Chris Song’s Note: Selected from Hong Kong author Lok Fung’s acclaimed short story collection The Charred City, “A Wayward Wisdom Tooth” recounts the tale of Shevon Kam, a driven beauty executive who endures a decade-long struggle with a decaying wisdom tooth—a bodily affliction that mirrors her trials in the corporate world. Once ambitious and swiftly ascending, she falters when her rival, Charlene, secures the director’s post—through a blend of strategy and influence. Weary and disillusioned, Shevon quietly sabotages her own proposal, retreats on medical leave, and has the troublesome tooth extracted. At last unburdened, she relinquishes corporate combat, slipping into a self-bestowed “long vacation,” even as the city’s advertisements continue to shift, indifferent to her disappearance.

i.

When the silver drill pierced the decayed hollow between her teeth, shrieking like an enraged insect, Shevon Kam felt as though she were already a corpse sprawled upon the dentist’s chair. The anaesthetic seeped from her mouth into her limbs, her viscera, numbing them all. She closed her eyes, and in the haze of semiconsciousness her past unravelled itself like a poorly spliced, episodic film, flashing frame by erratic frame across her fluttering eyelids.

She remembered, as a child, how she had loathed brushing her teeth. The toothpaste at home was foul, its acrid sting rendering her tongue numb and sore. Later came the days of bleeding gums and bitter defeat—her DSE examination results as stained as the tissues she used to blot her mouth. With no better options, she began as a humble beauty counter assistant, gnawing on snacks to endure the long nights of study. Gradually, she ascended, rung by rung, through accrued certificates, until at last a supervisor’s badge gleamed upon her chest. The year she was chosen to pursue an advanced diploma in beauty and management in Japan, her wisdom tooth had just begun to emerge. Her face was swollen and inflamed, yet she was giddy as a lark on stimulants when she boarded the Japan Airlines flight. Somewhere amid the dizzying heights, clutching an ice pack to her cheek, she sketched out her six-month schedule.

For the next decade, her wisdom tooth grew as sluggishly as her career soared. These two trajectories—like opposing air currents—followed contrary courses. While the tooth inched along, her work propelled her, almost in cinematic fast-forward, to the role of associate creative director for beauty products. But just as she seemed poised to ascend further, to claim the coveted director’s chair, the wisdom tooth—still incomplete in its growth—succumbed to the silent invasion of an unknown bacteria. The decay spread like worms burrowing through the soil, carving sideways and digging deep, an ache that gnawed at her days and haunted her nights. Sleepless and tormented, she failed to complete the proposal that would have secured her promotion. At the celebration of Charlene Shum’s elevation to director, Shevon could not believe that a single tooth had undone her. And yet, curiously, once the title of “director” had settled upon someone else, her toothache subsided as if by enchantment. But the sting of failure left a scar she could never forgive herself. And so she found herself here at last—in the dentist’s chair—prepared to confront the tiny, treacherous foe that had unmade her.

The young dentist bore a passing resemblance to Kimura Takuya, the male lead from the Japanese drama Long Vacation—but with dimples, silver-rimmed glasses, and a scalpel in hand instead of a guitar. Still, what kind of relationship could ever exist between dentist and patient? And what sort of fantasies could a patient harbour about her dentist? Shevon gazed into the glare of the surgical lamp suspended from the ceiling, the harsh halo blinding her, and closed her eyes. She thought of the years she had spent waging battle against time—days and nights, suns and stars. She had turned her office into a second home, burning the midnight oil whilst meticulously ensuring her youthful appearance never betrayed her. Her efforts had become an unspoken ritual of self-preservation: no crow’s feet permitted to creep from the corners of her eyes, no dark spots allowed to mar her cheeks, no blackheads to emerge around her nose. As a representative of the beauty industry, her face was her brand; this was what they called “leading by example.” From the moment she had been promoted to makeup director, she had ceased to smile and avoided the outdoors entirely. Smiles, ultraviolet rays, dust—these were the mortal enemies of smooth skin and luminous complexions. One careless instant, and all her painstaking work could vanish in flames, like a forest fire. Especially with so many pairs of hungry, watchful eyes glaring at her, above and below, waiting for her to falter.

