182: Chapter 187 Returning to Changsha

On the plane, Chen Mo sent a message to his mother: "Mom, I'm bringing a friend back. She's American, and she can't handle spicy food, so please use less chili. But for the crayfish, you can make them normally; I want her to try a little."

He thought for a moment, then added another line: "She's not 'that someone,' just a friend."

His mother didn't ask who "that someone" was, but replied instantly: "Got it. Your dad is going to the airport to pick you up. Your Second Uncle, Aunt, and Third Uncle are all at home, so there's plenty of food."

Taylor leaned against the porthole, struggling to decipher the line of Chinese Chen Mo had typed in the waiting lounge earlier using a translation app, and asked: " 'She's not that someone'—who is 'that someone'?"

"It's a figure of speech. My mom asked if you were my girlfriend, I said no, and she believed it."

"She didn't believe it."

"Right, she didn't believe it. So when you see her later, she'll be extra nice to you—so nice that you'll feel like you're already her daughter-in-law—and then she'll look at you with that 'I understand, but I'm not saying anything' expression."

"Don't be nervous; she just likes you. She told me before that you're quite pretty."

Taylor closed the translation app and folded her hands on her knees.

"I'm not nervous. I've seen the sticky note she left for you: 'The chili sauce is too spicy, don't eat too much.' I know she's a gentle mother."

By the time the plane landed at Changsha Huanghua International Airport, it was already afternoon. The February sky in Changsha was gray and overcast, carrying a damp chill.

Taylor pushed her suitcase out of the arrival gate, with Chen Mo walking in front, his baseball cap pulled low.

Chen Mo saw his father, wearing a dark blue cotton jacket, standing at the very front of the crowd. Beside him was his mother, wearing a maroon wool coat, her hair freshly permed and styled in lively curls.

Behind his mother stood his Second Uncle, Aunt, Third Uncle, and his cousin Chen Hao, who was standing on tiptoe and peering eagerly in their direction.

His father came forward to take the suitcase from Chen Mo, his gaze sweeping over him before crossing over his shoulder to land on Taylor behind him.

"Is this that friend of yours?" His father's voice was flat, but Chen Mo noticed his Adam's apple move slightly the moment he saw Taylor.

Taylor stepped out from behind him and said in slow but clear Mandarin: "Hello, Uncle, hello, Aunt. My name is Taylor."

Taylor had studied Mandarin for a while and could handle simple conversations, but dialects were beyond her.

Xiuying took Taylor's extended hand, looking from her short blonde hair down to the white sneakers on her feet. Tears welled up in her eyes, but she held them back and gently patted the back of Taylor's hand.

"Good, good, beautiful, even more beautiful than on TV. You presented the award to Mo Mo, I saw it on TV. You wore that coral dress, it was so pretty. We'll treat you well today."

On the way home, Chen Jianguo drove the black Mercedes-Benz E-Class, with his mother in the passenger seat, and Chen Mo and Taylor in the back.

Chen Hao was squeezed into Third Uncle's car, waving frantically at Chen Mo through the window before leaving.

The car turned from the airport expressway onto Xiang River Avenue. Outside the window was the Xiang River in winter; the water was yellowish, and a few egrets flew up from Orange Island.

Taylor rolled the window down a crack, and the wind from the Xiang River blew in, carrying a damp chill and the scent of chili peppers drifting from somewhere in the distance.

"This is the river by your home. You sent me videos of it."

"Right, the Xiang River. The water level is low in winter and rises in spring. My dad used to take me to the riverside on his bike to watch the dragon boats."

"Now he drives you back. Last time you bought a new car for him, and now he drives it to buy groceries every day."

When the car turned into the residential complex gate, Taylor noticed quite a few people gathered downstairs.

A perfectly decent high-end residential complex had turned into a wet market.

Several aunties in thick cotton-padded jackets were chatting at the entrance to the building. When they saw the black Mercedes-Benz drive in, the sugar oranges dropped from their hands.

A middle-aged woman in a red down jacket was the first to shout:

"Oh my! Old Chen's kid is back! And he brought a foreign girl!"

His mother leaned out from the passenger seat to greet them: "Yes, yes, Mo Mo brought a friend back from America. Don't crowd, don't crowd."

Chen Mo shielded Taylor and moved away from the car door: "Hello, Auntie Wang, Auntie Zhang. This is my friend, Taylor. She can speak a little Mandarin."

Auntie Wang leaned in close to Taylor, speaking with a heavy Changsha accent: "Oh my, foreigners really are good-looking! Her eyes are green!"

"Auntie Wang, your red down jacket is very festive today. Happy New Year," Taylor said, one word at a time.

Auntie Wang was stunned for several seconds, then slapped her thigh and laughed until tears almost came out.

