Chapter 96: Hong Kong, 1990

1990, Hong Kong, a city ablaze with lights.

As the nineties dawned, the inevitable return of Hong Kong to China was approaching. The lines between Hong Kong and the mainland grew increasingly blurred, colonial hues gradually fading. Guided by the philosophy of "the races run, the dances continue," the gulf between Hong Kong and the mainland steadily diminished, and a sense of identification and belonging deepened.

Shitou, Cheng Yuan, and Cheng Hao were visibly excited.

This was Hong Kong, the dazzling pearl of the East.

In 1990, Hong Kong’s pop culture was sweeping across Asia. TV dramas, films, Cantonese songs, handsome men and beautiful women, brotherhood, and a glittering world…

From a future perspective, the so-called prosperity and brilliance of Hong Kong in 1990 was roughly equivalent to the level of a third- or fourth-tier city. Yet, through the eyes of that era, it was a splendor the mainland could only dream of.

Everyone who arrived from the mainland and set foot on this land could feel the enormous gap.

"That’s beautiful," Cheng Hao exclaimed, pointing at the distant spectacle.

"That’s the light show," Li Erfu replied, walking ahead and turning his head. "Every night at eight o’clock, Victoria Harbour hosts a brilliant laser show, three hundred sixty-five days a year."

"Remarkable," Cheng Hao said, then whispered to his elder brother, "How much electricity must that use!"

Walking in front, Lu Kun heard it all clearly.

Indeed.

The rural areas of China would have to wait several more years for widespread electrification.

Lu Kun recalled the stories told by the elders in his village: In the glorious era of Mao, farmers had to apply to the power department before milling rice. Electricity would be supplied only for a certain period, and farmers queued at the mill. Once time was up, with a click, the power was cut—no matter if you’d had your turn or not.

A few years ago, the village committee organized film screenings at night. At eight o’clock, the movie would start; just as Zhu Hongjuan from "The Red Detachment of Women" leaped across the screen, the power snapped off, and the audience erupted in a chorus of complaints and curses.

Some would even seek out power bureau staff to vent their frustration.

Ping’an Village had only gotten electricity the previous year, and even now, it was unreliable.

Industrial power supply always took precedence.

When night fell, the farmers’ electric lamps barely glowed, as if someone had smeared the bulbs with soot, dimmer than the old kerosene lamps.

This was why Cheng Hao was so astonished at the lavish use of electricity in Hong Kong just for entertainment.

"Here we are," Li Erfu said with a smile.

"Oh?" Lu Kun’s brows arched slightly.

The hotel before him was quite familiar.

The Regent Hotel.

Since 1980, the name "Regent" had evoked glory and splendor in Kowloon, the pinnacle of luxury.

Stephen Chow’s film "From Beijing with Love" once featured an advertisement for the Regent Hotel. Chow’s character believed he was staying in the lavish Regent, but in truth, it was the rundown "Regent Guesthouse."

In the mainland, hotels and guesthouses were much the same. In Hong Kong, however, the distinction was clear: "guesthouse" referred to the cheaper, lower-end accommodations, often with modest service and facilities.

In this respect, perhaps Chongqing in the mainland was similar. In the film "Chungking Express," the story unfolds in Chongqing Mansion, which houses numerous guesthouses—mostly privately run, tiny, but popular among backpackers for their affordability.

Hotels, on the other hand, were the opposite.

Hotels tended to be luxurious; even in land-scarce Hong Kong, they provided a space where one could stretch out and relax.

Lu Kun had heard the joke that in Hong Kong, "if you can walk three steps, it’s a three-star hotel; five steps, a five-star." But the Regent Hotel before him was far more expansive than that.

"Brother, this..." Lu Kun hesitated, while Shitou, Cheng Yuan, and Cheng Hao were utterly stunned.

Previously, they’d thought the South Sea Hotel was a paradise on earth; now, faced with Hong Kong’s most luxurious contemporary hotel, they felt completely out of their depth.

"Haha, Brother Lu, are you satisfied? Rest well tonight, and we’ll meet again tomorrow," Li Erfu laughed heartily.

Only now did Lu Kun’s mind catch up.

Li Erfu, the rotund man, was showing off his strength.

Throughout the journey, Li Erfu had watched Lu Kun’s expression closely. Whether faced with towering skyscrapers or the busy port, Lu Kun never showed much surprise, as if he’d seen it all before.

This intrigued him.

"Brother, I’m new here. Shouldn’t you tell me about any taboos?" Lu Kun quickly pulled Li Erfu aside.

"Oh, there aren’t many taboos here. Your dialect is close to Cantonese, so communication will be fine. Just..." Li Erfu hesitated, then lowered his voice, "Hong Kong isn’t very safe. Major crimes happen often. Unless necessary, best not to go out at night.

I see your three brothers are trained men; if you must go out, have them carry their gear."

Li Erfu’s words reminded Lu Kun.

In the early nineties, Hong Kong was still in transition, awaiting its return to China. Many gangsters and robbers ran rampant on this wealthy land, making their living from robbing tycoons and collecting protection fees.

The most notorious was Cheung Tsz-keung’s "Big Rich" crime syndicate.

"Thank you, brother," Lu Kun said, shaking Li Erfu’s hand before parting ways.

Li Erfu had a place here, but it was too cramped for Lu Kun and his companions. Word had it that Li Erfu owned several businesses in Burma.

In 1990, Hong Kong’s GDP stood at $100 billion, while the combined GDP of over thirty mainland provinces was only $400 billion.

It was Hong Kong’s most arrogant era, and the mainland’s most humiliating.

...

Lu Kun lay in a comfortable bedroom, watching the rerun of "Miss Hong Kong."

The Miss Hong Kong pageant was well-known even among mainlanders.

Not every contestant from the 1990 pageant went on to great success, but Gigi Leung was a notable exception.

In 1990, Gigi Leung won both the Miss Hong Kong crown and the Most Photogenic award, launching her entertainment career.

It wasn’t until her roles in "C’est la vie, mon chéri" and "He’s a Woman, She’s a Man" that her stardom truly ignited.

Lu Kun, however, had little interest in the so-called Miss Hong Kong.

Every industry had its own rules, but the entertainment business was especially murky.

Behind every major star, without exception...

Ninety-nine point nine nine percent were merely products of capital, prettily packaged.

Even in his past life, Lu Kun had only sought novelty at the beginning, just to taste something different.

PS: Thanks to book friend "Void Reborn" for the reward of Qidian coins!