“My great-grandfather smoked opium before the Opium War, for the pleasure of it,” said Lee. He lifted a floorboard to get at the towels, though they weren’t much drier than the four drenched passengers. He tossed one to Cheung, one to each of the kids, and took one himself to dab the water out of his ears, then vigorously dry his soaking hair. “He was a Macau pilot, bringing those big foreign ships to the docks at Whampoa. He only became an addict afterwards because he was so dismayed at having lost the war. My great-uncle smuggled opium to pay for my great-grandfather’s habit. If I ever become so useless, Cheung, you have to throw me overboard. Then motor away and don’t look back.”

“My grandfather became an addict after the Punti–Hakka Wars because he couldn’t bear the memory of mother and father gutted before his eyes.”

“Too many men shot in front of their families,” said Lee. “Too many women raped.” Lee’s eyes went elsewhere, thinking of his own grandmother and great-aunts. Maybe thinking of things his grandfather or Cheung’s might have done.

“Too many villages burned to the ground,” Cheung said. “Did they tell you much about it?”

“Nah,” said Lee. “The old people don’t like to talk. They don’t like to pass on the sorrow.”

“My parents didn’t talk either,” Cheung said. “If my aunt weren’t such a gossip, I wouldn’t know a thing. May we live out our lives in peace so that we can freely tell our children of the sweetness we lived through, all blessings to Tin Hau, the great goddess of the sea.”

“I wish you wouldn’t invoke her,” Lee said. “There is only one God, and that is Our Father who art in Heaven.” He crossed himself. “It’s not too late to get baptized, you know. There’s a priest at my village who will do it for you, any day of the week.”

“No, thank you, Brother. Tin Hau is good enough for me.”

“Last time, you said you would think about it,” Lee said.

Cheung went silent. He loved his friend, but he didn’t want to join the white man’s strange religion. Cheung’s mother was Hakka. Her side of the family was in the Taiping Rebellion, but they had never converted. Cheung blamed the rebellion on the leader Hong Xiuquan’s Christianity, though he didn’t want to say so to Lee. He cared for Lee, and Lee was devout.

Lee realized he’d overstepped his bounds into a sensitive area and didn’t say anything more for a long while. Finally, he asked, “Hungry?”

“Yeah,” said Cheung, with a soft chuckle to release the tension. “I’m so ready to eat Yim-Fong’s beef with flat noodles.”

“Me too,” said Ting-Yan.