Haha! I have returned!
You probably thought I'd left forever.

In all seriousness, though, I am sorry for taking this long.

Thanks a whole lot to ninja82, . .Xx, In The Mix, Ember Hinote, skyspottedshadow, seenlee93, SamanthaMeloes, Miss Transylvania, Draconian Droog, RasalynnLynx, MyJen, Aquarius-Otter, Amelia Letter, Petaltailify97, TarrelYoukai, and three times to Rosy the Cat for your lovely reviews!
Thanks as well to Illusion Island, AngelikDevil, TheMultiFandomner, Ixion26, jayfeather63, Redmobile, bookishangel, Dragoonmega06, JAGartist, yeah9fun, Anime-VGsUltimate00, and again to . .Xx, Amelia Letter, TarrelYoukai, and Rosy the Cat for your favorites and alerts!

Now on with this long-overdue, midnight-on-a-Wednesday update!
I disclaim, and own nothing.

"Wáng-qiánbèi!"

Yao glanced up from his work, wiping his brow his forearm. "Ah! Lĭ-xiānsheng!" he exclaimed in reply, brightening instantly at the sight of another Chinese miner a short distance away. His shovel dropped and he was off, chattering excitedly in Chinese the other man, who was equally enthusiastic with his replies.

George, watching the scene with some curiosity, turned away. "Whaddaya say to a break, Al? Least 'till Yao gets back."

Alfred nodded in agreement, dropping his ban on the riverbank and sloshing his way to the shade of a nearby tree. George quickly followed suit.

"Where's Cornelius?" Alfred asked, missing the large miner's presence.

"Off in town with Olive," George replied, and Alfred could have sworn his face softened ever so slightly as he said it, but George was back to normal so fast, he wasn't entirely sure it had happened. "Wanted to get some taters or somethin'."

"He'd better hurry back," Alfred muttered. "We're not getting much done without him."

His friend nodded in agreement. "We'd get more done if Yao didn' keep seein' people he knows every five minutes."

"It's been at least a half-hour since the last one."

"Miracle if I ever seen one."

Alfred studied the two men speaking to Yao (when had the second arrived?), and for the first time really noticed the differences between Yao and these two. Sure, he wore the same wide-sleeved tunic and pants they did, but his hair was barely past his shoulders, and pulled into a neat ponytail. Their heads were shaved except for a small circle, from which a long black braid wound down their backs, and their slippers were oddly curled.

In fact, most of the Chinese men Alfred had seen looked like them, not like Yao.

Yao looked like he was wrapping up by the way the two men he was talking to by the way all three were giving spastic little bows in each others' direction.

"Back to work, then," George sighed, heaving himself up from the shady grass.

Yao was grinning ear to ear as he turned away, returning to their camp much happier than he had been.

"Who're they?" Alfred asked, watching the pair of backs disappear into the nearby trees, braids swishing lightly behind them.

"Mr. Li and friend," Yao answered, still grinning. "They were wondering if there were any recently left plots near here they can look at."

"Recen'ly abandoned?" George asked quizzically. "Why?"

"You white men don't like it when we take unused plots," Yao said matter-of-factly. "We just want to get along, so most take used plots and find leftovers with famous Chinese carefulness that white men do not see."

"What can ya buy with leftovers?" George wondered. "Stuff here is so expensive."

"Not in China, aru! There, most people are poor, especially southeast farmers. Lĭ-xiānsheng has wife and four children who need money he makes here. So though he cannot buy much, they can buy lots."

"Do you have a family you send money to?" Alfred asked. "You said you had a brother."

Yao's remaining smile dropped away. "No. I once had more siblings, but they all left. It is very sad." He continued, muttering angrily in Chinese, punctuated briefly with something that sounded like Arthur.

Alfred glanced at George. Clearly, family was something of a sore subject.

"Then… why did you come here?"

