For the last few years, many people have been telling me that I would be leaving England's house soon and going back to China. The first time someone said something like that, I ignored it. When more and more people started to say the same thing, though, I asked England if it were true. He didn't say anything at first, but then he smiled - the same crooked smile he always has when he's uneasy - ruffled my hair, and said, "Yes."

I asked him why I had to leave. He told me that China missed me. I said that I could visit China and come back afterwards. England said, "No."

I remember leaving China when I was very small, but the memory is vague. I don't remember living in China - not really. I only remember getting on the boat and being a little seasick because it was a long time ago, and boats weren't as sturdy then. I remember holding England's hand so that I didn't get lost.

England has told me over and over again how he was so afraid of spoiling me. When we first arrived in London, he took me to his house and showed me my new room. It was enormous, and my bed was huge. I had my own dresser, my own desk, my own bookshelves, and my own closet. The room was empty, though. I didn't say anything - it wouldn't be polite - but I thought that England read my mind when he spoke.

"I didn't put anything in your room because I wasn't sure what you would like," England said, crouching down so that he was at my eye level. "I thought that you would like to pick out your own things. You can fill this room with anything you want."

I wanted everything.

England took me out shopping. China had taught me to be grateful for the things that I had in life and not to be selfish, but England assured me that picking out a few things to decorate my new room wasn't a bad thing.

The first place we went sold clothes. At first, I picked what was least expensive; I didn't want to be a burden on England. He made me put them back and try on the nicer clothes that cost more money. I didn't want him to spend so much, but when I tried on the things that he'd picked, they felt better. The cheap pants were stiff and scratchy, but these ones were silky and comfortable. They felt like my clothes.

A fine choice, sir, the salesman said, his grin wide and insincere. Top-of-the-line right there - made of silk imported straight from China!

England looked away.

After clothes, we bought shoes, but even the expensive ones didn't feel like mine. They were harder and tighter, and England had to tie the laces for me. We went to another store to buy a quilt for my bed. Shopping was practical - I needed these things, after all - and I appreciated that England was spending so much money and buying me brand new things, but I was a child, and I was bored. England looked over at me in the car, then leaned forward and whispered something to the driver, who smiled and turned the car around.

"Close your eyes," England told me, and I thought about how green his eyes were. I had never seen eyes that color in China.

I did what I was told, and the car came to a stop. I heard the door open, and I felt England's warm hand holding mine and tugging on it. I slid out of the seat, eyes still closed, and stood next to him.

"Okay, you can open them," he said. I did, and we were standing in front of another store, but this one was better than the others. It was filled with toys.

England always worries that he spoiled me. "I was so afraid that you would hate living with me," he told me once. "I told myself that I wanted you to have the things to adjust, but I think that I was really trying to buy your love."

"I don't care too much for money. Money can't buy me love," I told him once, reciting a line I'd heard from a song on the radio. He laughed until he cried.

My first night in England's house, I put on new pajamas, and England sat on the side of my bed and read me a "bed-time story" about a boy who climbed a beanstalk, met a giant who could smell English blood, and stole a goose that laid golden eggs. He made faces and used funny voices for all of the different characters. At the end of the story, England tucked me into bed and kissed my forehead.

"Sweet dreams," he said, shutting off the light. My bed was so soft and fluffy, nothing like I'd slept on in China, and I was warm and comfortable, my stomach full of fish and chips and pudding. I could fall asleep in an instant.

When I rolled over, though, there was a giant claw outside my window. I cried out, jumping from my bed, and England ran back into my room, turning on the light.

"What is it? What's wrong?" he asked, wrapping his arms around me. I instantly felt safe.

"In the window," I told him. "There's a monster." England looked, then smiled and waved.

"Aww, they're just little faeries. They won't hurt you, see?"

I looked out the window. I didn't see any little faeries. I saw a giant claw.

"B-But that!" I pointed. He looked again and smiled, this time at me.

"It's only a tree," he said, picking me up and carrying me to the window, pointing down. The claw was attached to a trunk.

"O-Oh," I said. England kissed the top of my head again and tucked me back into bed, sitting down beside me.

"Hong Kong," he said, "I'll teach you a little secret, okay? Any time you think that there's a monster, just remember that they're more afraid of you than you are of them."

"Really?"

"Really!" England smiled. "So, if a monster ever gives you trouble, just show him that you mean business, and he'll go away. Look." England pretended to spit on both of his palms, then rubbed his hands together and made a scary face. A funny, bubbly feeling tickled my stomach, and a giggle slipped past my lips. I couldn't remember the last time I'd laughed.

