Nigel emerged from his head wash, face flushed crimson from the scalding water. Jade, aiming for helpful, had already laid out his clothes and prepared his bathwater. He rubbed his damp hair, observed the setup impassively, then walked to the bedroom. He dipped a hand into the bath basin, his expression unchanging. Without a word, he went to the kitchen and returned lugging half a bucket of cold water.
Jade beamed at him. "Got the temperature just right for you!"
"..."
Nigel gave her a long, silent look before wordlessly carrying the bucket away.
Jade blinked, puzzled, but shrugged it off. She settled by the stove to tend the fire, heating more water. Once he's bathed, I'll take mine. Then he'll probably wash my clothes too. Clever me.
Her prediction held. After his bath, Jade asked Nigel to empty the tub, announcing she wanted to wash next. By the time she finished, the rain had stopped. True to form, Nigel gathered her discarded clothes along with his own and headed for the well.
Dinner was Jade's turn: braised catfish, steamed eggplant, and a pork and green pea soup. To her surprise, Nigel seemed particularly taken with the steamed eggplant. It was simple: eggplant slices pressed against the steaming rice pot, alongside a small bowl of seasoning – sesame oil, lard, chili flakes, and salt. Once cooked, the soft eggplant was mixed with the savory, spicy paste. Comforting. Filling.
Their afternoon roof-repair collaboration seemed to have thawed the ice. Jade felt less constrained around him. But the silence during meals still grated on her sociable nature. Searching for conversation, she finally ventured, "Mom hasn't come by in days. She brought vegetables every day while you were gone."
The man eating across from her paused and lifted his head, his gaze sharp. Jade met his eyes, unsure of his reaction. He studied her for a moment, a wry, unexpected chuckle escaping him. "School's out for summer." He stated simply, then resumed eating.
Jade's chopsticks hovered. It took her a second to grasp the implication.
School's out. Howard He is home.
The files had detailed May Lin's life after Nigel's father died. She'd drifted through two more relationships. Years ago, a man from a poor village charmed her into giving her shoe factory job to his daughter and moving in, only to reveal his abusive nature. Thirteen-year-old Nigel had led a group to beat the man senseless and brought his mother back to town. She'd found work selling vegetables and met her current husband, a sickly man with a scholarly son, Howard He. May Lin worked tirelessly to support them, treating Howard like her own.
Jade remembered a veteran detective, one who'd visited Nigel's hometown, sharing his insights over drinks. He'd been certain Howard and his father were trouble, suspecting they'd engineered Nigel's school dropout. Back then, poverty was crushing; only May Lin earned. Supporting two high school boys was impossible. Nigel dropping out? The only beneficiary was Howard. After Nigel moved out, neighbors often smelled meat cooking next door – a luxury in those times.
The detective's instincts went deeper. He'd hinted at something far worse regarding why Nigel, during his crucial early ventures south, abruptly stopped leaving his daughter with his mother when the girl was four. Nigel had hired a nanny and savagely beaten his stepfather, who'd been bedridden for half a year. Contact ceased. Everyone assumed neglect, but Jade harbored a darker suspicion: sexual abuse. It would explain why, months later, thugs broke into the stepfather's home, shattering his legs beyond repair. Why Howard subsequently lost his job and faced constant misfortune. This wasn't just anger; it was primal vengeance. Jade had never voiced this suspicion, not even to herself. She prayed it was wrong.
From the original "Jiang Rou"'s fragmented memories, May Lin seemed trapped in a cycle of appeasement. She supported the men in her life, yet wielded no authority, constantly striving to please them. When Howard was home, her own son was sidelined. With Howard back for summer, Nigel was simply forgotten. Like a man who splurges on outsiders while his own family starves.
Jade flushed awkwardly. Across the table, Nigel ate steadily, seemingly indifferent. Her attempt at conversation died. She focused on her meal.
---
Night fell. They lay in bed.
Nigel rested one arm behind his head, staring into the darkness, silent and unreadable.
The day's events had dulled Jade's fear. He didn't hit. He didn't devour her. Fear felt pointless now. She lay on her side, ignoring him, amusing herself by gently prodding her belly. "Kick again," she whispered.
The little one seemed to listen, delivering a soft nudge.
Jade smiled, stroking the spot. "Again?"
No kick this time, but a distinct wriggle followed, a tiny limb pressing firmly against her skin, ticklish.
Nigel turned his head. Seeing her smiling face, he spoke, a rare occurrence. "The boy kicking?"
Jade looked at him, expression odd. "You want a son?"
He gave her a flat look that plainly said, Obviously? His gaze dropped to her belly, an unfamiliar softness touching his usually cold eyes. "Has to be a boy. So lively."
