Jade's breath hitched. Those eyes – she knew them too well. It was like staring into the face of the man she'd seen twenty years in the future.
She vividly recalled her first encounter with Nigel Shaw. Her supervisor had taken her along for an interrogation. The man sat slumped in the interview room. When the door opened, he'd lifted his head. Even at forty, etched with the weariness of a hard life, he'd struck her with an unsettling, undeniable magnetism. She'd never imagined someone drowning in poverty, clad in rumpled, threadbare clothes, could still command such arresting presence.
He radiated coldness, a latent menace. A sardonic twist played on his lips, his sharp features etched with disdain. His hostility towards the police felt primal – born not just from his daughter's fate, but from the crucible of his own existence.
The files painted a grim picture: a father lost to drunken violence when Nigel was nine; a mother who remarried twice, each stepfather worse than the last. No one cared for the boy. He'd been raised by local street thugs, where brawls were routine and jail cells a second home. Even when he'd walked in voluntarily, his cooperation was nonexistent. It was pure defiance. Pure contempt.
The night before that interrogation, Jade had pored over case files, reviewing interrogation techniques, micro-expression analysis – determined to catch every nuance. She hadn't anticipated utter silence. Whatever they asked, he simply didn't respond. For three days, he rendered them powerless. Then, abruptly, he spoke. His first demand: a cigarette. One was handed to him. He didn't light it, just turned it over in his fingers, studying it. After that, he talked. No one ever knew what passed through his mind in that moment. If her supervisor hadn't spotted a critical inconsistency later, the case might have closed right there.
If the older Nigel was a deep, shadowed current, the younger man before her now was a naked blade – sharp, dangerous, his eyes flashing with raw aggression and rebellion. He looked like trouble.
Jade had seen a photo of a younger Nigel, though not like this. Photos were rare then, his rarer still. The only one she knew showed him standing in snow, a four-year-old girl perched proudly on his shoulders. The little girl tugged playfully at his short hair, beaming like a tiny sun. Beneath her, Nigel wore a faint smile, lips barely curving upwards. Handsome, almost roguish features held a look of lazy indulgence, a subtle warmth beneath the cool exterior – just another ordinary father, albeit impossibly striking. It was impossible to reconcile that image with the man who would later spend over a decade plotting vengeance for his daughter.
Now, those same eyes, separated by two decades of a man's life, locked onto hers. A wave of complex emotion washed over Jade. She pressed her lips together, hesitating. Should she say something? Before she could decide, Nigel merely gave her a fleeting, indifferent glance. He bent, picked up the wooden door panel from the ground, and carried it towards the courtyard gate without a word.
Jade exhaled a silent sigh of relief. The moment his back was turned, she hurried inside, making her way to the kitchen at the rear.
His footsteps faded. At the gate, fitting the panel back into place, Nigel paused and glanced over his shoulder, his expression thoughtful. Once the door was secured, he stepped back into the courtyard. After a few paces, he stopped dead. His gaze swept across the newly tidy, spacious yard. A flicker of surprise crossed his face.
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In the kitchen, rice bubbled in the pot, water slightly overdone. Jade skimmed off a bowl of cloudy rice water, then covered the pot to let the rice steam. She wiped down the earthen stove. Though grueling, her police academy training had instilled habits – she liked things clean and ordered. The stove, once blackened and moldy, now gleamed pale. Oil and salt jars stood neatly aligned. The cupboard beside it, scrubbed raw with a cloth, revealed its original wood grain; bowls and plates inside were stacked meticulously by size.
The floor, once littered with wood shavings and kindling, was swept bare. The house belonged to Old Shaw, Nigel's carpenter grandfather. Nigel's father had done some renovations when he married, but none of the Shaw men were known for tidiness. The old man's lumber scraps were dumped everywhere; Nigel himself was barely home. The original "Jiang Rou" felt no attachment to the place and couldn't be bothered. Her own childhood home had been far worse – chaos and dirt were normal to her.
When Jade arrived two days ago, dust coated every surface outside the bedroom; cobwebs draped the windows. Even the bedroom couldn't withstand scrutiny – clothes strewn on the floor, a thick layer of grime coating the drinking cup. In that moment, Jade finally understood her own mother's despair towards her father and brothers.
After scrubbing the stove spotless, Jade carried the dishes to the living room. Nigel entered just as she set them down, lugging a heavy bucket of water. Without acknowledging her, he sidestepped her and headed straight for the kitchen. As Jade placed the last dish, the loud splash-splash of water hitting the kitchen's half-height water storage vat echoed out. He was filling it.
Jade hadn't used the vat in her two days here – hauling that much water was exhausting. She drew only what she needed each day. Seeing him do it now sparked disbelief. He voluntarily did housework? It clashed jarringly with the image in her mind.
She kept her thoughts hidden. When he emerged, she slipped back into the kitchen to fetch the remaining dishes. Three simple dishes were quickly laid out. With the rice still steaming, Jade sat on a living room chair, feigning exhaustion by rubbing her legs.
Nigel passed her several times with full buckets. They ignored each other. After five or six trips, the sounds from the kitchen stopped. He didn't reappear.
