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New Year in Singapore is warm and balmy. A little humid. It had rained during the day, and now the ground was slick and wet and puddles reflected glows from the windows of my boss's mansion in Queen Astrid Park. My boss is called Mr Wong. He insists that we all call him Edmund, a quirk he picked up overseas, but in our conservative Chinese competitive society where every sort of nicety mattered, every courtesy observed and every head bowed in greeting to a superior – well, let's just leave it at Mr Wong, shall we?

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