“Yukying-jie!”
“How is it he manages to be heard over all this?” Wu Cheuk-Kwan grumbled happily, searching the crowded platform beside her. “He’s worse than an air-raid siren.”
Yukying patted her brother’s arm and used his shoulder to rise on tiptoes, scanning the crowd. Wu Tinseng had clearly spotted her, but everyone in Southampton was so tall, she couldn’t . . .
“Jie!” She heard right next to her ear, then a blur of gray swept her into a hug. Joy blossomed through her whole body, and then she was smiling, smiling, smiling as the stone she’d carried for three years finally dissolved, leaving her weightless as Tinseng swung her around.
“Put her down,” Cheuk-Kwan said behind them. “Is she your doll? Where’s my greeting? And why are you—”
Yukying was set down gently as Cheuk-Kwan got pulled in a hug of his own. A smile lurked behind Cheuk-Kwan’s usual scowl as Tinseng slapped his back enthusiastically. Cheuk-Kwan tried to look annoyed when they parted. It convinced exactly no one.
“Did you miss me?” Tinseng asked, looking between them with an unchanged smirk, and it was as though he’d never left.
“Of course we did,” Yukying said at the same time Cheuk-Kwan said, “Miss who? You?”
Tinseng shoved Cheuk-Kwan, then wrapped Yukying in his arms again, drinking her in with a rapt expression.
“Hi,” he said as they peered into each other’s faces, cataloging all the minute shifts, the new moles and wrinkles they’d collected during their time apart. Tinseng had always looked naturally mischievous, with a constant smile of some sort dominating his face. His dark amber eyes still sparkled, though crow’s feet were beginning to grow around them. His black hair was overgrown as usual, cut poorly and tied back in a mess of a low ponytail; she’d have to make him see the barber on the ship.
And what did he see in return? She thought she hadn’t changed at all: Same dull brown eyes, same round nose. Peasant features, her mother had called them. In three years, her black hair had started showing gray, but she stubbornly refused to dye it. She had gained weight through great effort, and it showed in her cheeks, which might be why he was smiling so softly now; her health had always been one of his biggest worries.
“I missed you so much,” he said. “You have no idea.”
“Some idea,” she teased gently.
“Yeah? You missed me too?”
“Of course I did, you silly boy.” She pulled his ear as he beamed. “Now, where’s this friend you brought?”
Tinseng’s friend hovered a few paces away with two suitcases waiting by his side. He would be imposingly tall if Yukying wasn’t so used to tall men. His expression was flat, eyebrows drawn together, mouth turned down in a frown; such a stony countenance changed his full lips and striking brown eyes from beautiful to imposing. His beauty reminded Yukying of a painting. Even the black hair tucked behind his ears lay perfectly on his shoulders; flyaways wouldn’t have dared. And yet, even that rebelliously long hair seemed studious on this man, more classical than modern. Every detail—from his rigidly straight posture to the way his long hands lay perfectly still at his sides—made him unapproachable. Certainly the other people around him thought so, giving him a wide berth on an otherwise crowded platform.
“Shan Dao!” Tinseng called, waving his hand high above his head. She almost laughed; at least one person didn’t find him unapproachable, anyway.
“Stop it,” Cheuk-Kwan hissed, pulling Tinseng’s hand down. “Are you a child?”
“Living without me has made you even more of a stick-in-the-mud—how is that possible?” Tinseng reclaimed his hand and bounded over to his friend. Yukying caught the other man tracking Tinseng’s movement, hawkish in his intent.
“I still can’t believe he invited a complete stranger,” Cheuk-Kwan muttered as they watched Tinseng gesture back toward them.
“Lim Chiboon and Laurence are here too,” she said, trying to placate him.
“That’s different. Yingtung’s your husband, and Chiboon’s practically family.”
“Well, I think it’s nice. The more the merrier.”
Cheuk-Kwan drew a breath to say something else, but by then Tinseng had returned.
“Cheuk-Kwan, Yukying, this is Shan Dao.”
Shan Dao bowed, though it earned him stares from passersby.
“Shan Dao, this is my brother, Wu Cheuk-Kwan, and my sister, Wu Yukying.”
“Tinseng, please,” she said with a sigh. “It’s Li Yukying.”
“You . . .” Shan Dao tilted his head in confusion.
“Took my husband’s last name, yes.”
“Why?” Shan Dao looked genuinely shocked. Yukying tried not to blush; she should be used to the reaction by now.
“Excellent question,” Cheuk-Kwan said approvingly. “It’s because her husband, Li Yingtung, is a bootlicking dog’s hips for the English—”
“Wu Cheuk-Kwan,” Yukying cautioned, but Tinseng was talking too: “It’s because our sister is far too accommodating and also has the absolute worst taste in men. You’ll see when you meet him.”
“You will,” Cheuk-Kwan said, nodding, “and you’ll regret agreeing to come. He’s that bad.”
“My husband, Laurence—”
“Laurence!” Tinseng emphasized. “He named himself after a—”
And Cheuk-Kwan added, “Li Yingtung had the name changed by deed poll, by the way, that’s how much of a—”
Yukying put a hand on both her brothers’ arms. “Laurence is on the ship already, with Lim Chiboon. So we should probably get going.”
“Yes, let’s get out of here before you attract more attention,” Cheuk-Kwan muttered, picking up the luggage at Tinseng’s feet. “For fuck’s sake, how many suitcases did you bring, Wu Tinseng?”
“Yukying told me to! It was cheaper this way, instead of mailing my things back. Shan Dao packed them, so it’s all extremely efficient. Somehow, when he folds things, they don’t wrinkle. He could be a minor god of laundry. I should pray to you, Shan Dao.”