“Your wisdom tooth is more inflamed than we initially thought, and unfortunately the bacteria has spread to the neighbouring tooth. So here’s the plan: we’ll begin by cleaning out the damaged nerves and tissue in the gum. Once the wound heals, we’ll proceed with removing the wisdom tooth. The entire process should take about a week to ten days, depending on how quickly you recover. In the meantime, try to get as much rest as you can, avoid staying up late, and steer clear of spicy or overly stimulating foods. A great part of your recovery will depend upon your body’s natural ability to fight the inflammation.” His dimples deepened briefly as he spoke, unbidden and faintly mischievous, like ripples breaking the surface of calm water.

“I see.” Shevon’s anaesthetised consciousness had not yet cleared; she could scarcely distinguish the roots of her discomfort, whether pain or itch. Let alone such kindly counsel—“get plenty of rest, avoid staying up late, steer clear of stimulating foods”—which, having been absent from her life for so long, now felt oddly numbing. Yet, in a flash, she reminded herself: it was nothing more than the routine advice a doctor offers a patient

By the time Shevon stepped out of the dentist’s office and onto the street, it was nearly noon. Sunlight blazed against the glass curtain walls of the commercial building, harsh and dazzling. Instinctively, she slipped on her black sunglasses and kept to the shaded side of the street. At the edge of a crowded crossing, she paused, gazing across the road at the massive billboard of the Japanese Sogo Department Store, its vivid image pressing down like a weight. Behind her sunglasses, she fixed her eyes upon the advertisement: butterflies in chaotic flight and the face of a popular singer, grinning, painted in glamour. A dull ache stirred again in her tooth, sharp as a needle, stabbing some unnamed corner of her jaw. She remembered vividly the sleepless nights she had spent designing that very advertisement. Winning over the singer as the face of the new lipstick had required two relentless weeks of persuasion. At the time, the singer’s reputation lay in tatters. Freshly abandoned by her scandal-ridden lover, she was the object of mock sympathy or outright derision from tabloids and media alike. But Shevon had discerned something else—a silent, steely resolve beneath her public façade. That sharp-edged persona, she decided, was the perfect match for the modern image the lipstick demanded. When the photo shoot commenced, the singer’s new album, Resilient Women, was released. Overnight, the forsaken victim became a symbol of stylish resilience—a woman independent, unshackled by men. The transformation struck a chord with countless office ladies and career women. The lipstick sold out on the first day. The company capitalised on the frenzy with a “limited edition” campaign, leaving hordes of emotionally vulnerable, self-pitying women scrambling to possess it. The fever reached its height, turning the product into a city-wide phenomenon. Yet none of this triumph belonged to Shevon. The name on the campaign proposal was not hers—it was Charlene’s, the newly minted creative director. Shevon remained merely the nameless force behind the scenes. This, she thought bitterly, was the ultimate divide between director and deputy.

Now, standing before the glamorous billboard, she felt the sealed medicine in her tooth seep through the narrow fissures, releasing a sour, acrid tang. She clenched her gums, bit down hard, and swallowed the mingled draught of medicine and saliva into the hollowness of her stomach.

ii.

“Ms Kam, the afternoon meeting has been rescheduled to three o’clock. Ms Shum’s luncheon with the managing director ran longer than expected.”

“Right.”

By the time Shevon returned to her office, her face was pallid, the anaesthetic in her mouth still lingering. The numbness dulled the pain, yet in her mind there flickered a sudden, sharp spark—the soundless scrape of a match being struck. The flash of light and the acrid sting of smoke jolted her brain. In that instant, she knew with blinding clarity exactly where Charlene was.

