The market teems with life, and everything feels sharper here. Brighter.

Children chase each other over the steep steps and arched bridges, skirt around the canal edge, flirting with the danger and thrill of it all while their parents yell at them to be careful. A woman lifts the lid off a giant wok, white steam rising from the braised meats and sizzling fried buns. Neon lights flicker over endless displays of food, some laid out in bamboo baskets and others in deep, sauce-filled trays: grilled lamb and quail egg skewers, green sticky rice cake stuffed with sweet bean paste and glazed, flaking mooncakes stamped with red characters. Little discount labels and QR codes are printed beneath them, likely for people using WeChat Pay.

“Pe-ter, what are you doing?”

Wei Laoshi’s voice cuts through the vendors’ calls and the distant splash of oars in water.

I whirl around.

A beggar who looks at least seventy years old has latched onto Peter Oh, her wrinkled hands seizing the fabric of his new Supreme hoodie. I would’ve expected Peter to shake her off—Baba’s always warning me about how some beggars are really just scammers hiding iPhones under their rags—but to my surprise, he’s holding out a crisp 100 RMB note. I search his expression; there’s no trace of mockery or malice in his eyes, only sincerity. Even a hint of shyness.

The old woman’s eyes widen, like she can’t believe what she’s seeing either. It makes my heart hurt. But before she can take the money from him, Wei Laoshi steps in between them and drags Peter away by the sleeve, ignoring his spluttered protests.

“Don’t be so naive,” Wei Laoshi scolds, grabbing the shiny pink note and tucking it firmly into Peter’s pocket.

“It’s not naive,” Vanessa says as she paces forward suddenly, matching her steps to Peter’s. Somehow, that girl manages to appear everywhere. Or maybe I’ve just been noticing her a lot more ever since the art scandal. “He was just being nice. Right, Peter?”

I don’t stick around to hear the rest of their conversation. I don’t want to hear it, to start thinking of Peter as the nice boy who trusts strangers and gives money to those who need it. He is a target for tonight, and nothing else.

My heart cannot soften.

“You all right?” Henry asks, slowing down near a small bridge. I realize then that the whole time I was watching Peter and Wei Laoshi, Henry was watching me.

“Sure,” I say. Try to smile. “I guess... I just want to get it over with, you know?”

There’s no need to elaborate; he nods.

Wei Laoshi calls for everyone to stop, tells us we’re free to wander around and buy whatever snacks we want, but we’ll be meeting back here in two hours so please be punctual and don’t get kidnapped in the meantime. Everyone laughs at that, but my throat seizes up, and it takes three attempts before I can remember how to swallow again.