Summer of Love

 

Summer of Love

 

Foreword:

The story is set in Memphis, USA, during the summer of 2019.

 

Background:

In Taiwan, a Hong Kong girl named Pan Xiaoying was killed by a Hong Kong youth named Chen Tongjia, who then fled back to Hong Kong. Due to the absence of an extradition agreement between Hong Kong and Taiwan, Chen Tongjia couldn't be extradited to Taiwan for trial. As a result, under the influence of the CCP, the Hong Kong government amended the "Fugitive Offenders Ordinance" with the intention of sending dissidents and anti-communists in Hong Kong, as well as those temporarily staying there, to CCP prisons. This sparked the "Anti-Extradition" protest movement in Hong Kong, which lasted for six months and was met with violent suppression that shocked the world.

This story is closely intertwined with the "Anti-Extradition" movement.

 

Synopsis:

Peng Su, the writer, teaches Chinese writing to children at a school in Memphis, USA, and is colleagues with Ben and Luo Wen. Teresa, a beautiful music teacher from Hong Kong, enters the scene, and both Ben and Luo Wen try to win her over using their respective abilities. However, their shared interests in literature and music, as well as their close alignment in character traits, particularly their love for Hong Kong and their shared support for the "Anti-Extradition" protest movement, elevated Peng Su and Teresa's mutual appreciation to the ignition of a beautiful love affair.

With exquisite prose and meticulous attention to detail, the novel depicts the entire journey of Peng Su and Teresa, from their initial encounter, through mutual admiration, to the culmination of their passionate love. It vividly portrays their distinct personalities and their ideals and emotions rooted in their support for the progress of the "Anti-Extradition" protest movement in Hong Kong. Furthermore, the novel highlights the despicable nature of the character "Bian" and his accompanying dark and narrow-minded jealousy, which persistently entangles them like a shadow, giving rise to captivating plot twists. Conversely, Luo Wen presents a contrasting character, attempt employing his financial charm to win Teresa's favor.

 

Feature：

The novel not only describes the unique cultural landscape of Memphis but also explores the lives of the Chinese community residing there. It portrays the distinctive image of "Bian," reminiscent of the new Ah Q archetype, which contrasts with the noble beauty of Teresa, a woman from Hong Kong. Shandi, a Taiwanese woman, serves as the second heroine in the novel. She is well aware of the infiltration of Communist bandits into the upper echelons of the KMT and endeavors to protect Taiwan's democratic system through her modest efforts, supported and collaborated with by Peng Su. Shandi secretly carries a deep affection for Peng Su, and these plotlines seamlessly intertwine within the novel.

 

Regarding the novel's ending, during the second "Support Hong Kong" demonstration in Memphis, both Peng Su and Teresa participate. The Chinese Consulate in the United States orchestrates and directs the "Patriotic Chinese Association" to attack and assault the demonstrators. In the midst of chaos, Bian, filled with hatred, forcefully throws a stick at Teresa, and the outcome is...

 

Through this novel, the author pays homage to the courageous and resilient people of Hong Kong who actively participated in the "Anti-Extradition" protest movement!

 

1.

When I bought a bamboo flute in an underground shopping mall in Flushing, I had no idea that the fate of my future life was waiting for me, just like the enchanting and beautiful melody of the flute guiding me towards a brilliant vision. That place was Memphis, where Teresa was, and there...

I came to the United States out of necessity, as a fugitive writer, proud to be hated by the Communist Party. New York became my refuge, the most bustling metropolis in the world, but its dazzling neon lights and extravagance were not envious flowers laid out for me. Yes, I had to go to every corner of Flushing, Queens, find a job and survive.

My first job was working in a restaurant as a general helper for a year, followed by six months as a painter's assistant. The monotonous and boring work drove me to obtain a nursing license, leading to my third job as a nurse. After taking care of several elderly Chinese individuals, I saw an advertisement in the newspaper for a caregiver who needed to speak English and have physical strength because that person needed to be carried to bed.