Seated in her synthetic black leather chair, Shevon flipped open the folder on her desk. It contained the product information for the afternoon meeting—Collagen Whitening Essence: Formulated with XTP botanical extracts and vitamins to relieve stressed, fatigued skin; replenish collagen lost with age; effectively eliminate deep-seated melanin; and prevent premature dark spots and wrinkles. She closed the folder and leaned back, allowing her body to sink into the chair’s swaying embrace. Only recently, “fruit acid treatments” had been the rage; now the buzzword was “collagen.” The tides of biotechnology and the beauty industry surged and receded with dizzying rapidity, one trend eclipsing another before even a ripple could settle. Shevon knew all too well that her meteoric ascent was owed to her uncanny gift for catching these shifting currents, time and again. The products she championed invariably struck a chord with the market—sometimes even conjuring demand where none had previously existed. Yet the years she had spent directing her energies outward, conquering the “market,” had left her blind to the battlefield within—the office itself. Her professional diploma in beauty technology had never trained her to navigate that terrain. And so, just as she had been poised to step into the director’s chair, she was unceremoniously cast aside. The landscapes she had once held so firmly in her grasp dissolved in an instant, evaporating into nothingness like foam cresting a wave.

Shevon straightened her back, then rose to close the wooden door. Slowly, she returned to her desk, switched on her computer, and waited as the melody of a Japanese drama’s theme song played softly through the speakers. After a few notes, the blue screen brightened, revealing the document she had spent sleepless nights crafting in secret over the past week: “Collagen Whitening Essence: Market Analysis and Promotional Strategy.” She pressed a key, and the screen shifted to a silver-hued display, alive with an array of mesmerising celestial bodies. One by one, the stars dissolved, yielding to the silhouette of the Collagen Whitening Essence bottle, revolving with planetary grace within a glowing ring. A soft pop marked its eruption onto a pristine white background, where a fresh, radiant face emerged—a serene smile, a gaze of quiet confidence. To the left of the screen, the product’s name appeared, flanked by authoritative scientific terminology. This was Shevon’s draft of the promotional video for the new product, originally intended for presentation at the afternoon meeting. The proposal’s second section detailed her market research: the ingredients, pricing, and sales figures of collagen-based beauty products already saturating the market. The third presented her strategies for expansion into mainland China. Shevon had argued that post-WTO accession, the mainland was not merely a vast potential market but also a resource-rich, low-cost production hub. The final section summarised her comprehensive plan. It began with an observation: the market was already awash with similar products, each boasting advanced technology and natural ingredients. To distinguish itself, the product required a unique identity—one that resonated with the technological and informational zeitgeist of contemporary Hong Kong. Shevon’s vision was to cloak the product in the allure of “science fiction,” imbuing it with the colours of the future. It would embody innovation and foresight, offering consumers a tantalising glimpse of a better tomorrow. The target demographic, she argued, had to be professional women over thirty. The city’s ageing population rendered this group substantial, while career women, whether for personal or professional reasons, were far more willing to invest in their appearance. If their willingness to spend could be tapped into—even during economic downturns—this demographic would yield a lucrative channel for growth. Finally, Shevon insisted that in the prevailing economic climate, positioning the product as “fast-selling” or “affordable” would only tarnish its image and devalue it. Such an approach risked alienating middle-tier consumers. Skincare, after all, was a luxury, not a necessity for women of modest means. To succeed, the product had to exude “premium quality,” with its costs unapologetically passed on to the consumer. Yes, the proposal was seamless—meticulously thought through, a masterpiece of strategy. But even the most flawless fabric has threads that fray. Had it not been for that luncheon earlier at the hotel, Shevon might still have been ensnared in her usual trance of admiration for her own labour.