Yao visibly perked up a bit. "I was bored! My stupid boss kept telling me stupid things like, go meet the delegates, Wang, or cease those plebian actions, Wang, or no, we can't have a giraffe parade, Wang. So I decided America would be much more fun than him, even though he says, China had everything it needs, Wang. But no giraffes! Have you seen giraffe ever, Alfred Jones?"

"N-no, I can't say I have." He didn't add that he had no idea what a giraffe was.

"I seen one at a circus once," George added.

"Aren't they so cute, aru?!" Yao cried. "I want a pet giraffe, but I think Panda would get jealous."

_V~-~-~V_

Walking through what had quickly morphed into "downtown" San Francisco on their way to their favorite dinner place, George suddenly stopped.

"Hey, Al. Ya know, we eat here all the time. Whaddaya say to tryin' somethin' new?"

Alfred raised an eyebrow. "Do you actually know of another place that serves pot pies in this area? Because I only get pot pies once a week and I was planning on eating one."

"C'mon… ya can give up pot pies for one week, Al."

Alfred rapped his knuckles on George's forehead. "Hellooo? Is George there? I know for a fact you have a soft spot for their mashed potatoes!"

"You do not need to resort to violence, Alfred Jones," Yao said calmly, "I shall compromise."

"You will?" Alfred was rather skeptical.

"Indeed. We shall wait for Cornelius and Rush-xiǎojiě, and then settle this matter with a match of shouxiling."

"Show-what?" George asked.

"It is a hand game, in which two people choose one of three things: a fist, a flat hand, or two fingers." At the sight of their still-confused expressions, Yao exclaimed incredulously, "You do not know shouxiling?"

Alfred shook his head. "Never heard of it."

"Me neither."

At that moment, Cornelius and Olive came up beside the little group. "What's the holdup?" Cornelius boomed.

Yao immediately launched into an explanation of their restaurant debate and shouxiling, while Alfred was infinitely more concerned with what Olive was carrying.

"What is all that?"

Olive sniffed. "Your food for the next week, Alfred, as well as a few other necessities."

Alfred picked up a dress sleeve dangling from the pile. "How is this a necessity?"

"I cannot be seen wearing the same dress all days of the week, Alfred."

"Who's going to see you?"

Olive blushed faintly, the quickly shook her head. "It's none of your concern. George?"

"Yes?"

"Carry this parasol, it's about to slip away and I would rather it not get dusty."

"Certainly. Right away." George grabbed the parasol from the top of the pile and tucked it under his arm. He paused briefly, then added, "Anything else ya want me to carry? It's lookin' awful heavy."

"I can manage, but thank you."

"Where did you even get a parasol?" Alfred asked.

"There was a lovely carriage passing by with the unfortunate feature of an additional storage bin affixed to the back of the vehicle, and it happened to be sitting atop a trunk there."

"You stole it?"

Olive raised a carefully designed eyebrow. "You seem surprised. You really shouldn't be."

Alfred was about to explain to her exactly why he should, in fact, be worried about this thieving habit-profession she had, but Yao interrupted him.

"You too do not know shouxiling?! What you Americans do to settle fights?"

Cornelius rubbed the back of his neck, glancing sideways at George and Alfred. "Er… we usually jest punch who's we're arguin' with, I guess."

"So barbaric, aru!" Yao cried, throwing up his hands. "This fight, we will settle civilized way! George, put down your stupid umbrella, you need two hands."

George handed off the parasol to Cornelius, albeit sheepishly, watching Olive's face almost anxiously as he did so. She sniffed and looked away.

"Now, when I say three, you make one of three hand gestures, yes?"

"Right…" said Alfred, still rather unsure of this whole thing.

"Okay… yī, èr, sān!"

George glanced at Alfred, accurately expressing their mutual confusion. "Er… English, please, Yao."

"You do not understand numbers?!"

"English, please."

"Fine. Stupid Americans." Yao heaved a long-suffering sigh. "One, two, three!"

Alfred quickly made the first hand gesture that came to mind, the flat palm. George was a bit slower to respond, but he settled for the two fingers. Neither was quite sure what happened next.

"So… who won?"