She was a beautiful 22-year-old Spanish woman with a congenital genetic disease. Her legs had become weak at the age of 17, and by the time she turned 20, she needed a wheelchair. Oh, how pitiful. I took care of her attentively and tenderly, like an older brother to a younger sister.

Gradually, she began looking at me with eyes like a younger sister looks at her older brother. Later, that look changed, taking on the gaze of Venus. When I carried her to bed for sleep, she would curl up, holding onto my neck, and her gaze turned into that of a lover's. Originally, my job was only to push her wheelchair to the bedside, lift her onto the bed, and help stretch and massage her leg muscles before she slept. With a weight of around 110 pounds, it was an easy task to carry her to bed. Gradually, she stared at me more frequently and for longer periods.

One day, as she was watching TV in the living room, I told her it was time to go to sleep. She spoke softly, saying, "I want you to carry me into the bedroom from here." Well, for me, it's just a little more work, and it doesn't matter. Consequently, carrying her from the living room to the bedroom became a regular occurrence. Once when we returned from shopping, as soon as I opened the door, she said, "I want you to carry me inside." Later, her imagination took flight, and she wanted to be carried at the elevator door and across the long corridor. The most creative instance was when she said, with a coquettish tone, "I wanted" before we even entered the elevator upon returning from outside. Thankfully, we were only on the second floor. Oh, she held me tightly, her face gleaming with a proud, mischievous, and intoxicated brightness. Sometimes I wondered, would I still do the same if we were on the fifth floor? Well, I should take the opportunity to exercise a bit. Just a few stops along the way. It was such a pity that such a young girl had to suffer from such a disease. Yes, you were like a little sister to me.

The little sister started to dress up, no longer needing to draw her beautiful black eyebrows and eyes. She applied lipstick and nail polish, and she styled her previously casually draped shiny black hair, combing it back and arranging three coiled buns at the back of her head, which the Cantonese call a "ji," resembling three shiny black roses. I didn't know how she managed to do it. She extended her nails to show me, saying, "Is it beautiful?" I replied, "You can create various designs." And she asked me to teach her. So, I held her hand and drew a template, teaching her how to paint and color. She always gazed at me with electrifying eyes and asked, "Am I pretty?" I sincerely said, "Yes, you are so beautiful."

I was responsible for taking care of her from 7 p.m. to 7 a.m. On Thanksgiving Day that year, she sat in her wheelchair and had the caregiver who worked from 7 a.m. to 7 p. m to push her to go and buy a gift. Then they came to my rented place with the gift. She personally handed me the gift, then pointed to her face and leaned forward, asking me to kiss her. As I leaned down, she embraced me tightly and kissed me deep and passionately, leaving the caregiver slightly startled.

But I was too vulgar and materialistic, only earning fifteen dollars per hour. If we had been in love before, deeply in love as a devoted couple, and then she unfortunately fell ill, this love would have endured through difficult times with me by her side...

 

When I leave New York, I want to buy a bamboo flute. One day in early spring 2019, while cleaning and moving things, I accidentally bumped and cracked my bamboo flute. It was heartbreaking, and for several days, I couldn't bear to throw it away, still clinging to the illusion that it could be played. The material of that bamboo flute is purple bamboo and it's a single section. It's extremely difficult to find a single-section bamboo flute in G key that produces such round, beautiful, and bright tones with a wide range. Oh, my bamboo flute, my beloved, you've been with me since I was seventeen. I don't know how many levels there are in the bamboo flute exam, but I can effortlessly master all the techniques and play vibrato like a violin. When I fled from the mainland to the United States in 2013, the first thing that came to mind was to bring this bamboo flute with me.