◯

That morning, owing to her dentist’s appointment, Shevon had been unable to apply her makeup. By noon, leaving the clinic, she felt compelled to find somewhere quiet and immaculate in which to restore her appearance. She chose a hotel with gleaming floor-to-ceiling glass and had just stepped into its revolving door when, in the mirrored sweep of its panels, she caught sight of a familiar figure. When the glass turned fully, the vision resolved: the managing director, Kenneth Cheung, his right hand resting with disconcerting intimacy on the small of Charlene’s back, leaning close, murmuring in low tones as they moved towards the reception desk. A jolt of instinctive alertness made Shevon turn abruptly, concealing herself behind a stone pillar. From the reflective surface of a nearby side door, she watched the two of them stroll unhurriedly towards the lift. She remained motionless behind the pillar for a full seven minutes, ensuring that they had entered the lift and ascended to the rooms above. Only then did she slip swiftly across the hotel lobby and into the adjoining department store, making for its restroom.

Inside, as she brushed a light veil of powder and blush across her face, her lips curved faintly with disdain. Inwardly, she derided Charlene’s artifice, congratulating herself on the conviction that this so-called “creative director of marketing” was, in truth, no better than she. Yet as she lifted her eyeliner, her reflection in the mirror froze. A nebulous truth shimmered before her eyes, elusive yet undeniable. The pencil hung suspended, her breath caught in her throat. Slowly, her hand lowered and her body seemed to sag, like an empty sofa from which the stuffing had been abruptly removed. Her toothache returned, a faint, dogged throb, but she no longer had the strength to resist it. Only now did she grasp how Charlene had secured her position as director. And worse—far worse—was the realisation that, however hard Shevon might strive, the outcome would never alter. The rules of the game were not what she had once imagined. Unless she were willing to transform the manner in which she played, her future would remain as fixed, as incomplete, as the unfinished makeup in the mirror.

She tried to raise the eyebrow pencil again, determined to complete the line with precision. But her hand trembled, seized by a formless amalgam of fear and fury. Sweat pooled in her palm; the pencil slipped, striking the porcelain basin with a sharp, ringing “clang”—a sound that shattered some fragile illusion. Lowering her head, she exhaled a quivering breath, then retrieved a bottle of makeup remover from her bag. Gently, she erased the powder and liner she had applied, rinsing her face in cold water. Confronting her bare, colourless reflection, she felt a strange, inexplicable wave of pity rise within her. She poured a small measure of lotion—moisturising, infused with SPF—into her palm and pressed it gently onto her cheeks. It was, she thought, the only protection left to her now.

Emerging from the restroom, she squinted against the piercing sunlight, her toothache pulsing faintly once more.

◯

A sharp knock—“tap tap”—at the office door wrenched Shevon back from memory. It was Charlene’s executive assistant, who slipped in to deposit the agenda for the afternoon meeting before withdrawing once again. Shevon’s stiff fingers guided the mouse, as though searching for an exit through a labyrinth of blackened tunnels. She selected the Collagen Whitening Essence proposal and its accompanying images, locking the files in a folder accessible only with a personal password. In the field, she typed with deliberate, unyielding force, each keystroke echoing with finality: Wisdom_Teeth.

iii.

The meeting began promptly at three, but Shevon deliberately waited five minutes before entering the conference room. As she walked past Charlene, already seated at the head of the table, a faint yet pungent trace of cologne clung to her senses like a restless ghost. She recognised it instantly—Kenneth’s signature brand and scent. She had memorised its composition, even its sharp, invasive silhouette in the air, ever since that occasion when he had “accidentally” slipped in the corridor leading to the sales department and fallen against her, cologne and all.

