Inside their bedroom, Fang Chou and Christina sat quietly on their bed. The bedside lamp cast gentle shadows across the walls as the house settled for the night.
"It's strange," Christina broke the silence, hands clasped in her lap. "I never expected to meet someone who went through what I did."
Fang Chou turned to his wife and covered her hands with his. His touch brought a slight smile to Christina's face, though her eyes focused on something distant.
"At least he got away," she said, her Slavic accent growing stronger with emotion. "But ending up in this country with no idea why or how..." Her voice faded.
"Hearing his story at the store reminded me of how we met." Fang Chou rubbed small circles on the back of her hand. "But something seems different this time."
Christina turned to face him. "What makes you say that?"
"I've been thinking about it." Fang Chou's forehead creased. "I don't think Arvin was kidnapped, not like..." He left the rest unsaid, but Christina understood and her shoulders tensed.
"What makes you so sure?" Christina asked quietly, glancing at the door as if worried someone might be listening.
"Hard to explain." Fang Chou ran his fingers through his hair. "The signs are there. He can't speak English, has no idea where he is. Some might say he's just a lost tourist, but his story doesn't match up with what happened to you."
Christina fell silent, deep in thought. The quiet between them felt comfortable but heavy.
"He's stuck here, isn't he?" she finally said. She knew what that felt like.
"Pretty much." Fang Chou sighed. "No ID, no passport. He could get arrested for being here illegally. Years ago, during the immigration surge, he might have had a chance. But now they've tightened everything up."
Fang Chou turned to face his wife, his expression serious but gentle. "I hate bringing up painful memories, but since we're on the subject..." He squeezed her hand. "It's been twenty years since you had any contact with your family. You've told me about your mother, how she'd sneak you treats when your father wasn't around, how she taught you those cookie recipes our kids can't get enough of..."
Christina's shoulders tensed. "You know why I can't—"
"I know, I get it. But you're not just some political pawn anymore. They showed that by leaving you alone all these years." He hesitated before adding, "Don't you think your mother deserves to know you're okay? Even just a short letter?"
Christina lowered her head, her grip on his hand tightening. When she spoke, her voice trembled. "I... I need to tell you something. Ten years ago, one of our family aides tracked me down."
Fang Chou's eyes widened. "What? Why didn't you tell me?"
"He came to me in secret. Said the family needed me back home right away." Her fingers intertwined with her husband's. "But I said no. We were already married with our twins..." A warm smile briefly crossed her face. "I couldn't walk away from this. After you rescued me, after living with your family for those two years, I finally had what I'd always wanted. A real family."
"Christina, come on, you know I wasn't the hero who saved everyone. It was that guy in the black trench coat with the sword, wearing sunglasses at night—"
She pressed her finger to his lips, cutting him off. "I know, I know. You've told me a million times." Her smile returned. "But you were there when it mattered most. Everyone else was fighting to get out of that container, stepping over each other, and I was left behind, knocked out cold. You came back for me. You carried me to the hospital, and your family treated me like I belonged."
Removing her finger from his lips, her expression darkened. "Besides, what would be the point of going back? There's nothing, no one waiting for me there anymore."
Fang Chou pulled her into an embrace, feeling her tremble against him. The familiar scent of her lavender shampoo filled his nose as he held her close. "Your mother... has she...?"
Christina's eyes filled with tears as she shook her head against his chest. "Last time, she was alive but also not."
"What do you mean?" He loosened his hold just enough to see her face, his thumb wiping away a tear that had escaped down her cheek.
"Eight years after I disappeared, while still searching for me, she got caught in an accident." Christina paused, wiping her eyes. "The aide said it was probably foul play by our business rivals. She never woke up. It's like she's just sleeping."
"What about her condition now?" Fang Chou asked as he holds wife.
Christina shook her head again. "I don't know. The last contact I had was five years ago. I think she must have passed away by now." The words caught in her throat, as if saying them aloud made the possibility more real.
Silence filled the room as Fang Chou took in this information. When he finally spoke, his voice was firm but gentle. "If that's true, then at the very least, I should visit her grave to pay my respects."
