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NOTE: This is not an authorised translation, nor a particularly good one. I’ve written some notes at the end of the chapter about the struggles of the translation process.

++

Have you ever heard of the ‘Bureau of Xeno-Intelligence Affairs’?

It’s no ordinary agency, which seems obvious when you consider that it was a joint venture of the navy, army and air force, yet, arriving at the entrance of this mysterious place, I couldn’t help but laugh. A government office with such a large reach, and it turned out to be just a really old, moss-covered stone house, which, by the looks of it, wasn’t even occupied. And, because of all the junk piled up at the side, you couldn’t really say it had windows either, more like two, small circular holes.

The only piece that seemed to stand out in a good way was a bronze signboard, which read: ‘Headquarters of the Municipal Authority of the Navy, Army, and Air Force.’

But that was diluted slightly by the fact that the signboard had become completely overrun by green decay…or patina as my mum called it.

Of course, I already knew in advance that this so-called Bureau of Xeno-Intelligence Affairs wasn’t a bustling government office, but I couldn’t have imagined that it would be this deserted.

Now, I should say, the reason I knew about this oddly-named agency was down to the matter with my old friend, Bato, in Hawaii.

Bato is a very interesting person, and I must introduce him, at least some of the basics. He’s around forty-four years old…yes, I say around as Bato himself doesn’t know his exact age due to his upbringing as an orphan. Discovered by a Belgian missionary in the Eastern grasslands of Inner Mongolia, he was scooped up and taken back to Beijing. In those days, things were quite chaotic in that region, yet, somehow, Bato had survived without injury, and, despite being only two years old at the time, was able to ride on a pony out of there without crying. The Belgian missionary knew just one word in Mongolian, Bato, which translated as hero, so that was the name he decided to give to this rescued child.

After that, the missionary returned home to Belgium, taking the young Bato with him. From that moment on, the boy’s life became extraordinary; he attended a seminary, travelled to the Congo [which, at that time, was under the iron rule of the Belgians], and decided to join the rebel army in support of their cause, spending over a year in the darkness of a jungle that even the natives were afraid of.

Later, when the Second World War broke out, he went straight into the Belgian and Dutch underground, becoming one of the French Resistance’s most important contacts. From there, he signed up to the regular army, got dumped in a concentration camp, led an incredible escape and, in the latter part of the war, despite his relatively young age, became perhaps the most outstanding of all the intelligence agents in service to the allies.

After the war was over, he hung up his rifle and founded a private detective agency. With his specialised knowledge and various talents, this new venture should’ve thrived, crushing all other detective agencies, but, fortune, in this case, was not on his side. The agency received almost no clients and soon started hemorrhaging cash. Things got so desperate that robbing a bank may have been the only way out [something Bato, with his many talents, could have pulled off without breaking a sweat…well, maybe a little bit of sweat], but then, after a long period of suffering, the tide finally turned.

The hinge-point of this reversal was, of course, the founding of the Bureau of Xeno-Intelligence Affairs. His old boss during the war served as the director of this new agency, and it was he who requested Bato to take up the role of his deputy.

Although his position was at a senior level, he only possessed as aid one secretary [also doubling as office manager] and one adjunct who did pretty much everything else. This, however, was evened out by the surprisingly generous budget the agency received, allowing Bato to travel around the globe; one month in the East, three weeks in the West, a few days in the Arctic, all without oversight from local or national jurisdictions.

When Bato turned up in Hawaii, he was only planning to stay a week at most, but, after bumping into me, that shifted to nearly three months. I’m really not one to brag, though it is true, I do have some level of magnetic power over others, yet, I think the real reason why Bato and I connect so well together is because we both have a singular trait in common. That is: all things considered weird or out of the ordinary, to us, are endlessly fascinating and by no means in the realms of the impossible. Is that a trait? Okay then, call it an innate curiosity towards the bizarre.

Both Bato and I believe that human science is still in its [extremely pitiful] infancy, and that thinking everything is impossible on its face is absurd, especially when you’re running purely on the basis of the level of science that we are currently attached to. The same way that a three year old does not know the workings of electricity. That is to say, human beings like us are not yet in a position to judge supernatural things.

Speaking of the supernatural, the Bureau of Xeno-Intelligence Affairs would also qualify as one of those things.

