Originally posted February 14, 2011
((A trip to Hong Kong for business helped me wrap up this story.))
Lui Qiao held the incense to the small burning pot. The stick ignited and she turned to the bronze figures resting in the altar. She had shied away from the larger temples, their color, their bustle, the people. They would know. All of them gathered for their offering and devotions would be able to tell. They would know a jook sing stood among them.
The dark haired woman lifted the smoking stick from the fire and held it in the air. Qiao tried to mimic the actions of the handful of Buddhists in the temple. She couldn't even say what had drawn her here to Hong Kong. After,... After all that with Brainiac and Cheng, she felt drawn to China and she wasn't willing to wait for a visa. This was the closest she could get. And now she felt out of place, foreign in the land of her ancestors.
She felt a wrinkled hand on hers. She did not feel surprise to see Weng Wei here. It was he should be a part of the unnatural parts of her life. Finding him suddenly at Tin Hau Temple did not feel strange at all. She let him guide her, leading her to a small cushioned riser to pray. Qiao did not know the words to offer up for a proper prayer. She gave thanks, just the same.
In time, they walked out of the small temple, together. "Weng Wei," she began. The old man smiled as he interrupted. "Not now," he told her. "I know a bar on Hong Kong Island that serves peanuts. You can crush the shells and leave them on the floor." Silenced and now surprised, Qiao followed her boss to the subway station.
--
The counter of Cocheran's looked out over an ancient, cobblestone walkway. Qiao looked across to a Ben & Jerry's ice cream stand, a tabacconist pedaling Cuban cigars, and an odd contraption of bamboo and stainless steel selling something she assumed was food. All of this lay 30 feet beneath a series of automated walkways and escalators running the length of 20 city blocks. She had heard at least four different languages during their passage to the pub. The young woman would never think of Metropolis as cosmopolitan ever again. It seemed bland to the hustle and people of Hong Kong.
The waitress dropped off two more pints of Stella Artois as Old Man Wei let a peanut shell drop to the floor. The peanuts seemed smaller here. Qiao didn't realize just how much everything was larger in The States.
"How did you find me?" she finally asked. Wei shrugged. "I have my ways." He let the aire of mysticism linger for a moment. "I asked your mother." The laugh blurted out of Qiao along with a good portion of beer. She chuckled, wiping the foam from her face.
"It's no surprise you are here, Lui Qiao," the old man continued. "Your parents came to Hong Kong to escape the Communists. You are," he had to pause a moment to capture the word, "retracing the steps of your family."
"What happened to me, Weng Wei? I... I've never even picked up a bow, before. I knew a few magical tricks, but nothing like what I can do now. And these marks," she rolled up her sleeve to reveal the oddly shaped tattoos. "Where did they come from?"
Wei reached for a handful of peanuts, cracking them, letting their shells far to the floor, eating the meat. "You are," the English word escaped him again, "meng, Lui Qiao. A dream. The dream of your ancestors. You know their skills. You carry their marks."
They took a drink together, giving a moment for the pieces to fall into place. Qiao could not protest, not shout out "That's impossible!" Weng Wei had shown her the all too possible for too long.
"I miss Cheng, Weng Wei," Qiao said after a few moments. "I am saddened by your loss." Wei grunted, nodding as he cracked another peanut shell. "A day of sorrow," he began, "lasts longer than a week of happiness."
"If I could have traded places…," Qiao let the sentence fade.
"I would have hoped you wouldn't have changed anything," he told her. "Cheng's fate is not, was not, for you to take up." The old man finished his beer and called for the check. "Come. It is time for us to go."
"Go? Where are we going? What are we doing?"
"You are going to file for a visa at the Commissioner's Office. He is an old friend and he may be able to speed things along. You've started this journey. It is for you to continue walking in the footsteps of your ancestors, then return to Metropolis. It is for me to provide company and instruction in Putonghua."
"We're going on a road trip?" Wei's stoic nod drew a grin out of Qiao. She reached out to pluck the check from his hands. She pulled multicolored bills from her wallet to cover their drinks. "Somehow, somehow this all feels right."
"It is your destiny, Meng. It is for you to discover your past, and your responsibility to build a future. That is your fate. It will not always feel so right." He stopped talking, faced with the barrier of her smile and lightened mood. The old man rose from his stool, slowly, letting his bones settle. There would be time. There would be time to explain the concept of balance, of Yang and Yin. There would be time to tell her that for every dream, there must come mengyan, a nightmare.
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