"She can speak Chinese! And she can say Happy New Year! Mo Mo, you brought a foreign daughter-in-law back without telling us in advance!" Chen Mo didn't explain, just turned sideways to shield Taylor from the crowding people, reminding everyone to watch their step.

The elevator went up to the twelfth floor. As soon as the doors opened, the living room was already packed with people. This was the largest family dinner since they had moved into the new home.

His Second Aunt was in the kitchen helping his mother wash vegetables, while his Third Uncle stood on the balcony holding a teacup, pretending to look at the river view but actually peeking at the door the whole time.

His Aunt sat on the sofa, flipping through photos of Chen Mo as a child, waiting to show them to the new friend.

The round table was already covered with dishes:

Chopped chili fish head, stir-fried pork with chili, stir-fried cured meat with garlic sprouts, stir-fried vegetable hearts, sour long beans, pan-fried tofu, a pot of pork rib and lotus root soup, and two large basins of bright red, oily, steaming hot spicy and stir-fried crayfish.

"We were worried Taylor couldn't handle too much spice, so we stir-fried these especially for her."

The air was filled with the aroma of Sichuan peppercorns and dried chilies sizzling in hot oil, as well as the thick, inseparable scent of brine and thirteen-spice powder simmered repeatedly.

Taylor stood at the doorway, facing for the first time the spectacle of a table full of people greeting her simultaneously in dialect and broken English.

But she didn't retreat, just said in clear but slightly awkward Mandarin: "Chen Mo told me his family's cooking is better than Michelin."

His Second Aunt froze at the kitchen door for several seconds, still holding a spatula, then turned and shouted to his mother: "Sister-in-law! She can speak Chinese! She said our food is better than Michelin!"

His mother walked out carrying the freshly cooked pork rib and lotus root soup, placed the clay pot on the table, wiped her hands with a towel, and looked at Taylor, then at Chen Mo.

Chen Mo took off his jacket and draped it over the back of the chair, then picked up the plate of bright red spicy crayfish from the table and placed it in front of Taylor.

"This is crayfish, a Changsha specialty. Try one first. International etiquette: if you come to Changsha and don't eat crayfish, you haven't really been here."

Taylor looked down at the shrimp curled in the red oil; the shell reflected an oily sheen under the lights.

She gently touched the shrimp claw with her finger, then picked it up. Not knowing how to peel it, she just carefully observed the hard shell of the shrimp tail.

Chen Mo picked up a crayfish, and with a few seconds of coordinated hand movements, peeled out the whole shrimp meat and placed it in Taylor's bowl.

Taylor learned from him and picked up another one. Her finger was pricked by the shell, and it was hot and burning, but she finally managed to peel out a small piece of shrimp meat and put it in her mouth.

Fresh, spicy, and numbing sensations exploded on her tongue simultaneously, unlike anything she had ever eaten before. Then, she picked up the ice water that had just been poured in front of Chen Mo and took a big gulp.

"Spicy! But delicious."

Taylor's eyes watered, and she pointed at the plate, saying: "Then I'm digging in."

"It's all for you," Chen Mo said.

His mother walked over, poured Taylor a glass of special red wine, and looked at Chen Mo with mock reproach, saying: "Why are you giving her ice water?"

His mother looked at Taylor and smiled: "Drink this instead. Semi-sweet red wine with hawthorn; it helps with the spice."

Taylor gasped: "Thank you, Auntie."

Her eyes curved into smiles as she looked up at his mother, then gave Chen Mo a proud look.

Second Uncle stood up with a beer glass, his face glowing, and said: "It's good that she can handle spice! Brother-in-law, your son brought back a foreign friend who can eat spicy food!"

His father sat in the main seat with half a glass of baijiu in front of him. He didn't stand up to toast, but just pushed his glass slightly in Taylor's direction.

Taylor raised her glass and said in Chinese, "Thank you, Uncle." His father tapped the rim of her glass, then downed his drink in one go and wiped the wine stains from the corner of his mouth.

He looked down and poured himself another half glass of wine, saying nothing more.

His Aunt walked over from the sofa and took out her phone to show her photos of Chen Mo practicing piano when he was a child.

In that old photo, he was pressed onto the piano bench, crying and laughing. The piano's lacquer finish was worn shiny, and there was a bootleg Mickey Mouse in the corner.

His Aunt pointed at the screen and said that when he was little, his mom made him practice, and he cried for a whole afternoon. Later, he sat down and played "Für Elise" by himself, and after that, he stopped crying.

Taylor looked down at the photo. The little boy in the picture couldn't reach an octave with his fingers, wore a faded school uniform, and his feet dangled in the air, unable to reach the pedals.