Yao studied their hands for what seemed like an exaggerated length of time. "Alfred Jones, you have chosen cloth, and George has chosen scissors. So, George wins, and to new place of eating we go!"

George whooped. "All right folks, ya heard the wise Chinese guy! Let's get goin'!"

"Hey, wait a minute! I wouldn't have chosen the flat hand if I knew it was cloth!"

"If you had chosen fist, you would have won. Now come, we must go to George's victory celebration."

_V~-~-~V_

At the first restaurant they'd found that served pot pies, the proprietor was already glaring at them from the door.

"You four're fine," he said gruffly, "but I don' serve coolies."

Almost the same thing happened at the next two, prompting Alfred to engage in a shouting match with the owners, calling their honor and American pride into question as he defended Yao.

"It's the land of the free, you clueless moron! Everyone's equal under the great American flag! We're a country built on immigrants, and I didn't see you complaining when the Chinese first arrived! Remember Governor McDougal? He called them 'one of the most worthy of our newly adopted citizens!' Remember that?"

But nobody would listen, and Alfred found doors slammed in his face.

At the fourth, Alfred was about to launch the argument he'd gotten into with the previous two proprietors again, but Olive yanked him away. "This establishment does not deserve our business if they shan't serve our friends," she snapped, glaring pointedly at the shopkeeper, who shrugged.

"I ain't losin' my business over one coolie, ma'am," he said, sounding almost apologetic. After all, anyone just looking at Cornelius could tell they were in for a big profit.

"California for the Americans!" someone called from within.

Yao had adopted what Alfred called his royal pose, straight-backed and cold-eyed, not twitching a muscle as the door slammed before them.

"He can't do that!" Alfred burst, seething. "They can't do that! Just because Yao's foreign!"

"Indeed they can, and they shall, until they get over their idiotic prejudices and foolish notions!" Olive replied, equally incensed. "You cannot change the opinion of a population in an evening, Alfred Jones!"

Alfred hoped that would be the last their group would hear of the issue, but the anti-Chinese sentiment was soon spreading rapidly through San Francisco, and that one voice's rallying cry was taken up by nearly everyone. The Chinese weren't the only targets either; the French, Mexicans, and Chileans too were receiving their share of hate.

Alfred had just about had it when a group of three men tried to take over their claim because Yao was on watch duty.

"Whatcha gonna do, coolie?" one sneered. "You shouldn't even be here."

Hearing the start of a commotion, Alfred arrived at Yao's side, George and Olive following close behind.

"Actually, this is our claim," Alfred said, glaring at the three. "We've been here a week already. You're trespassing."

"Well, what're two country bumpkins, a coolie, and a little lady gonna do about?"

The scene quickly turned out to be one of Cornelius's finest moments, as he chose that instant to barge his way into the clearing. "What's all this, Alfred?" The intruders paled rapidly at the sight of Cornelius, whose size truly did rival the local bears.

"N-nothin', we was jest leavin'," the third man said, grabbing his friend's arm. The three disappeared, but though they were the first, they certainly weren't the last.

"What do they think kùlì is anyway?" Yao wondered aloud. "They say it like an insult, but it is just worker."

_V~-~-~V_

A few days later, Yao was off visiting some friend of his at the local laundry and Cornelius was buying a new pick after he'd broken the latest one throwing it at a boulder. As a result, Alfred and George were escorting Olive on her latest round of "shopping."

George had gotten saddled with most of Olive's newfound possessions, legally and illegally obtained, but he seemed all-too-happy to carry more. Alfred, who probably could have picked up all of the stuff plus both George and Olive, had only a picnic basket (food included) dangling from one arm.

After George allowed Olive to throw three yards of flowery fabric around his neck, Alfred decided to ask the question that had been bothering him for a while. "Say, George. Do you like Olive?"

George tripped, and would have spilled everything if Alfred hadn't hauled him upright by his collar at the last moment. "W-what gives ya that idea?" Alfred looked pointedly at the flowery cloth, three lace doilies, and yet another parasol that were prominently displayed at the top of George's stack.

