Halloween, 2020 continued

Sherrie absentmindedly pulled and released one corkscrew tendril of hair near her temple. In its natural, wound up state, the curl was just about three inches long. Stretched out, it was almost eight inches. The guys were playing frisbee; she was wearing the wrong shoes to play with them. Wedge heels, even her small ones, and running in grass were not a good mix.

She pulled the curl in between her lips. As a child, she had chewed on her curls. The habit had changed, slightly. At least the curls were no longer dripping wet when she let go of them anymore.

Tiao was such a confusing man. They'd gone on a few dates and each time he'd been polite. Too polite. She'd somehow found herself french kissing this man barely five minutes after meeting him again; since then? Nothing. He didn't even hold her hand. Climbing stairs, he placed his hand under her elbow. And when the sidewalks were crowded, he rested his hand on the small of her back to keep her by his side. As soon as the obstacle was gone? So was his hand. The first time they'd ordered out for dinner, she'd picked out a grilled chicken salad. He had insisted that she order what she liked instead of what she thought she should order on a date. When she mentioned her weight and new diet (she'd lost two pounds eating salads for dinner and parking at the back of the parking lots), he had frowned and said she was the perfect weight and would she please order the steak and shrimp with the garlic potatoes and asparagus since she'd practically drooled over that picture in the menu. Then the other night, he had given her a measured look before he got in his car to go home, ran a hand down the side of her hair, and said something like "whoa schezwan ee". She had no idea what schezwan food had to do with anything; they'd eaten Indian for dinner. She'd asked him to translate and he said, "Later. I'm not sure you're ready to hear it." She tried an online translator, but he must have said something different than what she'd heard.

Michael knew what 'whoa schezwan ee' meant; he'd laughed and suggested she watch some more C-dramas to start picking up some phrases.

What kind of man kisses you like there's a billion dollar prize waiting at the end and then… nothing. What kind of man goes from sex god to gentleman caller? Wasn't it usually the other way around?

Michael and Matthew were in the yard laughing, bumping shoulders. They must have won a point or something. It was obvious they were brothers if not twins. She supposed they might have been identical except for their abnormal births…. They had the same model-gorgeous face. Michael was taller by a couple of inches; Mathew was heavier. Not fat in the least bit…. Just built differently. His shoulders were broader, his waist thicker. Matthew kept his hair longer and didn't color it, letting it flop down into his eyes only to brush it away with a careless hand. And he had no visible piercings.

With Matthew and Michael so similar and Lim only a year older, one would think the odd man out would be Tiao. Because of his age or newness to their group, he should be the odd one out. However, if she was playing that old Sesame Street game, 'Three of these kids belong together. Three of these kids are kind of the same. But one of these kids is doing his own thing,' she'd have to make a different choice.

The different one was Matthew.

Perhaps it was because Matthew was not a cultivator.

For that matter, Eleanor belonged in Matthew's group while Yim belonged in Michael's.

She was pondering which group Lina belonged to when Mr. Wu calling everyone in for lunch interrupted her thoughts. She was directed to a seat next to Eleanor with Tiao on her other side. The table was set like she'd seen it in the C-dramas: bowls and platters of food in the middle of the table and a bowl of rice in front of each person. A pair of chopsticks floated into her vision and deposited a piece of meat and a green pepper in her bowl. "Try this. I think you'll like it," Tiao said quietly. "Do you need help with your chopsticks or will you use a fork and spoon?"

Sherrie wanted to protest that she could serve herself, but stopped upon seeing Eleanor neatly drop food into her mother's bowl, saying, "Eat more, Mom. You've worked hard today." Across the table Michael and Lim were also putting food into the other's bowl. As were Mr. Wu and Dr. Yang. Lim was even pointing out dishes for Lina to try.

It must be a cultural thing, serving other people. "Am I supposed to serve you, too?" Sherrie asked Tiao just as quietly.

"You may, if you want. If you find something here particularly delicious, it's not bad manners to give me a piece and ask me to try it." He adjusted her grip on the chopsticks. "If you feel uncomfortable, I will simply point out foods for you to try."

Sherrie picked up the bite and chewed it. "S'really good!" She smiled broadly. "So I just put a piece in your bowl?"

He nodded. "Like this." He reached out and took a shrimp off a platter. "If you like this one, I know how to cook it."

