The voice was low and hoarse, but Jade recognized it instantly. "Nigel?" she called out uncertainly, not waiting for confirmation. She scrambled to sit up, her belly making it awkward, the bed frame groaning in protest. From outside, his voice sharpened with concern: "Easy!" A hint of laughter underlay the gravelly tone.
Jade didn't catch it. She pulled the light cord, found her slippers, hurried out to unlock the bedroom door, then the courtyard gate. Nigel stood silhouetted in the doorway, a duffel bag slung over one shoulder, a travel bag clutched in his other hand. He stepped across the threshold.
Jade moved aside, then remembered the living room light. She reached over and yanked the cord. She'd replaced the dim old bulb with a bright 100-watt one months ago, banishing the shadows that unnerved her when alone. Stark white light flooded the room, illuminating him clearly.
Nearly two months gone, Nigel had visibly thinned. His complexion was slightly paler, sharpening the angles of his face. The biggest change was his hair. Gone was the long, unruly mane. He'd shaved it down to a close-cropped buzz cut. The unforgiving style only accentuated the perfect shape of his skull, the strong, clean line of his jaw. Without the shaggy curtain, his features stood out in stark, breathtaking relief – impeccably proportioned, fiercely handsome. The long hair had lent a roguish charm; the buzz cut projected a dangerous, almost predatory intensity. It was the kind of handsome that warned you away even as it pulled you in, radiating raw masculinity.
Jade stared, momentarily transfixed. Nigel, misinterpreting her gaze, touched his head self-consciously. He'd found the long hair cumbersome and hacked it off at a barber shop on his way. He dumped the bags on the floor with a thud, strode to the large table where only a thermos and teapot sat. His own cup was tucked away in the cupboard; Jade's was in the bedroom. Unfazed, he grabbed the teapot and tilted his head back, gulping water straight from the spout, parched.
Seeing him like that, the slight awkwardness of separation dissolved into a pang of sympathy. "I'll make you some fried noodles," she offered, heading to the kitchen. She'd made extra dough for fried noodles that evening, planning leftovers for her lazy solo lunch tomorrow. She was just kindling the fire in the stove when Nigel followed. A white towel hung over his shoulder. He went straight to the washstand, grabbed Jade's usual basin, and scooped icy water straight from the bucket.
Jade watched from the stove, stuffing dry wood into the fire chamber, her lips twitching. She bit back a comment but mentally noted: Wash that basin tomorrow. She added water to the wok, then retrieved the leftover dough from the cupboard. The late September air was cooler; it kept fine overnight. She gathered leftover greens, a carrot, a handful of bean sprouts, and two eggs. She washed and prepped the vegetables, shredding the carrot, whisking the eggs in a bowl.
Once the water boiled, she dropped in the noodles, fishing them out when almost cooked and plunging them into cold water. She cleaned the wok, added oil, fried the eggs until set, then broke them up. In went the vegetables, then the noodles, tossed furiously with chopped scallions, garlic chives, soy sauce, oyster sauce, and a pinch of salt. As a final flourish, she fished a thick piece of braised pork intestine from the simmering pot beside the stove, chopped it into chunks, and threw it into the sizzling mix.
Nigel had settled onto the low stool by the fire chamber, feeding the flames. He watched the orange glow, breathing in the rich aromas filling the small kitchen. Only then did the tension truly ease from his shoulders. On the train, an unfamiliar yearning had gripped him – a fierce longing for home, for Jade, for the child she carried. It was strange. Home had always just been a place, sometimes even one he avoided, haunted by his father's drunken rages and his mother's weeping. He barely knew Jade; their time together was brief. Yet, away, it was her face that surfaced most often. Was she eating? How big was her belly? Was she managing okay? Seeing her tonight, solid and real, had anchored him. For the first time, Nigel Shaw felt he truly had a home.
Jade had overloaded the wok. The fried noodles overflowed the large soup bowl. Feeling peckish herself, she spooned a small portion into a separate bowl. They carried their meals to the living room table, sitting opposite each other. The initial distance lingered, but it dissolved quickly as Nigel, clearly ravenous, dug in, slurping loudly. Jade watched him, unable to resist chiding, "Slow down! How long since you ate? Days?" Her own movements were precise, silent. At her mother's table, such noise would earn a scolding.
"Missed breakfast rushing for the train," he mumbled around a mouthful. Mostly, it was Chuck Zhu dragging his feet. Chuck had lost everything to the scam, was penniless and ashamed, terrified of facing Mable without the promised TV. Nigel couldn't wait; he'd shoved two hundred yuan at Chuck and jumped on the departing train. During a transfer stop, he'd spent half a day at a department store in the connecting city, buying things to bring back. Watching Chuck's fear of his fiancée's wrath, Nigel found himself studying Jade's face as he admitted, "Didn't make any money. Got scammed." He watched her intently.
Jade, savoring her noodles, barely reacted. "Doesn't matter," she said casually, her tone level. "You're back safe. That's what counts." There was no anger, no disappointment. Just simple relief that he was home. Money seemed irrelevant.