The first part of the meeting consisted of departmental heads reporting on the latest performance metrics. Unlike her usual meticulous self, Shevon did not bury herself in note-taking. Instead, she kept her gaze trained firmly upon Charlene’s poised, polished face, as if endeavouring to decipher a hidden code embedded in its lines. She examined the deft folds of her double eyelids, the calculated arch of her nose, the cool yet teasing curve of her lips, and the contradictory blend of maturity and innocence in her cheeks. What were her skincare rituals? Did she apply a deep-cleansing mask each night before bed? And if so, what dreams accompanied her masked sleep? When she and Kenneth went to the hotel, did she spritz herself with a sweat-resistant perfume? Were there others, beyond Kenneth, to whom she extended her regimen of care? The questions swirled, vivid and unrestrained, until Shevon felt faintly dizzy. Her senses overburdened, she rose with studied nonchalance and poured herself a cup of hot tea. As the steam rose, brushing against her skin, Charlene’s gaze met hers—accompanied by a confident, knowing smile. Shevon feigned that the tea had scalded her, lowered her head to avoid the look, and returned quietly to her seat.

The second part of the meeting turned to the marketing plan for the new product, Collagen Whitening Essence. With her crisp, melodious voice—clear and lively as a mountain brook cascading over stones—Charlene introduced its features and benefits before opening the floor for discussion.

“Shevon, what’s your take on this new product? How do you think we can stand out in such a competitive market?” Charlene set the ripples of challenge in motion.

“Well, every product has potential. It really depends on the brand image we create for it. As for how it fits into the market, we’d need more data to understand where the opportunities lie.”

“Do you have any ideas in mind? With the economy as it is—deflation and all—we can’t play it too safe, but neither can we afford to be reckless.”

“I agree,” Shevon answered smoothly, dissipating the ripples with generalities. “The product must fit the market conditions.”

“I heard you’ve already started looking into collagen-based beauty products. How is that going?”

The question wrong-footed her. Charlene’s tone was light, yet the words landed like a deftly aimed blow. Who had revealed her research? And how much did Charlene already know? Shevon steadied herself before responding to the wave that threatened to engulf her.

“It’s still in the early stages. I’ve completed the initial surveys, but I haven’t yet begun analysing the data or running comparisons with competing brands.”

“That’s a good start. You did an incredible job with the butterfly lipstick campaign—it’s practically an industry case study now. The board really values your work and wants to see our department rally behind you for this project. I know you can pull off another win.”

Charlene’s gilded compliments were dazzling, the kind that could make anyone feel buoyant. Yet she ought not to have invoked “the board”—that was a misstep. Everyone in the beauty industry knows that when a blemish appears, the more one presses at it, the likelier it is to inflame, to fester, until the pimple swells into an uncontrollable outbreak.

“The butterfly lipstick campaign succeeded because of good timing and cross-departmental teamwork. This new collagen product is certainly an exciting challenge. Once I’ve finished the market research, I’ll begin on the promotional plan.”

Her response was a precarious balancing act, as though astride a tiger. To retreat fully, she first had to advance half a step—steadying Charlene’s suspicions while carving her own discreet path forward. Though she could not yet fully grasp where her promise might lead, a vague outline was already taking shape in the depths of her mind.

“With your efficiency, I’m sure you can have the proposal ready in two weeks. We’ve got the autumn fashion launch at the end of August, and if we can tie the campaign to that, it will give us a huge advantage. Plus, the Japanese head office is monitoring this closely. They’re sending a team mid-month to discuss it, and your proposal could greatly strengthen their confidence in us.”

Shevon nodded and smiled politely, registering the urgency in Charlene’s tone. As the meeting concluded and the team began filing out, Charlene motioned for her to remain.

“Here,” Charlene said, handing her a black folder, “are the quality control reports and details of how the product has been marketed in Japan thus far. Use it as a reference.”

“Thanks,” Shevon replied, accepting the weighty folder. It felt heavier than its size suggested. She could not help but admire Charlene’s aptitude for managing both people and projects. The only quality Charlene lacked was creativity—something Shevon knew she herself possessed. Yet she also knew she was not the sole figure propping Charlene up from behind the scenes.

“Keep up the excellent work. By the way, Mr Cheung mentioned over lunch that the board is considering adding another director to our department—a dual-director system. Two teams, each handling separate projects. And honestly, I think you’d be perfect for the role. Especially if you can make a strong impression with this project when the Japanese representatives visit.”

