Hongmei had no idea. Hadn’t he recently said they were fated never to meet? Did she want to meet him? What would that mean? She could still hear, through the wall, Charlotte Church’s pure voice. Glen was working late. Probably waiting up for his hardworking wife, hoping she’d want to make love later.

She wrote, That’s enough for tonight. My husband’s waiting. I have to go to bed.

He said, All right. So you’re generous with your body—very pure of you. I wish you pleasure.

What right does he have to be jealous? Hongmei laughed to herself.

He asked when their next date could be.

She said there wouldn’t be a next date, online or otherwise. That was a snap decision. Not giving him a chance to respond, she typed quickly, saying her husband loved her very much, and they’d destroyed their reputations to be together. This was what the Chinese called nine deaths, one life—a narrow escape. She couldn’t have this sort of liaison behind his back.

She said, Thank you for your concern, and thank you for making the effort to understand me.

Then she swiftly logged off and shut down the computer. For a while, she couldn’t muster the energy to stand up, and even raising her hand to the light switch was difficult. In the instant between light and dark, she glimpsed a woman’s silhouette and almost let out a scream of terror. Turning the lamp on again, she realized it was her own reflection in the mirror. It was her own fault for having a mirror in the study. She’d never been so unfamiliar to herself—face red and greasy, eyes moist, looking dazed. And her lips, and her breasts—this was probably how women always looked when their flesh was transgressing. It was preemptively showing on her face and body. Her body had moved ahead of her—how unthinkable. She had to uproot whatever stray tendril had allowed this secret talker to creep his way in.

She sat heavily back in the swivel chair, planting her feet on the floor and pulling herself back to the desk to turn on her computer again. When she opened her inbox, his reply was waiting. What kind of response would this be? She decided not to read it. Surely it would just be even more persuasive language to demonstrate how much he understood her. Or else he’d try to nag her (saying she wasn’t pretty or something like that, to make her want him), and then say, Hey, what are you thinking? I don’t want to be your lover; I didn’t ask you to betray your husband. I don’t even like mixed-race girls, let alone a fully Asian woman like you.

Whatever he said, she wasn’t going to fall into his trap.