Sherrie served him a shrimp. "Then you must try one, too." About five minutes into the meal, Sherrie put down her chopsticks and used her fork instead. "I think I need the kiddie ones," she admitted.

Eleanor leaned over. "You might not want to say that too loudly. I'm sure my mother has a few pairs back home. If not, she'll go buy them and send them to Michael to give to you."

Su Tiao kept offering Sherrie different foods and the ones she liked, she gave to him. "Should I also give Eleanor food?" she queried softly.

Su Tiao choked a bit. "No." He cleared his throat. "This is the first time you've met her, and you don't know what she likes to eat or is allergic to."

After lunch Sherrie and Su Tiao took a long walk around the property, trying to give the birthday boy and his present some alone time. "So what's the real reason I shouldn't have given Eleanor food?"

"In Chinese culture, food is very important. When you visit a friend's house, they will feed you until you are stuffed and then want to feed you some more. Sharing food the way we did…. Implies a closer relationship than mere friendship. Parents with their spouses or children. Best friends who are like siblings." For some reason, Sherrie all of a sudden felt slightly ill. "If you are just friends, you will encourage them to eat certain dishes, but you don't serve them."

"So…. That means you and I… you see us... we're… like siblings?"

"Sherrie…" he warned. "I have no desire to be your brother. Although I might really like it if someday, you'd look up at me through your eyelashes and call me gēgē."

"And what does gerguh mean?"

"Gēgē. You really have a hard time with foreign languages, don't you. Michael texted me that you think I said something about Schezwan food to you."

"So what do they mean?" Sherrie's stomachache was getting worse. Maybe I ate something that disagrees with me.

"Gēgē means elder brother. When a woman calls a man, not her brother, gēgē…. It's a special kind of flirting. But it's all in her voice, in her looks. If she looks soft and gentle with liquid eyes, and sounds a little bit childish? Most men turn into mush at that. Some women use it as a weapon, to try to get the guys that like them to buy them things."

"I'll bet lots of girls call you gehgeh." Sherrie knew she sounded like a petulant child and could not stop herself.

He laughed softly. "A few." He stopped walking and gently took her hand. "None that mattered. None that succeeded." His eyes followed his free hand as it reached up as if to smooth the rioting curls. "You would," he murmured.

"And why would I succeed where others failed?"

"Yīnwèi… wǒ xǐhuān nǐ."

She shook his hand away from her hair. "Why won't you just say it so I can understand. You know I don't speak Chinese. I can't even hear it properly apparently! We both speak English, so why do you."

Su Tiao stopped the stream of anger and aggravation with his kiss. "To say it in English… it's so insipid. Almost meaningless. I was born here in the United States, but when my parents divorced, I went to live with my mother in China. I came back here for college and I didn't know how to date like an American. After being here for so many years, I don't want to date like an American. Swipe left, swipe right, hook-ups, friends with benefits. That's not who I am. Call me old-fashioned, but I like the idea of courting a woman, treating her the way a woman should be treated. With respect and care. "

"I don't understand! What does any of that have to do with whoa she wang nee?" This time she was sure she had the pronunciation pretty close to being correct.

He took her hand and placed it over his heart. "Do you feel this? Do you feel how fast my heart beats? For you, just for you. All you have to do is smile. You don't even have to smile at me. To hold your hand… to touch your hair, your face... My heart wants to jump out of my chest straight into your hands for safe-keeping. To kiss you is like getting a glimpse of heaven. That's what wǒ xǐhuān nǐ means. It also means that the last time you went to the shop, my father stole your wallet for a while to get your birth date. He's been talking with an astrologist down the street."

"Whatever for?"

"To make sure we're compatible. They'd like to know your exact time of birth, by the way."

"Three fourteen in the morning. Why?"

"Yīnwèi…. My father thinks I shouldn't say 'Wǒ xǐhuān nǐ' to you. He thinks I should just tell you 'Wǒ ài nǐ'."

Sherrie's face scrunched up in confusion. "And what does that mean?"

"It means this." He leaned down and kissed her again, trying to impart every bit of emotion he felt. When he pulled back to calm his racing heart a bit, he added, "It means I quite literally dream of seeing you wearing a traditional red dress and making the three prostrates with me. And not just daydreams."

"Tiao, I don't understand. Speak English!" She refrained from stamping her foot; she was twenty-nine years old, after all. Not a petulant child even though she almost felt like one at the moment.

