Early last week I had the opportunity to accompany ten Year 8 students to Toolangi Forest for the day. This adventure was almost cancelled owing to a collapse in student interest, but we decided to go ahead for the sake of the ones who had already signed on.

In the last few years there has been a great deal of commentary in the media and in books making the point that those who are not familiar with wild nature will have no inclination to protect and preserve it.  Conversely, individuals who know and love these places may be more motivated to do so. This seemed to hold true in the series of interviews I conducted in the late 90s and early ‘oughties’ with ten of the founding members of the Merri Creek Coordinating Committee., whose pioneering environmental activism began in the late 60 and early 70s. These veteran campaigners all without exception had enjoyed some kind of childhood connection with the bush, either here in Victoria or overseas. A childhood engagement with nature also featured in the stories of the life members of Friends of Merri Creek, as written up by FOMC secretary Ray Radford and published from time to time in the Friends’ newsletter. So this was what I had in mind when we decided to persist with the trip to Toolangi.

In any event, the excursion went off very smoothly. As we were only a small group we got to see more of the temperate forest than usual and we were able to walk for a full hour in the rainforest–one of the few that still exists in Victoria. The students’ enthusiasm grew as we went along and they became quieter and began to observe nature more closely and ask more meaningful questions.

Toolangi: the temperate forest

The rainforest. Water from this small creek eventually reaches the Murray River.

While progressive agendas stall or become snarled at Copenhagen, I tried to do something educational that might pay off down the track. I fear these students are destined to become part of the so-called ‘rescue generation’.

Photo used with permission.

On Thursday my friend AD and I called into Cafe 120, a new breakfast and lunch spot that has opened near the East Brunswick tram terminus, opposite 3RRR. (This place with its vintage decor and crockery and a small but well-chosen menu deserves a full review which I plan to write in due course). Afterwards we walked downstream along the creek, as I headed for work and AD returned to the Sumner Estate. AD, who is extremely sharp-eyed, suddenly spotted a blue tongue lizard on the creek side of the boardwalk between the Kirkdale Street Park and the Merri Park foot bridge. The day was wan and drizzly but the sun had broken through for a few minutes and the creature had come out to bask. I got one shot of it by leaning over the handrail and snapping away from above, but AD was more intrepid and scrambled over the rail and caught it as it scuttled away to hide under the boardwalk.

I had yet another encounter with nature along the Merri this morning. Foolishly setting off without my camera (some of the critics of my ‘photography’ would breathe a sigh of relief), I headed upstream towards the Russian church. Just near CERES I heard a loud ‘keck-keck-keck’ and I caught sight of the swift, arrow straight flight of a small bird that flashed past in front of me to land on a branch overhanging the Merri. It had a straight bill, a blue back and a cream coloured breast: a sacred kingfisher. It sat there for quite some time watching me as I fiddled around with my mobile phone. I managed to take a few shots of it before it tired of the exercise and flew up over the embankment into CERES property, where it scolded a pair of mynah birds.

A sacred kingfisher

Photo credit: here

CERES hosted its annual Return of the Kingfisher Festival only last weekend–and there it was. I will append a professional shot until I resolve some minor technical difficulties in getting the images off my phone (see above).

As I’ve commented previously, I’ve found that when we restore habitat creatures will come and take advantage of it, with more species being represented in growing numbers overall every year.

While working on the final draft of episode four of my fan fiction, I am seeking to stave off my regular readers with a short nature piece.

Recently, after a very hot November with several days in the mid-30s C, the rains finally came. I went out to have a look at the Merri Park billabong and the creek one Sunday morrning. The billabong, which also serves as a flood retarding basin, was not full, but the individual ponds had more water in them than I’ve seen for a long time. As I squelched along the boggy ground at the bottom of the basin, I could hear at least two species of frog making their presence known: pobblebonks and common marsh frogs. Suddenly, in one of the ponds on the Summer Ave side, I spotted a Nankeen night heron standing in the reeds. It saw me and took off with a great flapping of wings and disappeared into a nearby stand of trees. I did not manage to take a photo of it, but here’s a professional shot of one:

A Nankeen night heron. I saw one in Merri Park wetland in late November.

Photo credit: here.

V and I had seen one in the creek upstream of the Ida Street bridge one evening about ten years ago, but this one was the first one I had seen since then and the first in broad daylight.

By the next morning the water level in the creek had subsided to some extent but it was still high. Two sections of the footpath were still underwater, one area just before the Ida Street hill and the other near the St Georges Road bridge. ‘This is my sea,’ I thought, suddenly reminded of the Sodagreen song. And the water was not blue, just as the lyrics suggest.

