next order. A laksa from a stall near Khatib. When she arrived, the stall owner waved from behind the counter.

It just so happened that the neighbouring stall called his name.

“James ah…lim kopi mai?”

Stall owner : Order 3443… Your laksa ready

Lishan almost dropped her phone.

She could not resist asking.

Lishan : Boss…you…billionaire selling Laksa ah? haha

Stall owner James : Yes…i am James…James Foo…the billionaire selling laksa to hide from my family…please don’t leave review or tell anyone…hahaha

Lishan gave him a thumbs up and hopped onto Ah Huat.

She delivered the laksa, still grinning, and was riding back through the park connector when she passed a woman walking a tiny, trembling chihuahua in a rhinestone collar. The dog was yapping at a pigeon. The woman yanked the leash.

Woman : James! James, stop it! Come here, James!

Lishan pulled Ah Huat to the side of the path, put her forehead on the handlebars, and laughed until her stomach hurt.

James seemed to be everywhere now.

That night, after Lirong had gone to bed and Lishan was in the shower, James sat on the sofa and pulled the Nokia from under the cushion.

He turned it on. The pale blue screen glowed in the dark.

He typed a message to Pizza Delivery.

Any updates?

The reply came in forty seconds.

Give me 5.

James counted to three hundred. The phone buzzed. An incoming call from an unlisted number.

James : Hey.

Terry : How’s Yishun?

James : Humid. sofa is terrible. The food is incredible.

Terry : You sound better.

James : Terry…Meiling tried to kill me.

There was a long pause.

Terry : Why did you wait so long to tell me?

James : I was thinking about it the whole week.

James told him.

Meiling and a bodyguard trying to push him toward the water. Odin taking a stun gun hit and still charging at them like a furry tank. Waking up on the path with a delivery rider shining a headlight in his face.

Terry was quiet for a long time.

Terry : James, this changes everything. Attempted murder. If we can prove it…

James : With what? I don’t have the thermos. I don’t have a toxicology report. It’s my word against hers, and she’s got the family PR machine behind her.

Terry : Odin carried the thermos to me. I still have it. It’s in a ziplock bag in my office safe.

James sat up.

James : You’re kidding.

Terry : I’m a lawyer, James. I don’t throw away evidence. I’ll get it tested privately. Off the books. I know a lab.

James exhaled.

James : What about my father? Has he…has he said anything? Asked about me?

Terry : Jordan is still in Paris. The tabloids caught him at some restaurant in Saint Germain with a model. He hasn’t made any public statement. He hasn’t contacted me. He hasn’t contacted anyone as far as I know.

James said nothing for a while.

James : Right.

Terry : I’m sorry, brother.

James : Don’t be. It’s not new.

Terry let the silence sit for a while.

Terry : There’s something else. Meiling and your uncle David are making moves. I’ve heard through channels that they’re engaging a senior counsel to challenge the will. Testamentary capacity, undue influence, the usual playbook. They’ll argue your grandfather wasn’t of sound mind when he signed it.

James : Ah Gong was sharper at 87 than both of them combined.

Terry : I know that. You know that. But a court needs evidence, and they’ll hire doctors and psychiatrists to say otherwise. They have the money for it. This is going to be a fight, James. A proper one.

James : What do you need from me?

Terry : Time. I need to verify the document you sent me. Build a case that can’t be thrown out on a technicality. And I need you to stay hidden until I’m ready.

James : I’m not going anywhere.

Terry : Good. And James, listen to me. You’re not alone in this. Ah Poh is still at the estate. She calls me every week asking about you. Uncle Raj, the gardener? He refused to take orders from Meiling. Told her the garden was Fooyu’s garden, and he would maintain it as instructed until Mister Foo’s grandson tells him otherwise. She nearly fired him but she can’t because your grandfather’s employment terms are ironclad.

James smiled.

Terry : Auntie Poh is keeping her head down but she’s watching everything. She told me Meiling has been going through your grandfather’s study. Looking for something. She doesn’t know what.

James : I might know what.

Terry : You want to tell me?

James : Not on the phone. Later.

Terry : ok… Stay low. Don’t do anything stupid. And eat properly, you always forget to eat when you’re stressed.

James : The woman I’m staying with. She…makes sure I eat.

Terry : Oh? A woman…the delivery rider?

James : Yeah…

Terry : Chio or not?

James: oh fuck off…

Terry : I didn’t say anything…just asking if she’s chio what…

James : I can hear you smiling.

Terry : Stay safe, brother. I’ll send Odin when I have updates. His paws are healing. Orla’s been mothering him, won’t leave his side. He hates it.

James : He loves it.

Terry : Yeah. He does.

James: oh…i need money…

Terry laughed and spend a few second longer teasing his friend.

Terry :For once in my life, i’m richer than you…how much you need, haha. i paynow you…

James: I can’t use those…i need cash…

Terry : oh right…

James : One more thing. Call Wei Long. Tell him I need a favour.

Terry : Wei Long? The one that did my aircon?

James : Yeah. There’s an old couple near my place, hawker stall, their ventilation hood needs servicing. Ask him to come fix it. No charge. Tell him I’m calling in the debt.

Terry : That’s a small job for a guy who runs an engineering firm.

James : I know. But I also need him to bring cash. Put it in his toolbox.

Terry : Done. I’ll arrange it this week.

