Hong Kong variety show: The mastermind behind the scenes is emerging.

At 4 a.m. on September 30, Kowloon Walled City was still asleep.

The only streetlamp at the end of Longjin Road flickered a few times. A stray cat raised its head from the garbage heap, pricked up its ears alertly, and then silently jumped off the wall and disappeared into the shadows—it heard a series of sounds that did not belong to the city walled village, which were coming from all directions.

At 4:30 a.m., hundreds of buses without their lights on silently lined up along Junction Road and Tung Tau Tsuen Road. Each bus was packed with people. Housing Department staff were all dressed in light blue uniforms, clutching bundles of registration forms. Military police officers in green uniforms sat by the windows, their service belts tightly wrapped around their chests.

Most people were resting with their eyes closed, breathing in the last breath of the oppressive pre-battle air.

In the temporary command vehicle opposite Jia Bingda Road Park, Li Shutang sat at a folding table, with a map of the walled city magnified three times in front of him. The East District, West District, and Triangle District were circled with markers of three different colors, and each entrance and exit was marked with a number and the code of the responsible group.

A walkie-talkie sat on the corner of the table, and the channel light flashed every few tens of seconds as the group leaders reported their positions in turn.

"Group A is in position."

"Team B is in position."

"Group C is in position."

Li Shutang picked up his coffee cup and took a sip. The scalding black coffee, without sugar, was so bitter it made his tongue numb. He slammed the cup back onto the table and glanced at his old Rolex.

4:59.

"Attention, all groups," he pressed the talk button on the walkie-talkie, "Proceed according to plan."

"Yes, sir!"

It's exactly five o'clock.

Thousands of uniformed police officers and Housing Department staff poured off buses and ran to their positions along pre-assigned routes. Barricades were erected at intersections, and police tape was stretched along the sidewalks, with a uniformed officer standing guard every ten steps, a gun at his waist.

In just fifteen minutes, this largest and most complex anarchic underground labyrinth in Hong Kong was transformed into an airtight iron cage.

At 5:35, Mr. Chen, who lives on the second floor of a tenement building on the outskirts of the East District, pushed open the creaking wooden door and, as usual, carried a plastic bucket to the public toilet at the intersection of Longjin Road.

After taking only two steps, the old man suddenly stopped and rubbed his eyes in disbelief.

At the end of Longjin Road, where the narrow alleyway was usually filled with abandoned bicycles and broken furniture, two cold metal barriers now stood blocking the way. Behind the barriers, a row of upright uniformed police officers stood in neat rows, their black holsters gleaming darkly in the morning light.

Uncle Chen was sixty-three years old and had lived in the walled city for forty years. The last time he had seen such a scene was when Lei Luo went to the walled city to negotiate. He knew that something big must have happened.

He hurriedly turned around with the bucket in his hand, and slipped back to the arcade with small, quick steps, banging on the tin door next door.

"Aunt Zhang! Aunt Zhang! There are police everywhere outside!"

"Are you crazy, doing this so early in the morning—"

Aunt Zhang opened the door, wearing a floral nightgown and several plastic hair curlers. She followed Uncle Chen's trembling finger to the alley entrance and saw the metal barricades, the police tape, and behind the tape, rows of police boots that gleamed coldly in the morning mist.

The woman froze for three seconds, then shoved the iron gate open and shouted upstairs, "Hey! Ah-Qiang! Ah-Zhen! Get up! There are a lot of cops outside!"

Dawn comes slowly in the Walled City—the buildings are so densely packed that sunlight has to squeeze through the gaps between them, climbing down layer by layer until it reaches the bottom and is broken into a few pale spots of light.

However, news travels much faster than light, and in less than half an hour, the entire fortress knew that it was besieged.

Some brave souls opened the window to look out, while the less daring ones locked the door again and again, using tables and wardrobes to prop it up.

Several fugitives with criminal records tried to escape by scaling the wall in a hidden back alley, but as soon as they turned the corner, they saw two burly SWAT officers standing at the alley entrance, their hands on their belts, their cold eyes sweeping over them. They were so frightened that they could only slink back the way they came.

