Clink
Christina gathered the breakfast dishes with practiced efficiency. The smell of Arvin's cooking still filled the kitchen. Fang Chou dried each plate before stacking them in the cabinets.
"I'll have to practice that egg technique tomorrow," Christina said, scrubbing a pan. "The way you caramelized those aromatics without burning them, I've never seen it done so well."
After Fang Chou translated, Arvin smiled modestly. (Chinese) "It's all in the timing and heat control. My mother would make me practice with just garlic until I could get it perfect every time."
Arvin sat at the table, sipping the last of his tea as he watched them work together. Despite being thousands of kilometers from home, something about this moment felt familiar. The comfortable quiet after a shared meal reminded him of mornings back home, when his mother and grandmother moved through their kitchen in similar pattern.
(Chinese) "Your cooking was incredible," Fang Chou said, hanging the dish towel to dry. "Where did you learn to use a knife like that? It looked more like art than cooking."
Arvin straightened at the compliment. (Chinese) "Mostly my great-grandfather. But the basics came from my mother's side of the family. They run that small diner I mentioned last night." A shadow crossed his face, there and gone in an instant. (Chinese) "When I went to live with my great-grandfather in the mountains, I had to adapt. We didn't have much up there."
After translating for Christina, Fang Chou returned to the table and sat down. (Chinese) "What was life like up there? I've seen mountains in China before I moved here, but never lived in them."
(Chinese) "Different." Arvin's posture relaxed as memories surfaced. (Chinese) "Nothing comes easy in the mountains. No running water, and limited electricity. To live there, my great-grandfather taught me which plants I could eat, how to keep meat from spoiling without a freezer, where to find clean water, and...."
Christina joined them at the table, drying her hands. Her eyes brightened with interest as Fang Chou translated. "That sounds like camping, but as a lifestyle. Did you have electricity? Running water?"
After Fang Chou translated, Arvin shook his head. (Chinese) "We had but we rarely use it. Also, there's a small generator for emergencies, but my great-grandfather wasn't a fan of modern stuff." A wry smile touched his lips. (Chinese) "He'd say things like 'conveniences make weak men.' We mostly used oil lamps at night. For water, we'd catch rain sometimes, but most of the time, we got it from a spring nearby. One of my daily routines was fetching water and heating it for drinking and baths."
"That must have been hard," Christina said after hearing the translation.
Arvin considered this, running his finger along the rim of his empty teacup. (Chinese) "At first, yes. I missed having a real kitchen with running water." His expression grew thoughtful. (Chinese) "But there's something pure about cooking over a fire, using ingredients you found or grew yourself. The food tastes stronger somehow. That's also how I really learned to control heat."
Fang Chou refilled Arvin's cup with the last of the tea. (Chinese) "So how did you manage during winter? I've heard that mountains in Hubei can get quite cold."
(Chinese) "Winters were rough," Arvin admitted, nodding thanks for the tea. (Chinese) "We'd spend months getting ready mostly by drying fruit, pickling some vegetables, smoking meat, and collecting firewood. My great-grandfather was extra strict about food during winter. He always said we needed good nutrition to keep training when it was cold."
As Fang Chou translated, Christina leaned forward with interest. "What techniques did you use for preservation? I've always wanted to try traditional ways, but never had anyone to teach me."
Clink
Arvin set his cup down, his eyes lighting up at the question. This was something he could talk about confidently despite the language barrier. (Chinese) "It depends on what you're preserving. For meat, different woods give different flavors. Cherry for sweetness, oak for something stronger. Salt is the key for curing, but you've got to get the ratio right. For pickling you need....."
The conversation flowed naturally from there, with Arvin describing various preservation techniques. He explained how certain herbs not only added flavor but served as natural preservatives, how fermenting vegetables could make them last through winter, how even fruits could be preserved with the right balance of sugar and drying.
Time slipped by as they shared stories of food and family traditions. Arvin found himself relaxing more with each exchange, the familiar topic of cooking bridging the gap between their cultures.
(Chinese) "My mother always said you could tell a person's character by how they cook," Arvin said warmly. (Chinese) "She'd tell me patient people make the best broths, generous people don't skimp on ingredients, and those who cook with love never serve a truly bad meal, even if they make mistakes."
After translating, Fang Chou smiled broadly. (Chinese) "Your mother sounds like a wise woman. My mother used to say something similar that you could taste a person's mood in their cooking."
The mention of his mother brought a wave of homesickness that Arvin couldn't quite hide. How were they doing? Did they know what had happened to him?
Christina glanced at the clock on the wall and stood up from the table. "I should go get ready," she said, smoothing down her clothes. "We'll need to leave in about half an hour."
After Fang Chou translated, Arvin nodded in understanding. Christina smiled and headed toward the hallway that led to the master bedroom.
A quiet moment pass by as Arvin found himself observing the dining room, noting details he'd missed the night before. A door at the far end of the room had caught his attention. It was white with a frosted glass panel that let in filtered sunlight.
(Chinese) "Mr. Fang, may I ask where that door leads?"