See, so-called Xeno-Intelligence has nothing to do with enemy attacks, espionage, cold wars, hot wars etc., all the popularised types of military stuff, no, it is, in fact, more concerned with the hidden, the unseen. Whenever those types of ‘we have no idea what is going on, what is going on’ matters pop up, the type where, after going through all avenues of research, we still can’t reach any conclusions, then it is time to call on the Bureau of Xeno-Intelligence Affairs to deal with it.

A quick example: let’s say we imagine, in the sky above, all of a sudden, there is an unknown, flying object emitting a bright flashing light, and some random person happens to witness it. Naturally, that witness goes straight to the police to report what they’ve seen. As the UFO was located in the sky, the police then transfer the report to the air force authorities as it falls under their purview. The air force authority then proceeds to conduct research on this matter. If said research proves inconclusive or is laughed at, the case will inevitably be turned over to the Bureau of Xeno-Intelligence Affairs.

Speaking of things like this, you would think that the Bureau must be really busy. However, when I put this question to Bato previously, he had sucked in a long breath and shook his head. It turned out the matter was completely different from what I had imagined, as, no matter the aspect, all problems that they received were from people who didn’t understand such problems, yet, at the same time, refused to admit that they didn’t understand them, people who nodded along and pretended to understand the problem, who thought, sure, there’s an explanation right there, great, now the file has a verdict, and, as a result of all this, that problem or file wouldn’t get sent to Bato’s office.

All of which meant, this Bureau’s current business was shockingly light. So light that their only real representative could accompany me to the beaches of Hawaii for three months, picking up all kinds of random shells, chatting endlessly in postcard settings, enjoying each other’s bodies etc.

Part of Bato’s character was to be quite blunt and, very soon after we first met, he’d already told me everything about himself. Of course, I’m not much for small talk either, so, we quickly made a deal. If there’s any weird or supernatural thing, we should tell each other and conduct research.

Well, Bato left Hawaii before me, and about a month later, on the night before I was due to depart, I received this telegram from him: ‘Want to see the red moon? Come quickly. Bato.’

I didn’t know what this message meant so I sent the following reply: ‘ please elaborate.’

His response came quickly: ‘Come quickly, no delay.’

When I got this second message, it was already close to midnight, so I turned towards the window and looked outside. The moon was up there and, after blinking a few times just to be sure, remained a pale kind of silvery colour. The same colour it had been since ancient times. In fact, the only time the colour red and the word moon had been linked together was in Bato’s message just now.

I didn’t know why he was being this crazy, but, truthfully speaking, even if this weird message hadn’t arrived, I still would’ve wanted to go and see him; he was just too intriguing and his experience in these matters was second to none. I really had cherished our time together on the beach, chatting about our past adventures, often all night, even when I was exhausted, so I gave up on dodging and sent him this simple reply: ‘On my way.’

Then, a few hours later, I was standing in front of the stone building.

If it weren’t for the bronze sign by the entrance, I definitely would’ve assumed I’d made a mistake. My initial thought was: even if Bato’s office is neglected, at least it’s located inside the Department of Defence building, in two luxurious offices. Yet, it turned out that those two were in fact the same thing.

I walked up to the entrance, coughed two times, then asked, ‘is anyone here?’

From inside came Bato’s voice. ‘Come in quickly! You’re finally here, come in.’

I pushed the door forward, producing a surprising bump sound which made me sigh in despair for a moment as I felt I had just let down my best friend somehow.

Beyond the door was a corridor about twenty feet long, with an open door at the end. In that space was a young man in a lieutenant’s uniform using a sprinkler to water some flowers. I knew that this young lieutenant must be one of the three staff members of the Bureau of Xeno-Intelligence Affairs.

I waved to get his attention and he stared back at me with a really weird look in his eyes, as if such weirdness could magically make someone’s presence known in this agency that no one ever came to. If that makes sense? I think it does. Yeah, it does.

Walking farther into the corridor, I noticed that both sides had two doors, that is to say, there were four rooms in this building and I didn’t know which one contained my friend, so I called out, ‘Bato, where are you?’

Immediately, I heard the sound of a door opening and then a woman with fiery-red hair poked her head out, holding a pencil in her mouth, wearing the same kind of weird expression on her face as the young lieutenant.

I nodded at her politely. ‘I’m looking for Bato.’

