NB Chapter36

This was the first time we had hosted guests since moving to the Red Residence. Compared to Zhang Mingsheng, who was too lazy to settle social debts the moment he walked through the door, and me, who didn’t want to; and couldn’t, say a word more than necessary, Aunt Liu’s joy was exceptionally prominent, practically overflowing.

She was a superb cook and took great pride in it. She mentioned that one of her ancestors had worked in a prestigious restaurant but left in a fit of indignation after being treated unfairly before returning home to open a small eatery. Aunt Liu said the manager of that big restaurant was far too cunning; he could make money for a moment, but not for a lifetime. Before long, he went bankrupt and, in a desperate gamble, turned to slot machines. Manipulated and pushed by thugs, he spent the last of his money, and when it was all gone, he threw himself into the sea; his body was never recovered.

Aunt Liu was well-traveled and knowledgeable; she could tell hundreds of such stories, yet she could never provide a specific name for any of them. They were like urban legends; not as terrifying as ghost stories, but valuable for their hazy sense of reality as if they had happened just around the corner.

Everyone in the house except Zhang Mingsheng loved listening to Aunt Liu’s stories. However, when Keke was around, Aunt Liu would try her best to make the themes and plotlines a bit more virtuous, stripping away the vulgar or “R-rated” elements. Such stories were ultimately few and far between and not very interesting. Once, seeing us all yawning, Aunt Liu’s competitive streak flared up. She finally gave up on Keke as an audience member and decided then and there that once Keke was tucked away, she would tell us a story that would keep us awake, haunt us for a long time, and stay etched in our memories for life.

Ah Hai, who was listening nearby, followed her lead and took Keke from my arms to go upstairs and coax her to sleep. This eventually became a regular occurrence, almost a habit.

Though Aunt Liu didn’t follow any particular religion, she was very interested in the mystical and could speak on it with great authority. She would often tell us that people with certain eyebrow shapes could not be trusted, that men with many fine lines at the corners of their eyes were the most prone to infidelity, and that some individuals simply carried a “dark bluish cast” to their complexion; people best avoided, or else you’d end up saddled with misfortune.

I suspect Aunt Liu must have a deep aversion to the cosmetic surgery industry; in her view, plastic procedures and even minor enhancements, in a sense, disrupted the precision of her judgment.

Although I often made these quiet jokes in my heart, I still trusted Aunt Liu’s eyes. She had never liked Zhan Weiqing; even though he was fair-skinned and handsome, spoke with refined courtesy, and frequently visited; giving her ample opportunities to showcase her cooking skills, she still treated him with cold indifference. Every time she brought him tea or water, she looked as though she couldn’t wait to set it down and immediately turn away.

I once probed her privately, asking why she disliked Zhan Weiqing so much. Aunt Liu put on a look of disgust and said, “That person is like quicksand.”

I didn’t understand what she meant at the time, thinking it was just some slang.

Looking back now, Aunt Liu’s sixth sense was remarkably accurate. Zhan Weiqing was a compulsive gambler. A casino is a gold-consuming pit and a river of quicksand; those who enter never come out.

Yet, I also felt it might just be a coincidence as Aunt Liu’s intuition was quite mysterious. Take Li Yi as an example; even though his brows were furrowed and the dark shadows under his eyes betrayed exhaustion that day, Aunt Liu showed no sign of avoiding him. Instead, she eagerly asked whether he had any dietary restrictions, even pulling out a small notebook and pencil like a restaurant waiter, ready to jot down everything he said in shorthand.

Li Yi was busy around the clock and likely hadn’t received such grand hospitality in ages. Even as silver-tongued as he was, he actually started to stutter under the gaze of Aunt Liu’s enthusiasm. His hands were clasped on the table with his fingers mechanically lifting and falling, constantly switching which fingers were interlaced.

“…Ah, I-I have no dietary restrictions.” He answered hastily.

“And Young Master Song?” Aunt Liu turned her eager gaze toward Song Yixing, her pen poised and ready.

Song Yixing was much more natural, mentioning that he didn’t like food that was too spicy and couldn’t handle too much greasy meat.

Zhang Mingsheng cut in at that moment: “If you don’t like meat, you’ll find little joy in food for the rest of your life. Your Sister-in-law is the same way.”

“I haven’t liked it since I was a child,” Song Yixing said. “I don’t know why. I didn’t expect Sister-in-law to be the same. Why don’t you eat meat, Sister-in-law? Are you a vegetarian?”

I wanted to protest. It wasn’t that I didn’t like meat; back when I was a police officer, I wouldn’t have had the strength to do my job without it. It was only after my health was ruined that I became so fastidious about eating; I had to balance nutrition with medication, and eventually, the list of things I could actually eat grew shorter and shorter. Aunt Liu never asked me what I didn’t eat because there were too many restrictions; she simply prepared separate meals for me.

As for why my body had ended up this way, I imagine Zhang Mingsheng knew perfectly well.