In an underground shopping mall in Flushing, there's a musical instrument store that specializes in selling Chinese ethnic instruments, so I decided to take a look. Fortunately, they had bamboo flutes for sale. I carefully selected and tried playing them, as a good flute can uplift my spirits. I purchased a bamboo flute in G key, even though it wasn't a single section, the sound quality is still acceptable. It was February 12th that day. As I stepped out of the underground shopping mall, Uncle Zhang from the street shop, who knew me well, handed me a copy of The Epoch Times, saying there was exciting news. I want to express my gratitude to The Epoch Times for upholding the principles of news reporting. He fetched a stool and asked me to sit down and watch. It turned out that on the previous day, which was the 12th in Hong Kong, the Hong Kong Security Bureau proposed amending the law to allow Hong Kong and places without established long-term arrangements for fugitive surrender to submit requests for the surrender of fugitives on a case-by-case basis. This sparked intense public discussion.

"I like Flushing because of friends like Zhang Shu, and of course, Yafang. But I don't like Flushing because it's filled with a bunch of 'patriotic' Chinese, especially those from Fujian. Their eyes are filled with arrogance and self-satisfaction. Despite their various misfortunes in mainland China, they have tried every means to run away to the United States, yet they constantly proclaim, 'Our motherland is powerful, oh, I am so proud!' You might as well take a look at those Chinese WeChat groups, where they happily disregard their own interests and consciously defend the 'interests of the motherland,' shouting loudly, 'Those who offend China from afar will be punished!' They take pride in the red descendants of the Chinese Communist Party. Their chests always beat with the red heart of Ah Q. Moreover, they eagerly scramble for the red envelopes distributed by the Chinese Consulate, following the instructions of the Consulate, and aggressively attack the propaganda activities exposing the crimes of the Communist Party against Falun Gong. They create a 'sea of red flags' in Flushing to welcome visiting Chinese Communist officials, eagerly proclaiming their identification with and admiration for the brutal rule of the authoritarian regime over the Chinese people!

“I couldn't help but think of Mr. Lu Xun's "The True Story of Ah Q" when he described Ah Q. He bowed and served at Mr. Zhao's house but always fantasized about having the surname Zhao himself, intentionally or unintentionally telling everyone that he was also a Zhao. Mr. Zhao immediately rebuked him, 'Are you surnamed Zhao? Are you worthy of having the surname Zhao!' and then slapped him loudly. I believe that Mr. Lu Xun overlooked some important details about Ah Q: in fact, Ah Q fantasized about sitting at the same table with Mr. Zhao, sharing a sumptuous feast, or standing nearby to get a share of the meat in a pot, or at least imagining receiving a red envelope distributed by Mr. Zhao. And Ah Q took pride in the grand feasts arranged by Mr. Zhao, delighted in the happiness of Mr. Zhao's bedchamber, and happily sang praises to the second generation of the Zhao family... When he saw the Zhao family stealing the property of the "hawk-nosed man" in the neighboring village and being beaten violently by the "hawk-nosed man." Ah Q was indignant, rolled up his sleeves, and slapped his chest as if wanting to rush forward with a stick and fight with the "hawk-nosed man."  (Hawk-nosed men: this is a joking term for "America")

I would love to write a novel that will write patriotic red cores as the new Ah Q... In fact, I only wrote the novella "Sex Workers in Flushing," which reflects the hardships of Chinese women in New York, so many tribulations so let they forgot to put on beautiful makeup for the Chinese Zhao masters.

Oh, I shouldn't have unintentionally turned my novel into an essay. It's all because of my deep admiration and love for Mr. Lu Xun. In the past, I learned from Mr. Lu Xun and used different narrative styles in my novels. The narrative language in 'The True Story of Ah Q' is distinct from 'The Sorrow of Departure.' In the early 1980s, there was a trend of 'modern literature' in the Chinese literary circle, and at that time, Mr. Gao Xingjian seemed to be a leading figure, full of energy and innovation! However, if you examine 'The Sorrow of Departure,' you will surely agree with my viewpoint: the originator of modern literature in China is Mr. Lu Xun. The subsequent followers include Mr. Bai Xianyong from Taiwan...