Nigel's chopsticks paused mid-air. Her lack of reaction was unexpected. Jade, noticing his silence, looked up. "What?" She saw nothing unusual in her words. Perhaps her presence had altered events; maybe he hadn't tangled with the pyramid scheme this time. The details in the old case files were sparse; she didn't know locations or names. She hadn't called the police. Right now, his safety was all that mattered.
Nigel lowered his gaze. "Nothing," he rasped. "Noodles are a bit dry."
Dry? Jade found hers perfect. Assuming his pride was bruised, she theorized wildly – maybe the boss ran off with the payroll? News stories like that were common later. She softened her tone. "Money's endless. People matter more. Don't worry about it. Eat. You've lost weight. It'll work out." She finished her bowl and took it to the kitchen, leaving it unwashed for him. She grabbed the basin he'd used, dumped in a generous scoop of laundry powder, then filled it halfway with hot water, carrying it back to the living room. A note of pride crept into her voice. "You should rest up. Guess what? I made a lot of money while you were gone. Enough to last us a good while."
Nigel looked up, an eyebrow raised. He'd noticed the pot of braised intestines but hadn't asked. Jade set the basin beside his bags, intending to soak his travel clothes. She'd seen his "laundry technique" – a few haphazard rubs. Her own clothes, not very dirty, survived it. His work clothes, stained and sweaty, emerged worse – the grime set deeper. They needed a long soak in detergent to have a fighting chance. Nigel, finishing his noodles, watched silently.
Jade tackled the duffel bag first. She rummaged, then pulled out a wad of foul-smelling, crumpled clothes.
"Ugh!" She recoiled, pinching her nose with one hand while holding the offending bundle at arm's length with the other, quickly dumping it into the soapy basin. The stench was overpowering.
Nigel, leaning back in his chair, comfortably full, took another swig from the teapot. Seeing her reaction, he chuckled softly. "Check the other bag." He stretched, crossing his legs, radiating lazy satisfaction, a hint of playful secrecy in his expression.
"What's in there?" Curiosity piqued, Jade abandoned the duffel and unzipped the travel bag. It was packed tight. She pulled out the top items – tiny baby clothes, tags still attached. Her eyes widened. She looked up at him in disbelief. She hadn't expected him to buy things for the baby. "I thought you didn't make money?"
Nigel ignored the question, a slight smirk playing on his lips. "Keep going."
Jade dug deeper. The top half was all baby clothes – seemingly chosen at random, sizes mixed, but all brightly colored, soft fabrics. Two tiny sweaters and a padded jacket nestled among them. He remembered it would be cold, she thought, touched. This father has some instincts. Though his taste… the colors clashed wildly, styles hopelessly outdated.
Beneath the baby clothes lay adult sizes. Jade pulled them out. She held up a short, emerald-green wool coat, its chest adorned with three large, garish red flowers, shoulders heavily padded.
Clearly a woman's coat. It never crossed her mind it could be for her. The color, the style… could anyone wear it? She stood, holding it up against herself – it was roomy – and offered Nigel an encouraging smile. "For your mom? It's… striking. She'll love it." No harm in flattery if she didn't have to wear it.
Nigel snorted. "Why would I buy her anything? It's yours." He stood, picked up his empty bowl, and walked to the kitchen.
Jade stood frozen, the hideous coat clutched in her hands. Mine? She stared at it, front and back, unable to reconcile it with her own wardrobe. It's so ugly!
His voice drifted from the kitchen. "There's a pair of high heels underneath. Also yours."
Compelled by morbid curiosity, Jade unearthed the shoes. Predictably, they were worse. Fire-engine red, chunky heels, pointy toes, a wide strap with tacky cut-out patterns, fastened by a button topped with a frilly white lace flower.
"..."
The bag yielded two more items. Jade pulled them out with a sense of dread: a purple scarf, black leather pants, and a pair of burgundy ladies' leather gloves. Honestly, my mom wouldn't have worn this stuff in my old life.
Nigel returned, carrying half a bucket of hot water. Seeing Jade staring wide-eyed at the pile of clothes, he misinterpreted her shock as delight. "Like them?" he asked, pleased.
Jade looked up, her expression complex. This was her first gift from a man. Boys in school had liked her, but her brother's intimidating presence had deterred any overt gestures. She forced a smile. "How could I not? They're… truly unique. So many lovely things. I'd better save them… for my future daughter-in-law."
Nigel gave a derisive snort. "How petty." He walked past her towards the bathing tub, his steps light, clearly satisfied.
Jade swiftly repacked the ghastly collection into the travel bag and hauled it to the bedroom. I'll never wear these. Passing the doorway to the courtyard, she saw Nigel filling the tub with cold water. "You said you didn't make money?" she called out. "Did you rob a bank?" The clothes couldn't have been cheap. What she really wanted to know was: What exactly happened out there?
Nigel carried the basin of cold water into the room, kicked the door shut with his feet, set it down, and started stripping off his shirt.
Jade caught a glimpse of his firm back and quickly retreated into the bedroom, silencing her questions.
She'd only taken two steps when his voice followed her: "Grab me some clothes."