Merri Creek, with an artist's studio and Northcote High's C Block visible on the left

Looking downstream towards St Georges Road bridge

On Thursday as I walked along the same path, I heard a guttural croaking sound coming from up high over my shoulder. It turned out to be a white faced heron flying above the creek, complaining vehemently about something. It is almost certainly the one (or one of a pair) that we have been seeing all spring near Northcote High School. On Saturday morning on the way back from CERES market, I saw it (or its friend) again. It was standing in the reeds near the eastern bank of the Merri, just downstream of the Arthurton Road bridge.

A white faced heron near Arthurton Road birdge

This was a week in which Friends of Merri Creek revegetation works repeatedly brought wild fauna into the suburbs. On Friday, I saw a brushtail possum, marooned in a small tree near the Merri Parklands. I hope it made its way to a taller and safer tree over night.

A brushtail possum on the fringes of Merri Park

CERES held their annual Return of the Kingfisher festival last weekend. I haven’t spotted a sacred kingfisher yet this season, but I’m watching all the usual places.

This is a work of fan fiction, written in homage to the 2009 Taiwanese police action series, Pizi Ying Xiong or Black & White.  It is not for sale. For the full disclaimer, click here.

For Part One, click here.

For Part Two, click here.

*******************

With one lithe movement Ying Xiong hurled himself to one side, grabbing at the overhanging bough of a tree that stood at the edge of the path. Hanging from the branch he managed to swing around and land a hard kick on dog’s flank. It yelped as it skidded past on braced legs, its paws failing to find traction in the mud.

‘I’m a police officer!’ he shouted in English. Maybe the foreign woman, seeing a strange man wearing a hooded jacket on a lonely path had feared an attack, and had taken self defence a step or two too far. He doubted it, though. He dropped down from the branch and kept a wary eye on both his assailants.
‘Go away!’ he shouted. ‘Take your dog and go!

He wished he had his handgun in case he needed to lend authority to his words, but he was on leave, and he had followed the rules.

Photo credit: here

The woman smirked at him as if registering his naivete and said something sharp to the dog. It came at him again with bared teeth, very fast. He stepped back only to have his footing give way from under him. He suddenly found himself sliding rapidly down an embankment, caught up in a shute of thick, primal smelling mud. Several meters down his feet finally lodged against the bole of a tree fern and this checked his descent. In the fog he had not realized that the path had run along the lip of a ravine.

He caught his breath and tried to scramble back up the embankment, grasping hold of every shrub and fern that offered a moment’s purchase before it pulled free of the mud. He could see very little. Fog clung thick and low to everything and by now with nightfall it had become darker still.

He could hear the dog panting on the pathway up above and he headed for the sound. He felt a rush of pure rage now and a determination to bring these two down. Who was she anyway? This was no frightened tourist. Maybe she was an assassin from a local triad. Or maybe she was from Sarkozy.

Clinging to a sapling, Ying Xiong had nearly regained the pathway when the woman loomed again out of the fog and brought her walking stick down hard, aiming for his head. He broke its trajectory with his hand and wrenching it from her grasp, he flung it out into the abyss. The dog growled and rushed at him but just then the sapling that he had been entrusting with his weight uprooted itself and he slid down the slope again. He tried to regain some kind of grip but the soil was too wet and loose. He continued to slide in an avalanche of mud and vegetation, a worse fall this time, much faster than before, down and down…

Finally he burst feet first through a screen of ferns and bracken and plunged into a pool of icy water that went over his head. He gasped and swallowed mouthfuls of water but managed to come to the surface. He was in a narrow creek that ran at the bottom of the ravine. He found his footing on the slimy rock bed and discovered when he stood up that the water in places was only waist deep. He felt unhurt other than from a dozen scratches and gouges scored by vegetation on his way down. And his right palm stung painfully from where the woman’s stick had smacked into it.

Suddenly he saw a narrow, concentrated beam of blue light illuminating the fog only centimeters in front of his face. Was it a torch or did she have a firearm, he wondered. Taking no chances, he threw himself towards the near bank, close to where he’d slid down. There, seasons of rain-fed waters had carved out an overhang. He scrambled under it on his hands and knees. Here the water was very shallow. If the foreign woman wanted to shoot him, he thought, she’d have to come down and find him. The dog probably wouldn’t be able to manage the slope. Anyway, one way or another he’d have the advantage of them because he’d hear them coming.

