“What did you just say?” Gary asked in bewilderment. “May I come in, Master?” she asked politely, and Gary gestured for her to walk in. “Hold on, are you eavesdropping? Are you listening to my conversations over the phone?” Gary asked her. She bowed slightly. “It would be considered treason, sir. However, I cannot help it as my senses are very sharp and I can hear sounds from very far away, we all can,” she replied. Gary sighed. He was no longer sure if the Model thing was a curse or a blessing. Since he came into the mansion the very first day, Mei Lin appeared to be a normal human lady—in fact, above average. She was way younger than her age, extremely beautiful, never got sick, and now he is finding out she has a sharper sense of hearing. “What do you mean I cannot win my grandfather? How can you be so sure that I will fail?” Gary asked. Mei Lin sighed and, for the second time since he set eyes on her, she let out a slight smile, then she walked towards the window where Gar

And then he saw it. The yellow door. The one with faded, cracked musical notes, like time had tried to erase its melody but failed. His breath caught. He walked up, raised his hand to knock, then hesitated. His heart pounded, his thoughts spinning. What if he remembers me? What if he doesn’t? Before he could talk himself out of it, the door swung open. And there stood Uncle Kai—older, grayer, with laugh lines deeper than he remembered—but still him—still his uncle. “Ah, you made it,” Uncle Kai said with a proud grin. “I was just warming up my voice. Come on in, mystery boy.” Miles stepped inside the dim, cozy apartment. Posters of old rock bands lined the walls. A battered guitar leaned against the couch. The scent of soy, ginger, and something fried danced in the air. Uncle Kai turned around and opened the fridge. “You look like you haven’t eaten in days. Want rice or noodles?” Miles looked around, blinking. The place… the smell… the sound of a kettle on the stove… He kne

Miles was confused. “Uncle, I don’t remember you having a daughter,” Miles said, staring at the girl. Pretty she was. She looked like one of those goth girls with her black oversized hoodie, the sleeves nearly covering her hands, and sharp metal rings glinting from her fingers. Her straight black hair framed her pale face like a curtain, with bangs slightly parted just enough to reveal two piercing gray eyes—eyes that looked like they’d seen too much and trusted too little. Dark eyeliner circled her eyes with surgical precision, making them appear almost feline, and a silver stud gleamed on the side of her nose. She wore faded jeans, ripped at the knees, and heavy combat boots that clunked with each step like she was never trying to be silent. There was a certain rebellion about her—like every part of her look was a middle finger to the world. She didn’t smile. She didn’t soften her presence. She just existed—loudly, silently, and unapologetically. “Yeah, well,” she muttered, taki

That night, Miles could not sleep as his mind was a whirlwind of thoughts. What if his mom were truly alive? Who really was Galy? Where was the island Lei talked about? If all of this were true, does that mean there was another Master Long, only, he deceived people, he is a good man? That is, the man Lei called Grandmaster Long. He got up and looked into the sky. He had come a long way. He reflected on the times when good meals were a luxury, and good clothes were a dream. Even freedom and peace were fleeting, almost mythological things, like stories told by firelight, half-believed and half-forgotten. He remembered sharing scraps of bread with the other boys, the gnawing hunger that was a constant companion. The threadbare clothes that offered little protection against the cold. And the silence. That heavy, stifling silence punctuated by the occasional shout or the clang of a distant door. That silence meant fear. Fear of the unknown and the unknown. Now, the silence here was di

Outside, the streets buzzed with midday noise. When Miles flagged down a rusty old taxi, Lei raised an eyebrow. “Really, dude? A taxi? You do know what Uber is, right?” He frowned. “I… I don’t have the app.” “Wow. You really did spend half your life in a bunker. Tragic. And now you’re a millionaire. You should have your own damn car. Not be hailing taxis like an old man.” “I’m still figuring stuff out,” he said defensively. “Well, start by not flashing that black card around,” she whispered sharply. “You might as well hang a sign that says ‘please rip off my arm and steal my money.’ Bad guys can smell wealth like sharks smell blood.”********** They soon arrived at a boutique with glowing glass signage that shimmered in pink and gold. Maison de Lumière. Lei whistled. “Holy crap. This is fancy. First time I’ve been inside.” They walked in. Everything looked like it belonged in a rich kid’s fever dream—soft silks, designer sneakers, perfume hanging in the air like music. Lei da