Christina pulled back, surprise clear on her tear-stained face.
"As your husband, I am also a son of your family. My parents taught me that children must pay respect to their parents and ancestors. By marrying you, I inherited that duty to your family as well."
Fresh tears spilled from Christina's eyes, but these were different tears from before.
(He's not angry), she thought. (Not even disappointed that I hid it. He's thinking of honoring family bonds I've spent years trying to forget.)
Unable to contain her emotions, she threw herself against him, clutching his shirt.
"Thank you," she whispered, holding him tightly. "Thank you..."
Fang Chou smiled, saying nothing as he stroked her back, letting her release years of bottled-up grief and guilt.
After several minutes, Christina's breathing steadied. She pulled away and Fang Chou immediately reached for the tissue box on his nightstand, offering it to her.
"Thank you," she said again, this time with a small smile as she dried her eyes. Once composed, she added, "But that will have to wait. Right now, we need to focus on helping Arvin."
At the mention of Arvin, Fang Chou's expression turned thoughtful again. Christina watched her husband's face, recognizing the slight furrow between his brows that always appeared when he was working through a problem.
"Do you know someone who might be able to help?" she asked, her voice still hoarse from crying.
Her question triggered something in Fang Chou's mind. His eyes widened, and he suddenly smacked his forehead, letting out a surprised chuckle that broke the room's solemn mood.
Christina blinked at this unexpected reaction. "What is it?"
"I can't believe I didn't think of him sooner. My old friend. We haven't seen him in a while, but he might be able to help."
"Ah," Christina's face lit up with recognition. "Yes, him. He would know how to handle this kind of situation."
"He might have some insider information about these cases. At the very least, he could advise us on the best way to help Arvin."
Relief washed over both their faces at having found a potential solution. However, Fang Chou's expression returned to neutral.
"It might take some time though. You know how busy he is. I'm not sure when I'll be able to meet with him."
Christina nodded in understanding. "The last time we saw their family was before our children started school."
Christina yawned, the emotional conversation and late hour finally catching up with her.
Noticing his wife's fatigue, Fang Chou glanced at their bedside clock. "We should get some sleep."
Christina nodded, rising to change into her pajamas while Fang Chou adjusted their pillows. Soon, they were both under the covers, the familiar comfort of their shared bed welcoming them after the evening's emotional revelations.
The room fell into darkness as Fang Chou switched off the lamp. He felt Christina settle beside him, her breathing already growing steady as she curled against his side.
______________________________
A ray of light slipped through the curtain, causing Arvin to open his eyes. Instead of getting up right away, he lay still, taking a deep breath. His body felt refreshed after sleeping in a proper bed, much better than his night in the playground dome.
Moving carefully, Arvin sat up in the middle of the bed, crossing his legs. He closed his eyes, beginning the breathing routine that his master had taught him. Five cycles, twelve seconds each, just enough to check his condition without being rude by meditating too long in someone else's home.
(My chi has recovered to about forty percent), he noted with satisfaction. After dropping during his wandering through the city, the night's rest had helped restore it to a workable level, though still far from ideal.
His inner energy showed more improvement. (Almost thirty percent now), he assessed, feeling the difference last night's large meal had made. The five bowls of soup had replenished much of what he'd lost, though his reserves remained well below full capacity. In normal training conditions, he would never operate with such depleted energy, but these circumstances were far from normal.
Grumble
His stomach growled loudly, reminding him that his body needed more fuel. The substantial dinner had helped, but his enhanced metabolism had already processed most of it during the night's recovery.
(Having an enhanced body might be useful, but needing four times the food of a normal person is quite troublesome when you're in someone else's house.)
To others, his appetite probably seemed endless. The thought made him wince. How could he explain this to his hosts without seeming greedy?
A pressure in his lower abdomen interrupted his thoughts. Time to find the bathroom Fang Chou had mentioned.