Jade stroked her stomach, saying nothing, but inwardly scoffed.
Says the man who spent years braiding his daughter's hair, buying her dresses, and dedicating over a decade to avenging her death.
For reasons she couldn't articulate, she didn't argue. She nodded seriously. "Yes. A son."
"Hmm." He sounded satisfied. Then, unexpectedly, added, "Leaving in a few days. Be back in two months." He rolled over and snapped off the light, plunging the room into darkness.
Jade stared at his shadowed back, swallowing the words that rose to her lips.
---
Howard He arrived the next afternoon. He stood at the courtyard gate, a bundle of vegetables in hand, wearing a carefully pleasant smile.
Older than Nigel by a few years, he'd repeated his final school year three times; this was his fourth attempt. The detective who'd visited had later noted Howard eventually graduated from teacher's college, only to lose his job and fiancée when a pregnant woman confronted him. Subsequent jobs failed, and he ended up a taxi driver back in the county town. The detective's verdict: "Slick talker. Phony smile. Not a word of truth in him. Makes you realize – a child's upbringing is everything." The case had made him prioritize his own kids.
Jade observed the man before her. In an era of widespread malnutrition and sallow skin, Howard's fair complexion and healthy build spoke of comfort. His smile was calibrated, pleasant. But his features were ordinary: small, downturned eyes set slightly wide, a somewhat large mouth. Gold-rimmed glasses and a neat haircut framed a clean white shirt and black trousers, projecting an air of scholarly gentility.
He offered the vegetables tied with straw. "Mom had some leftover greens today. Thought you could use them." His tone was mild, concerned. "Heard Nigel got into another fight, ended up inside? You should talk to him. Mom's getting old. He shouldn't keep worrying her like this." He peered past her into the yard. "Nigel around?"
Jade: "Out."
A flicker of practiced resignation crossed his face. "Ah. Best I go then. Seeing me just upsets him." He offered Jade a final, understanding smile before leaving.
He's good, Jade thought, a reluctant admiration mixing with disgust. Without the detective's warning, she might have bought the act. The phrasing was masterful: "leftover greens," "another fight," "Mom's getting old," "upsets him." Every word subtly disparaged Nigel while elevating himself. No wonder May Lin was ensnared.
She was sifting through the limp bok choy and amaranth when Nigel returned from the other direction. He carried groceries: pork ribs, trotters, some spices. His eyes tracked Howard's retreating figure, cold and hard. He turned to Jade. "What did he want?"
His voice was icy with dislike.
Jade held up the vegetables and repeated Howard's words verbatim – her police-trained memory captured every nuance.
Nigel listened, then snorted, a sound thick with contempt. The petty tactics clearly meant nothing to him. His gaze fixed on Jade. "Stay away from him."
"Okay," Jade replied, noncommittally.
After dinner, Nigel packed a duffel bag in the room while Jade stitched the tiny baby clothes she'd cut out earlier. She watched him pack, finally asking, "When are you leaving?"
"Day after tomorrow."
Jade bit her lip. "My brother… he probably told Mom about the money. I'm afraid she'll come." Seeing his sharp look, she quickly added, placing a hand on her belly, "I just… don't want the baby startled." Not that I'll miss you.
Nigel followed her gesture to her stomach. The sneer forming on his lips softened. "She won't come." He turned back to his packing.
"Oh." Jade rubbed her nose. There was nothing more to say.
Nigel left early the next morning, returning in the afternoon on a borrowed, rattling bicycle piled high with sacks. He unloaded everything into the living room – rice, flour, potatoes, oil, meat, fabric – then left again to return the bike. Jade peered into the sacks, wondering where he'd gotten the money.
He was back quickly, storing the provisions in the kitchen cupboard. Returning to the living room, he said, "Your mother won't come. I leave tomorrow morning. If you need anything, ask Aunt May next door." He paused. "I'll call when I get there. Be back before the baby comes. Take care."
Dinner was quiet. Jade hesitated, then spoke. "Be careful out there. I've heard there are lots of scammers. If something feels wrong… run." Guilt pricked her. She knew the pit he was walking into and hadn't stopped him.
Driven by that pang, she used some of the flour he'd bought, kneading dough to rest. She rendered lard from the pork fat, combined it with oil and the homegrown chilies, simmering two jars of rich, fragrant chili sauce – a skill inherited from her mother's side.
As she worked, Nigel sat by the stove, feeding the fire.
The bright flames danced, casting warm light that softened the sharp angles of his face. The kitchen remained quiet, but the silence now held an unexpected thread of warmth.