Fang Chou turned in his chair. (Chinese) "Ah, that goes to the backyard. Want to see it?"
(Chinese) "You have a backyard?" Arvin couldn't hide his surprise. (Chinese) "I wouldn't have guessed from the front of the house."
Fang Chou chuckled, the corners of his eyes crinkling. (Chinese) "That's how they design houses around here. Most homes in this neighborhood are like that. I promised you a tour yesterday, didn't I? We have time before we need to leave. How about now?"
Arvin nodded. (Chinese) "If it's not too much trouble."
Click
The lock turned smoothly as Fang Chou opened the back door. Sunlight flooded in, momentarily blinding Arvin. As his eyes adjusted, he couldn't hold back a small gasp of surprise.
The backyard was huge, far larger than he'd expected. It was divided into three sections. To the left, a garden area with rose bushes and flowering shrubs surrounded a wooden bench. Directly ahead, a swimming pool gleamed in the morning sun. To the right stood a small shed, modest compared to the other features but well-kept.
Arvin stepped out onto the patio. The contrast between the modest front of the house and this spacious backyard was striking.
Fang Chou smiled, pleased by Arvin's reaction. (Chinese) "My wife wanted a garden, I wanted a pool, and somehow we got both. That shed is just for storage. Pool stuff, garden tools, things like that."
Arvin walked further into the yard, his trained eye measuring distances automatically. The open space of the garden area was impressive, with clear areas between the plantings that formed a rough square.
The morning air carried the scent of roses and freshly cut grass, mixing with chlorine from the pool. Birds called to each other from nearby trees, creating a peaceful backdrop. A gentle breeze rustled the leaves, bringing brief relief from the warming sun.
An idea formed in Arvin's mind. With his energy still low, keeping up his training was crucial. This space would be perfect for his morning exercises.
(Chinese) "Mr. Fang, would it be possible for me to use this space for my morning exercises?"
(Chinese) "Exercises?" Fang Chou's eyebrows rose with interest. (Chinese) "What kind?"
(Chinese) "Just my daily routine. It combines physical exercises with movements from the martial art I study. Nothing that would damage your property," he added quickly.
(Chinese) "Right, the one you mentioned last night." Fang Chou nodded, recalling their dinner conversation. His eyes lit up with curiosity. (Chinese) "What style exactly? Kung fu? Karate?"
(Chinese) "It's called silat. It's a traditional martial art from my homeland."
Fang Chou's brow furrowed. (Chinese) "Silat? Don't think I've ever heard of it. But sure, use the space however you need to. Feel free to unlock the door yourself whenever you want to practice."
(Chinese) "Thank you." Arvin bowed slightly. Having a place to maintain his practice would help ground him in this foreign place.
As they went back inside, Arvin found himself comparing this home to his family's house. Their home had been smaller, more modest, but with a similar flow between indoor and outdoor spaces.
Creak
The stairs creaked as they went up to the second floor, continuing their tour. The upstairs hallway matched the one below, with four doors spaced along its length. Family photos lined the walls. There were pictures of the twins as toddlers, and a larger version of the wedding photo Arvin had seen in the guest room.
(Chinese) "The twins' rooms," Fang Chou explained, gesturing to the first two doors without opening them. (Chinese) "The bathroom, and this last one is the laundry area."
The final door opened to reveal a bright room filled with a modern washing machine and dryer with digital displays and multiple compartments. What caught Arvin's attention immediately was the ceiling, or rather, the lack of a normal one. The entire roof was glass, allowing sunlight to flood the space.
(Chinese) "The glass roof helps dry clothes faster. It gets pretty hot in here during the day."
(Smart), Arvin thought, admiring the practical design. It reminded him of how his grandma would hang laundry in the sunniest spot of their yard. A room like this would make drying clothes much easier.
As they went back downstairs, Arvin found himself mentally mapping the house, a habit from his training. Understanding your surroundings was essential for both safety and efficient movement. The Fangs' home was well-designed, blending function with comfort.
Tap Tap
Christina's footsteps approached from the master bedroom. She'd changed into a light blue blouse that matched her eyes, with jeans and shoes. Her blonde hair was pulled back in a simple ponytail, showing delicate ornate earrings on her ear.
"Ready to go?" she asked, checking her watch. Even though he still didn't understand the language, Arvin caught a hint of an accent in her speech.
Fang Chou nodded, then turned to Arvin. (Chinese) "We should be back around dinner time. Make yourself at home. There's plenty of food in the refrigerator if you get hungry."
(Chinese) "Thank you. I'll take good care of your home."
After Fang Chou translated, Christina smiled warmly. "Tell him we appreciate it," she said, then added something that made her husband chuckle before translating.
(Chinese) "My wife says the kitchen is all yours if you want to cook again. If possible, she's hoping to learn a few more of your recipes when we get back."
Arvin bowed slightly, touched by the gesture. (Chinese) "It would be my honor."
Slide
The wall panel near the front door slid aside, revealing a garage entrance that Arvin hadn't noticed the night before. He blinked in surprise, rethinking the house's layout in his mind. The clever design made the most of space while keeping the home's appearance neat.
