Hong Kong Island from the Start: I Build a Gang of Big Shots at the Docks

The moment Xu Jingshan opened his eyes, he had fallen from the business world of the twenty-first century into old Hong Kong in 1958.

He had no connections, no family, and no one to back him. All he had were hands blistered by seawater and chafed raw by hemp rope, and a mind better at keeping accounts than most people of his time.

By day, he hauled sacks and foreign goods at the docks, enduring the foreman's scowls. By night, he pored over cargo manifests, damaged goods, kickbacks, and those under-the-table smuggling deals, gradually figuring out the real rules of this island city.

The most valuable thing here had never been the goods themselves.

It was who they came from, which dock they passed through, who got stuck taking the blame when they went missing, and who pretended not to notice.

Xu Jingshan had no desire to be a hero or save the world. He just wanted to get his hands on his first fortune, then use money to buy favors, favors to open doors, and those opportunities to reach the people standing at the center of Hong Kong's turbulent times.

Ng Sai-ho hadn't truly risen yet, and Lui Lok hadn't taken the position he'd later hold.

Many were still just names on the street, faces at the docks, or legs seen outside the police station.

But Xu Jingshan knew that once these people came into their own, most people in this city wouldn't even be fit to carry their shoes.

So before the storm hit, he had to make himself a player in the game.

It started with a sack of damp flour.

And with a dirty sum of money, just enough to turn his life around.