"It's the old style Chinese equivalent of standing next to you at a church altar while you're wearing a beautiful white gown."

Sherrie stared at Su Tiao for a few long moments. Marriage. He's talking about getting married! I haven't even known him for a month. He won't hold my hand in public. We haven't done anything more than kiss a few times. For Pete's sake we don't even cuddle on the couch when we watch TV together! And he's talking about marriage?

Su Tiao sighed a bit sadly, and ran his hand down Sherrie's hair again. "Now do you understand why I said you weren't ready to hear what 'Wǒ xǐhuān nǐ' means?"

"Tiao…. This is crazy. You're… people don't just decide to get married weeks after meeting someone!"

Su Tiao looked away. "I'm pretty sure there are billions of men and women who would disagree with that statement." He sighed heavily. "Not too long ago, even in the United States women were married off only having met their husbands to be at the altar. Arranged marriages are still done in many cultures. Including here in the United States. And not just among Asians.

"I'm not asking you to marry me. You're not ready for that. I know that. At the same time, I want to be able to tell you how I feel without scaring you away. So please…. Please let me say what I need to say without asking me to translate."

Sherrie had no answer. This was crazy.

He was crazy.

Love at first sight was a fiction: a story tale, something to sell movies and books and lavish, over-priced weddings.

She should just walk away as fast as she could, maybe ask Mr. Wu if he would drop her off at her apartment. Block and delete Tiao's contact information in her phone. Maybe do some research on how to get a restraining order. Get a gun license and carry pepper spray on her wrist.

If she had any working sense of self-preservation, that's what she should do. This… This whole thing with Tiao was the first twenty minutes of a horror movie. Or a true crime show reenactment. The prelude to a news headline about the disappearance and/or murder of an MIT PhD candidate. Michael would say this was a Star Trek episode, and she was in the landing party wearing a red shirt.

However.

This was also the man who walked through Chinatown and, as discreetly as possible, wrote the protection rune on windows. As he'd put it, "I have the ability to protect the people here; it's selfish for me to not do what I can." This was a man who felt like he'd failed when the vandals hit a street he hadn't gotten to yet.

This whole thing was just… insane!

What was even more insane? She had this feeling, way down deep, that they'd had this conversation before. Not word for word, obviously. But him professing his love and admiration and her rejecting it. Until she didn't. "It's deja vu all over again," she muttered.

"Hmm?"

"Tiao. I need some time to think about this. Do you understand? This? This is freaking me out right now." She took a step back. And then another. "I'll call you," she offered lamely as his expression fell. I'm hurting him. This made her chest hurt, too.

"Take all the time you need," was all he said, though.

Sherrie found the birthday boy and asked to speak to him privately. "I'm sorry. I'm not feeling well right now. I'm going to call for a ride. I hope you don't mind that I'll miss your cake."

Michael cocked his head. "You don't want Su Tiao to give you a ride home?" Sherrie shook her head no. "Did you fight?" Again, Sherrie shook her head. "Ahh. You finally found out what the verb xǐhuān means."

Sherrie nodded and pulled a curl through her lips. "We've only known each other for a few weeks. People don't…. It's not…. I don't even know how to put what I'm feeling into words!"

"Sherrie…. Sometimes it does happen that fast. Knowing how much you like someone, knowing that this is the person you would gladly die for, that you will live for. We're different from mundanes; sometimes our bodies will literally tell you who it wants to cultivate with for the rest of our lives. All of our lives, not just this one." He took her hand and placed it just below his belly button. "Look with your other senses. Do you see?" His eyes connected with his lover standing across the room. "Ming Lim and I… we are bound to each other. Maybe since the first day we met in our first life."

Sherrie could 'see' the cord, thicker than her wrist, between those two men. A memory sprinkled into her brain: 'It can't be forced, only denied by remaining apart from the one you're bonded to.' Where did I hear that? I can't remember.

Michael smiled as Su Tiao entered the room. The other man was glaring at their joined hands on his belly. "Give yourself a few minutes, huh? If you still want to leave, I'll have Eleanor drive you home."

Sherrie watched her lab partner practically dance over to his boyfriend. Michael looked so open, so happy, so in love. She rested one hand over where her own golden core lay hidden. Michael had told her everything she knew about cores. He was either translating from a book or from Chen Song's sign language. Just a few minutes ago was the first time he had ever mentioned that cores could bond cultivators. So how did she already know….