Peering out from his hiding place, he could still see the eerie blue light moving around, from time to time touching the rippled surface of the water, but after a few moments it vanished. He thought he heard a sharp bark from the dog but then there was nothing more from above. There was a small waterfall just upstream of his hiding place and its steady rumble tended to deaden other sounds.

Ying Xiong rolled onto his back, holding himself just above the water on his elbows, catching his breath. By now water had soaked his jeans and penetrated under his jacket, but strangely the water that at first had felt so icy now seemed quite warm. He remembered that this was after all a region of hot springs. Perhaps there was one nearby that fed into this stream.

He thought he’d stay where he was for a few minutes more, just to be sure his attackers had indeed moved on. As he waited he felt overtaken by a sense of intense and powerful well being He’d been attacked from behind by a ruthless female thug and her killer dog and he had survived. Perhaps when he told Pizi about this escapade he could claim he had at least come out of it even.

His mind wandered and he considered that now that Pizi knew his beloved fast food girl was still alive, he would release whatever hold he had over Chen Lin. She would in time realise her pursuit of his handsome partner was hopeless and would turn to him, Ying Xiong, as her friend, confidant, and maybe at long last, something more. And with the return of Gao Yi, there was every chance he could counter this threat through clever police work and get his career back on track. There would definitely be a chance to atone for the death of  Section Chief Chen.

He began to feel drowsy and as long as the water remained warm, he thought that there was no reason to move. The climb back up to the path would be very arduous and perhaps he should rest for awhile longer. Some minutes later, however, something startled him out of his torpor. It was the sound of applause and a repeated piano dissonance, incongruous in a natural setting. It was the beginning of a song by an indie band–the ringtone of his mobile phone.

His phone was still in the inner pocket of his jacket inside the waterproof bag. Exasperated he smacked at it and prodded it through his jacket and managed to break off the call without having to fish it out.

Under the overhang he luxuriated in the warmth with just his face above the water. He hoped the caller would leave him alone. He was all right where he was. He must have dozed off because he was startled when this time his phone vibrated insistently, over his heart. He jabbed at it but it wouldn’t turn off. After a while it stopped. He had just dozed off once more when it buzzed again. It was very annoying but he realized he’d have to answer it if only to tell the person to leave him alone. He sat up, hitting his head of the rock face above him but eventually he managed to retrieve his phone from his pocket and the waterproof bag where it had been nesting with his camera.

With bleary eyes he made out the message. It was from Zai Tian. I’m with Hao Ke and his mother, it read.  Where are you?

With a tremulous and erratic thumb he managed to punch out: The river is my good friend. With that, he mashed the send button, turned the phone off and shoved it into a side pocket of his jacket.

He lay back in the water and began to dream in pleasant, multi-coloured arabesques. But soon into these visions stalked a youth with hot, mad, scum-rimmed eyes, who said mockingly, ‘You will be so overcome you won’t be able to do anything.’

Gao Yi. He remembered then that the drug lord had said this to him once before, on the metro, when he had been affected by Dreamer.

Ying Xiong sat up spluttering. While dreaming of Gao Yi, his face had slipped under the water. He was suddenly trembling with cold. He water now felt freezing. Had it ever really been warm, or had he imagined it?He wondered what had come over him. Suddenly clear headed again, he thought of hypothermia and knew he had to move, fast. He began to crawl out from under the overhang but his limbs felt heavy and lethargic. He clambered awkwardly over the barrier of rocks that formed the little waterfall and into another small pool where the bank might be less steep. He could hardly see at all. He pulled out his phone—maybe the screen would offer a little light, but the water had got to it and it would not turn on. He found his camera still in the waterproof bag and by the light of the flash, he was able to pick out a section of slope that looked at least possible to climb.

He set off feeling around for handholds that tore away at once and would not bear his weight. On his third try he had made good progress when an entire stratum of soil fell away and he plunged downwards again in another cascade of mud. This time he landed hard in the creek bed, his shoulder blade cracking against a rock. He was trembling violently now from cold and exertion.

When he attacked the bank again and found he could not lift his left arm above his head. This is becoming very serious, he thought.

Just then he heard some commotion and saw a flash of light coming from the path above. He pressed his face into the mud and lay still. The female assassin might have returned, this time with reinforcements.

‘Wu Ying Xiong!’ he heard a familiar voice, shouting. ‘You idiot! Where are you?’

It was Zai Tian.

He tried to shout, ‘Down here!’ but he felt so weak his voice came out as a dull croak. He tried again but could not make himself heard against the rush of the waterfall.

‘Wu Ying Xiong!’ his partner shouted again.

