Page 8 of From Beijing, With Love

Yang studied the picture, pinching to zoom in. The same curious look he’d had when they first met reappeared on his handsome features, but he didn’t ask any questions. Taking a few steps back, he gestured toward the center of the walkway.

“Stand there … No, not quite …” Yang said, making a real effort at recreating the photo. “Maybe a bit to the left. Right there. Now pose.”

Daniel didn’t know how to pose, or stand, apparently. He was stiff, uncomfortable, and awkward. In other words, his normal self. He couldn’t replicate his dad’s easy stance, even after Yang told him to relax. But when had telling someone to relax ever worked?

“I thought the wall ended here?” Daniel asked after Yang snapped the photo, pointing to the meandering wall that stretched far past the tower.

“Mutianyu only accounts for a small stretch of the Great Wall. What you see beyond this watchtower hasn’t been restored. We call it the Wild Wall,” Yang added with a smile. “You interested? Haven’t had enough of the Great Wall yet?”

“I’ve definitely had enough,” Daniel said, too quickly. The exhilaration was wearing off, replaced by exhaustion and a creeping melancholy. The tour was a lot, and there was still the long car ride back to the hotel. His stomach was already twisting at the thought. Then he saw Yang’s brows knit together.

“Oh, I don’t mean … This was a great trip. Really. I’ve just had enough. More than enough—” Daniel stopped himself. Judging by Yang’s face, he was making it worse.

“Definitely,” Yang said with a sardonic smile. He checked his phone. “It’s getting late. We should head back. Shall we take the chairlift?”

“No,” Daniel rushed to say, that familiar anxiety pinging in his head. He cleared his throat and arranged his face into a smile. “I could use the walk.”

“Sure,” Yang said through gritted teeth, like that single word pained him.

“The washroom by the gift shop is probably the cleanest. It’ll be a long drive,” Yang said in his professional voice. It had been like this the whole way down the mountain, which didn’t help the guilt factor.

“Thanks.” Daniel stole a glance at Yang. He was the whole reason behind Yang’s unnecessarily long workday, yet Yang was still trying his best to cater to him. Daniel knew that he seemed like a high-maintenance prick, but he would pick that over the truth any day of the week.

When he came out of the washroom (cleaner than the last one, but not clean), he couldn’t find Yang. Before he could worry about being left behind, a swath of white darted between the shelves of the gift shop.

Daniel stepped into the shop and was treated to a blast of coolness. His body had forgotten what it was like to not be on the verge of heat exhaustion. Besides air conditioning, the shop offered figurines, magnets, “100% certified genuine” bricks from the Great Wall, and historical garments he could never pull off.

“There you are,” Daniel said with feigned nonchalance as he walked up to Yang, whose eyes were fixed on the glass display case in front of them. The sign affixed to the front of the case read “New Limited Collection” in English. In it, four golden bookmarks hung from clear strings, giving them the appearance of floating in midair. On each bookmark, the wall was surrounded by different flowers.

“The Great Wall in four seasons. They were etched and painted by a local Beijing artist.” Yang gestured to the bronze plaque under the display case. His reflection in the glass smiled. “My mom loved him.”

“They’re beautiful. What are these flowers?”

“Spring orchid, summer lotus, autumn chrysanthemum, and winter plum blossoms.” Yang pointed at them one by one. “You can help me pick one.”

“Why not just get the whole set?” Daniel asked, then he watched the smile falter on Yang’s face.

He wanted to kick himself. These bookmarks were the only items in this entire shop behind a lock, with hefty price tags to match. He probably sounded like some rich asshole, especially given that he was staying at a five-star hotel. That was far from the truth (at least the rich part). He was just good at catching deals. And the euro-to-yuan exchange rate made everything in China a whole lot cheaper.

“Autumn, that’s the one I’d pick. It’s the best season,” Daniel tried again.

“It’s not,” Yang said with an air of authority. “What about summer? Vacation and sun.”

“Well …” Daniel dragged the single syllable out for dramatic effect and looked down at his still-damp clothes—the embodiment of vacation and sun.

At this, Yang laughed again, his eyes crinkling at the corners. And Daniel was staring, again.

For fuck’s sake, he was jet-lagged, dehydrated, stuck in a foreign country, and only a few days out from the Taylor thing. He shouldn’t be obsessing over how nice Yang’s laugh sounded.

Clearing his throat, Daniel wrestled his gaze back to the bookmarks. “Autumn is the best season. Back to school. New beginnings. Pumpkin spice everything.”

Yang smiled at that. “Autumn it is, then.”

While they waited for the shuttle bus to take them back to the car, an idea came to Daniel.

“I’m … uh, gonna pick up a postcard for my mother,” he said, pointing a thumb in the vague vicinity of the gift shop like an awkward hitchhiker. Even though Yang had no way of disproving his lie, it still felt ludicrous coming out of his mouth. Anyone who knew his mother would have laughed at the idea of gifting her a postcard. Daniel could almost see it in his mind, the way she’d hold up the card by a corner with lacquered nails, one pristine brow arched against the strain of Botox. If it didn’t sparkle or she couldn’t drink it (and it’d better be a good vintage), his mother was not interested.

Doubling back to the shop, Daniel made a beeline for the display case, where the three remaining bookmarks hung, incomplete. With a translation app and some over-the-top miming, he managed to buy them. Remembering Yang’s smile in the reflection of the glass case, it seemed like the right thing to do. Besides, after the long—not to mention insufferable—day that Daniel had put the poor man through, Daniel kind of owed him.