Unfortunately, I couldn’t publicize his atrocities here and now, or the Red Residence would be branded a murder house.

I gave an awkward smile, “Me too. It’s just my natural palate; I prefer lighter flavors.”

“No wonder Sister-in-law has such an air of elegance.” Song Yixing said while smiling at me.

Zhang Mingsheng picked up a chopstick and made a move to rap Song Yixing on the back of his hand. Feigning a look of gritted teeth, he remarked, “Your Brother Mingsheng isn’t in his grave yet, and here you are praising your sister-in-law to my face. You little brat, you have no respect for the code of the streets.”

Song Yixing played along perfectly, theatrically shielding his head and dodging away while repeatedly begging for mercy, “Brother, Brother Mingsheng, I was wrong! In the future, as long as you’re around, I won’t even look at Sister-in-law.”

Still putting on an act. Psychos.

As the two of them bantered and laughed, Li Yi and I sat in silence like companions bound by wordlessness. Facing each other directly, neither of us lifted our gaze, the two of us resembling a pair of stone lions flanking an old gate, unmoving and mute.

I no longer remember the last time I ate with Li Yi. It was many years ago, in any case. What did we have for that final meal? A tuna sandwich? Or maybe honey-glazed chicken wings. I can’t recall the food, yet I remember a smudge of red sauce on the corner of Li Yi’s mouth from whatever he was eating. When I reached out with a tissue to wipe it away, he dodged, snapping with the impatience of a rebellious teenager, “Officer Yu, even my mommy doesn’t wipe my mouth for me.”

Looking at him now, not a trace of that former self remains.

Aunt Liu quickly brought out the dishes; they were generous portions of famous Southern specialties, perfect in color, aroma, and taste. One look at the spread made it hard to know which dish to focus on first; only the scalded king prawns were familiar enough for me to name. I’d bet that the moment the guests stepped through the door, she had already started cooking. Even if we hadn’t asked them to stay, she would have done so anyway; otherwise, everything couldn’t have been prepared so quickly; it was certainly not hotel takeout. While I was dazing off, the table had been covered in steaming plates, looking very much like a family feast. To top it off, a steaming bowl of soup was brought out, releasing a fresh, savory aroma.

As the full spread was laid out on the table, Li Yi finally seemed to come to his senses. The aroma of the food drifting to him, he spoke as though roused from a dream, “I’m allergic to seafood. I can’t eat this.”

Right. I remembered then, Li Yi was allergic to seafood. Even a little bit would break him out in hives; in severe cases, he’d need the emergency room.

He hadn’t brought it up earlier, and I had temporarily forgotten as well. Mentioning it only now made things awkward for Aunt Liu. Though I knew Li Yi was telling the truth, to her it likely came across as nothing short of a provocation.

One must understand that in this house, no one treats Aunt Liu like a servant.

Whether it was to stand up for Aunt Liu or simply because he enjoyed seeing Li Yi squirm, Zhang Mingsheng put on that smiling face of his again. He remarked, “Officer Li, as the saying goes, ‘the pavilion nearest the water enjoys the moonlight first.’ Being born in Hong Kong only to be allergic to seafood, that hardly counts as good fortune.”

Li Yi finally seemed to regain his edge. He tilted his head slightly and looked toward Zhang Mingsheng as he spoke: “If I’m already at the ‘pavilion nearest the water,’ then I’ve got both the water and the pavilion. What use do I have for the moon? Some people would rather watch the tide than stare at the moon.”

Zhang Mingsheng’s expression darkened.

With the two of them clashing, there was no telling what they might say if the argument continued.

Just as I was about to mediate, Aunt Liu beat me to it.

Professional as ever, she suppressed her annoyance and wiped the backs of her hands on her apron a few times. “It’s no trouble, Inspector Li. Just tell me what you like to eat, and I’ll make it for you.”

Li Yi had already been feeling somewhat embarrassed in front of Aunt Liu; at her interruption, he immediately reverted to his stammering state.

At this point, it was finally my turn to speak. I said, “Just make him a bowl of Yi Fu noodles instead. I remember the last time we made some, there were leftovers that were put in the fridge.”

Li Yi loved those.

Relieved that someone had stepped in to rescue the situation, he nodded in haste and stammered out, “I’m sorry for the trouble, thank you. Thank you.”

I claimed that final “thank you” for myself.

That was the first thing the brat had said to me all day.

“That’s not fair! Why does Officer Li get a special meal? Auntie Liu, I want one too!” Song Yixing said with his childlike temperament. His sweet talk had Aunt Liu beaming with joy.

In an instant, the hierarchy shifted, and Young Master Song ascended to the top of Aunt Liu’s list of favorite guests.

I breathed a sigh of relief. Just as I was about to ask Ah Hai to call Zhang Xiaoyuan down for dinner, I saw Zhang Mingsheng watching me with a pensive smile.

Crap. I’d forgotten about this guy who follows me like a haunting spirit.

Feeling guilty, I turned my head away and stared intently at my own bowl and chopsticks.