She looked up at Chen Mo now—mature, steady, and charming, though of course, sometimes he could be a little calculating.

Three Grammy Awards trophies were sitting in the display cabinet next to the TV, the golden gramophones refracting fine spots of light under the lamps.

Chen Hao was filming 360 degrees with his phone. He wanted to touch one, but his mom slapped his hand, so he obediently put on gloves to touch it.

After looking at the trophies, Chen Hao noticed that no one was crowding Taylor anymore, so he sheepishly came over.

He held a black marker pen and a crumpled notebook. The cover had a Star Trek insignia he had drawn himself, and the edges were frayed, showing it was frequently flipped through and written in.

He stood in front of Chen Mo and Taylor for several seconds, his lips moving, but no sound came out.

Chen Mo spoke first: "This is Chen Hao, my cousin. He's studying composition."

Taylor looked down at the boy who was a head shorter than her and said in Chinese: "Hello, Chen Hao. Your brother said you write songs; we can talk about it."

Chen Hao's face turned bright red. He opened the notebook; the pages were densely packed with melody lines and chord markings written in pencil. Some places were worn fuzzy from erasing, and other places were circled several times in red pen.

"I, I want to ask you for an autograph. I'm a fan of yours, and so is my deskmate. She translated all your songs into Chinese and copied them by hand into a notebook."

"When she was sick and hospitalized last year, she listened to your songs every day. She said if I could ever meet you, I had to pass on a message for her."

Taylor took the notebook. The melody markings in pencil on the paper were smudged, but the name signed at the bottom was still legible—"Lin Xiaowan."

Taylor flipped to the next page, where the edge of a folded medical record was tucked, along with a handwritten English vocabulary list.

From "fearless" to "daylight," it was all her lyrics, with pronunciations and definitions densely annotated in ballpoint pen.

Taylor pointed to the name and asked him if he could read it to her.

Chen Hao wrote the two Chinese characters "Xiaowan" in the blank space and told her the name meant "gentle."

Taylor wrote her name on the front flyleaf of the notebook in English and Chinese. She paused, then added a sentence below her name—

"To Xiaowan: You are fearless. Keep going. dont stop. Taylor."

Chen Hao looked down at the line of words and hugged the notebook to his chest. The boy suddenly had tears in his eyes.

Taylor took a handmade friendship bracelet off her wrist and placed it in his palm, saying: "This is a small gift from a fan. I usually never pass them on to others, but today, I'd like you to take this to the hospital and give it to that girl named Xiaowan."

Taylor looked at Chen Hao with her beautiful eyes: "Please tell her that when she finishes her treatment, she should come to my concert. I'll save a ticket for her."

Chen Hao gripped the friendship bracelet tightly in his palm, bowed to Taylor, and turned to run out the door.

His mother shouted from behind, "Where are you going?" His voice came back from the elevator entrance—

"To the hospital!"

His Aunt chased him to the door holding chopsticks, but the elevator door had already closed.

Chen Mo placed the freshly peeled crayfish in his hand into Taylor's bowl.

The thin mist over the Xiang River outside the window had cleared, and the statue at Orange Island glowed with a pale golden light in the warm winter sun.

In the living room, the pot of pork rib and lotus root soup was still steaming, while the boy clutching the notebook had already run out of the complex gate, running faster and faster toward the hospital.

The friendship bracelet tightly gripped in his palm was warmer than the February sunshine.

"Dis, dis is love!" Chen Mo said, shaking his head, before being sanctioned by his mother.

"Nonsense."

Chen Mo said to Taylor: "It is, though. He definitely likes that girl classmate."

Taylor raised an eyebrow and smiled, taking a bite of shrimp and a sip of red wine.

"This red wine recipe is good. Next time I throw a party, I'll use this. They definitely haven't had it before."

The table was lively as the meal began, and Second Uncle continued to pour wine for Chen Mo.

Third Uncle chimed in from the side, saying the odds for the Grammy Awards Song of the Year were 1.8, but the alcohol content of this bottle of Liuyang River from the Chen family was even more intoxicating than the Grammys.

His father didn't join the discussion; he just quietly placed the peeled crayfish meat into Taylor's bowl. His movements were gentle, and he didn't say a word, just like how he used to put food in Chen Mo's bowl.

Taylor put the crayfish meat, soaked through with red oil, into her mouth and wiped her chin with her fingers, which still carried the numbing and spicy scent from just peeling the shrimp.

In this unfamiliar linguistic environment, Taylor was actually quite unaccustomed, but this was Chen Mo's home, and Chen Mo's family was very kind, just like him.

It was hard not to like them.

She admitted that she loved Chen Mo, just as the West could not exist without Jerusalem.