“Good boy.” He positioned himself between Xiaokai’s legs and thrust in with more force than necessary. Xiaokai’s vision went white. “Good boy, good boy…”

3

THE FRIEND

“IS XIAO-XIAO NOT coming?”

His parents exchanged a glance with each other, communicating in a language that Liu Xingyu imagined he wouldn’t be able to understand even if he had stayed.

“You know how Xiaokai is—” his mother started, but Xingyu interrupted her almost immediately.

“But it’s my first night back. I thought he would be here.”

“Xingyu,” said his father steadily, “I know you care for your didi a great deal, but you must know his feelings toward you have always been complicated. You make him nervous.”

“Haven’t you made it clear that I wouldn’t take over the company? What does he have to be—” Xingyu stopped when a bell chimed, indicating someone had opened the front door. “Is that him?”

A few moments later, Xiaokai came into the dining room, and Xingyu lost all his words at once. He was just as done-up as he had been when Xingyu met him at the airport: neat suit, neat tie, his hair tidy and professional, but there was something fundamentally different—a look in his eyes, like he was far away, and when he moved there was a small stutter in his steps.

“Xiao-Xiao?” It was all he could force out of his mouth. He wanted to ask, Are you okay? What happened? Did someone hurt you? Did something go wrong? But his mouth had inexplicably broken, or perhaps his vocal cords had ceased to work, and he just stood there with his lips slightly parted.

Xiaokai bowed to their parents. “Fuqin. Muqin.6 I will be going to bed early.”

“The deal?” said their father.

“I’ll send you the details as soon as possible.”

“Rest well,” said their mother. “I’ll come up and check on you later.”

Xiaokai looked at her for a few seconds. Then his gaze flickered—could it have just been Xingyu’s imagination?—to Xingyu for a moment. He said, “No need, Muqin.” And he left without another word. Xingyu was baffled.

“What was that about? Is he okay?”

“He’s fine,” said their father. “Sit down and eat.”

Xingyu hadn’t realized he’d stood. Slowly, he lowered himself back into his seat. “Neither of you thought he seemed strange?”

“You’ve been gone for nearly a decade,” said his mother. “It isn’t so strange that you wouldn’t be able to recognize whether your brother is really out of sorts.”

Wouldn’t be able to recognize—even if Xingyu had been gone for a decade, it was still him who had practically raised his didi for six years, and had watched over him for years after that. Didn’t recognize when he was out of sorts? He practically knew every expression on the kid’s face.