Fang Chou pressed a button on the wall, and the garage door began to rise automatically with a mechanical hum. Arvin watched, fascinated by it. In his house, garage doors needed to be lifted manually.
A large blue vehicle sat waiting in the garage, shining under the overhead lights. It was much bigger than the cars Arvin remembered from home, easily large enough to carry his entire extended family[1].
As Fang Chou and Christina got into the vehicle, Arvin noticed another difference. The driver's seat was on the left side, not the right as he was used to seeing. He watched as Fang Chou inserted a key and the engine hummed to life with a smooth, powerful sound.
The car backed out, and once it was out of the garage, the door automatically lowered and locked with a soft click. The sound of the engine faded as they drove away, leaving Arvin alone in the house.
Arvin stood in the hallway, thinking about everything he'd seen. The automatic garage door, the strange flat object Cynthia had been using at breakfast, the thin television that Fang Chou had at the store. All of these things seemed more advanced than what he remembered from home.
(Is it because I've been isolated in the mountains for five years?) he wondered, rubbing his chin. (Or is this country somehow more advanced?)
He thought back to his childhood home. His grandma had taught him at home while he trained with his grandpa, so he'd never gone to regular school or seen much of tech. Their family had owned a simple television, a radio, and a cable phone. The most advanced thing was that chunky cellphone his father had, but nothing like what he was seeing now. That flat rectangle Cynthia had been tapping on this morning was completely foreign to him.
Shaking his head, he decided these questions could wait. For now, the empty house offered a chance he'd been wanting since his arrival. Proper meditation time in a safe, quiet place.
With determined steps, Arvin made his way back to the backyard door. The morning sun had risen higher now, warming the garden area. As he stepped outside, a gentle breeze carried the scent of roses and freshly cut grass.
This will do nicely, he thought, finding a flat spot near the bench.
Before beginning his meditation, Arvin decided to work through his basic silat forms. His body felt stiff after days of tension and unfamiliar surroundings. He rolled his shoulders back and began with a simple stance. Feet shoulder-width apart, knees bent, hands open at his sides.
He took a deep breath and began to move.
His first movements were slow and deliberate. Circular hand motions paired with controlled footwork that shifted his weight from one leg to the other. Each step flowed into the next. Arvin kept his breathing even, focusing on the connection between breath and movement that his grandpa had drilled into him for years.
As his muscles warmed, his movements grew more dynamic. His hands cut through the air in precise arcs, palms and fingers positioned in the distinctive shapes. Sometimes flat like blades, other times curved like hooks. He dropped into lower stances, his weight centered as he mimicked blocks and strikes.
Twenty minutes into his practice, sweat beaded on his forehead despite the cool morning air. Arvin increased his speed, combining techniques into flowing combinations. His feet barely seemed to touch the ground as he moved across the garden space, executing swift turns and balanced transitions between stances.
For the final sequence, Arvin came to a complete stop. He centered his stance, feet planted firmly on the ground, and drew his right fist back to his hip. His eyes narrowed in concentration as he took a deep, controlled breath.
He focused inward, drawing on the techniques his grandpa had taught him for channeling inner energy. Arvin directed his awareness to his core, feeling the subtle warmth building there before guiding it along familiar pathways through his body. The energy traveled up from his center, across his shoulder, and down his arm, gathering intensity as it flowed.
As he held his breath, a faint vibration seemed to emanate from his clenched fist. Anyone watching might have thought it was simply tension in his muscles, but Arvin could feel the energy concentrating there, making his skin tingle and his knuckles warm.
Then, with perfect form, he exhaled sharply and launched the punch. The movement was controlled yet explosive, not wild or overextended but precisely targeted at an imaginary point in the air. Though no physical impact occurred, Arvin felt the release of energy through his arm and out through his fist, dissipating into the morning air with a subtle disturbance that rustled the nearby bushes.
Finally, breathing hard but feeling more centered than he had in days, Arvin returned to his starting position. The familiar movements had done their work. His body felt alive, his mind clearer. Now he was ready to meditate.
Lowering himself to the ground, Arvin crossed his legs and straightened his back. His hands settled naturally on his knees, palms facing upward in the position his master had taught him. The grass felt cool beneath him, a pleasant contrast to the warming sun on his face.
With a deep breath, he closed his eyes, ready to begin refilling his depleted energy. The sounds of suburban morning surrounded him. Distant lawn mowers, birds calling, the occasional car passing on a nearby street. These sounds were different from the mountain's natural sound, but they formed their own kind of peaceful backdrop.
As his breathing slowed and deepened, Arvin felt the tension of the past two days beginning to release. For the first time since waking in that alley, he allowed himself to fully face his situation. He was far from home, in a place where he didn't understand the language, with no clear way back.
Yet somehow, against all odds, he had found people willing to help him. Perhaps, with time and patience, he would find answers. For now, though, he would focus on what he could control. Restoring his strength and adapting to this strange new place.
[1] His parent and both sides of grandparents