Alright, let's go back to the most important period of my life—

 

In the spring of 2019, as I drove away from Flushing, New York, the streets were piled with thick, ugly accumulations of snow, mingled with reckless gray or emanating dense black shadows. The roadside trees stood bare, revealing numerous delicate branches reaching towards the sky, like slender little hands pleading for warm sunlight. However, the sky displayed its resolute, hazy, icy countenance, much like the emblem of ruling regimes in all evil nations. It was March 30th, while in Hong Kong, it was March 31st, the day when the Hong Kong Civil Human Rights Front initiated the demonstration march against the "Extradition Bill." I turned up the sound system and played Beyond's "Boundless Oceans, Vast Skies," and I roared and sang along, "Still being free and true to myself, singing my song loudly! Forgive me for living a rebellious life of freedom, even if I may stumble one day. Abandoning ideals, anyone can do it, but who would fear a day when it's only you and me..." Oh, I made a slight alteration to the line "even if I may stumble one day"... My apologies, Beyond...

The great Wong Ka Kui! The singer I admire! And Jiang Feng, with his song "In the Spring," singing of the sorrow of modern Chinese farmers: "If one day, I have nowhere to rely on in my old age, bury me in this spring..." And of course, we cannot forget Cui Jian, the pioneer of Chinese rock music: Chinese farmers still "have nothing at all" to this day!

The car drove westward, and the trees on the roadside gradually changed. They started with a hint of green, and then more and more green shadows could be seen. The next day, the car entered Tennessee, and along the highway, the branches of the trees were filled with emerald green. From a distance, it appeared as layers of green veils drifting towards the distant mountain ridge, finally merging into the radiant white clouds. I was in a good mood, so I turned off the sound system and sang a popular song I wrote for the migrant workers: "Clouds float in the sky, drifting to the hills of my hometown. There's tea trees on the hill, and my sister waters it every day. In a distant land, I entrust the clouds to the hill. I shield you from the sun in summer and protect you from the wind and frost in winter. The tea tree on the hill blooms and falls, but one day I will return to your side, lying together on the hill, counting clouds during the day and watching the moon at night."

I once wrote a series of eight songs for the migrant workers, including "When the Sun Rises," "I Went to the City to Work," "There's a Clear Spring in the Mountains," and so on. Oh, the tragic Chinese migrant workers, struggling at the bottom of society, enduring discrimination and mistreatment, labeled as "low-end population" and expelled from the cities... May the warmth of my sister console your cold heart, may her love always accompany you, counting clouds during the day and watching the moon at night...

The car entered the highway in Memphis at nine o'clock in the evening. The protest organized by the Hong Kong Civil Rights Front had already ended. According to online media reports, nearly twenty thousand people participated. I looked up at the clear night sky with a beautiful and radiant crescent moon, smiling down at me. Instantly, my mood became very good, and I began to sing softly, "Moon, gliding through the white lotus clouds, the evening breeze brings the distant and melodious sound of a qin..."

Yafang called me on the phone, "Have you arrived in Memphis?"

Leaving Flushing, New York, and heading to Memphis, Yafang was quite distraught and restless because it meant that we would become friends separated by long distance, no longer intimate companions or lovers who spent every moment together.

Meeting Yafang was destiny, my good fortune, a connection for which I am grateful. After leaving my job taking care of the little Spanish girl, I found work as a foot masseur at a Chinese massage parlor. Yafang was the owner of a hair salon near the massage parlor, and she had only one employee. One day, when she came to the massage parlor and saw me, her eyes showed a peculiar look. While giving her a foot massage, she initiated a conversation with me, and she became a frequent visitor. During our conversations, I mentioned my greatest desire: to have enough funds to produce a twenty-episode indoor TV drama of my own. In reality, I wasn't seeking help from others; it was simply my own wish: if only I had the funds!