[to be continued]

I’m sorry to have to leave Ying Xiong in deadly peril at the hands of a merciless female assailant and her killer Alsatian, but I am still embroiled in a major work-related project. I have had to put my fan fiction aside until I finish it. I have an advanced draft of Episode 3 on hand, but I will not be able to edit and post it until the middle of next week at the earliest.

Everyone involved in this project is obliged to sign a confidentiality agreement, but Victorian readers who know what a Achievement Record Sheet (ARS) is will have already surmised what it is all about. The project is worthwhile and educational, but time consuming and sometimes harrowing.

Thanks for reading Neveridol. See you next week!

Image credit: here

Owing to extreme pressure of work, I have not yet been able to post episode 3 of my slash fan fiction based on Pizi/Ying Xiong. I hope to get it out there within the next few days. Thanks to readers for the appreciative comments here on neveridol and elsewhere. I am pleased to think that I am not alone in believing there is a definite slashy subtext in the high rating and critically acclaimed Taiwanese police drama series.

For fans who have yet to read the first two instalments, you can find episode 1 (and a full disclaimer) here and episode 2 here.

This work of fan fiction is not for sale. For the full disclaimer, click here. Read episode 1 here. Rating for this episode: M, violence, sex references.

Episode two: Into the forest

Photo credit: see below.

Nestled against Hao Ke’s side on the bed, as if it were a teddy bear, was a laptop computer. On a bedside table were two other small laptops linked together by a cable, both sprouting VGA adapters and USBs. They in turn were surrounded by a flotilla of small media devices. Sick the boy might be, but he was still online and connected, thought Ying Xiong. A few days before he had bought what he hoped was a suitable present for Hao Ke: one of the new generation electronic book readers. Now taking note of the array of devices set up around the room, he hoped the young IT specialist did not already have one.

Ying Xiong had been in the room for a few moments before he noticed a small woman in her forties slumped in an armchair in the corner near the head of the bed. She, too, was dozing, but she opened her eyes at his greeting. ‘So you’ve finally arrived,’ she whispered, in a tone  of reproach. ‘Keep your voice down.  He’s taken his medication and he won’t wake up again until 4.00 or 4.30.’

It took Ying Xiong a moment to realise this was Hao Ke’s mother. She looked much older and wearier than she had when he had last seen her in the ICU of the port city hospital to which Hao Ke had first been taken in the tumultuous aftermath of the shooting incident. Her fine features now seemed slack and puffy with exhaustion. Her eyes were scored by deep lines and smudged by dark shadows: the wages of worry, he supposed.

‘Why did my son have to deliver the disc,’ she now hissed at Ying Xiong. ‘He was not even on your operational staff. Look at him now. Last month he had to have more surgery on his back. His digestion still isn’t good.’

‘Dui bu qi,’ Ying Xiong murmured contritely, but all the same he felt his hot, impetuous temper rising. What else could he have done? They had been holding his own mother hostage. The agent of Sarkozy had ordered him to pitch Hao Ke off an upper level walkway to his certain death and he had refused to do it. Then they had shot the boy anyway, from below. ‘Sarkozy is a very dangerous criminal organisation, very high tech, with international connections. And there was so much’ corruption,’ he explained, trying to keep his voice level. ‘We were a small unit of friends, working together in secret, as a team.’

‘You were responsible,’ she insisted. ‘Hao Ke told me all about it. It only happened because you were tricked by that false Interpol agent.’

This charge hit home. Ying Xiong bit off an angry protest. Hao Mama did not deserve his wrath, nor did he want to wake his friend who still lay pale and inert in his white pyjamas. He strode around the foot of the bed to look out the window. It gave onto a spectacular view of a heavily wooded mountain valley, the panorama only partly obscured by a hospital outbuilding. He noticed that the rain had stopped but thick fog still clung to the mountain peaks and higher slopes.

The young police officer reflected that Hao Ke’s mother was right about one thing. If there was any part of the entire fiasco over the disc that he felt deeply ashamed about it was Cheng Yuan’s success in rekindling the feelings he had had for her during their joint secondment to an international police agency in New York City. With cold efficiency and calculation, she had lured him into a passionate liaison in a hotel room, where he had awakened the next morning alone, robbed of his handgun and of his dignity.

Having regained his composure, Ying Xiong realised there was nothing to be gained from arguing with his friend’s mother. He politely took his leave of her, promising to return by late afternoon. He handed her the present with instructions to give it to Hao Ke should he wake up before he returned. Hao Mama, perhaps regretting her harsh words, agreed amiably enough.