I pretended to spit on both of my palms and rubbed them together, making a scary face at England. He laughed.

"Perfect," he said. "No monsters are going to mess with you now!" He took my hands and kissed both palms, putting them together and covering my hands with his.

When England had left again, I looked out at the tree branch still hovering outside my window. Sitting up in my bed, I pretended to spit on both palms and rubbed them together, making a mean face. The branch seemed to blow away from my window.

England told me about how he took me to live with him after winning the Opium War. When I was little, he told me that I was just so cute that he had to take me home, but when I got older, he admitted that, after my first-day shopping spree with him, he went out to a pub and drank himself half-blind.

"I couldn't get China's face out of my mind," he told me. "Taking you away from him was worse than everything else I did to him in that war."

I didn't remember much about living with China. My earliest solid memories are of England and my home. Since telling me that he would be taking me back to China, though, England has been telling me more and more about him. He loves pandas and tea, just like I do, and he's an amazing cook. England mumbles that China is an even better cook than he is, which is hard to imagine. I wonder what it will be like to eat in China, without scones or pudding.

England and I are on a plane to China.

"Are you nervous?" he asks me. I shake my head.

"Are you?" I ask. He nods, slowly at first, but then faster, and I can tell from the way his face is flushing that he's upset. "England?" He grabs my hands and kisses my palms, covering my hands with his. Ever since I was little, that's been our secret sign. Even now, as a teenager, the gesture makes me feel small and safe.

It's a long plane ride, but we touch down in China sooner than I thought. England squeezes my hands as the plane slows in the runway. When we stop, just before getting out, England turns to me.

"Listen, Hong Kong," he says. "As soon as you get off this plane, you'll be...you'll be China's again. I won't have custody of you. So I don't want a long, drawn-out goodbye. That isn't fair to China." I nod, and England throws his arms around me, pulling me into a hug. I hug back, squeezing my eyes shut. "I'll call you and write, and I want you to keep in touch, too, all right?"

"I will."

"You're going to be so happy here. China loves you, and he'll take wonderful care of you."

"I know."

"I love you, Hong Kong." His voice is shaking.

"I love you, too, England."

He kisses my palms and covers my hands with his. The pilot comes over the loudspeaker and says that it's time to get off the plane. We're the last passengers to get off, even though we're sitting at the front. He doesn't say so, but I know that England doesn't want to get off the plane. I don't really want to, either.

When we walk into the airport, China is waiting for us. I recognize him immediately from old photo albums England had of the Allies all together. Instead of a military uniform, though, China is wearing a fancy blue shirt and black pants, and his hair is pulled back in a much neater ponytail than in the pictures.

"Did Hong Kong's things get here all right?" England asks.

"They did, ahen," China says. "You bought him so many things. I knew you'd spoil him, ahen." England doesn't say anything, but his neck gets very red, and I know that he's embarrassed. England told me that China would say something unkind to him today, though.

"He doesn't mean it the way it sounds," England had said, but now he seems hurt by the comment.

"Aiya, Hong Kong," China says, putting his arms around me and pulling me close. "You're so big, aru! All grown up, and I missed all of it." He speaks to me in his own language, so I respond in kind.

"Hello, China. It's good to see you." He pulls back and smiles at me.

"Aiya, you're speaking Chinese, and so well, aru! I'm so glad to hear it, Hong Kong."

"England taught it to me," I say, and China's smile disappears. England looks back and forth between us. "He wanted you to be happy," I add quickly.

"Did he?" China's voice is quiet, and he plays with the collar of my shirt, a Chinese-style shirt that I didn't want to buy but that England insisted I wear today.

"I have to go catch my flight back to London," England says, and I wonder why he doesn't speak Chinese; it seems to make China happy.

"You could have sent Hong Kong alone, ahen," China says, still fiddling with my shirt and not looking at England. England's crooked smile makes a fleeting appearance before he turns away.

"It was good to see you again, China," he says.

"...You as well," China says, turning and bowing. England bows awkwardly, then turns to me and rubs his hands together. It would look funny to pretend to spit on his palms first and make a mean face after, but I know that he's telling me one last time that he loves me. I rub my hands back, and England smiles and leaves. I watch him until the crowds of passengers in the busy airport completely block him from my view.

China is really happy to have me here; he hugs me again when England leaves, even more tightly than before, and says again how tall I am. When he pulls back, his eyes are wet and glistening, and I remember how England told me that taking me away from China was the worst thing he did.

"It's so good to have you home, Hong Kong," China says.

I may be starting an exciting new life in China, but I miss my home in England.