In my life, even during the most difficult times, I never asked friends for money. I take after my parents in that aspect! However, she asked how much funding I needed. I said $150,000. I could tell what she meant; if it were around $40,000 or $50,000, she would invest. Even if I already had $100,000, I wouldn't use her money because there was no guarantee of making it back. After this, our relationship grew closer.

One time, I finished work late at night, around nine o'clock, and she came by, saying that the light bulb in her home had burnt out. She asked if I could help her replace it. At her rented place, I stood on the bed to unscrew the light bulb. When I was about to get off the bed with the light bulb in my hand, I saw her sitting on the edge of the bed, her outer garment removed, the neckline of her black bra loosely open, revealing a clear view of her well-shaped snow-white peaks. She blinked her eyes non-stop, gazing at me, fanning herself with a magazine. I sensed that it wasn't due to the heat but rather a way to conceal the seduction she was emitting. After I finished changing the light bulb and was about to leave, she said, "Let me make you a bowl of egg and milk." With some hesitation, I still chose to leave.

Perhaps she sensed a hint of temptation in my expression. The next morning, I returned to the shop early in the morning. After cleaning up, I sat on the sofa and read the news on my phone. When she came in, she sat directly beside me, leaning in close to look at my phone screen, her hand resting on my shoulder, her chest pressing against my arm, bouncing slightly. Her face was against mine, warm. I knew this was her clear message. I looked at her, and she stared back at me without any reservations. Unable to resist, I kissed her, and she responded passionately. She was twenty-seven years old, beautiful in appearance, proudly standing tall with a long black braid reaching down to her waist. She often glared and scolded those teasing her, whether they were Taishan men or Northern Han people. But in front of me, she couldn't maintain her arrogance because I was even more proud. During my time filming TV dramas on the mainland, I encountered many beautiful actresses. I may lack wealth but I will never be humble. I will never try to please a woman based solely on her appearance unless we already have a connection and are in a relationship.

After this incident, not long after, she and I rented a house together. We didn't discuss literature or current affairs; she only shared interesting life stories and some gossip news, discussing the right and wrong of friends and acquaintances. We would also go crab hunting at the seaside, running around and laughing loudly, or when I focused on fishing, she would be by my side watching videos on her phone. I didn't find it boring at all; in fact, I was enthusiastic because it represented the ordinary way of life, the basic material for literary creation. Of course, she never asked or read the novels I wrote. I also enjoyed being with her because she was sexy and beautiful, and because we had a harmonious and frequent sexual relationship. She was proud to be with me, and she would proudly hold my arm and tell her friends, 'The proud and handsome director Peng is my man!' Coming to Memphis from New York was also a painful struggle for me. Will I be able to meet someone with her qualities again? I don't know. But what I do know is that I love writing more. I have a sense of mission: I must write numerous novels, modern poems, and film scripts about the various sufferings and inhuman torture endured by the Chinese people under the brutal rule of the CCP. I need more time, and the job in Memphis is perfect for me. Besides, I am very confident that as long as there is a Chinese church in Memphis, and there are women in the church, I will be able to find a sexual partner. Since I was sixteen, I have known that I attract the attention of beautiful girls...

Yafang was disappointed, but she didn't try to hold on too much. She did consider going to Memphis with me, opening a new hair salon there, but who knows how the business would go? Moreover, there aren't many Chinese people there, and all her friends are in Flushing... In the United States, it's hard to find a Chinatown like New York, San Francisco, or Los Angeles, where Chinese people gather densely. My departure, in her view, was just a temporary discomfort. Her psychological state should be the same as mine: she could easily find a new sexual partner in Flushing.

