The Lone Detective of Old Shanghai

Shanghai, 1929. The city lights up as neon signs shimmer. Prosperous yet decaying, it is the Paris of the East and a hotbed of crime where dark undercurrents run deep. A salty breeze blows in from the Bund. By the roadside, a rickshaw puller huffs as he pedals past in a hurry. A middle-aged man in a suit stands outside the Cathay Hotel, his expression stiff. Beads of sweat on his face stand out starkly in the winter night. He reaches to wipe them away, but his arms will not rise. At last, he collapses to the ground with a thud.