He’d thought about that cake for years. What was the difference between a birthday cake and a regular cake? Just the holes left behind by the candles, technically, but Fei-zong still thought it would taste different.
Luo Wenzhou’s cooking was delicious. The only thing missing from the meal was wine. Following the doctor’s orders, Luo Wenzhou just gave Fei-zong a carton of calcium-fortified milk instead.
Some middle-aged men—perhaps because they’d made too many declarative speeches outside their home—lacked the self-awareness required to rein such speeches in when they came back to their wife and kids. When Luo Wenzhou was younger, he’d hated the lectures his father always delivered before dinner, but after twenty years of those, he’d somehow caught the bug himself. With only Luo Yiguo around, the illness had merely incubated, but now that there was another human at Luo Wenzhou’s dinner table, it had him in its grip.
“Another year has passed,” Luo Wenzhou began. He poured the warm milk into a cup and pushed it at Fei Du, gearing up for a long rant in the same vein as his father’s had been. “Please actually do something with your life, young man. How long do you plan to continue like this? Having a lot of material possessions should motivate a man to take on more pursuits, but instead you lie on your pile of gold like a dragon on its hoard. A young person’s life can’t be too empty, or something bad’s bound to happen. You need a dream. Do you have one?”
Fei Du had never experienced this kind of traditional Chinese lecture before, and he found it quite novel. He put a meatball in his mouth, chewed thoughtfully, swallowed, then replied delicately, “World peace.”
“Fuck off,” Luo Wenzhou responded, then continued his tirade. “It’s human nature to seek food and shelter first and foremost, but once those are adequately provided for, and you’ve satisfied your physical needs, you have to seek higher forms of satisfaction, like accomplishments and self-fulfillment. If you keep squandering money on banal sensory pursuits, you’ll just be numbing yourself, and your hidden anxiety will cause you a lot of pain when you’re older. A Maybach today, a Bugatti tomorrow—even if you buy them all, will that ease the deep pain that comes from fighting human nature?”
“No,” Fei Du responded slowly. “But the pain of being unable to afford one might be nearer to the surface.”
Luo Wenzhou, who couldn’t have bought even one such vehicle, glared at him—but noticed the hint of a smile that hung on the corners of Fei Du’s lips. Fei Du was joking with him—even if this particular joke struck a little close to home. “How dare you talk back when a parent is lecturing you? In my family, a brat like you would have to go sit on a stool by the door and write a reflection. Dinner? Don’t even think about it.”
Fei Du’s smile slowly faded, as if Luo Wenzhou’s words had reminded him of something. He was silent for a while, then said, “At my house, no one spoke when we ate. I rarely even saw my father at the dinner table unless we had guests. My mother’s mood was unstable, and she often had an episode halfway through eating. Sometimes she’d throw down her utensils and leave with an unhappy look on her face. Sometimes she’d just start crying at the table.”
Luo Wenzhou froze.
“Eating at my house was a nerve-racking affair.” Fei Du shrugged somewhat helplessly. “When there was a rare evening of peace, it felt like I’d won a prize.”
Luo Wenzhou looked down and put some food in his bowl. He didn’t comfort Fei Du, just said lightly, “That does sound sad. I wonder which is worse: that, or writing a reflection.”
Fei Du looked at him.
“Really—picture it. A beautiful young man of the modern age—me, obviously—hunched by the door like a gorilla. He’s facing the door, writing a reflection on a little stool in front of him. Winter is fine, but in the summer, there’s only a mesh screen, to keep the mosquitos out instead of a door. Everyone outside can see what’s happening in your house. All the neighbors are your parents’ coworkers, and every time they pass by, they look at you and ask, ‘What’d you do this time, boy?’ It was hugely insulting to my character and dignity. I’m telling you, that’s where my shamelessness came from.”
Fei Du laughed in spite of himself.
Luo Wenzhou was warming to his topic. He put down his chopsticks, and he was about to launch into the painful history of his family “revolution” when his phone rang with a call from the station. It cut him off mid-sentence. He had a sudden bad feeling.
“Sergeant Luo.” Tao Ran was panting slightly. “Chang Ning made a report to her local police station. Chenchen’s missing!”
Perhaps Luo Wenzhou was losing his hearing prematurely; he had the volume on his phone cranked way up, which meant Fei Du heard Tao Ran too.
Luo Wenzhou’s expression darkened. “When? Where? Don’t panic. It might not be related to the case.”
“She went to the youth center today for art class. Chang Ning dropped her off at lunch. Chenchen’s parents told her to stay inside the center after class and wait half an hour for her father to pick her up after work. The class ended around four thirty, and her dad called her then. She was still in the classroom. But when he got there after five, she was already gone!”