Across The Sea

Sophie's Journal

Author: Tan Sri Son

Title: "Sophie of Victoria Harbour"

Sophie was born in Sheung Wan, Hong Kong—above a quiet row of antique shops, in a penthouse filled with old paintings, carved jade figurines, and the scent of aged oolong tea. Her family name opened doors in Central, in Admiralty, and even in the distant corridors of London. But Sophie walked through those doors silently, often unnoticed, because she never quite fit the world that bore her.

Her great-grandfather, Tan Sri Law GP, had made his fortune in Borneo and expanded it through shrewd partnerships in Hong Kong during the post-war boom. By the time Sophie came along, his empire had merged with old British money and new Chinese capital. There were yachts, paintings from Sotheby’s, and entire floors of IFC owned in silence. But Sophie loved none of that.

She loved the tram rides.

Each afternoon, while her mother entertained guests in Mid-Levels or dined with diplomats in Wan Chai, Sophie rode the ding-ding tram from Kennedy Town to North Point, sketching faces, temples, and the worn hands of old fruit sellers. The people of the city lived in her sketchbooks—alive, chaotic, real.

Her tutors didn’t understand her. “Your family is historic,” one said. “You should study finance or law. Not… drawing old women feeding birds in Kowloon Park.”

But Sophie had a secret.

At age sixteen, she began visiting her great-grandfather’s former partner—Mr. Ho—who still lived in a crumbling mansion in The Peak, refusing to sell. He was 92, half-blind, but sharp as ever. “Your great-grandfather,” he rasped once, “never wanted the empire. He wanted to preserve something. The land. The rhythm of life.”

That night, Sophie returned home and stared at the glowing skyline outside her bedroom window. Skyscrapers blinked like machines. Victoria Harbour looked like a mirror of ghosts.

By the time she turned twenty-one, Sophie had moved out of the family home and rented a small studio in Sham Shui Po. Her relatives were horrified. “That area is for workers,” one aunt sneered.

“Exactly,” Sophie replied.

There, among hawkers and neon signs, she opened a tiny art gallery named Wah Lum. Her first exhibition: portraits of forgotten Hong Kong—tram drivers, street sweepers, mahjong grandmothers. Each face carried a story. Each painting sold out.

One day, an elderly man approached her during an exhibit. He pointed to a painting of a durian seller from Yuen Long. “I knew him. Your great-grandfather once gave his family a loan during the Japanese years.”

Sophie smiled. “Then this is yours,” she said, handing the painting to him.

Sophie never cared for titles. But her name began to spread—the heiress who walked with the people. She gave interviews only in Cantonese, refused corporate funding, and held children’s art classes in back alleys and rooftops.

At night, she still rode the tram. Sketchbook in hand. Listening to the wind off the harbour, whispering her great-grandfather’s name.

And hers.

Sophie Law.

Not just heir to an empire.

But keeper of its soul.

Coming Soon

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