Ying Xiong had thought of driving to a nearby village that he had seen on the way in, that promised hot and noisy tearooms and cafes, but now he realised he preferred to be alone. Encountering an orderly pushing an elderly man in a wheelchair, he asked on a whim if there were any hiking trails nearby. The fellow responded with enthusiasm, explaining that the hospital grounds were adjacent to a national park and one of the trailheads could be picked up at the bottom of the garden.

He soon found the path the led into the forest. It was not paved but the surface was of hard packed earth and not too muddy. He was anyway wearing good quality elastic sided boots, Zai Tian having advised him that the northern capital could be wetter in winter than the south. By now therain had stopped completely and within minutes he was in a quiet world, away from urban sounds. He readjusted his hearing to the susurration of leaves and drip of the rainwater from the canopy above.

Several metres along he noticed a minor trail that branched off to his left, leading into the heart of the forest. In the clearing above it, he caught a sudden flash of blue: it was a bird with a very long tail.  It soon disappeared into the foliage, but he was sure it was a blue magpie. They were supposed to be hard to spot and he felt certain it was auspicious to have seen one so soon on his trek.

Continuing along the main trail, he walked for several minutes before he reached the first of a number of signposted observation points. Here he could look down the entire length of the valley he had seen only obliquely from Hao Ke’s window. The hillsides were clothed in shaggy broad leafed deciduous trees, and although the tree cover was dense, he imagined he could catch glints here and there of a small river running fast at the bottom of the sharp V that marked the valley’s descent.

He pulled his camera out of his pocket and removed it from a waterproof bag. The camera was a recent present from his mother, who liked to encourage his hobbies and what she though of as his artistic side. He took a few shots that looked all right when he checked them on the digital playback, but soon the drizzle began again and a ceiling of fog was beginning to obscure the tops of the ridges. Droplets of water were beginning to build up on the lens. He put the camera back into the bag and as an afterthought, he put his mobile phone in there as well. He then zipped the bag and its contents securely into an inner pocket of his jacket. He turned to make his way back to the center, but realizing there was still nearly an hour to go before Hao Ke was likely to wake up, he determined to press on to the next lookout. A sign indicated it was only 1.5 km away.

By the time he reached it, though, the fog had greatly reduced the visibility and there was little to be seen and nothing to photograph. He turned back, keeping his eye on his footing. Suddenly, he felt his phone vibrate against his chest. With the fog now closing in, he was determined to get out of this melancholy forest as quickly as possible, so he kept on walking while he dug his phone out of the bag and checked the message. It was from Zai Tian. He himself was on his way to the capital.  There had been a confirmed sighting of Gao Yi in an upmarket nightclub in the eastern suburbs,  and the local police wished to draw upon his expertise. Zai Tian went on to suggest that after the conference with the locals, they should meet up. He proposed a nightclub crawl that would involve police work and a good deal of partying. Ying Xiong noted ruefully that his partner was still ignoring his off duty status, while continuing to assume that he was always at his disposal.

Ying Xiong had walked for about a further twenty minutes before he realized that he should have reached the hospital’s grounds by now, but the facility was nowhere in sight. The path was narrower than he remembered, too, and very muddy. Visibility had closed down to a few metres in front of him and even with his hood on, his face ran with moisture. He wondered if he had accidentally strayed onto the side path, the one where he had seen the blue magpie. Just as he was considering whether or not to retrace his steps, he saw an indistinct blur of red coming towards him along the path. Seconds later, emerging from the mist, he saw a young, fair-haired woman in a red parka. She was picking her way carefully with a formidable looking walking stick in one hand, while holding a German shepherd on a lead attached to a harness in the other.

The visibility was so poor he had not even noticed the dog until they were almost upon him. These hiking trails were popular with tourists, he knew. But why would a tourist have a dog? Were dogs even allowed in the park, he wondered. Or was she an expat just out for a walk in the rain?

The woman smiled at him as he stepped aside to allow her and the dog to pass. ‘Hello, Miss,’ he said politely in his formal English. ‘Be careful. The trail is muddy.’

She smiled again but did not respond. As they pressed past him he could smell the dog’s coat in the damp. He turned away and walked on.

Then some instinct honed by police work and martial arts training prompted him to whirl around just as a heavy blow struck him on the shoulder. Unprovoked, the foreign woman had hit him with her heavy walking stick and was now lining up to hit him again. The blow had knocked him to his knees, but he quickly sprang up and recovered his balance. He lashed out with his foot, trying to knock the stick from her hand. The woman, her smile now frozen into a menacing rictus, stepped back smoothly out of range. Then she unleashed the dog. She gave it a sharp command, it barked once and sprang for his throat.