At exactly six o'clock, the loudspeaker set up at the entrance of the East District of the Walled City suddenly emitted a sharp electrical whistling sound, and everyone fell silent for a moment.

"Attention all residents of Kowloon Walled City—"

A steady, middle-aged male voice came through the loudspeaker, carrying the characteristic drawn-out tone of a Hong Kong civil servant, echoing repeatedly among the dense buildings.

The sound wasn't fierce; in fact, it could be described as quite gentle. However, after being amplified by loudspeakers set up simultaneously from three directions, its "gentleness" became irresistible.

"—This is the joint task force of the Housing Department and the Police Force. Starting today, the Kowloon Walled City demolition and resettlement registration will officially commence. All residents are requested to bring their valid personal identification documents and proceed to the three registration points on Tung Tau Tsuen Road, Lung Chun Road, and Ka Ping Tat Road to register in an orderly manner. Only registered residents and businesses will be eligible to receive resettlement compensation in the future."

An uproar broke out in the walled city.

Someone shouted in the hallway, "When will the compensation plan be announced?" Someone shouted from the window toward the loudspeaker, "Are you really going to demolish it?" Someone else frantically searched for a property certificate that had been sitting on the balcony for decades, only to find that it was yellowed and brittle, and that it was issued in the year World War II had just ended.

The voice from the loudspeaker remained completely still, continuing to read:

"This registration will grant legal residency status to eligible residents through the issuance of 'Temporary Residence Permits'. Holders of temporary residence permits who have no criminal record within three years from the date of issuance will automatically be granted 'Hong Kong Island Permanent Identity Cards'."

This statement immediately caused an uproar under the arcade.

"ID card! Did you hear me? You can use your ID card!"

"Really? They'll give it to me in three years?"

"They all say it's a temporary residence permit, and you can get a permanent one after three years if nothing goes wrong!"

"So you just have to endure it for three years?"

"My whole family has lived here for twenty years, and we're finally going to get the certificate?"

The moment this condition was stated, most of the original hostility and fear dissipated instantly.

Most people in the walled city did not have legal status.

They were either born in the Walled City, their birth certificates written with a brush on red paper and signed by the midwife; or they were smuggled in from the mainland, landing on Lau Fau Shan without even a change of clothes; or they were criminals who ran in from Hong Kong Island, their original identity cards having expired more than a decade ago and left in a drawer where cockroaches had gnawed off half of them.

For these people, an ID card is not just a plastic card; it's a dream they never dared to imagine.

And now, this dream is being read aloud through a megaphone.

Chen Bo was the first to react. He went back into the house and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper—it was the deed he had bought this house in the walled city twenty years ago, stamped with the private seal of an old local constable who had passed away many years ago.

He clutched the paper as he walked out of the arcade and headed towards the registration point on Longjin Road. After a few steps, he turned back and shouted into the stairwell, "What are you all standing there for? Hurry up and line up!"

By 6:40, long queues had already formed in front of the ten registration points. The line turned several corners along the sidewalk and extended into the alleyways next to it.

Housing Department staff laid out registration forms on folding tables, and a group of uniformed police officers with live ammunition sat next to each registration desk to maintain order.

Several major property owners from the walled city were also in the queue, carrying bundles of lease agreements and resident lists. When they reached the registration desk, they simply placed the documents on the table and said to the clerk, "These are all the residents of my building. Can we register them first?"

The employee paused, glanced up at the supervisor beside him, and the supervisor nodded. The first batch of registration forms were quickly filled out, each form stamped with a blue rectangular seal in the upper right corner—that was the temporary residence permit registration code.

The ordinary residents who were at the back of the line were not dissatisfied when they saw that the major property owners had registered first; on the contrary, they felt more at ease.

For these people, few of whom even have ID cards, the fact that the major property owners are willing to cooperate is enough to prove the authenticity of this matter.

……

9:30 a.m., West District registration point.