She shouted, a little theatrically, ‘Ah, I get it, you must be the Chinese guy he’s been going on about the last few days.’

Before I could respond, there was another bump noise from a door being opened, and then the sound of Bato’s voice yelling, ‘Wesley, come in, quickly!’

I gave a quick smile of apology to the quite beautiful red-haired secretary, then turned and headed towards the room with Bato inside. As I entered, I couldn’t help but gasp…this was really an office?

To be totally frank, the most dishevelled closet you could picture would probably be tidier than this pigsty. The whole room was about two hundred square feet, but in terms of active space, more like thirty inches. And everything was covered in an assortment of old newspapers, cartons and wooden boxes, as well as god-knows-how-many bags of miscellaneous rubbish. Also, stacked up on the desk was even greater chaos; a collection of shells from the beach in Hawaii, all piled in one corner, that appeared to be the source of a very fishy smell. And, in the other corner, a repulsive plant that was made of stuff even I couldn’t guess the name of. In the middle of the desk, things were a bit more mundane, with lots of opened and to be opened files, plus Bato himself, dressed in what I believe was a shirt that hadn’t been washed in at least four days, with his hair a complete jungle. It was hard to believe that this was the same good-looking, elegant, middle-aged gentleman who’d stood in front of me at that hotel in Hawaii just a few months ago.

Reluctant to move deeper into the room, I held my position and shrugged instead. ‘I’m a bit confused, where exactly are we?’

‘Are you trying to say this doesn’t look like an office?’

‘Huh? Of course, it’s not an office, Bato!’

My overly-weathered friend looked aggrieved. ‘You really think all offices must be clean and orderly? Ah, you should know, the things that I’m dealing with are not of the typical variety.’

He could see that I had no reaction and quickly walked forward, dipping his hand into a paper-wrapped parcel and pulling out a rock of some kind. He shook it a little, ran fingernails over its surface. ‘This is a normal type of rock, right? Well, two young boys swear that they heard a strange voice calling to them from this rock, and, because of this claim, it ended up in the hands of the army. Then, one month later, it was decided that it was something I should deal with, and now that it’s here, I’m thinking, what should I do with it? Put it in a delicate crystal box?’

‘Enough,’ I cut in, glaring at both him and the thing in his hand. ‘I didn’t come all the way here to talk about a rock. This Red Moon thing, what’s the story behind that?’

‘No need to get so worked up, my friend. Sit down and we’ll talk.’

It was a bit odd that he said, ‘sit down,’ as, apart from the one he was sitting on, the whole room was devoid of chairs. And, after examining his seat, I figured it would be more suited to a run-down tenement building than a supposedly authentic office like this one.

My face must’ve shown some of this disgust as Bato started to laugh, and pushed his chair towards me, using a huge stack of old newspapers as a replacement.

When we were properly seated, he asked, ‘what do you want to drink? Whiskey?’

I shook my head, a little too much if I’m honest. ‘No need, no need, really.’

Under the current circumstances, I feared that alcohol was not only a bad idea, but also an unhygienic one as the glasses he’d already picked up were coated in dust. With this in mind, I persisted in my refusals.

Still laughing, Bato pulled open a drawer that contained several bottles of wine, and picked out a dark green porcelain one wrapped in a velvet cloth of the same colour. I couldn’t help but let out an impressed whistle. That bottle was one of the finest whiskeys, as all good drinkers would know, and, in an office like this, a perfect match for the incongruous nature of Bato’s personality.

He took out two glasses and, after we had both downed a shot of whiskey, my mood brightened remarkedly. ‘Okay, now we can talk about the Red Moon matter.’

‘If you’re that interested,’ he said, pointing at some files on the desk, ‘I think you should take a look at those first.’

I shook my head. ‘Or you could just tell me yourself.’

There was no point going into details on this comment as, simply put, the files on the desk that he was pointing at were in Spanish, and my Spanish was about as fluent as an English holidaymaker’s. Well, maybe not that poor. But still, going through all that would be exhausting, so much better just to sit back and listen to Bato explain things instead.

‘Okay. The matter at hand occurred in the southern part of Spain, in a small coastal town called Ticaron.’

I didn’t wait for him to say anymore. ‘Bato, your first words are completely nonsensical.’