[to be continued]

Photo credit: here

Disclaimer: this work of fan fiction is not for sale. It makes use of the characters Chen Zai Tian (Pizi) and Wu Ying Xiong from the 2009 Taiwanese police drama series Black & White, 痞子英雄, Pi Zi Ying Xiong, as broadcast on PTS/TVBS-G.
These characters were portrayed by Vic ‘Zai Zai’ Zhou and Mark Zhao in the series. This piece of fan fiction is totally unrelated, and makes no reference whatsoever, to the actors in real life.
Series Production credits:
•    Producer: Yu Xiao Hui 于小惠, Tsai Yueh Hsun
* Director: Tsai Yueh Hsun
* Screenwriters: Wu Luo Ying 吳絡纓, Chen Hui Ru 陳慧如
•    Box set of DVDs: www.prajnaworks.com

Fan fiction rating: M. Drug references, adult themes.

Spoilers: Do not read this fan fiction until you have seen the entire series.

Genre: slash

Pairing: Wu Ying Xiong slash Chen Zai Tian (Pizi)

Type: Multi-episode

***** ***** *****

Ying Xiong and the Perfect Stranger, Part 1

A cold and penetrating rain fell as Wu Ying Xiong strode along a main street in the Xinyi district. Recently, the young police detective had been granted two week’s vacation and he had come to the northern capital to visit his colleague, Hao Ke, the office’s nerdish but likeable young IT specialist. Hao Ke was now in a convalescent facility in the picturesque mountainous outskirts of the city, recovering from gunshot wounds. Ying Xiong held himself personally responsible for the trap into which the young officer had walked during the course of a previous case, and he was eager to see him. Meanwhile, however, he had been assigned a further, urgent task: to meet an informant somewhere on the main thoroughfare he was now exploring on foot.

That morning Ying Xiong had no sooner turned his white SUV onto the coastal highway to head north when his brilliant but flamboyant partner, Chen Zai Tian, had summoned him back to police headquarters for a meeting. Zai Tian, nicknamed Pizi, was now the chief of the southern district anti-drugs task force to which he himself was assigned, and he had a disturbing report to pass on. Gao Yi, the deranged drug lord who had once terrorized the metro in their southern port city, had escaped from the psychiatric facility where his fitness to stand trial was being assessed. Zai Tian said that although over the last few days there had been a few reliable sightings of the criminal first in Manila and later in Bangkok, he suspected that it would not be long before he returned to his usual territory. Although Gao Yi’s connections and supply and distribution routes knew no borders, he had a history of never straying very far from home.

Ying Xiong was well aware that his partner often used his strange and uncanny proclivity for electronic devices to help him solve cases, so he was not surprised to hear that only the night before Zai Tian had received new, vital information about the drug lord through his favorite fax machine. This legendary device was installed not in his office but in a bar that stayed open late. While once again praising the reliability of the tips received through the machine, Zai Tian had suddenly stepped forward to drape his arm over his friend’s shoulder to whisper conspiratorially in his ear.

Since his promotion as head of the squad, Ying Xiong had noted that Zai Tian had ceased wearing the white tropical attire that had so irritated his superiors and that had made him look like the playboy son of a major tea planter. That morning he was wearing dark slacks, a grey button-up shirt and a black tie. His mocking, insinuating manner was as annoying as ever, though.

One of Pizi’s worst habits, Ying Xiong considered, was that he was always invading his friends’ personal space. He shuddered at the sudden memory of their tension filled first meeting with San Lian Hui boss, Lao Tou, in his living quarters in the penthouse of the gang’s downtown building. Ordered to take a seat in front of a Japanese style barbeque plate, the partners were unsure whether the crime boss was going to cook them a steak or unveil an instrument of torture. Ying Xiong, determined to make the police position on  a number of issues very clear, had just begun to speak up when he realised that Pizi had leaned against him and was holding his hand, their fingers entwined. He gave him a severe look and shoved his hand away, managing, he hoped, to retrieve some dignity in the interview.

Today he ducked under his friend’s arm as Zai Tian smiled benignly and reported that according to the fax, an informant based in the capital was prepared to pass on some new information about Gao Yi. Then, ignoring his partner’s current off duty status, he had blithely assigned him to meet the contact somewhere along Xinyi Street. ‘You’re going up there anyway,’ he explained in his husky, ironic voice. ‘Give my regards to Hao Ke.’

