In the second decade of the new millennium, with January barely half over, K and I were scouring Nathan Road for masks, powerless to guard ourselves against an unknown plague. At dusk we stood on the footbridge over Nathan Road, the neon glowing with a borrowed prosperity, and a fine snow began to fall. From then on, it never stopped. That was the last time I saw the neon burning through a whole black night. Later, K disappeared. Our grey British Shorthair vanished with her. People were always disappearing from this city, and I was always the one left standing on the shore.

 

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I am a businessman. I deal in things that have disappeared; they have disappeared, and therefore they are precious. The lockdown was the dead of winter for trade, and with a snowfall not seen in a hundred years, business was harder still. But people take risks to make a living. Only those unafraid of risk can do big business, though even risk-takers need an opportunity.

 

Dream and I came upon exactly such an opportunity.

 

"Ever since 2019, how dull our lives have become, without faith, passion, or madness," Dream said. "We're trapped in a city with no soul," I said. "Then go find the soul that disappeared," Dream said. "And sell it," I said.

 

We sat in a little white boat, drifting across the pitch-black Victoria Harbour, the lights on both shores slowly dying. We drank brandy glass after glass. Dream raised one glass high and slowly poured it into the sea.

 

"When my father came to Hong Kong, it was a night as black as this. He and a dozen people from his village spent ten days coming over by boat, planning to land on a beach, when the British Hong Kong marine police launch found them: surrender, or the boat would be sunk. He said that having come this far, he'd die before going back. Without a word he jumped into the sea, waited for the marine police to leave, and treaded water for over an hour in a sea as lightless as death. When there was no trace of anyone left, do you know what he saw?" Dream said. "God?" I said. "God said let there be light, and there was neon light," Dream said.

 

Dream's father had died the night before last, of COVID-19. My own father died many years ago. All I know is that he swam to Hong Kong. He never taught me how.

 

"I believe in DNA. That's why I'm such a strong swimmer, why I'm not afraid of death, why I dare to take risks. Only one of us has the destiny for this deal, and this deal has the look of the night my father came to Hong Kong," Dream said.

 

My father was a great swimmer. Then why can't I swim at all? Every time I tried to learn, I was terrified of going under.

 

"We can't let the marine police spot us either. We should be cautious at every step. You should follow the plan; it's almost time to board the big ship," I said.

 

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A British buyer had placed an order, at a high price, for the last neon lights of Hong Kong. Things that have disappeared lie hidden in places long forgotten. The neon on the streets had been disappeared without anyone noticing. Only that boat, once famous throughout the world, where even Bruce Lee had filmed, the Jumbo Floating Restaurant, still kept its neon signs from an age long past.

 

Our plan was to steal the signs inside, but under lockdown, air and sea freight were under strict control.

 

"Then we'll sail the whole Jumbo Kingdom straight out of Hong Kong," Dream shouted, wild-eyed.

 

The liquor was nearly gone. The little boat had passed out of the harbour; beyond the mist lay the open sea. The fine snow kept falling.

 

"Why did we come here?" I asked. "We came here because our fathers came here. If they hadn't swum to this city, we'd still be living in the village," Dream said.

 

"But is this place about to end?" I said.

 

"My father told me a story from the Buddhist sutras. Villagers set out on a journey of 779 kilometres to seek treasure in a distant land. The road was full of danger, but a great monk led the way. When their clothes were in tatters and water and food ran short, and they wanted to turn back, the monk conjured a phantom city and let everyone rest inside it," Dream said.

 

"I heard that story as a child too," I said.

 

"But you probably haven't heard the other part: some stayed in the phantom city and refused to come out. Only a handful followed the monk to finish the journey," Dream said.

 

The snow fell without pause. All around was darkness, mist ahead, and my body could not tell whether the dizziness came from the swell or from the drink.

 

"So which are you? One who stays in the phantom city, or one who walks out and finishes the journey?" Dream said.

 

My whole body jolted as if struck by a current, and then a hand, or something like a hand, pushed me into the rolling sea.

 

 "Be water, my friend."

 

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I fell into the sea and treaded water for all I was worth, so the marine police would not find me. The cold took my name first, then the year. Having left the village and come to this sea of freedom, I would not turn back.

 

After a long, long time, in the blackness, I felt a calm. Perhaps that is what it feels like just before death. I no longer knew whose body was treading water, his or mine; whose legs, whose lungs, which decade.

 

I saw a great ship blazing with neon. It pulled me back from the edge of death into the world of the living, and from then on I raised children in this city, and never once told my son how I had crossed.

 

At the bottom of the dark water, I heard my father's story. For the first time it was told.

 

I thought, too, of the past ten years: meeting K in the early winter of 2014 at a rally for Ukraine, under the slogan "they can't kill us all," and later, in that long summer, living through the protests of love and peace.

 

This city's neon has gone out; the neon that saved my father has disappeared. But I swam with everything I had, and I saw a great ship, the lightless Jumbo Kingdom.

 

I climbed aboard. Dream's plan. I switched on every neon light on the Jumbo Kingdom and sailed out of the waters where I had grown up, neon fire burning across sky and sea, the snow glinting red and green as it drifted onto my hands, becoming one mystery after another.

 

Our fathers had swum in toward the light. I was carrying it out.

 

Later, the TV news reported: A floating restaurant that was a famous Hong Kong landmark has sunk, days after it was towed away from the harbour where it operated for nearly 50 years.

 

That's how it always goes with legends, isn't it? Nobody knows the truth except you and me.