On the day Ah Hua was released from prison, no one came to pick him up.
He took the blame for the boss and spent three years in prison. When he came out, the boss was replaced. The old brothers went their separate ways, and even the person he tried so hard to protect was no longer there. He stood on Portland Street, the neon lights were still on, but the street was no longer his.
A mosquito gets up at four in the morning every day. She pushed a cart to the alley and sold sugar water for five yuan a bowl and three bowls for ten yuan. Her father ran away with a lot of debt, her mother died of illness, and she was left alone, living on this street for more than 20 years. Uncle Gui said that if he didn't pay the money, he should go to his place to do it. She has no right to say no.
He was chased and chopped down on a rainy night and fell in front of her stall. She picked him back up. It's not because she's brave, it's because she's fed up - fed up with watching others get beaten, fed up with pretending she doesn't see anything.
Two people with nothing, only each other on this street.
But Portland Street doesn't believe in fate. It only believes in money, fists and rules. Uncle Gui wants his life in exchange for her safety, and Brother Hua wants his territory in exchange for her freedom. He agreed. He said, my life is worthless, but this is the only thing I have.
On June 30, 1997, it rained heavily in Hong Kong. He walked in the rain all night, looking for an answer - could two people whose lives were at stake walk out alive on this street?