Shevon nodded silently, but the fire she had only just smothered in her heart flared again, struck anew. The very same words, the very same promises—Kenneth had once delivered them to her, layered with suggestive undertones and provocative gestures. Now, filtered through Charlene’s professional detachment, they left Shevon hollow.

That hollowness lingered, clinging like a shadow, all the way into the evening, when the office stood empty and she finally closed the door to her room. Inside, she paced in circles—back and forth, left to right. Exhausted, she kicked off her high heels and continued barefoot. At intervals she would halt, fixing her gaze upon the blue glow of her computer screen until sparks seemed to dance at the edges of her vision. Only then would she wrench her eyes away and resume her restless march. At one point, her left foot snagged her right, and she stumbled, colliding with the corner of her desk. A pile of documents toppled to the floor, scattering the papers for Collagen Whitening Essence like pale, lifeless bodies strewn across the carpet.

She stepped over the disarray and leaned against the desk, balancing her weight on one foot as she bent forward to strike the keyboard. With a single, deliberate motion, she permanently deleted the Collagen Whitening Essence proposal from the hard drive. Then, crouching, she gathered the scattered pages one by one, together with the backup disc, placing everything into her handbag. She extinguished the lights, locked the door behind her, and left her final step within the company.

iv.

Back in her apartment, Shevon felt utterly drained. She resolved to give herself a makeshift spa session.

Later, wrapped in a fleece blanket on the sofa, Shevon slipped a DVD of the Japanese drama Long Vacation into the player. She watched the unemployed protagonists lean upon one another for comfort, soothing themselves with the belief that setbacks and exhaustion were merely life’s way of granting them an extended holiday. There was no need to push too hard, no need to summon endless reserves of effort—everything would fall into place in time. Gradually, Shevon forgot her aching tooth. Her breathing deepened, softened, and soon she drifted into the dark refuge of sleep, far from the world of light and shadow.

The next morning, Shevon awoke with a decision: she would grant herself a long vacation. She wrote to the company’s HR department, explaining that her wisdom tooth required surgery and that she would need a week’s leave to recover. She also emailed Charlene, assuring her that the proposal would still proceed on schedule. Near noon, after merging breakfast and lunch into a single meal, she boarded a bus to the Japanese consulate.

For the next week, Shevon scarcely left her flat except for her dental appointments. Most of her time was spent lounging on the sofa, drifting through piles of Japanese drama DVDs. When her eyes grew heavy, she slept; when she woke, she read reports on the latest developments in beauty technology. During this time, Charlene sent two emails and left one voicemail, each inquiring about the proposal’s progress. Shevon deleted them all without replying.

On the tenth day, she wrote again to HR, claiming complications with her wisdom tooth and requesting an additional week of medical leave. If her sick days had expired, she asked that the balance be deducted from her annual leave. An hour later, an urgent message from Charlene arrived, demanding to know what had happened, how the proposal was advancing, and whether Shevon could at least forward the market research report and product data for Collagen Whitening Essence. Shevon ignored the message, deleted it, and blacklisted Charlene’s address. After shutting down her laptop, she diverted all calls to voicemail, packed her bag, and left for the dental clinic.

That day, Shevon resolved to extract the wisdom tooth that had tormented her for a decade. Reclining in the dentist’s chair, she felt like a corpse awaiting rebirth. The extraction went smoothly, and under the lingering anaesthetic she experienced no pain. When the dentist showed her the tooth, neatly cleaved in two, a sudden, inexplicable sorrow pierced her. Staring at the severed halves, she realised she no longer shared a bond of flesh and blood with it.

“Would you like to take this with you as a keepsake?” the dentist asked, his dimpled smile visible even behind his surgical mask. The depth of those dimples struck her as oddly captivating, though her thoughts wandered distractedly.

“No, just throw it away for me.”