 

 

2．

Around ten o'clock, I arrived in front of a two-story detached house where Luo Wen, the principal of Memphis Li Bai Chinese School, was already waiting for me. Ten days ago, we had spoken on the phone. He was looking to hire a Chinese writing teacher who could speak English. To apply, I simply told him about the TV drama series I had written and where it was broadcasted, asking him to watch it online. That's how I became the Chinese writing teacher he hired. The salary was less than what I earned as a foot masseur, and there were no winter or summer breaks. However, the workload was not heavy, and I had two days off each week. Oh, it was the job I had hoped for.

As I parked my car, in the darkness, I saw a tall foreigner in his forties coming out of the detached house. I thought he was a guest of Luo Wen's leaving the house. I was a bit puzzled, wondering why Principal Luo didn't see the guest off at the door... Little did I know, the foreigner approached me, smiled, and spoke to me in Cantonese, saying that he was Principal Luo.

"Are you Peng Su?"

I confirmed that I was.

"You said to me you were over forty, but you look like a handsome guy in his thirties. I thought I got the wrong person. Although you are a bit older than me, you look much younger. Welcome to Memphis, the hometown of the King of Rock 'n' Roll!" He reached out his hand and warmly shook mine. I was very surprised because Principal Luo spoke Cantonese so fluently and with such a genuine Hong Kong accent.

"How did you know I can speak Cantonese?" I asked.

He laughed, "People who speak Cantonese tend to have a Cantonese accent when speaking English. I could tell you were from Guangdong."

You're impressive.

"After I graduated from university, I worked in Hong Kong for fifteen years. Fifteen years! In Hong Kong, I learned Cantonese, I learned Chinese, and I became half a Hong Konger. I really like the Hong Kong singer Roman Tam, so I took a Chinese name: Luo Wen."

I said, "In the United States, I rarely meet Gui Lao who can speak Cantonese!"

He burst into laughter, "When I heard you call me 'Gui Lao,' oh, it felt so familiar and very friendly, as if I were back in Hong Kong. I really miss Hong Kong! Oh, so beautiful city! So much delicious food. Oh, I'm overwhelmed! If it weren't for my nagging wife insisting on bringing our daughters back to the United States, I wouldn't have left Hong Kong." He had a nostalgic look on his face and asked me, "Peng Sheng, where in Guangdong are you from?"

In Hong Kong, it is common to use the term "Sheng" as a term of respect for men, regardless of whether they are bosses or ordinary people. It is usually added after the surname, like Chen Sheng or Wu Sheng, omitting the "Mr." or "Mister." I answered that I was from Guangzhou. Then I asked if he knew that there were tens of thousands of people marching in Hong Kong today. He told me he didn't know, and he curiously asked, "Tens of thousands of people, not a lot but not few either. What's going on?" It seemed like he asked casually rather than being eager to know the reason. I made a brief response and took my luggage into the detached house with him.

 

Upon entering, there was a hallway leading to the living room. On the right side of the entrance was a staircase leading to the second floor, and on the left side was the kitchen. A man who appeared to be in his forties, a Chinese man, was smoking and cooking in the kitchen. When he heard the sound of the door opening, he turned his head and looked at me entering. I politely nodded to him, but he didn't react in any way. He was slightly taller than me, around 1.8 meters, and quite robust, although he had a slight hunch. His appearance was also somewhat stylish, resembling a character from a movie, perhaps a villain, but not the main character, more like a minor role.

"Biàn, he is Peng Su, a native of Guangzhou and the new Chinese language teacher at the school," Luo Wen said in Mandarin. Then he said to me, "Biàn is from the northern region, his hometown is Shenyang."

I greeted "Biàn" again politely, saying, "Nice to meet you!" However, he just turned his head back and focused on cooking his food, while flicking his cigarette butt onto the floor.

Luo Wen made a facial expression to me, indicating that this northern guy was strange and advised me not to mind him.

Of course, I didn't pay him any attention. I had seen plenty of people like him in Flushing! They looked almost identical to those "patriots." I switched to speaking Cantonese with Principal Luo, diverting the conversation. "Luo Sheng, you're amazing! You can speak Mandarin too." He mentioned that when he left Hong Kong in 2015, many Hong Kong people could speak some Mandarin, so naturally, he had also learned some.