The meal was a distracted affair. Zhang Xiaoyuan’s mind was on the electronics in his room; Zhang Mingsheng was likely nursing a grudge over me coming to Li Yi’s rescue; and Li Yi, well, as a policeman, he had enough on his mind daily. He just poked at his noodles one chopstick-full at a time, taking a bite every now and then.

The only one eating with real abandon was Song Yixing.

I don’t know who it was that just said they didn’t like meat! Looking at him now, he was practically a whirlwind devouring everything in sight.

Then again, it made sense. Everyone in his family had a medical background, and his mommy was a superstar; his three meals a day at home must be incredibly healthy. Now that he’d encountered some real grease and seasoning, he was naturally tempted.

I was actually worried whether such a sudden heavy meal would make him sick.

But seeing him patting his stomach and leaning back, I stopped fussing. Li Yi was right; his own mommy wasn’t even worried, trusting him to come eat at this old mansion, so why should I exhaust myself over it?

I’d be better off worrying about myself.

After the guests had been seen off, there was a brief flurry of tidying up. The afternoon then passed in quiet calm: Zhang Mingsheng worked, I read, and Zhang Xiaoyuan made up for lost sleep.

After a light dinner and a wash, it was time for bed.

Zhang Mingsheng finished his shower and came out with a bath towel wrapped around his waist and another hanging over his shoulders. As he used a corner of the towel to dry his hair, he placed a few thin envelopes on the nightstand.

“What’s this?” I asked while leaning against the headboard with my book, reaching out for them.

The envelopes were a pale rose color, emitting a faint, tranquil scent of perfume.

“An invitation,” Zhang said as water still dripping from the tips of his hair. “From Song Yixing. He’s inviting our whole family to his mommy’s concert.”

I pulled it out, and sure enough, I saw elegant fountain pen calligraphy; a personal invitation from Xiao Song’s mother, Andrea, Kwan Yi-hung.

“Why are you telling me?” I asked. “Are we actually going?”

My unspoken implication was: A concert is crowded. Aren’t you worried I’ll run?

“Our family can even handle a funeral; why wouldn’t we be able to handle a concert?” Zhang Mingsheng smiled like the perfect gentleman.

His subtext was: If you could have successfully escaped, you’d have done it long ago.

“Fine then, let’s go. I’ve never seen a celebrity in person, and I’ve always quite liked Andrea.” I replied indifferently while tucking the invitation back into its envelope and placing it on the nightstand.

“Our seats are excellent; the kind money can’t buy. Being around someone as luckless as Li Yi, you’d naturally never get an opportunity like this.” Zhang Mingsheng said, sitting on the edge of the bed and leaning close to me.

I sighed, closed my book, and looked at him with a sense of resigned frustration. “You know Li Yi can’t touch you. Why do you feel the need to pick at him every chance you get?”

“What did Song Yixing call you today? Elegant?” Zhang Mingsheng didn’t answer my question. He leaned in even closer, the damp heat of his shower still clinging to him, droplets sliding from his hair like falling rain.

I reached out to gently push him back. “Don’t get my pajamas wet.”

He continued to stare at me, appearing to study my face with a dazed intensity. A minute passed before he spoke again. “He doesn’t know what you truly look like, which is why he spoke of you that way. You are much ‘better’ than what he said.”

Better?

What was that supposed to mean?

The word was too vast, too vague; it sounded almost dismissive.

But the earnest look on Zhang Mingsheng’s face made him look exactly like a three-year-old who had just learned to speak; someone who didn’t know any other adjectives and used that single word, “better,” to represent every form of praise.

Zhang Mingsheng liked the way I used to look; he made no effort to hide it.

I truly couldn’t understand it. He was the one who went to such lengths to change me into this, yet now he spent every day looking at me and mourning the past as if I were a substitute for myself. Moreover, my current appearance was far more delicate and beautiful by conventional standards; my original self was so rugged. What was there to miss? But I wouldn’t confront Zhang Mingsheng about this. I didn’t care about such things, nor did I care what he thought. A person’s looks are determined by fate, and at my age, I wasn’t about to spend my days staring into a mirror.

I shrugged, playing along with him, “Then I suppose my plastic surgery was a failure. No wonder Aunt Liu couldn’t make heads or tails of my fortune when she looked at my face; she said she’d never encountered a face like this before.”

“It wasn’t a failure. It’s very beautiful,” Zhang Mingsheng said while touching my cheek. His thumb brushed under my eye. “The eyes are still here. They can never change.”

What on earth was wrong with him now!

Watching Zhang Mingsheng’s tenderness felt like watching a horror movie; it made my skin crawl.

Perhaps as compensation for forcing me through this “horror film,” he adopted a reckless, nonchalant air, “In this world, the only thing I love to see is my wife looking spirited and radiant.”

“As for Officer Li,” he paused, “the only time he’s even remotely interesting is when he’s being humiliated. Any other time, he just gets in my way. One could certainly call his face loathsome.”

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