The memory was hazy, indistinct. She was standing on a dark terrace with a man. And…. it looked like one of those medieval places with torches and…. Was he wearing a dress?

She shook her head to clear the images. She'd never been to one of those medieval manor dinner shows or Renaissance Fairs where the employee/actors pretended to be olde English or something, with horses and jousts and turkey legs, and guests dressed up in costumes. She'd seen the ads on TV, of course. And had even thought about going with a group of girl friends down to King Richard's Faire the previous years. She had been to a few of those Shakespeare in the Park type events. And sometimes people in the audience dressed in costumes.

However, that was all long before she'd met Michael and learned what little she knew about cultivation and magic. So why would anyone be telling her about golden cores bonding two cultivators together?

Tiao was deliberately not looking at her from across the room. She had to give him credit; she'd asked for time and he was giving it to her.

Eleanor interrupted her musings. "Michael tells me you learned the verb 'to like' and maybe you want to go home or maybe you need some girl bonding. Suǒyǐ nà…." She held up a set of keys with one hand. "This?" And then the other, with a bottle of wine. "Or this?"

Sherrie pointed at the wine. "Let's go bond."

Eleanor grinned. "I'll teach you the verb hē."

Wang Lina followed Eleanor. "Can I join you?"

One bottle of wine for three women was not going to get them drunk enough. Sherrie and Wang Lina got a head start while Eleanor took a quick trip out to a liquor store. By the time she got back, Yang Yim had joined them, the bottle was empty, and Sherrie's eyes were starting to look a little extra shiny. The four women were back at the fire pit; the men had re-started it after letting it die down for lunch.

The men were playing with bamboo swords: Michael and Ming Lim started out giving instructions to Matthew and Su Tiao. After a half hour or so, though, Michael and Ming Lim ignored the other two to concentrate on beating the other in a proper fight. Michael's form was in better shape as he'd been able to continue with his lessons. Ming Lim, however, barely held his own through sheer determination and the upper body strength training he'd done while in China.

Sherrie turned away from watching the men to ask her compatriots. "Have you seen the Untamed?" Eleanor quietly translated for Yang Yim, and all three indicated they'd seen it. Sherrie continued, words slurring a bit. "Did you ever look at Chen Song and wonder? That character Song Lan…. Xue Yang cut his tongue out. Sounds just like the way Michael said Chen Song lost his." Wang Lina choked on her wine. "Song Lan… Song ZiChen… Chen Song..." Sherrie half sang their names. "Even their names are similar. At least as I hear them in English."

Wang Lina raised her glass towards Sherrie. "Homonyms. The characters are different. I think." She appeared to be lost in thought.

Sherrie waved her glass in return, wine sloshing almost up to the rim. "Even this new guy sounds like a character…. Wass sis name… Wen Ning 's other name was Shing Lin. And you," the glass lurched over to point over towards Yang Yim. "You came back with Sheng Lin." She burped. "I'm drunk."

Wang Lina pointed her own wine glass towards Sherrie. "Yes you are. QióngLín sounds nothing like 'ShingLin'. Or Sheng Lin." She sighed and drained her glass. This conversation needed to be stopped before she got too drunk and accidentally blurted out that Sherrie's suppositions were correct. "Wen Ning was so cute. He didn't deserve to be killed off like that."

Sherrie's attention was back on the men. Song and Lin had joined them now; those two appeared to be giving lessons. Why does Lin look so familiar? I've seen him before. Song, too.

Sheng Lin was kneeling in front of a box containing a wooden flute, some stringed instrument like she'd seen in the Untamed, and two swords. They were the exact same swords hanging on the wall in the living room... He was placing cloth in the box. Clothing maybe? The other guy, the one who told her about golden cores bonding, was there too. And all three of them were wearing white dresses. Well, not dresses, exactly: those criss crossed robes that fell to the calves and loose trousers underneath. The other guy was begging to take one of the swords or the stringed thing back with him for his shrine. He was crying that he had nothing of his brother left to mourn with.

Sheng Lin looked up after shutting the box's lid. "DaGe…. There is no reason to mourn. Your brother and my master are simply awaiting their rebirth. We will take good care of these so when my master comes back, we have them ready for him."

Sherrie shook herself awake. What a dream.