A young man wearing a faded gray shirt was huddled in the middle of the line, obediently moving with the flow of people.

He looked to be in his early twenties, wearing a faded gray shirt with loose threads on the cuffs that he had burned himself with a lighter, leaving them shriveled and blackened. His trousers were dark blue cloth pants, worn shiny at the knees.

He looked no different from the plumbers, roast meat vendors, and dockworkers queuing up to register—his clothes were decent but not flashy, his eyes were open but he didn't cause trouble, just like an ordinary illegal immigrant who only wanted to quietly get a temporary residence permit and move out of the walled city to start a new life.

However, he was by no means a kind person.

His name is Ah Gou, and he's a member of the Big Circle Gang. Don't let his youth fool you; he's already committed several high-profile crimes that shocked Hong Kong, making him a notorious notorious thief in the city.

There were thirty or forty people ahead of him in line. Some had bundles of lease agreements, some only had a crumpled birth certificate, and some had nothing but their mouths, explaining to the Housing Authority staff why they couldn't produce any documents despite living there for over a decade.

Ah Gou, a cigarette dangling from his mouth, coldly observed the noisy group of lowly ants, a barely perceptible smirk playing on his lips.

He didn't care at all about the meager demolition compensation from the Housing Authority.

He now lives in a tin shack on the top floor of the East District of the City Walled City. He looks pitiful. The windows are so small that you can't even stick your head out. The tin roof is rusty, and he has to use three plastic basins to catch the rainwater.

But who would have known that under his bed was a canvas travel bag stolen from Chow Tai Fook in Mong Kok, containing forty-three gold bars, sixteen Rolex watches, two large stacks of thousand-dollar gold bulls bound together with rubber bands, and some loose cash.

He doesn't lack money; what he's after is that temporary residence permit.

There was nothing he could do. The number of votes he received in the previous few transactions was quite high, and the black market dealers were absolutely unwilling to issue him an identity, which meant he could only stay in the walled city like a rat.

He couldn't open a bank account using his real name, nor could he squander money in shopping malls, like a beggar who possessed a mountain of gold but was trapped in a treasure vault.

He had been completely desperate and even planned to risk smuggling himself back to the mainland in the next couple of days, but unexpectedly the situation took a dramatic turn and the police station was going to issue them permits!

His idea was simple: first, get a temporary residence permit, endure three years, and then get a formal ID card.

Three years is nothing. He's already been hiding in the Walled City for three years. What's another three years? By then, he can wash his hands clean, open a seafood stall or a tea restaurant, and who will be able to find out what he did before?

"Next."

Ah Gou stepped out of the line, his face bearing the blank expression one would expect from a fishmonger. He walked to the registration desk and laid his rough, chapped hands flat on the table, his fingernails deeply embedded with purplish-black bloodstains.

"What's your name?"

"Ah Cat".

Full name.

"My full name is Ah Mao. I don't have an ID card. Everyone has called me that since I was a child."

The registrar wrote those two words on the form and then asked, "Original address?"

"No. 11, 3rd Floor, Longcheng Lane, West District, City Walled City." He gave his real address—a fake address is not for living in, only the real one is safe from investigation.

"Profession?"

"The fishmonger at the market."

The registrar nodded, then looked over his shoulder and onto the faces of the two uniformed police officers behind him.

The action was very subtle, and by the time Ah Gou noticed it, it was too late.

Two uniformed police officers yanked him off the folding chair and slammed him face down onto the concrete. One of them knelt on his lower back with such force that it nearly forced all the air out of his lungs.

"Don't move! Police!"

Veins bulged on Ah Gou's forehead as he gritted his teeth and forced out a few words: "You've arrested the wrong person... I'm just a fishmonger! The police are beating people!"

At this moment, a senior police sergeant wearing a rank insignia on his shoulder slowly walked out from the command tent on the side, holding a heavy confidential file in his hand.

He walked up to Ah Gou, squatted down, and pulled out a high-resolution photo from the file folder—a profile shot secretly taken by an undercover agent during a private gathering of the Big Circle Gang.