By now, though, Ying Xiong had walked up and down the appointed block a few times and had met no one. With the heavy rain there were few pedestrians about and he felt he might look conspicuous. There was a new rush of rain and a biting wind sprang up. He pulled the hood of his waterproof jacket to  cover more of his face. Devoid of personal vanity, he was unaware that the hood highlighted his high cheekbones and his startling, single lidded ‘Korean’ eyes, while giving him an air of penitential melancholy.

But where was the informant? Momentarily, the young police officer wondered if he had taken a wrong turn. It struck him as strange that after his two years’ secondment to an international police agency in New York City, he knew some of the neighborhoods of the five boroughs better than this district of his own nation’s capital. The wind now swept the rain into a fierce diagonal, further staining the drab sides of office and apartment buildings already showing signs of wear and tear from the typhoons of many seasons. Then the wind parted the mist enough for him to get hisbearings—there in front of him was the capital’s iconic skyscraper, for a few years the tallest building in the world. Even now its telecommunications mast disappeared into the rain clouds, subject up there, he supposed, to its own micro-climate.

Ying Xiong decided to step out of the rain under the awning of a small clothing boutique specializing in Japanese imports. He paused in front of a tray of discounted items and idly turned over a green girls’ T-shirt emblazoned with the cheerful slogan ‘Kawaii’. Would Chen Lin like it, he mused, his thoughts turning idly to Lao Tou’s daughter.

Suddenly, someone grabbed his elbow and spoke rapidly in the jarring consonants of Cantonese. He turned to see a sallow, acne-scarred youth only a few years younger than himself. The boy had fierce black eyes and a compelling expression. Although his grasp of the language no more than moderate, Ying Xiong managed to catch a reference to Gao Yi and and the designer hallucinogen, Dreamer. This must be the informant.

‘Have you seen Gao Yi?’ he whispered in Mandarin. ‘Has he set up a new factory?’

With an ugly sneer, the boy broke into broad American English. ‘Gao Yi is around here somewhere, who knows where. But you don’t get it, do you? After you guys busted up his big plant down south, he’s not going to be in a hurry to set up another one up here. You’d just track him down through his electricity bill again. So he’s broken up the whole cartel into all these little Mom and Pop operations-‘

‘Where are the main ones?’ Ying Xiong interjected in English. ‘Up here or in the south?’

‘There aren’t any main ones,’ said his respondent scornfully. ‘There are little ones all over the place. Close one down and another one will spring up. Maybe they pool some of the shipments, but who knows? There sure is some high quality stuff around. So see what turns up on the street and watch the airports. We heard maybe they’ll be using wai guo ren posing as tourists as mules.’

With this the boy turned on his heel and disappeared around the corner into a nearby alley.

Ying Xiong hit the encryption device on his mobile phone and texted through this sparse information to Zai Tian. He added his own interpretation: it was possible that Gao Yi was indeed in the north and the Hong Kong triads were interested in informing on an new operator moving into their territory—not that they had had much information to impart at this stage. Of course, it was also possible that despite his use of Cantonese the youth did not represent Hong Kong at all. He might be a member of the local branch of San Lian Hui. The criminal organization’s shifting allegiances and degree of willingness to work with the police were always hard to gauge. And was Gao Yi trying to export some of his deadly product overseas? The reference to foreign tourists certainly bore further investigation.

An hour later when Ying Xiong stepped into Hao Ke’s room in the specialist convalescence facility, he found him lying in bed on top of the quilt with his hands folded across his chest. His face had taken on a marmoreal pallor, as if he were a statue on the lid of a sarcophagus.

[To be continued]

A photo published in Overdope Online Magazine on 7 October showed four members of now disbanded Jungiery Stars singing act 183 Club posing together at a recent promotional event. This pic quickly reignited rumours of a reunion concert by the much loved Taiwanese boyband. Although it is now more than two long years since the expulsion of high octane but troubled lead singer, Jacky Zhu, over a conviction and a prison sentence for marijuana use, rumours of his reinstatement in the group have never entirely died away. Asian Fanatics stalwart, Mingdee, recently reported on the band’s  AF thread that in an interview earlier in the year Ming Dao might have unintentionally given the stories additional credibility. When asked about 183 Club and casting around for something to say that would not be too critical of Jacky, he said he favoured the idea of a reunion concert to mark the tenth or fifteenth anniversary of the group’s formation. (The tenth anniversary would be in 2012 or 13).

Johnny Yan, Ehlo Huang, Jacky Zhu and Ming Dao pose at a Nike launch party.

