Page 90 of From Beijing, With Love

“Saw a bunch of terra-cotta soldiers in a big pit, then the emperor’s tomb. Imagine being so afraid of death that you buried eight thousand statues with you.” Poppy picked up a lock of her caramel-highlighted hair between two fingers. “Also, do I have split ends?”

“Huh?”

“Someone told me I have split ends yesterday.” She pursed her lips, still studying her hair.

“It’s gotten a lot better since you stopped bleaching it. Aren’t we glad the whole balayage trend is over.” He rolled his eyes. Then he spotted the smile on Poppy’s lips. “Wait, unwind. Who told you that?”

“Celine. Some girl I met on the tour.”

“God, where’s the body?” He was only half kidding. He’d always known that one day he would be called upon to help Poppy bury a body. He’d long accepted it as part of the terms and conditions of their friendship.

“Right now? On a train back to Beijing. Can’t believe she made her morning train after how late things got last night.”

“Is that what you were doing while your best friend was bleeding out from a horrendous accident?” Daniel feigned outrage, but a smile betrayed him. “God, how’s meeting people just so damn easy for you?”

“Because I’m charming? And helpful. And nice?” Poppy batted her lashes. “She’s on a backpacking trip across Asia by herself and showed up to a Mandarin-speaking tour. I had to translate everything for her.”

“Uh-huh, all out of the goodness of your black heart.” He poked her in the arm. “I’m sure she returned the favor.”

“I don’t kiss and tell.”

“That is … objectively not true,” Daniel said. Poppy had no qualms about sharing, oversharing, and over-oversharing (that had scarred Daniel for life). The fact that Poppy wasn’t diving into the lurid details right about now could mean only one thing. “You really like her, don’t you?”

“She says hi, by the way,” Poppy said, ignoring Daniel’s question, her fingers still tapping away on the phone. “And where the hell is your person? It’s half past noon.”

“One, he’s got a name. Two, he’s not my person. And three … I have no idea.”

“Are you wondering if he got hit by a bus?”

Daniel looked away. “No …”

“Be honest.”

“Not by a bus. A car, maybe?” he admitted as he checked his phone again. “He hasn’t messaged either.”

“Have you considered calling him? The technology exists.”

“I don’t want to be annoying,” Daniel said as he interlaced his fingers to stop them from fidgeting.

“Danny …” Poppy put her phone down. There was something in her voice that Daniel dreaded—worry.

“Fuck it.” Daniel called Yang, something horrible gnawing on his insides like a little demon.

The phone rang and rang. And rang some more. He hung up and tried again. Still no answer. His fingers typed out a message on autopilot before he erased it all. He wasn’t going to get his heart broken via text. When he hung up after the third try, Poppy lifted her phone to her ear.

“If he’s not picking up my call, he’s not going to answer yours.”

Except that he apparently did.

“Where are you?” Poppy asked, barely holding back the disdain in her voice. As the call went on, her manicured brows knitted tighter together, spelling murder.

Why would Yang pick up her call but not his?

When he met Poppy’s brown eyes—filled with a mix of sadness and worry—he had his answer. He wasn’t going to see Yang again.

“Tell him yourself.” Poppy handed her phone to Daniel.

“You’re not coming, are you?” Daniel asked, hoping he was wrong.