“Why not?” Tinseng asked blithely. “They’re his secrets—don’t you think he deserves to see this through? Besides, I want him there.” To Tinseng, that was all that really mattered.
“What time?” Jinzhao asked.
“Five-thirty. I want to stake out the place.”
“His ribs—”
“He’ll stay in the car.”
“Yeah, right. When you get there and he looks at you with those eyes of his, do you really think you’ll refuse him?”
Tinseng affected a sigh. “His eyes are enchanting, aren’t they? I’m so glad you noticed too, A-Kwan.”
Cheuk-Kwan bristled in frustration. “You’re going to get yourselves killed!”
“We’ll try very, very hard not to, I promise.”
“You’ve never cared about anyone but yourself, have you?”
“Aren’t you a little slow to only be noticing now?”
Cheuk-Kwan looked between them, caught their identical looks, and threw up his hands.
“It’s like playing the qin to a cow,” he muttered, stalking away. Tinseng and Jinzhao glanced at each other, then Tinseng grinned wide and unrepentant.
“I think he likes us. But really, Jinzhao, are you sure you’re okay? I can do this myself, it’s really—”
“No trouble,” Jinzhao finished for him, and answered for himself. “I will rest today and be prepared for this evening.”
“All right.” Tinseng had no real plans to talk Jinzhao out of it; he believed what he said, about Jinzhao deserving to be there at the end. Chiboon was right about this being a story, but he got the main character wrong. It was Jinzhao’s ending to write; Tinseng was just the ink. Or maybe the paper. Something for Jinzhao to use, at any rate. “I hope Laurence gets us a good car. Can you believe in all our time here, we never went to the country?”
“Yes,” Jinzhao deadpanned, and Tinseng doubled over laughing, imagining a sour-faced Jinzhao chasing after chickens and milking cows.
“No sitting in these empty woods, silent mind sounding the borders of idleness? Okay, okay, no agrarian idyll for us. The seaside, then. We should have gone to the seaside, at least. We could have shucked oysters right on the boat!”
“We can shuck oysters in Hong Kong,” Jinzhao said, and Tinseng heard, We will be together in Hong Kong. He heard, I promise to agree when you want to drag me places, and We’ll be companions, and We’ll have adventures together. He heard we, we, we resounding in his head like monastery bells. He spent a moment blankly staring before he gathered himself.
“You’re right. You’re so right. We’ll go to Lao Fau Shan and help lay out the oysters to dry and then I’ll eat so many I can’t move.”
Tinseng’s brain suddenly spun like a top. He wasn’t the type to imagine the future; he was usually too busy with the present and all its joys and challenges, and he’d shied away from picturing them together back home, for many reasons. Who knew if they’d get the list and ensure Jinzhao’s safety? Mostly, though, Tinseng had never been sure where he stood with Jinzhao. But now he knew. Anytime he wanted, he could remember the way Jinzhao’s lips moved around the word love.
“Hey, Jinzhao, you know what?” Tinseng took a step forward with a sly grin growing. “We should—”
“Cut it out,” Cheuk-Kwan interrupted from the adjoining room, “There are other people here.”
“Sorry, what was that?” Tinseng tilted his head to yell back, “was it a ghost? Is this room haunted? We should call and inform the hotel.”
“Shut up, I’m still getting my beauty sleep,” Chiboon moaned from the couch.
“Then give it up; it’s not working,” Cheuk-Kwan said, to which Chiboon threw a pillow at him.
“Are you ready for this to be your life?” Tinseng murmured quietly at Jinzhao’s side. “Are you ready to never have a moment’s peace again?”
“I don’t need peace,” Jinzhao murmured back, putting an arm around Tinseng’s waist. Tinseng experienced a single moment of pure bliss before Cheuk-Kwan started pretending to gag.
“Chiboon, wake the fuck up. I need you to help me pry open this window so I can fucking throw myself out of it.”
Still smiling helplessly at Jinzhao, Tinseng threw back, “Wait, before you do, we can get Grodescu’s fingerprints on you and frame him for murder, and you’ll finally be useful.”
“You—” Cheuk-Kwan started as Chiboon sat up and whined, “Would you both—” and that ended the calm morning. Tinseng delighted in it, and, adding his voice to the chaos, set himself the task of needling Cheuk-Kwan into ordering him breakfast.
By the time Yukying and Laurence returned, everyone was showered, dressed, and fed, and Tinseng was in desperate need of distraction. He stood eagerly to meet them, already halfway across the room before the door even shut.
“She says she wants to accompany you,” Laurence said with a tone that implied he’d already lost the argument. Tinseng only just contained his laughter. It was a really wonderful morning after all: Tinseng had everything he wanted. There was just one more thing to make the day perfect. By the end of the night, he hoped he’d be able to get Chiboon that ending.
“Thanks, dear.” Tinseng plucked the keys from Laurence’s hand. “Make sure to have dinner on by the time we get back.”
Laurence rolled his eyes but held back his comment as Yukying walked up, telling Tinseng they should get on the road right away because of traffic. The touring car Laurence rented was a gray Peugeot 404 coupé, and Tinseng’s soul nearly flew to heaven on the spot when Yukying led him to it.
“He must really like you,” Tinseng commented as he slid into the leather interior and guided them out onto the busy Parisian streets.
“As much as Mei Jinzhao seems to like you,” she teased, and he realized with shock this was—
“A trap! This is a trap!” Yukying had trapped him in a three-hour roundtrip drive with no escape. “You’re going to put the screws to me! You’re going to break the Geneva Conventions!” It was barely an exaggeration, in his opinion; with a nosy older sister, who knew what could happen? “Wait . . . did Laurence know you’d planned this?”
“I always thought he could be an actor,” Yukying demurred, and Tinseng cursed all the way out of the city.