"You do."

"I didn' say I didn', but I don't!"

"You do."

Glancing about, George quickly asked, "How 'bout we settle this with that game o' Yao's? Show-shilling?"

"You need two hands for that, and right now, you have none. If you haven't noticed, you're carrying all of Olive's things."

"So're you!"

Alfred lazily dangled the picnic basket in front of George's face, before adding it to his pile. "And now I'm not."

"Fine," George huffed. "Ya win. I do like her, awright?"

"Is our friend George having relationship troubles, aru?"

George whipped around. "Yao?!"

The Chinese man folded his arms together, obscuring them in his voluminous sleeves once again, a gesture Alfred had begun to associate with the giving of advice Yao thought wise. "Indeed, you are. Chinese have much relationship wisdom."

"So ya say," George snorted. "Ya also said that Chinese were focused and careful, and you're neither of those."

"No, no, this is true!" Yao declared. "You listen to your Yao-gē, and he will tell you everything. First, you must learn to address your beloved appropriately, then you must wear the proper colors and eat the proper food, and also give her many gifts—"

"George? Be a dear and carry this handkerchief too." Olive reappeared, tucking the handkerchief between the fabric and the parasol. The self-proclaimed most elegant lady thief this side of the Mississippi tilted her head inquisitively. "What were you talking about just now?"

"I was just imparting wise Chinese advice on rela—"

"You know what, Olive?" George suddenly exclaimed. "Half o' this stuff is stolen, and I'm no thief, so I'm not carryin' none o' this." With an unceremonious thump, all of Olive's freshly found things went tumbling into the road.

Olive stared downwards, eyes widening. Then her head snapped up, eyes locked into a fierce glare. "George Catron, what on earth—"

"And ya know why I'm not carryin' it?" George plunged on. "Because I don' wanna see ya have to steal things anymore! I'm gonna buy all of it for ya, 'cause we're gonna make heaps o' money with this gold minin' thing, and then I can get ya every single damn parasol and embroidered handkerchief on the planet until you're the happiest woman alive, got that?!"

Olive's mouth dropped open, and Alfred realized he was mirroring her expression.

"Really, George? You do mean that?"

George, who seemed to have expended all of his words, nodded dumbly.

Olive's shock morphed into a tiny smile. "I would like that."

While Alfred was still busy being astonished, Yao was muttering angrily beside him. "That is not proper courting procedure at all, aru!"

_V~-~-~V_

Their camp had a generally more positive atmosphere after George's declaration in the middle of the streets of San Francisco. Even Cornelius had a bit of a spring in his step. Yao was the only one less than purely happy, still disgruntled as he was that his advice had been poorly followed.

But another ordinary two weeks passed uneventfully, though the influx of strange objects Olive "found" did decrease substantially. It was on the third week that the extraordinary struck.

"There's gold here, I can taste it!"

"Ya always say that, Cornelius," George muttered. "Ya say that three times a day, some days. And I swear we are the last prospectors ta find anythin'."

"That's a-gonna change, I know it!" the mountain of a man declared as he began to dig with renewed vigor. "Al, grab tha' other pick an' help! Time fer ya t'do some real minin'!"

Reluctantly, Alfred set aside his pan, the source of their real steady income, and grabbed the mostly-broken pick Cornelius had gestured to. Careful to watch the force he exerted, he too began digging, clawing away at the ground while George and Yao shoveled the excess dirt out of the whole that was rapidly forming.

After an hour of no luck, Cornelius ordered everyone out of the hole. "I gots ta have an un-con-tamin-ated environmen' fer this ta work."

And so he went, stabbing the ground with his pick, giving it the occasional taste, until finally, his eyes brightened. "I found it! Git down here, Al!" He began scraping away at one wall of their hole, joined quickly by Alfred, until abruptly, one of the clods Alfred unearthed was a little more golden than brown.