James : Terry…make sure he comes to the stall, not here. I don’t want him near this flat. I don’t want anyone connecting the dots.

Terry : Understood. i’ll let you know when to head there, text me the location.

The call ended. James deleted the call log, turned off the phone, and slid it back under the cushion.

He stared at the ceiling and thought about the document his grandfather had given him three days before he died.

The one he had scanned and sent to Terry before Meiling made her move. The one that contained account records, transfer authorisations, and a trail of transactions that proved his aunt and uncle had been siphoning money from FooYu Holdings for over a decade.

The one that, when made public, wouldn’t just challenge the will contest.

It would end it but it will also leave a bad stain on the Foo’s reputation.

It was almost 11pm when the knock came on the front door.

Lishan opened the gate and Mrs Ong was standing there in her house clothes, holding a container of dessert.

Mrs Ong : Cheng tng. I made too much.

Lishan accepted it with a nod.

Mrs Ong came in and sat at the kitchen table. James had already retreated to the sofa, giving them space. Lirong was asleep. The flat was quiet.

Mrs Ong : You got that letter?

Lishan looked at her, a little shocked. She hadn’t told anyone about the letter.

Mrs Ong : Beng came to talk to Uncle Ong yesterday. At the stall. Asking about the flat. About you. Whether you’re maintaining it. Whether you’re renting it out. Trying to build a case, that one. Uncle Ong told him to order something or leave. He said something he will shoot you a letter, all prepared already.

Lishan’s jaw tightened.

Mrs Ong : Girl, I’m going to say something and you’re not going to like it, but I need you to listen, okay?

Lishan : What?

Mrs Ong stirred her cheng tng slowly.

Mrs Ong : The HDB rule. Single, under 35, cannot own. But married, can. Even at 23.

Lishan stared at her.

Mrs Ong : If you are married, you can apply to transfer the flat into your name under the estate. Beng cannot touch it. The will says it goes to you. All you need is to meet the eligibility. And eligibility means…

Lishan : I’m not getting married.

Mrs Ong : I didn’t say get married for real. I said settle the paperwork.

Lishan : That’s the same thing.

Mrs Ong : No it’s not. People do this. ROM, sign the papers, settle the flat, then after everything is done, file for divorce. Flat stays with you as long as your name is on it. After the minimum occupancy period, you can do what you want. It’s all legal…just ermm…keep your mouth shut…don’t brag, don’t do any high profile stunts…just keep quiet.

Lishan : And who am I supposed to marry? Find a random guy from Yishun?

Mrs Ong glanced toward the living room. Toward the sofa. Where James was lying very still and very obviously not asleep.

Lishan followed her gaze.

Lishan : you…got to be fucking kidding me…

Mrs Ong : He cannot pay rent, cannot pay for food.

He has no money, no job, and he’s sleeping on your sofa eating your bread. This way, he pays his debt. You get the flat. Everybody wins.

Lishan : You want me to marry a man I found unconscious by a dam less than 2 weeks ago?

Mrs Ong : I want you to keep your home.

She said it simply. Without drama.

Mrs Ong : Beng is not going to stop. You know this. The loan sharks are not going to stop. The HDB paperwork is not going to wait for you to turn 35. You need a solution, Lishan. It’s not a perfect one but it’s something possible.

Lishan opened her mouth, about to speak.

Mrs Ong : You don’t have to decide now. Just…think about it. Talk to him. He owes you. This is how he pays.

Mrs Ong finished her cheng tng, washed the bowl, put it on the rack, and left.

Lishan sat at the kitchen table for a long time.

She could feel James on the sofa. He was definitely awake and listening.

She didn’t look at him.

She pulled out her notebook. Opened it to a fresh page. Drew a line down the middle.

On the left, she wrote: Reasons this is insane.

On the right, she wrote: Reasons this might work.

The left column filled up fast.

The right column had only two lines.

They keep their home.

Beng loses.

She stared at it until the words blurred, then she closed the notebook and went to bed.

In the living room, James lay in the dark. He had heard everything.

He stared at the ceiling.

He thought about a woman who had saved his life, fed him, sheltered him, and asked for nothing.

Then he entertained a sudden silly thought. Lishan is a good, honest girl. A little rough, but her heart is pure.

Marrying her, giving her half of Foo’s estate, it sure beats giving it to Meiling and her uncle.

But it will also mean dragging Lishan and Lirong into the mess he was in.

James turned to his side and closed his eyes.

At 5am the next morning, he heard Lishan wake up to get ready for work. Before she left, she gave James $10.

Lishan : You’ve turning into a sack of bones…get something to eat…

James: Lishan…there’s no…

He wanted to tell her he will have money soon. The contractor will be fixing the Ong’s filter and will be handing him some but she cut him off.

Lishan : hello bro…

She clipped on her sling bag and put a hand on his shoulder.

Lishan : I’m one of the best rider in Yishun…i got this… i can support all of us…

James’ jaw dropped an inch.

Lishan : I can tell you’re a good person James…you just need some time to figure shit out…just…ermm…don’t worry about the bread and butter issues…i got this…

James : Lishan…

Lishan : Pay me back next time when you can…meanwhile … help me take care of my sister while i go cheong outside…I feel much better knowing you are taking care of her…

James: but i…

Lishan :Bro, ai zai…

Lishan jabbed a finger to her nose and added.

Lishan : 我送grab养你…

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More coming soon…