"Sorry! Duìbùqǐ!" Alex apologised, taking a quick step left to avoid touching the stall owner's arm as he reached for the cloths hanging on the metal railings of the market stall. The red umbrella in her hand knocked against a display of Pokemon characters behind her, scattering them left and right. Damn it. This was precisely why she never came to the Temple Street Night Market. Impossibly small stalls and impossibly large crowds; a total recipe for disaster.

"This one?" The stocky lăobăn held up a bundle of maple-red napkins, noting the mess she had made with a frown.

"Duìbùqǐ, lăobăn," she said, giving the stall owner an apologetic smile. Not that he could see it under her face mask. Oh hell, this was all Yu Yan's fault. The troublesome waitress just had to get sick on the exact day a customer ruined not one, but three of their serviettes. "And yes, that one. I'll take them."

Muttering something about clumsy foreigners, the store owner put the napkins in a clear bag while people moved in and out of the tiny space in the stall. Alex gripped her umbrella tight and stood in the furthest corner, trying to keep out of the way.

"Here. Take it."

"Thank you. Xièxiè." She handed the owner exact change, careful not to touch him as she took the bag from his hands.

A little boy in a Spiderman t-shirt dived into the stall at that exact moment, his ice-cream covered fingers reaching for the toppled Pokemons.

"Hey!" The lăobăn reached out to stop him, pushing the boy straight at Alex. She caught him without thought.

The pain was instant, the ache in her intestines telling her the boy had had too much ice-cream. Shake it off. Just shake it off. Ignoring the tirade the shop owner was directing at the boy, Alex righted him, walked out of the stall and opened her umbrella.

People moved to the side, many giving her dirty looks or cursing as she pushed through the Night Market. Sunglasses, wigs, Mao imprinted playing cards and Disney knockoffs, she walked through the stalls breathing low, keeping an eye on the feet visible beneath the umbrella. The scent of street food rose from the carts parked along the sides of the stalls, mixing with the waft of bins and litter and pushing against her mask.

If it wasn't for years of training with the Shaolin monks, the smell of the market would have her vomiting uncontrollably. Focusing on the scent that drifted from her rose wood bracelet, she blocked everything else out.

"Hey, hey, hey!" An angry market-goer tried to grab at her umbrella, refusing to moving around it. Alex stepped back, closed the umbrella, spun under the reaching arm and kept walking. Her reflexes were also owed to the monks and their incessant practice of Kung Fu. Avoiding a woman who tried to shove a sequin mini-dress into her hands, Alex made it out of Temple Street with a sigh.

Never again. Next time her customers could use white napkins instead. Even as the thought occurred to her, Alex rejected it. That wouldn't do; the colour had to be right. She would just have to forbid Yu Yan from getting sick, ever.

Popping her umbrella in the plastic bag with the napkins, she walked through Kowloon's streets. The hour was getting late. Business types were leaving the bars and eateries for home and the day-workers were slowly being replaced by those who practiced their crafts at night. Alex crossed the street to avoid a busker singing Cantonese Opera that had drawn a crowd. Further down, Michael Jackson lookalikes were busting moves to an ancient looking boombox and a fortune teller was shouting after a man who had not paid the promised fee.

Alex dodged, slid, jumped and spun to avoid Hong Kong's night prowlers. She was only a few streets out from the bus stop that would take her out of the city centre, when a scent caught her attention. Bergamot.

Her fingers tensed as Alex focused on the smells around her until she found the source of the scent. It was a young woman, around twenty or so, wearing a crop top, jeans skirt and stiletto-heels. Not the murderer she was looking for, but another one of his kind.

Thoughts of getting home forgotten, Alex followed the girl at a discreet distance. When she first left the Shaolin monastery three years ago, Alex had encountered several people in Hong Kong who smelled like the man who killed her parents. At first she thought it was a coincidence, that some people simply emitted that special smell. But after a few more encounters, she realised that they all belonged to some kind of cult.

It wasn't their behaviour, it was the blue circle with three horizontal lines that clued her in. The symbol the murderer had tattooed on his arm was carried by every member of the cult. Some wore it on a necklace and some as an earring. Alex followed them whenever she could, hoping they would lead her to the man with the scarred hand, but they never did.

The girl turned the street corner, disappearing for a moment behind a bright orange truck. Alex rushed forward, spotting her again as the girl raised her hand in greeting. The guy who jogged to her side was familiar. Alex didn't have to focus her sense of smell to know he was a cult member too, she had followed him before.

As far as Alex could tell, the cult had a strict hierarchy. Those who wore their mark on a pendant generally stuck together and were beneath those who had the earrings. From the way these two treated each other, she assumed the girl too was a pendant wearer. She had yet to come across anyone who wore their mark as a tattoo like the murderer had.

The couple across the street were on the move again, laughing and pushing each other through three more streets before they slowed down at the door of Club Z. One of Hong Kong's most exclusive underground clubs, the line to get in was at least fifty-people long despite the relative earliness of the hour. The twosome walked past everyone who was waiting, not stopping as the club bouncer stepped aside to let them in. Damn! So much for following this new female.

Alex leaned against the wall of the red-envelop shop across the club, watching the entrance through which the cult members had disappeared. Dance music filled the street every time the door opened, making those in line fidget with excitement. Alex had never been in a club, but she knew it would be loud and crowded. Very, very crowded. How long would the couple stay for?

She was considering whether or not she should wait around, when a group of five walked down the street, bergamot wafting in their wake. Alex recognised the three female cult members, but the two males were unfamiliar. Her lips thinned and she closed her eyes. There were now three unfamiliar cult members inside. Was this some kind of gathering? Would he turn up?

She had to go down there.

Her mind made up, Alex took a step forward, then looked down at her canvas shoes and drawstring trousers. Damn it! She would never get into the club with these clothes. Letting out a sigh, Alex headed back to the Temple Street Night Market.