Opening the door carefully, Arvin noticed some hallway lamps had been turned off. (What time is it?) he wondered, remembering there hadn't been a clock in the guest room. Based on the light filtering through the curtains, Arvin guessed it was probably past six.
The bathroom, when he found it, was surprisingly spacious. He noted the familiar elements: tub, sink, toilet in the corner, but also spotted a shower head like the ones he'd seen in the hotel where he first arrived in China. Everything gleamed in the morning light, meticulously clean.
After finishing his business and washing his hands, Arvin paused, glancing at the closed door that led to Fang Chou and Christina's room. The house remained quiet. He shook his head and continued down the hallway.
Passing the stairs to the second floor, Arvin paused briefly. (I wonder what's up there?) The thought vanished quickly. Asking for a house tour would be presumptuous. Perhaps later, if they offered.
He continued toward the living room, remembering the small clock he'd noticed on the side table near the sofa last night. The digital display read 6:27.
Sizzle
A sizzling sound from the kitchen caught his attention, followed by familiar cooking aromas. Someone was making eggs with herbs, and milk? The scent reminded him of last night's dinner. (It seems milk was really a common cooking ingredient here)
Grumble
His stomach protested loudly at the smell of food. Arvin touched his belly, caught in an awkward dilemma. Should he wait in the living room to be called, as a proper guest would? Or should he check the kitchen?
Thump Thump Thump
The sound of rapid footsteps from behind made him turn. Jeremy was practically flying down the stairs, muttering something in English that Arvin couldn't understand.
Seeing Arvin, Jeremy slowed his pace. "Good morning!" he said cheerfully, then caught himself. His hand met his forehead with a light smack. He tried again. (Chinese)"Good morning."
(Chinese)"Good... morning," Arvin replied, his response delayed as he stared at Jeremy in amazement. The bruises that had marked Jeremy's face yesterday were already fading, and his movements showed almost no sign of the injuries that had left him barely able to walk.
His curiosity finally got the better of him. (Chinese)"How are you feeling?"
Jeremy smiled brightly. (Chinese)"Still sore, but much better than yesterday."
(Chinese) "Is that... so? Congratulations on your quick recovery," Arvin managed to keep calm, while internally his questions multiplied. (There's no trace of chi or inner energy in him, yet he heals faster than even trained martialists. How is this possible?)
Glancing at the clock, Jeremy's eyes widened. (Chinese)"I get breakfast before school. Want to join me?"
(Lucky), Arvin thought, grateful for the invitation. He nodded, following Jeremy.
The newspaper crinkled as Arvin followed Jeremy into the dining room. Fang Chou sat with a steaming coffee cup at the table. Cynthia's fingers moved rapidly over some kind of thin, flat device that Arvin didn't recognize.
Through the kitchen doorway, Christina stood at the stove, the sound of cooking eggs filling the air.
Fang Chou lowered his newspaper. (Chinese)"Ah, good morning, you two. Arvin, please, join us."
Without looking up from her strange device, Cynthia gave a slight nod of acknowledgment. Her fingers never stopped their rhythmic tapping.
Jeremy slid into his usual seat beside his father. After a moment's hesitation, Arvin took the same chair as last night, the familiar position somehow making him feel less out of place.
(Chinese)"How did you sleep?" Fang Chou asked, setting down his cup.
(Chinese)"Very well. The bed was incredibly comfortable. I fell asleep right away. Thank you again for letting me use that room."
Fang Chou waved off the thanks with a warm smile. (Chinese)"I'm glad you found it comfortable. Would you mind telling us more about your life in the mountains as we wait for the food? Your stories were quite fascinating."
Cynthia set her device down, her usual poker face showing a hint of interest. Even Jeremy leaned forward, despite his limited Chinese.
(Chinese)"Well..." Arvin began, his hands moving as he described smoking meat for winter storage and gathering herbs from the mountainside. (Chinese)"Master always said the herbs had to be picked before sunrise. The morning dew made them more potent..."
After a while, Christina appeared with a tray loaded with golden omelets and crisp toast arranged on five plates. She cleared her throat, drawing everyone's attention before placing the plates on the table.
