Chapter 23 Chapter Twenty Two

White shirts are everywhere.They check intersections, walk around food markets, and crack down on illegal methane fires.It took Fusheng several hours to get to the other side of the city.Rumor has it that all Malayan Chinese are stuffed into yellow card buildings and they will be sent south, across the border, to green headbands.As he walked through the alleys, Fusheng listened carefully to every rumor.He let Amai, who is a local, go ahead and use her local accent to scout the way ahead. The destination is where Fu Sheng keeps his cash and precious stones.By nightfall they were still far apart.Fusheng carried the money he stole from the factory, which was heavy.Sometimes, he was afraid that Amai would suddenly denounce him to White Shirt, so that he could get a piece of the cash he was carrying.At other times, he would regard her as one of his granddaughters, and no matter what accidents were about to happen, he hoped that he could protect her.

I'm probably going crazy, he thought, thinking of a silly Thai girl as his own. But even so, he still trusted the slender girl, the fisherman's daughter.Until then, when he still had a bit of authority as a manager, she had been very deferential.And now, he's the target of White Shirt, and he can only hope she doesn't turn on him. The night completely covered the whole city. "Why are you so scared?" Amai asked. Fusheng shrugged.She doesn't understand and can't understand this complicated situation.For her, it's just a game.Sure, the game is a little scary, but it's a game nonetheless.

"The situation now is very similar to when the brown people in Malaya started attacking the yellow people. All of a sudden, everything was different. Religious fanaticism, green headbands and machetes all came at once..." he said Shrugging, "It's not a big mistake to be careful, the more careful the better." He poked his head out of hiding, peered out into the street, and then drew back.A white shirt is putting up leaflets on the wall with the image of the Tiger of Bangkok painted black around the edges.Jaidi Royana Sukchai, who fell from the summit of glory, soared like a bird and became a saint.Fusheng made a strange face.This is politics.

The white shirt left.Fusheng scanned the entire street again.Lured by the relatively cool night breeze, people gradually took to the streets, strolling, shopping, eating, and looking for their favorite food trucks selling cold papaya in the humid darkness.The legally lit methane flames turned the uniforms of the white shirts a pale green, and they moved in groups like wolves searching for wounded prey.Small shrines dedicated to Jaidi began to appear in front of shops and homes, with his portrait surrounded by lit candles and bouquets of marigolds.This is both a support for Jaidy himself and a means of escaping the wrath of the white shirts.

The national radio airwaves were filled with accusations of all kinds.General Pracha spoke of the need for the Ministry of Environment to protect the kingdom from those who might destabilize the country.The wording is very careful, without specific names.His voice, coming out of a crude hand-crank radio, was not very pleasant to hear, and sometimes crackled.Hawkers, housewives, beggars, children, everyone is listening to the radio broadcast.The light from methane street lamps made people's skin shine, much like a carnival scene.But amidst the sarongs, square skirts, and mahout-watchers' red and gold attire, there were always figures in white shirts, their grim eyes constantly searching, looking for an excuse to vent their anger.

"Go," Fusheng pushed Ah Mai, "see if it's safe in front." A minute later, Amai came back, gestured to him, and the two set off again, making their way through the crowd in silence.Whenever the crowd suddenly fell silent, they knew there were white shirts nearby.Fear makes a laughing couple quiet, and a noisy child runs away.As long as a white shirt passes by, everyone bows their heads deeply.Fu Sheng and Ah Mai walked through a night market, his eyes flicked back and forth between candles, fried noodles and the flickering figure of the Cheshire cat. Suddenly there was a shout ahead.Amai ran over to check.After only a short while, she came back and pulled his hand hard, "Khun, come on, before they're looking." A moment later, they slipped past a group of white shirts and past the object they were beating.

An old woman lies next to her food cart, clutching her shattered knee.Her daughter knelt beside her and helped her to her feet. A large crowd had already gathered around her. Beside the two women are smashed spice bottles.Chili sauce, tempeh, and lime mingled with shards of glass, sparkling like diamonds in the green methane flames.The white shirt was holding a baton, flicking back and forth in the spice bottles. "Stop pretending, Auntie, you've got money. You think you can bribe white shirts, but you're not doing enough to use untaxed fuel." "Why are you doing this?" cried the old woman's daughter, "What have we done to you?"

The white shirt looked at her coldly, "You look at us with old eyes." His baton fell on the old woman's lap again.The old woman screamed, and her daughter flinched too, and dared not argue any more. The white shirt beckoned to his men: "Put their methane tanks with everyone else's. We've got three streets to go." He turned to the crowd of onlookers.When his eyes swept over Fu Sheng, he didn't even dare to move. don't run away.Don't panic.You can get away with it, as long as you don't talk. The white shirt smiled at the crowd, "Tell your friends what you see here. We are not dogs that you can feed with anything. We are tigers, terrible tigers." He raised his baton , the crowd scattered and fled.Fusheng and Amai also took the opportunity to escape among the crowd.

After running for a block, Fusheng leaned against a wall, panting heavily, out of breath.The city has become dangerous and disasters are erupting in every street. Down an alley, more news came from a crackling hand-cranked radio: the docklands and factory districts had been completely sealed off, and only those with the appropriate passes could go to the waterfront. Fusheng suppressed the urge to tremble.The same thing happened again.The walls were getting taller, and he was trapped in the city like a mouse in a trap.He tried to shake off the panic in his heart: he had foreseen this situation a long time ago, and made plans and arrangements.But first, he had to go home.

Bangkok is not Malacca.This time you are ready. After an unknown amount of time, the familiar huts and smells of the Yaowarat slum finally surrounded them.They walked on the narrow path that only one person could pass, passing people who didn't know him.He suppressed the urge to panic again.If the white shirt can sway the ghetto gangster, he's still in danger.He chased away this thought, opened the door of the residence, and let Ah Mai enter the house. "You did a good job." He fumbled in the bag for a while, took out a bundle of stolen money and handed it to her, "If you want to earn more, come find me here tomorrow."

She looked at the wealth he casually handed over to her, and was dumbfounded. If he is smart enough, he should strangle her now to minimize the possibility of her being a money-grabbing denouncer.He rejected the tempting idea.She had been loyal to him, and he had to trust someone.Besides, she is Thai.Now that the yellow card person is suddenly a disposable item, her identity would be very useful. She took the money and stuffed it into her pocket. "Can you find your way back?" he asked. She grinned, "I'm not a yellow card person. I don't have to be afraid of anything." Fusheng forced himself to smile back.There was one thing she didn't understand, but he did: Sometimes people weren't interested in telling the ears of corn from the stalks, all they wanted to do was burn everything.