Page 24 of From Beijing, With Love

“From today’s lens, sure, but not back then. We are enslaved to our times, bonded by the traditions and values of our generation,” Yang said, his eyes briefly meeting Daniel’s in their reflection. “I don’t agree with it, obviously, but I can’t fault these people for following the traditional values of their time. What’s the alternative? Risk being cast out of their community—or worse? We all need our villages. What would you do?”

“Burn the village down,” Daniel said without a second thought. He’d spent his life between Canada and the Netherlands—two of the most liberal places in the world—and he surrounded himself with people who would loudly and proudly say fuck you to the so-called villages that demanded conformity.

Yang huffed, turning to face him. “Have you considered that these women had their own agency? Perhaps they were making the best out of their circumstances and they don’t need your outrage.”

Yang’s words landed like a reprimand, because, well, they were.

Seeing the stubborn knot between Yang’s brows and his hard eyes, Daniel wasn’t even sure if they were still talking about the concubines. Something that felt a whole lot like disappointment rose in Daniel’s stomach—not in Yang, but in the fact that the two of them saw the world so differently.

Poppy had once not-so-gently told Daniel that he viewed things in black and white and he needed to “cut it the fuck out.” She’d been right, as usual. Had he overstepped and put his foot in his mouth? Probably. But he also stood by his words. They were his compass to right and wrong, and he wasn’t about to abandon them to placate someone else.

His Canadian upbringing made him step away so as not to widen the rift. If it weren’t for his Dutch blood, he would have apologized. And he had no idea what his Chinese blood would have done. He walked a few steps over to the lonesome tree in the middle of the courtyard, which was fenced off on all sides. Its ridges ran up the trunk in vertical pinstripes, perfectly parallel, never crossing one another. Never stepping out of line.

“Chinese juniper. The color of the plaque shows its age,” Yang said from beside him, pointing to the small metal plate pinned to the trunk. “Red means that this tree is over three hundred years old, dating it back to the Qing dynasty.”

Daniel walked up to the tree and hovered his hand over the trunk, wanting to touch it—something that was both historical and alive, unlike the hollow halls around them.

That’s dirty, the voice inside his head said.

Even after years of therapy, that stupid voice still wouldn’t shut up. Being in a familiar environment helped a lot, but this trip offered little of that.

Then Yang planted his hand on the tree trunk, which was just enough to quiet the nagging voice in Daniel’s head and allow his hovering hand to drop.

The trunk was unexpectedly smooth against his palm. He stole a glance at Yang and wondered if Yang could see through him as he untangled all that mental spaghetti.

“You are in one of the most historical and grandiose places in all of China, and you are only interested in a tree.” Yang laughed, the earlier tension gone.

“It’s alive. It outlived the emperors, and it’ll outlive us.”

“You are right.” Yang handed Daniel a bottle of water. He lifted his own bottle. “Cheers to living history.”

“It’s bad luck to toast with water,” Daniel said, knowing his excuse probably wouldn’t work.

“Just trying to keep you hydrated through whatever means possible.” Yang winked, and a good portion of Daniel’s brain stopped working. He took a sip of his water. The cool liquid sliding down his parched throat felt heavenly, reminding him of just how much he actually needed it.

“Ready for your quiz?” Yang asked as they walked out of the courtyard.

Daniel gave Yang his most charming smile, or so he hoped. “Could this be an open-book quiz?”

“No cheating,” Yang said with every ounce of the authority of a professor. “What year did construction of the Forbidden City begin?”

“Fifteen … thirty-seven?”

“You …” Yang paused, his face unreadable. “Got it right.”

“Are you sure?” Even Daniel didn’t buy it. He was going to look at that gift horse right in the mouth.

“Do you want dinner or not? Because we’ve walked for five hours and I’m starving,” Yang said, his skin a rosy bronze. When his eyes met Daniel’s, he held it for a second too long before looking away. Turning and walking toward the exit gate, he asked, “Are you coming?”

Daniel nodded, something warm and effervescent filling his chest, leaving him smiling a little too widely. Turning around for one last look and saying a silent goodbye to the women who’d once called this city home, Daniel ran after Yang.

CHAPTER ELEVENYang

Daniel had been over a hundred years off on his answer, but Yang let it slide. He was starving, and if accepting this wildly inaccurate answer was what got them to dinner, then so be it. Taking his customers to dinner wasn’t part of the job description, but he made an exception for Daniel.

He seemed to be making a lot of exceptions for Daniel.

But it was justified, he argued to himself. He owed Daniel. If it weren’t for Daniel’s help, he might still be battling the Python program, perhaps even losing. A fourth-year PhD at the most prestigious institution in the country, defeated by a few lines of code … that was simply unacceptable in Yang’s books. A sentiment that his adviser would most certainly share. It would have made Dr. Sun’s decision regarding the postdoctoral fellowship an easy one.