His eyes fixed on me, wide open.

‘You’re supposed to be talking about the red moon thing…red moon. See, there is only one moon and, if it did suddenly turn red one day, then the whole world know about it. So how can it only be happening in one small Spanish town?’

Bato laughed. ‘I told you to be patient yet, for some reason, you appear to be in a great hurry. How about you let me speak first, okay?’

Instead of attempting to refute him, I merely commented, ‘okay, you tell me, what happened in that small, coastal town?’

‘Well, Ticaron has a population of around three thousand, not that big, with an ancient cultural history. However, don’t look down on it because of this as many of those residents are in fact scholars. And one day…specifically, August 24^th, at ten twenty-seven in the evening, all the people in this town were left stunned…by some type of bizarre phenomenon.’

As soon as Bato had got out the last word, he stopped.

Since I’d stepped on his heels earlier, there were no follow-up questions, just my slightly embarrassed self, blinking like a robot, not saying a word.

My good friend laughed to himself. ‘This bizarre phenomenon, if you and I had encountered it, would’ve likely have stunned us too. Simply put, they saw the moon turn bright red.’

I sat up straight, listening intently.

Bato continued: ‘Red to what degree? Well, written reports have given a lot of eyewitness accounts, but I think one writer in particular has the most vivid account. They said that the moon turned red suddenly, and in the middle of that red was a floating mass of brilliant light, making them think that it wasn’t a moon in the sky above, but a heart shooting out from someone’s body. You see, it was without question, bright red.’

I again pushed my body up straight, as this really was an incredibly bizarre story. For tens of millions of years, the moon had reflected rays of light, all of them a soft white-silvery colour; why would it suddenly change to bright red? And on top of this, if there really was some mineral on the moons surface that had caused this change, and made the sunlight reflect as red beams, then shouldn’t every single person in the world be seeing this different-coloured moon? Why would it only be visible to a small coastal town in Spain?

‘Exactly how many people saw this phenomenon? For around how long did it keep the colour?’

Bato turned over the report, said, ‘three thousand, four hundred and forty-six people saw it, which is ninety-two per cent of the whole town. The other eight per cent accounts for the children, who, even if they did see the red moon, are too young to be interviewed.’

He paused to stare at me, waiting for more questions.

‘The investigation is being run by which organisation?’ I asked.

‘Due to the fact that it’s local, the provincial police took up the case initially, and, after that, the Spanish National Science & Hygiene Organisation got involved, then, finally, it got switched to the joint European, American and Asian Defence League, which is basically one enormous, inter-continental, military institution. After that, it ended up here for poor, little me to deal with. All in all, it’s been investigated by more than two hundred people!’

‘How long did the red moon last for? Has it appeared again?’

‘The precise duration was seven minutes and twenty-one seconds. We know this because there were hundreds of eyewitnesses and, as mentioned, many of them were renowned scholars. Truthfully, it such a confounding issue that it has attracted the attention of a lot more organisations. Since the event, the town’s population has increased by about four hundred, all of whom are staying there in the hope of seeing the red moon. So far, they have been disappointed.’

I shook my head slowly. ‘As this matter has attracted so much widespread attention, there must be more than a few conclusions about it, right?’

‘There are a lot of opinions. Some people think a group of the townspeople created an illusion, others believe it’s the result of some element that made the town experience a kind of mass hallucination, and there was even one person who said it must have been a huge, red cloud obscuring the moon, just by chance, for those seven-odd minutes. However, the person who mentioned this failed to explain how the cloud managed to turn itself red!’

I impatiently waved a hand. ‘In this case, several points come instantly to mind: one, it could’ve been a tornado, the red soil blowing up from a plateau, just enough to cover the town airspace and form a kind of red blanket; or, two, you could say it’s a reflection of the Northern Lights filtered through a cloud and passing over that part of Spain. Both are merely possible, of course, not a definite conclusion.’

‘Right, right.’ Bato nodded vigorously…a little too vigorously. ‘I urge that you not forget, if we had a definite conclusion, this matter wouldn’t have turned up on my desk.’

I started to laugh. ‘Okay, how have you been preparing for this?’

The words came out and at the same time I decided to lean back on the chair. To my surprise, that chair was about a thousand years old and started to creak as soon as I tilted back, and then the leg snapped completely, almost sending me backwards onto the floor. Luckily, I managed to grab hold of the table…and spill over a bottle of blue ink in the process.