(Chinese)"Thank you for the meal," Arvin said quickly, bowing his head.
"He's thanking you, honey," Fang Chou translated, helping his wife hand out the plates.
Christina's smile brightened as she set down the last plate. "Tell him he's welcome."
(Chinese)"She says you're welcome. Please, eat while it's hot."
Arvin hesitated, just as he had last night. (Chinese)"Excuse me, but does this contain any ingredients that I mentioned last night?"
Fang Chou immediately turned to his wife. "Honey, Arvin's asking if you used any ingredients he can't have? From what he told us last night?"
"No, of course not. I remembered. It's just eggs, milk, and some herbs."
After Fang Chou translated, Arvin bowed his head for a moment and thanked her before praying and starting to eat.
Jeremy finished first, taking his plate to the sink. The water ran briefly as he washed it. Cynthia followed soon after, just as quick.
At the fridge, Jeremy poured himself a glass of milk while Cynthia reached for orange juice. They washed their cups quickly before heading to the living room.
"We're heading out!" Jeremy called.
"Bye, Mom, Dad," Cynthia added.
Arvin looked down at his empty plate, his stomach growling loudly. It wasn't enough, not even close. But how could he ask for more?
Fang Chou's voice broke through his thoughts. (Chinese)"Arvin? Are you still hungry?"
Arvin froze at Fang Chou's question, his cheeks warming. The empty plate seemed to mock him.
(Chinese)"I..." he started, then fell silent, not sure how to answer without seeming greedy.
Christina touched her husband's arm, speaking in English. Fang Chou nodded and turned back to Arvin.
(Chinese)"Don't be shy. If you're still hungry, you can tell us."
His stomach answered before he could, the sound impossibly loud in the quiet kitchen. Arvin's face turned redder.
(Chinese)"I..." he swallowed hard, then decided honesty was best. (Chinese)"I have a special constitution that needs more food than ordinary people."
Fang Chou translated for Christina, whose eyes widened with concern.
(Chinese)"The meal was delicious, but it wasn't even a quarter of what I usually eat."
After Fang Chou translated, Christina's expression changed from surprise to something deeper, a flash of understanding that Arvin couldn't quite read.
"I'm sorry," she said, Fang Chou translating. "I only made our usual amount. If I'd known..."
"Hmm..." Fang Chou tapped his chin thoughtfully. Then his face brightened.
(Chinese)"You said you're a cook, aren't you? Why don't you make something yourself? You can use anything that you can find in the kitchen."
Arvin's head snapped up, eyes wide with surprise.
Christina touched her husband's arm. "What did you say to make him look so shocked?"
"I offered to let him cook. Remember his story from last night? He knows his way around a kitchen."
"Ah!" Christina's face brightened. "Yes, that's perfect. Tell him again. Make sure he knows it's okay."
Fang Chou turned back to Arvin, who still sat frozen in surprise. (Chinese)"Well? What do you think?"
(Chinese)"But is it really alright? I would need to cook quite a lot."
After Fang Chou translated, Christina nodded enthusiastically. "Of course it's alright!"
Arvin remained hesitant. In both his hometown and China, the kitchen was sacred family space. Being invited in was no small matter. (Chinese)"I don't want to impose..."
Fang Chou's expression turned wry. This kind of modesty, he hadn't seen it since his parents died. Most people here would have jumped at such an offer.
(Chinese)"Arvin, it's fine. Really. Use whatever ingredients you can eat. The kitchen is yours."
Arvin looked at both of them: Fang Chou's understanding smile, Christina's warm encouragement. Refusing now would be rude rather than polite.
(Chinese)"Thank you. Then may I take a look at the ingredients first?"
After Fang Chou translated, Christina stood up. "Come on," she gestured toward the kitchen. "I'll show you where everything is."
(Chinese)"We'll help you find what you need," Fang Chou added, rising from his chair.
Arvin followed them into the kitchen, his heart light with gratitude. Being invited into a family's kitchen meant they no longer saw him as just a stranger.