In the photo, Ah Gou is holding up a beer bottle and laughing wildly, while sitting next to him is "Rotten Head Ming," the second-in-command of the Big Circle Gang, who has been imprisoned in Stanley Prison.

"Ah Gou, whose real name is Chan Chi-yung, smuggled himself into Hong Kong from the mainland in 1969 and has no legal entry record." The sergeant reached into his pocket and took out a small sealed bag for evidence, inside which was a gold ring.

Ah Gou's gaze fell upon the ring, and his pupils contracted sharply—it was a ring he had personally taken off the finger of the proprietress at a jewelry store in Sham Shui Po three years ago. The inside of the ring was engraved with the character "福" (fortune), and because he thought it was auspicious, he kept it and hid it in the treasure box under his bed in his room.

"This is the stolen goods from the Chow Tai Fook jewelry store robbery in Sham Shui Po three years ago, and we've found it—the engraving on the inside of this ring matches the victim's statement perfectly. The gold bars and cash under the bed have also been recovered." The sergeant put the ring away, raised his eyes, and his face remained expressionless.

"We printed one hundred copies of your portrait, and every registrar at every registration point has one today. So, you don't need to pretend anymore; it's pointless."

After saying this, the sergeant stood up, held Ah Gou's portrait high above his head, and said into a megaphone to the seemingly endless line of people: "Don't panic, everyone. This man is called Ah Gou, a key member of the Big Circle Gang. He has at least six armed robbery cases on his record and is a wanted criminal by the Hong Kong Island Police. Arresting him today has nothing to do with you."

The line gradually quieted down. Several middle-aged women who had been chattering just moments before fell silent, and an elderly woman holding her grandson slowly straightened her back. The young man at the front of the line wiped the cold sweat from his brow and respectfully handed his form to the registrar again. The queue once again moved forward in an orderly fashion.

……

With the sheriff's patient explanation, the minor incident quickly subsided. Everyone thought it was just a small incident, that the police had accidentally caught a fugitive, but a few members of the team didn't think so.

In line number two on Longjin Road, a short man slowly pulled his hand out of his pocket. He had been waiting for nearly forty minutes and was still about twenty meters away from the registration desk.

At that moment, he suddenly stopped queuing, took a step back, pretended to squat down to tie his shoelaces, and hid behind an old lady's bamboo basket in the front row.

Meanwhile, in the middle of the group on the Dongtou Village road, two other people were also slowly breaking away from the group and retreating in a similar manner.

However, what they didn't notice was that several pairs of eyes were actually watching them from the shadows.

As the three men began to move towards the street corner, several soldiers in military uniforms quickly surrounded them from the corner, blocking the street exit. At the same time, several seemingly "ordinary residents" who had been patiently queuing suddenly sprang into action, pinning their hands down like pincers!

"Don't move! Police!"

The three desperate criminals didn't even have time to pull out their weapons before they were pinned to the wall. Someone recognized the insignia on their waistbands—elite members of the mobile unit's plainclothes squad.

Subsequently, more than ten serious criminals scattered in the East, West, and Triangle areas were also "pulled out" one after another from their relatives, friends, and food stalls.

Some of them pretended to be filial sons supporting their fake mothers, while others pretended to help pregnant women carry their shopping baskets. They used all sorts of tricks to disguise themselves, but in the end, they were all handcuffed at the same time.

……

At noon, the sun was shining brightly.

Outside the Kowloon Walled City, major television stations are broadcasting live the "historic moment" of the demolition of the Kowloon Walled City.

A glamorous journalist stood outside the Lung Chun Road cordon, passionately explaining the situation; the Governor of Hong Kong answered foreign media questions about resettlement policies in fluent London accent at a press conference; and the stocks of several major property developers in the New Territories soared from the opening bell, closing in positive territory!

Inside the walled city, the long queue for registration still snaked through the dark alleys, with people moving forward one after another, no one looking back at the figures being led away in handcuffs.

The person who was handcuffed and taken away will not come back.

People in line should move forward.