Of course since the breakup there have been photos of the boys in various combinations before now circulating on fan forums and in the blogosphere, including one or two of Ming Dao, Ehlo Huang Yu Rong and Sam Wang Shao Wei at a J-star dinner. What made this one different was that it included black sheep Jacky, now signed with Tangerine Entertainment, standing in his customary place between Ming Dao and second lead singer, Ehlo Huang. (The member missing that day was Sam Wang Shao Wei: neveridol does not know why he was not present).

Sadly, the reunion concert rumours have so far proved entirely groundless. So what was Jacky doing there with the other boys? Part of the answer may lie in his close association with basketball and his well-known predilection for sports shoes. The event in question was the launch of the Jordan Melo M6 Mens’ Basketball Shoe. Apparently, this high tech footwear is only sold through official Nike stores, and the event where the stars were photographed was the launch party of the shoe at the Taipei branch. Jacky, although his comeback as a singer and his creation of a still- cool-but-now-respectable status is well advanced, probably gained his entrée to the launch party through an unusual recent gig.

Culture broker: Jacky Zhu co-hosts a basketball based reality TV show with NBA legend Baron Davis.

In July, the versatile idol, who is fluent in English, Mandarin and Cantonese, hosted five episodes of a reality television show, each based in a different Chinese city. The series was produced by the NBA and Chinese promoters, after the US organisation noted a GFC-related decline in match attendance and merchandising sales in the US. To gain traction in the vast Chinese market where the game is very popular, the NBA arranged matches between teams of young Chinese hopefuls. NBA legends such as Shaquille O’Neill and Baron Davis were also on the scene, but I am uncertain whether they actually took to the court or not. The prize for the Chinese player who  accumulated the most points at the end of a series of matches (there were more than one hundred in all) was a flight to the US and an opportunity  to train with an NBA development league.

Jacky, who plays basketball regularly with a league in Hong Kong, reported on his blog his excitement at meeting his NBA idols. He professed himself to be less keen, however, on the telehosting experience, saying all the talking made his voice hoarse. He admitted he preferred singing. A photo from one of the shows caught him admiring a pair of formidable looking basketball shoes– but not the actual Nike Melo M6 only recently the subject of the Taipei launch.

Thus in the ongoing story of the rise and sudden demise of 183 Club there is nothing more substantial to report than that the news that the publication of the photo attracted a lot of interest among the group’s vestigial fanbase. Neveridol suspects that an adventurous entrepreneur could probably make a profit by staging a one-off reunion concert, to convert the boys’ obvious nostalgia at being seen together again and substantial lingering fangirl enthusiasm into a realistic business proposition. 183 Club were funny and warm practitioners of very pleasant mainstream Mandopop and there are still fans out there who remember them fondly.

Image credits: 1 and 2-3.

On Friday morning on my way in to an occupation that a character in one of Peter Temple’s Jack Irish novels once called ‘the pearl/swine interface’, I spotted an intermediate egret on the steep embankment that leads up to the Winifred Street parklands. There was narrow rivulet of water running down into the creek proper, and the great bird was intent on that. He or she hardly paid me any notice as I approached as close as I could by clambering down the opposite bank.

About ten years ago, we would often see an intermediate egret somewhere along the creek between the Arthurton Road bridge and the Ida Street hill, but this is the first one I’ve seen recently. I’d love to think there was a nesting pair around.

An intermediate egret. Photo credit: Rami Misrachi

My nature photography being what it is, I am also including a professional image of an intermediate egret. They are a beautiful and stately bird. I was thrilled to see one after a hiatus of so many years.

Last week I perused editions of the Northcote Leader from 1909 and a few supplementary photos from the City of Darebin Libraries historical collection. Not surprisingly, one of the things I found out was that many more horses were used for transportation in Northcote  one hundred years ago than they are today. I had remembered seeing a number of clever stable conversions in Northcote and Westgarth and on Saturday I set out determined to photograph a few of them.

A stable conversion in Westgarth

This one features a garage or workshop with living space above. Below is a second one, also in Westgarth but closer to High Street, where entry is via a bluestone lane.

For many years, horses also travelled Northcote’s lanes, pulling the nightcarts that  collected excrement from the suburb’s backyard dunnies. The bluestone for this Northcote lane (above) was almost certainly quarried from the great Wales Quarry just over the creek in Brunswick, which was open for a hundred years from the 1860s.

A bluestone lane in Northcote

Today lanes are interesting and mysterious places to explore on foot, quite different in character from the made roadways used by motorised vehicles.