Total pages in book: 166
Estimated words: 169305 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 847(@200wpm)___ 677(@250wpm)___ 564(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 169305 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 847(@200wpm)___ 677(@250wpm)___ 564(@300wpm)
“That’s not a no,” I murmured, itching to cover my ears to avoid the sound of cars honking and pelting rain.
“The destination is family. Love. A place in the world to call your own.”
I flicked a small twig from the side of my sneakers. “You have lots of places.”
“Yes, but only one of them is my home. And that’s where you and your mother are.”
I studied him with a crunch of my forehead. “What did we ever do to make you so happy?”
“You exist, silly. That’s enough.”
I sprawled in my seat, tap-tap-tapping my knee, bored to the max. “If we make you so happy, why do you always buy stuff to feel good?”
“Art is not stuff.” He put his hand over mine to stop me from tapping my knee. “It’s a person’s soul poured into material. Souls are priceless, Zach. Try to protect yours any way you can.”
I inched closer to him, peering at the velvet satchel between us. “Can I look at this one?”
“Not until your birthday.”
“It’s mine?”
“Not to carry around. It’s dangerous.”
“Even better.” I rubbed my hands together, turning my attention to the hand-carved canton box cradled between his palms. “How about this one?”
We’d just picked up the spoils of Dad’s bidding war at an antique auction.
Well, Dad did.
I sat in the car, solving a Rubik’s cube without bothering to actually look at it as he trudged through the ID verification process.
Art had never interested me.
Dad spent the past twelve years drilling his wisdom into me, hoping some of his obsession would penetrate my skull.
No such luck.
I could debate the merits of gongbi versus ink and wash painting, but I couldn’t force myself to actually give a crap about a bunch of lines on paper.
Sometimes I secretly wished I had a dad like Romeo’s. He let him handle guns and hand grenades. Rom even knew how to operate a tank.
Now that was a flex.
Dad slid the heavy lid off and slanted the box my way. “Your mother’s anniversary present.”
Clasped between satin walls sat a round jade pendant chiseled into the shape of a lion. A red cord looped around the curved edge, leading to stacked beads, an oversized pan chang knot, and double tassels.
A cool two million dollars, and for what?
Mom wasn’t even gonna wear this thing.
Adults sometimes made the dumbest decisions. Dad called them impulses and said they were human. Maybe I wasn’t much of a human because nothing made me too excited. I always thought things through and craved nothing.
Not even sweets.
I slumped back into my seat. “It looks like the slab of cheese mold growing in the Tupperware in Oliver’s locker.”
My other best friend had the hygiene of a wild boar. Though that wouldn’t really be fair to the boar, because the latter didn’t have the option to shower daily.
“Shǎ háizi.” Silly kid. Dad flicked the back of my head, chuckling. “One day, you’ll learn to appreciate beautiful things.”
The rain intensified, knocking on the windows like it was begging to enter. Red and yellow lights gleamed through the distorted glass.
The honking grew louder.
Almost there.
“Are you sure Mom will like it?” I rubbed my nose with the sleeve of my shirt. “It looks like the one Celeste Ayi got her years ago.”
Pretty sure my aunt bought it at an airport souvenir shop on her way out of Shanghai.
“She’ll love it.” Dad’s finger hovered over the pendant, moving along the edges without actually touching it. “It’s a shame I had to fly to Xi’an in January. By the time I heard they added the other pendant to the D.C. auction, someone had already bought it.”
“There’s another?” I drew an octopus on the glass this time, only half paying attention as a stormy Potomac crawled by. Another few miles and we’d turn onto Dark Prince Road. “Doesn’t that lower the value?”
“Sometimes. But in this case, the pendants were crafted as a his-and-hers set. They belonged to star-crossed lovers during the Song Dynasty.”
I perked up.
Finally, we got to the good part.
“What happened to them? Were they beheaded?”
“Zach.”
“Oh, that’s right.” I snapped, then sliced my finger across my throat. “They did death by a thousand cuts back then. Their arms must have been ripped.”
Dad massaged his temples, staring at me with a slight smile. “Are you done?”
“No. When they cut people’s noses off without anesthetics, do you think they died instantly or bled out?”
The traffic jam loosened, and the car gained speed.
Finally.
“Zachary Sun, it’s a wonder that you’re my chil—”
A blaring horn sounded, drowning his voice. The rain. The entire world.
Dad cut off, eyes wide.
The car swerved violently to the side, as if trying to escape a collision. Dad tossed the box away and launched himself at me, wrapping his arms around my torso, clutching me painfully.
He pinned me flat against my seat. A blinding flash of headlights blazed across his face.