The kitchen is spacious, with a standing row of cabinets, a dishwasher, a sink, a stove, and a large refrigerator. Above them are the upper cabinets. From the kitchen, you can have a full view of the large living room, which has a sofa set with a coffee table and several chairs. A 1.5-meter-high wall separates the kitchen and the living room, but there is an opening for passage between them. Due to the sufficient space in the kitchen, there is a square glass dining table surrounded by four chairs.

Luo Wen led me from the kitchen into the living room. I saw two doors, one large and one small. Luo Wen stopped and pointed to the larger door near the living room, saying there was a room inside. He opened the door and let me take a look. The room was furnished with basic furniture and was about 13 square meters in size. Luo Wen mentioned that it was for temporary guests. I walked out and Luo Wen pointed to the smaller door near the kitchen, so I took a quick look inside: it was a bathroom, but there was no bathtub. The bathroom was actually located under the stairs. After that, I followed him upstairs.

On the second floor, there were two rooms, both with their doors open. The first room I saw was around 16 square meters, with basic furniture scattered and a visibly dirty carpet. The window of this room faced the street, and the outside streetlights illuminated the room.

"Lāo Tóu Biàn" lives in this room. Luo Wen said he doesn't care about cleanliness and keeps things messy. When I heard that, I couldn't help but smile. Cantonese people like to give nicknames to others, and "Lāo Tóu" is a derogatory term Guangzhou people use for call northerners, which has also been adopted by Hong Kongers.

 

Luo Wen and I entered the room across from "Lāo Tóu Biàn's" room, which was also furnished with basic furniture. It was around 25 square meters in total, with a spacious bathroom and a clothes storage area. The window faced the backyard.

"The layout of this room is the same as 'Biàn's,' just slightly larger. Are you satisfied?" Luo Wen asked.

I was extremely satisfied, but I didn't show it on my face.

The accommodation here is definitely more comfortable than in New York, right?

I nodded.

"The rent is $250 per month, which is not expensive, right? You will share the utility bill with 'Biàn'," he explained.

I was delighted in my heart but didn't show it, and I replied, "Of course." I couldn't help but think back to when I and Yafang shared a basement in Flushing, New York, where the living space, kitchen, and bathroom were combined in around 25 square meters. It cost $1,000 back in 2015. If it were rented in 2019, it would be around $1,300. Oh, my God! According to U.S. law, basements are not allowed to be used as living spaces, but the majority of Chinese homeowners illegally convert and rent them out to Chinese people. Well, if you dare to break the law, congratulations! If you're unlucky, a government agency can issue an order to restore the original design of the property!

However, I still have to thank those homeowners because, in fact, they provide affordable housing for Chinese people. Oh, this is the ugliness of human nature...

Luo Wen said that there are no basement rentals in Memphis because there is an abundant supply of vacant houses, and the rental prices are naturally affordable.

"You just arrived, so take a rest tomorrow. It's already late, I'll help you move your luggage in," he offered.

"No need, I don't have much luggage. You can go home. Thank you," I declined.

Luo Wen left, and I walked up to the window and looked outside. Below was a spacious yard with two tall, unidentified trees. The young leaves of the trees sparkled in the moonlight. Oh, this is a great place for exercise. I was in a very good mood and started whistling. Oh, I whistle quite well, close to the level of playing the flute. I could easily record a half-hour "Whistle Performance" and put it online.

Yafang called: "Have you settled in?"

Yes.

"How many Chinese people are there in Memphis?" she asked.

I said, "Nowhere near as many as in Flushing, New York."

I can understand what she means: if there are more Chinese people here, you will soon meet new women... After that, we fell silent and made kissing sounds "tsk tsk" to each other on the phone, but our feeling is that this page has turned, and it's difficult to continue writing.

To be continued…