An oppressive silence settled over the house. Jade found it more unnerving than being alone. She glanced at the clock – over ten minutes had passed. Hesitantly, she rose and entered the kitchen.
Nigel sat on the low stool before the fire chamber opening. The faint, flickering glow illuminated the sharp angles of his profile. Jade fetched two bowls and pairs of chopsticks from the cupboard, rinsed them quickly with a dipper of hot water, then lifted the pot lid to serve herself a bowl of rice. She left his bowl untouched.
Summoning courage, she spoke softly towards the figure crouched low by the stove, avoiding his eyes. "Rice is ready." Without waiting, she grabbed her chopsticks and hurried out.
The man by the stove looked up at her retreating back. He said nothing. Only after she was gone did he slowly stand.
The meal was excruciating for Jade. They sat facing each other across the square table. No words were exchanged. Jade kept her head down, unable to see his expression, each second stretching into an eternity. Having snacked heavily that afternoon, one bowl filled her. She ate slowly, deliberately, intending to wash the dishes after he finished. She held no expectation he would do it.
He served himself twice more, scraping the scorched rice crusts from the bottom of the pot. By the end, Jade was pushing single grains around her bowl.
To her astonishment, Nigel finished first. He stood abruptly, snatched the bowl and chopsticks from her unresisting hands, and impassively gathered the empty plates. He carried the stack to the kitchen without a backward glance.
Jade's head snapped up, surprise widening her eyes. His retreating figure offered only detached indifference. Soon, the rhythmic splash of dishwashing water filled the kitchen.
Jade sat frozen for a moment, then pushed herself up. She went outside to gather the sun-dried laundry, then into the bedroom to retrieve the large bathing tub. Finally, she returned to the kitchen for hot water. As she stepped out of the kitchen door, Nigel brushed past her, heading outside. Jade ignored him, focused on hauling her bath water back to her room. She didn't spare him a thought.
A secret hope flickered: Maybe he won't come back tonight.
Fate, however, had other plans. As she dragged the emptied tub back out later, Nigel pushed open the courtyard gate, returning. He carried a parcel of meat and vegetables, a cigarette dangling from his lips. Spotting her with the tub, he plucked the half-smoked cigarette away and tossed it aside. He then fetched a bucket, lowered the meat and vegetables into the well's cool depths, and secured the rope.
Darkness had fully descended. Jade retreated to her room and climbed straight into bed. Not long after, Nigel entered. He rummaged in the wardrobe, pulled something out, and left again. Moments later, the distinct sound of splashing water echoed from the courtyard.
A vivid image sprang unbidden into Jade's mind. Heat flooded her cheeks. He's bathing… out there? In the open courtyard? The sheer lack of propriety stunned her. Even without any personal interest in him, secondhand embarrassment prickled her skin.
The thought of soon sharing the same bed tightened the knot of discomfort in her stomach. She wriggled sideways, pressing herself flush against the cool wall.
When Nigel finally returned, towel rubbing his damp hair, Jade was practically fused with the plaster. He scrubbed his hair vigorously a few more times, then flung the towel carelessly onto the table by the window. His eyes briefly touched the figure huddled against the wall. He switched on the oscillating fan at the foot of the bed, kicked off his shoes, and climbed in.
The wooden frame groaned and sank noticeably under his weight. The once-spacious double bed instantly felt cramped. Jade, intimidated, pressed herself even harder against the wall.
The man on the outside edge reached over and snapped off the light. His movements cast shifting shadows on the wall. Jade watched as he carelessly flipped the mosquito netting aside.
She bit her lip, wrestling with herself. Finally, she couldn't resist a timid whisper into the darkness. "Remember to tuck the netting in properly." She'd suffered enough from mosquitoes these past nights to know the consequences of neglect.
A rustling sound followed from his side of the bed. His easy compliance, combined with his actions earlier, eased a fraction of Jade's tension. Maybe he's not quite the monster I imagined. Her courage inched up a notch. Lying rigidly on her side made her muscles ache. She cautiously shifted onto her other side, facing vaguely towards him.
The room was pitch black, save for a faint wash of moonlight through the window opposite the bed. It silhouetted his broad back. Her mind churned. After gathering her resolve, she ventured another whisper into the gloom. "Um… the baby… she's coming in a few months. I need to get things ready for her."
Nigel was often gone for days. Jade wasn't sure when he might vanish again. If he disappeared tomorrow morning, she needed to remind him about money before he forgot. Though she wasn't even sure he had any money left.
Silence swallowed her words. It stretched so long Jade wondered if she'd been too vague. Then, Nigel shifted. He rolled onto his back. His voice, when it came, was laced with a familiar, mocking amusement. "What happened to the money I gave you?"
Jade froze. The original owner had sent every penny to her younger brother. Her silence was answer enough. Knowing her "habits," Nigel let out a cold, derisive snort. He said nothing more.
The sound, sharp and dismissive, instantly reignited Jade's fear. She shrunk into herself, flipping back towards the wall, too cowed to speak again. Fine, she thought miserably. I'll go find May Lin. I can help her sell vegetables. Her hand drifted to her belly. A soft, despairing sigh escaped her. This is just too much.
In the profound darkness, Nigel turned his head. His eyes, flat and unreadable, fixed on the huddled shape beside him against the wall.