The Last Night of the Walled City

Inspired by true events.

Part 1: The Hell They Saw

The Walled City of Kowloon was dying and about to be demolished. The government had made sure of that.

To the rest of the world, it was a scar on Hong Kong—a dense, vertical jungle of lawlessness, of crumbling concrete, rusted pipes, and damp alleyways that smelled of soy sauce, mildew, a century of human filth and the ever-present smell of decay.

Built illegally and neglected for decades, it was a haven for triads and refugees, an urban no-man’s land that grew in the spaces left by law and order.

But it was also home to tens of thousands of people, including my grandfather. For him, it wasn’t hell—it was heaven— the only home he knew. The only home he’d ever known.

By 1987 The government had finally decided to erase it, one bulldozer at a time, and by 1993, they decided it would finally happen. Demolition would begin tomorrow. They’d already moved most of the residents, paying them to leave, but my grandfather was one of the few who still refused to go.

That’s why I was there that day.