George nabbed it, holding it up for inspection, brushing it off almost reverently as everyone froze. Setting it down on the ground, he gave a sudden stomp—

And the clod, instead of disintegrating, formed a flat yellow circle in the dirt of their hole.

"Quick," George said, staring at the hole in their pit's wall. "Dig."

The three of them together started attacking the wall, until they were unearthing clod after clod. When the floor of their pit was covered with a mixture of dirt and beautiful, glorious golden clods, Yao started sorting, brushing the dirt away.

Holding out an armful of shining nuggets, he cried, "It is all gold!"

"YES!" George cheered, Olive clapped from the mouth of the pit, Yao clung to the golden rocks as Alfred plucked one from his arms, cupping it in his palms, and Cornelius was quietly sniffling, hugging his pick to his burly chest.

"I did it…" he muttered, "I really did it. I found gold."

"We knew you would eventually," Alfred said, handing the gold back to Yao and clapping Cornelius on the arm, grinning ear to ear. "After all, everyone else in California has; why not us?"

George practically vaulted out of the pit to scoop up Olive in his arms, who promptly gave him a quick kiss. Yao, who was jumping up and down, gold spilling over, exclaimed,

"I can finally make my boss have another giraffe parade!"

V/~-~-~\V

So. History and explaining first.

I have decided to use tone marks for Chinese after all. I didn't last chapter, but it bothered me.
As for Chinese words, qiánbèi (pronounced chien-bay) is an honorific (like Mr or Miss) for your elder or someone in the same profession with seniority over you. I thought that, since Yao fit both descriptions, it was a good choice.
Xiānsheng (pronounced shien-shung) is a more commonplace honorific meaning Mr (in this case, Mr. Li).
Kùlì (pronounced coo-lee; I guessed on the tone marks for this one) is a word for someone of the working class. It wasn't derogatory in Chinese, but since that's what all the workers were calling themselves, the Americans Americanized it and eventually turned it into an insult.
As for the difference in Yao and the other Chinese men's appearance: the stereotypical Chinese image at the time was the long braid on a mostly-bald head, the curly shoes, tunic, and slightly puffy pants. This style of dress is indicative of the Manchurian-ruled dynasty in China, because the Manchus brought their clothing to China when they invaded. But I just couldn't imagine Yao cutting his hair.
The Chinese were very unobtrusive immigrants, doing the menial labor that no one else wanted to do for fair wages. They even mined on used plots, picking up the gold dust left behind that to them represented unparalleled riches. Most of their money was sent home to starving families, because most of the Chinese immigrants came from the southwest of China, an already-poor area devastated shortly after this chapter takes place by the Taiping rebellion. It was only when the gold ran out and money grew scarce that the Americans began to accuse all foreigners of stealing rightfully American jobs and chasing them out. The Chinese demographic, however, was too huge and expensive to get rid of, so the Americans resorted to politically making their lives as hard as possible.
Rock-paper-scissors, or shouxiling, was invented in China, shortly after gaining huge popularity in Japan. In the original version, what we know as paper was cloth. It didn't gain popularity in Europe and America until the 1920s, so we can safely say this was the first game ever played in America.
Claims were open to everyone if you didn't have someone there at all times watching it. Here, the men challenge Yao because the Americans tended (as mentioned already) to not like Chinese miners.
I totally made up Yao's "proper courting procedures."
And that giraffe? I mentioned it before, but shortly after Chinese trading ships discovered Africa, they brought back all the weird and exotic animals to put on parade at the palace, and the favorite attraction was the giraffe.

Next chapter, we'll be leaving Gold Rush California for bigger and better things with less comic relief (probably).

And for those of you who read this far, I'm writing a Thanksgiving omake in honor of American Thanksgiving (which is technically today, because it's 12:37 am my time right now). To you, I present a choice: should I use "thee" and "thou", etc, in speech for technical accuracy, or "you" for ease of reading?

Thanks for reading this chapter, and as always, any questions or comments are always appreciated in a review!

And to all of you Americans, have a happy Thanksgiving (and eat lots and lots of food)!