Naturally, all the report papers scattered across the desk were immediately stained dark blue by the spillage, and I could do nothing except feel a little embarrassed. ‘Bato, quickly, save the files!’

My friend’s rescue method was really quite extreme. He scooped up all the papers on the desk, stuffed them without thought into a wastepaper basket, and then lifted his head back up. ‘You asked me how I was preparing just now? Well, not that differently from this.’

I felt completely astonished. ‘What, you brushed it aside?’

‘Of course not. What I mean is, this issue is something that we will have to go and investigate ourselves, personally, rather than sit here and be influenced by all these already outdated reports I’ve received.’

My mouth hung open. ‘We?’

Bato spread out his hands theatrically. ‘You won’t refuse my invitation, will you? When I sent the telegram to you, I had already submitted a report to my superiors requesting a temporary assistant. And I’ve opened a separate expenditure fund, an extremely ample fund, I may add. Come on, my friend, would it be so bad to visit a beautiful coastal town in Spain? Just treat it like a bonus vacation, if you must.’

Bato had convinced me, almost effortlessly. I didn’t bother to protest again. After some time, I thought back on Bato’s phrase – ‘just treat it like a bonus vacation’ – and forced a wry smile…though Hawaii was already long gone.

My friend laughed, slapping me forcefully on the shoulder. ‘Right, let’s get moving, shall we?’

I shook my head [for the hundredth time]. ‘No, you go first. I came straight here after receiving your telegram and haven’t yet had a chance to go home. I’ll meet you in Spain later.’

Knowing my domestic situation, and my relationship with Baso, he didn’t try to dissuade me, he simply said, ‘okay, we’ll meet up at the small town. I’ll be staying at the only hotel, so you can find me there.’

He gave me a map of Spain with the location of Ticaron highlighted, then, after that, we put the matter to one side and looked at some other Bureau cases. Bato hoped that figuring out the meaning behind the Red Moon phenomenon might help him to deal with these other unexplained matters, and, naturally, I agreed completely.

That same evening, after pestering him to eat one extremely filling meal together, I headed off on yet another flight. Sending a telegram for Baso to come and meet me at the airport, I was happy to see her waving at me when I landed. And, as we embraced each other, I could feel that she was happy too.

That night, the two of us sat on the balcony, with Baso looking at the magical light of the moon and asking, ‘can you believe it actually turned red?’

 ‘What? You saw that?’

‘Of course not me. I guess you haven’t read the papers in a few months, but there’s a small town in Spain where the whole population claim they saw the moon turn a kind of scarlet colour.’

Probably out of fear that she’d blame me for not rushing straight back from Hawaii to see her, and instead visiting Bato at the Bureau, I had yet to mention anything to her about the Red Moon issue. Now she’d brought it up herself and I had to improvise. ‘I know about it, of course. And I’ve already accepted an invitation from the Bureau of Xeno-Intelligence Affairs to go and investigate it.’

Baso lowered her head, fell silent for a while. ‘So we have to separate again?’ she asked finally.

I gripped her hand. ‘You can come too.’

She laughed. ‘Only if this Intelligence Bureau invites me in a work capacity, otherwise, what’s the point? When do you leave?’

‘Ai…’ I sighed, embarrassed that I was doing so, ‘normally, I’d say first thing tomorrow morning, but, in this case, being a few days late wouldn’t be too bad.’

Baso stretched out a finger and prodded the tip of my nose. ‘You’re a terrible liar. If a red dot appeared on the moon’s surface, and your wife said don’t go, you’d still rush to investigate. And now, when the whole moon’s turned red, you say you want to stay here with me?’

I opened up both hands. ‘That really is too unfair.’

She laughed again. ‘Unfair? Okay, let me ask you. After you left Hawaii, where did you go?’

‘I…went to see a friend. He’s the Deputy Chief of that Intelligence Bureau. As you already know.’

‘The telegram that you received, where was it sent from? A place between here and Hawaii? Ha, you showed your own mistake, and still you don’t realise it.’ Baso continued laughing, seemingly enjoying things. ‘You sweet fool…you want to hide things from me, but you’re just not skilled enough.’