“All right. The pain will begin once the anaesthetic wears off. I’ll give you some painkillers, and we’ll book a follow-up appointment.”

“I’m flying to Tokyo this afternoon. Could you give me a little extra?”

“Of course. How long will you be away?”

“Five days.”

“Then I’ll give you enough for five days.”

“Thank you.”

Shevon sat upright, preparing to leave. Then, on impulse, she asked in an uncharacteristically playful tone, “Do you watch Japanese dramas?”

“Not really—too busy with work. Why? Any recommendations?”

“I do. Long Vacation. The lead actor, Takuya Kimura, looks rather like you.”

“Really? Well, now I must watch it.”

“Do. Goodbye now.”

“Bon voyage!”

As Shevon stepped out of the clinic into the kaleidoscopic throng, she slipped on her sunglasses and melted into the crowd. At the crosswalk, waiting for the light to change, she glanced up at the façade of Sogo and noticed that the giant advertisement had been replaced. The campaign she had designed for “Butterfly Lipstick” was gone, supplanted by a sultry lingerie display. In this city, nothing escaped the relentless churn of replacement. One day, Collagen Whitening Essence too would be consumed by the next fleeting trend. The red light flicked off, replaced by green. Shevon wheeled her suitcase across the grey-yellow stripes. At the far end of the street, she hailed a taxi. Just before ducking inside, she turned back and gave the lingerie advertisement a small, parting wave.

The red light returned, and the crowd gathered once more on either side of the road, moving in an unbroken rhythm that echoed the city’s own breathing. Beneath the dusty haze of the sun, Shevon’s taxi sped away, its tyres gliding across the grey asphalt…

2023
^{Photo by Alireza heidarpour on Unsplash}

How to cite: Song, Chris and Lok Fung. “A Wayward Wisdom Tooth.” Cha: An Asian Literary Journal, 22 Aug. 2025, chajournal.blog/2025/08/22/wisdom.

Lok Fung (the pen name of Natalia Chan) is a poet and cultural critic. She received her PhD at the University of California, San Diego in 2001. She had been the Jury of Taipei Golden Horse Film Festival in 1998, and the anchor of Radio Hong Kong’s Performing Arts programme from 2005 to 2016. Lok Fung acts as the dramaturge of the dance drama Chinese Hero: A Lone Exile, performed by the Hong Kong Dance Company in 2016. She is currently Adjunct Assistant Professor at the Chinese University of Hong Kong. Her research interests include cultural and film theory, gender studies, popular culture, performance studies, comparative literature, cross-dressing and fashion.

Her publications in Chinese include six volumes of poetry, nine volumes of cultural criticism and four volumes of short stories and prose. Her book of poems Flying Coffin received the 9th Biennial Award for Chinese Literature in 2007. Her critical work Butterfly of Forbidden Colors: The Artistic Image of Leslie Cheung received the Hong Kong Book Prize as well as “The Best Book of the Year” in 2008. In 2016, Lok Fung was awarded “Artist of the Year in the Arts Criticism Category” by the Hong Kong Arts Development Council (ADC), and “City Contemporary Dance Laureate” by the City Contemporary Dance Company. She was once again awarded “Artist of the Year”, this time in the Literary Arts Category, by the ADC in 2023.

Chris Song (translator) is a poet, editor, and translator from Hong Kong, and is an assistant professor teaching Hong Kong literature and culture as well as English and Chinese translation at the University of Toronto. He won the “Extraordinary Mention” of the 2013 Nosside International Poetry Prize in Italy and the Award for Young Artist (Literary Arts) of the 2017 Hong Kong Arts Development Awards. In 2019, he won the 5th Haizi Poetry Award. He is a founding councilor of the Hong Kong Poetry Festival Foundation, executive director of the International Poetry Nights in Hong Kong, and editor-in-chief of Voice & Verse Poetry Magazine. He also serves as an advisor to various literary organisations. [Hong Kong Fiction in Translation.] [Chris Song & ChaJournal.]