"You're back. Why so late?" Bernice asked, looking up at Jiang Hai as he walked through the door. She was lounging on the sofa, popping blueberries into her mouth. Her lips and fingertips were stained blue and purple, almost like she'd been poisoned. Normally, Jiang Hai might've teased her about it, but he wasn't in the mood today.
"I had a bit too much to drink at lunch," Jiang Hai said with a faint smile, walking over to the sofa and slumping down beside her. He looked up at the ceiling light, then slowly turned his gaze toward the massive fish tank in the room.
"You're still out of it?" Bernice asked, noticing the distracted look on his face.
"No, I've recovered," he replied quickly, forcing a chuckle. "It's just that… there's something I don't quite understand."
Indeed, he had gone to watch the game today and then headed to Selsey's place. What happened there didn't need to be spelled out.
After Kelly joined in, the three of them had spent the whole afternoon in the upstairs bathroom. Fortunately, Selsey's house had four bathrooms—one upstairs, one downstairs, one in the warehouse, and another in the reception room. Otherwise, someone might've suffocated.
By the time Jiang Hai helped Kelly and Delia out, it was already past six. Most of the guests had left, and Selsey himself had passed out drunk on the sofa. Jiang Hai didn't linger—he saw the women home and then returned by himself.
Yet, even after coming back, his mind was still tangled with what Kelly and Delia had said that afternoon.
"What don't you understand? Tell me," Bernice asked, turning to him with a puzzled expression.
Jiang Hai hesitated for a moment. Maybe if he talked it over with Bernice, she could help him make sense of it.
"It's like this," he began. "I've been trying to integrate into life here in town. But today, I realized that I'm really different from the people here. I can handle most things, but I can't wrap my head around their casual attitude toward... well, relationships. It's like Americans don't see any moral betrayal in certain situations. That's confusing to me."
Hearing this, Bernice's face flushed a little. As far as the world was concerned, she was still a proper young woman. Being asked something like this made her feel awkward. But since Jiang Hai had asked, it wouldn't be right not to respond. After a brief internal struggle, she answered.
"Well, it comes down to differences in how people are raised in China and the U.S.," she said slowly. "There are generally two kinds of families here in America. One kind—like what you saw today—follows the typical American approach. Kids are taught about relationships and even physical matters early on. The idea is to educate them so they can make informed decisions and avoid trouble. But it also makes them curious, and once they're physically mature enough... they tend to explore."
She paused, clearly uncomfortable, then continued.
"Of course, there are also very conservative families, especially among Catholics. They see any form of impurity—like premarital relations or abortion—as deeply sinful. Those families are extremely strict. But most American families are more relaxed. It's not unusual for teenagers to understand... things... by the time they're thirteen or fourteen, as long as they're safe and prepared."
Though Catholicism is the world's largest denomination, there are still more non-believers or casual practitioners in the U.S., which creates a more permissive cultural mainstream. By contrast, Chinese society is traditionally more conservative in this regard. Education on such topics often doesn't begin until high school, and even now, most Chinese high school graduates—perhaps 70%—haven't experienced what Americans commonly do much younger. In America, it's estimated that more than 80% have.
The media in both countries often criticize each other on this point. Chinese media say the West's early education is advanced and helps kids develop properly. Western media argue that it encourages unhealthy curiosity and premature behavior.
Each side has its reasons. But these differences can't be forced onto another country. For example, trying to transplant the American system into China would likely cause chaos. Too much freedom can inflate egos, and China has never lacked ambitious people. Whether they'd pursue power through proper means is another question entirely.
Likewise, imposing the Chinese system on Americans would be a disaster. They're used to freedom, to a relaxed lifestyle. If you suddenly made them pay for their own healthcare and pensions without government support, forced them to hunt for jobs when unemployed, and spend a lifetime struggling to afford a small apartment—they'd rebel.
The national conditions are different, and so is the cultural foundation. Jiang Hai was Chinese, and now he lived in America. If he wanted to fully integrate, he'd have to let go of certain habits and adopt American ones. But he wasn't ready to do that—some values he simply couldn't discard.
This culture clash was overwhelming.
In the West, before marriage, there's little expectation for strict loyalty. Relationships like Delia's are commonplace, since people aren't necessarily together with marriage in mind.
But in China, once a relationship is official, any form of cheating is considered a major betrayal. It's not taken lightly—unless someone's pursuing flings and casual hookups. But Jiang Hai wasn't that type. He had no shortage of women, and he wasn't chasing casual flings.
Still, today had shaken him. He felt disoriented, which is why he turned to Bernice.
But after all her explanations, she still didn't manage to make things much clearer—perhaps because she herself didn't fully understand either.
Sigh.
"You still don't get it, do you?" Bernice finally said, seeing the same puzzled look on his face. "Look, if there's something that helps you fit in—like parties, sports games, or whatever—and you're willing to do it, go ahead. But if you have doubts, especially about things that conflict with your values, you don't have to force yourself to follow the American way. Understand?"
After saying that, Bernice stood up abruptly. Her face was burning. Why did Jiang Hai have to ask her of all people?
She was used to life between two cultures, but deep down, she was still a traditional Chinese girl. Talking about this kind of thing already felt like she'd crossed a line. Still, she was worried—worried he'd do something reckless if she didn't say it clearly enough.
Without another word, she darted back to her room, leaving the bowl of blueberries behind.
"People who want to try can try... and those who don't, don't have to," Jiang Hai muttered, tossing a few blueberries into his mouth. "That actually makes sense."
He felt like he hadn't been himself that afternoon. And that wasn't a good sign.
He sat quietly on the sofa, snacking on blueberries while the TV flickered in front of him. Aphra and the others weren't around tonight. The room was quiet—giving him too much time to think.
He didn't know how long he sat there, lost in thought. But when he popped the last blueberry into his mouth, a sudden shiver ran through him.
Strange. With his physical condition, he shouldn't be getting chills.
Puzzled, he looked toward the window—and saw it rattling in the wind. Beyond the glass, flakes of snow were falling from the dark sky.
His eyes widened. The world outside had turned white.
Setting the empty bowl aside, Jiang Hai walked to the window. Snow had already piled up two or three centimeters thick on the windowsill. The sky was completely dark—no stars, no moon.
"Oh... it's snowing. And it's not stopping anytime soon." A faint smile tugged at his lips for the first time since he got home.
This scene was so familiar.
Back in his hometown, this was exactly the kind of snow he'd see this time of year.
But now, his home was in Winthrop.
(To be continued.)