In this kind of situation, apart from laughing, I could do nothing. So that’s what I did. Just sat back and looked up at the moon.

As I didn’t want to provide her with more ammunition, I stayed for seven more days, waiting until Baso herself had finally had enough and gave me a shove towards the airport. However, this delay of the heart meant I was also seven days behind Bato. Much later than I had insinuated. Or what I assumed his insinuation of my words had been.

Of course, he knew my address, had arrived early at Ticaron, and must’ve already started work on the investigation…yet still he hadn’t got in contact to rush me over there or ask what the hold-up was. Very strange.

Anyway, my plane landed in Madrid, I rented a car, checked the location of Ticaron on the map and drove directly there. The scenery of Spain was extremely charming, and I thought it would indeed be a very pleasant little vacation.

Before getting to Ticaron, my mood was equally pleasant, the only slightly dark spot being the fact that Baso wasn’t there with me. However, after I arrived at the only hotel in town, I changed to being a little upset. According to the staff at the counter, Bato had checked in eight days earlier and, three days into his stay, had left the hotel entirely. Apparently, he’d dropped a letter for me at the front desk, which was probably the only thing that stopped me going full volcanic.

As for the hotel itself, it seemed quite busy and the rooms were all occupied, which was bad news for my sleeping arrangements. Luckily, Bato had spoken with the management and told them about my eventual arrival, and had insisted that they leave his room vacant for me to use.

Thanks, friend, I thought, signing my name on the forms. Maybe I won’t erupt on you after all.

++

Notes:

This was a lot tougher than I expected. Constantly torn between loyalty to the text and the urge to rewrite every sentence. Or add things on a whim. Or elaborate on parts that felt too vague as written.

The reality is that the story comes across as quite generic. I knew Ni Kuang was regarded as a prolific hack writer in Hong Kong, but I didn’t realise it was this generic. Trying to read it casually is one thing, but translating is a whole other level. You have to know the specific resonance/meaning of every single word, whereas usually I’ll just guess the ones I don’t know or work out what they’re most likely to be from context and that’s that.

And then there’s the idioms! Trying to find an equivalent phrase/idiom in English. It’s hard work. Very hard work. Which is why I took a month to do this first chapter. I’m still not really happy with the result. That line between keeping to the original source text and going my own way, possibly into adaptation instead of translation…it’s tough.

One aspect that I’m finally getting used to is the different way that commas are used in Chinese writing. On the surface, one paragraph can look like a huge run-on sentence, or a machine gun burst of comma slices, and I kept on trying to treat it that way cos that’s what my brain says when it sees a comma, but slowly, very slowly, I got in the habit of breaking it up into two or three independent parts. I think it’s the difference between understanding something on an intellectual level and actually putting it into practice; the same way in which you know a word or grammar pattern in Cantonese, but every time you try to express it out loud to someone, your brain reverts to default settings and you say something you know is wrong.

This is a constant battle in translation…or for me as an amateur translator; when and how much to deviate from the original text in order to make it readable in English. All in all, I think I must’ve added at least ten to fifteen sentences that simply did not exist in the original text….which, technically, isn’t translation anymore. But I couldn’t help myself. The most egregious supplement was at the end of the chapter, where the Chinese version just seemed to end abruptly, with no emotion or cliffhanger or sense of temporary closure. Reading it back in English, it just didn’t work at all, so I added two lines to show some kind of reaction from the MC that could close out that section.

It’ll make more sense when you read the part itself. I hope.

Honestly, I don’t know if I’m gonna be able to continue with this. Getting to the end of Chapter 1 was difficult enough, what about the remaining eleven?

Maybe it’s better to read a book first and then just adapt it instead of translating? Like some of the film dada pieces. Much more freedom that way.

Or maybe the story will pick up a bit in Chapter 2?

I’ll persevere a bit longer, I think. See if things get smoother. Not sure when the next chapter will be posted though, could be another month or so.

Additional note: I went with the names Bato and Baso as that’s how they read in Chinese, but Bato, especially, is based on a Mongolian word so that one might not be accurate. Either Bato or Batu, I think…

Another note: in the same vein as American action movies in the 80’s, I’ve added a homoerotic subtext to the relationship of the MC [Wesley] and his close friend [Bato] that he took long walks on Hawaiian beaches with. To be honest, it’s hard to read it any other way.