The Cheerful Detective

Early Republican Era.

The sky was just beginning to lighten. The chill of early spring still lingered in the morning air, yet the North Bund wharf in Shanghai was already ablaze with activity—porters hauling goods, laborers unloading cargo, people waiting for arrivals—everyone bustling about.

Detective Ying Xi of the Old Zha Police Station in the Shanghai International Settlement was among those waiting. In his twenties, he had prominent brow bones and deep-set eyes; his short hair was a little disheveled, and the stubble along his jaw lent him a rugged, untamed handsomeness. Clad in his police uniform, Ying Xi lounged against the back seat of a propped-up bicycle, his leather shoes slipped haphazardly onto his feet, uniform buttons undone, the holster at his waist just visible. His face turned toward the river, those deep eyes gazing into the distance.

He had been waiting for quite some time. Bored, he pulled out a brown paper bag and began to amuse himself, tossing peanuts up and catching them in his mouth one by one.

Suddenly, a long, resonant steam whistle sounded in the distance. The waiting crowd, like startled sparrows catching sight of food, surged forward. Ying Xi leapt up to join them, but a peanut caught in his throat and he coughed violently. By the time he raised his head, a wall of people blocked his way.

“Make way! If you don’t want to upset this detective, move aside!”

Brandishing his police baton, Ying Xi drove the crowd back, forcing his way to the front before straightening his uniform.

A steamship from Great B