Chapter Three: Pulling a Bowl of Noodles

The town was truly small, with just over seven hundred residents. The faces that came and went each day were always the same. Over the past few days, Qiu Fengyu had explored every corner of the little town, even attending a mass at the church to observe the congregation. The church was quite spacious, capable of accommodating three to four hundred people, making it one of the largest buildings in town.

With Josh Britt's permission, Qiu Fengyu had gone back to the place where they had previously found the Mexicans. There, at the foot of a hillside, he discovered a tunnel—narrow enough that only one person could crawl through at a time. He wondered how anyone could endure crawling such a long distance, like a burrowing marmot.

The simplest solution was to blow up the tunnel. Bored and idle, Qiu Fengyu seized the opportunity. A dull explosion destroyed the passage, though the demolition was conducted under the supervision of the police, with Ariel Coffin present at the scene. Qiu Fengyu also learned that she was, in fact, a deputy sheriff.

“All right, we’re done here,” Josh Britt said, visibly relieved as he watched the tunnel collapse. He called Qiu Fengyu to leave, and so Qiu Fengyu followed. They had come by truck—a plain Ford pickup, the sort often used for transporting supplies.

“Wait, Mr. Qiu.” Ariel Coffin called out to him.

“What is it?” Qiu Fengyu scratched his head and shut the door he had just opened.

“You need to apply for your social security number in Paso City. If you want, you can come with me—this afternoon at three. If you’re going, meet me at the station,” Deputy Coffin said, not waiting for his answer. She climbed into her patrol car and drove away.

“You’d better go with her this afternoon,” Josh Britt advised with a smile as Qiu Fengyu slid into the passenger seat.

“All right, I suppose I should,” Qiu Fengyu nodded, deciding to seek out the deputy later that day. Truth be told, he didn’t care for the atmosphere at the police station, but in America, without a social security number, you were nobody.

Back at his lodgings, Qiu Fengyu considered that he should use the trip to Paso City as an opportunity to buy some cooking spices, so he made a shopping list. He took a nap, and when afternoon came, he headed to the station early. The police station was small—just two officers, Ariel Coffin and another female officer, who was short and rather stout; at barely one meter sixty, she looked as if she could weigh as much as Qiu Fengyu, who was a good twenty centimeters taller.

When Ariel Coffin saw him, she nodded toward the door. “Wait for me in the car.” Brief, but clear.

So Qiu Fengyu waited outside. The car door opened easily—it wasn’t locked; no one worried about theft here. Five minutes later, Ariel emerged, took the driver’s seat, and spoke to Qiu Fengyu, “Let’s go.”

The drive to the city took about an hour. Neither spoke; Ariel Coffin drove with a seriousness that seemed part and parcel of her profession. Qiu Fengyu stayed silent, his eyes roaming curiously.

“You’re Chinese?” After nearly half an hour of silence, Ariel Coffin finally broke the ice.

At last, I’ve won, Qiu Fengyu thought with a touch of pride, though he didn’t show it. “Yes, I’m Chinese.”

“How did you end up with Ukrainian citizenship?”

“I saved a rich Ukrainian’s life. I didn’t want to stay in Ukraine, so I asked him to help me get citizenship. Then I applied for a U.S. green card. It’s a bit irregular, but when you have money, what isn’t possible?”

“You saved his life? You must be quite skilled. Do you have a military background?” There was a hint of probing in Ariel Coffin’s question, but her approach was clumsy. According to the autopsy report, the burly man had been killed with a single blow—a stick as thick as a tree branch had been driven into his chest, missing the sternum, an act requiring not only force and speed but also precise knowledge of the human body. Even the examiner had shaken his head in amazement.

“Military background? None at all.” Qiu Fengyu denied flatly.

“You’re dangerous. Don’t cause trouble in my district,” Ariel Coffin gave him a sidelong glance.

“I don’t make trouble. I just want to live quietly. Besides, I’m only staying here for a month. After that, I’ll be gone. And anyway, from start to finish, I’ve only helped people, haven’t I?”

Qiu Fengyu’s words left Ariel Coffin speechless.

Paso City was much larger, comparable to a prefecture-level city in China, and bustled with people. Ariel Coffin was decent enough to drop Qiu Fengyu off at his destination before heading off on her own errands. The process was simple: fill out some forms, verify his passport—he could have applied online, really. Once everything was processed, he would receive a notification, and his social security card would be mailed to his address in Abilene.

With nothing else to do, Qiu Fengyu checked his watch. Seeing that Ariel Coffin would be a while, he sought out the city’s Chinese quarter, where there was a Chinese-owned supermarket. There, he bought most of the spices and fresh ingredients he needed, along with some flour.

He left his purchases at the supermarket entrance and waited for Ariel Coffin’s call.

While he waited, a tall black man wearing a cap walked into the store, hands in his pockets and head down. Moments later, a commotion erupted inside.

“Give me the money, all of it!” The man waved a handgun at the young white cashier. The girl wasn’t frightened, though—she calmly gathered handfuls of bills and laid them on the counter.

“Smart girl. You’re a good one—I’ll miss you,” the robber said, stuffing the money into his pockets before sprinting toward the door. His movements were practiced, as were the cashier’s reactions, suggesting such incidents were all too common. American public safety really left much to be desired.

As the black man burst out the door, he suddenly stumbled, tumbling headlong to the ground, sprawling and rolling in an undignified heap. His gun had flown somewhere, and much of his loot spilled from his pockets.

“Damn it, don’t think I’m easy to mess with…” A Chinese man in his thirties rushed out, holding a rifle trained on the robber. The man on the ground rolled over and raised his hands.

“Hey, man, let’s talk, okay?”

Soon after, the police arrived—the cashier had called them. Qiu Fengyu stood aside, watching the spectacle. The officers reviewed the security footage, inside and out, and finally realized that the robber had tripped over Qiu Fengyu’s foot as he exited. It seemed accidental, just an untimely misstep for the unlucky thief.

Once the cause was clear, the Chinese store owner thanked Qiu Fengyu, but insisted he come to the station to give a statement—it wasn’t up to him, after all. Fortunately, Qiu Fengyu was no stranger to the process and was soon released after recounting the events.

Stepping out of the station, he saw a familiar face—Ariel Coffin was coming out as well. Seeing him, she said, “How did you end up here? I was going to call you once I finished my business.”

“It’s not… I just came to give a statement,” Qiu Fengyu replied sheepishly.

“Another incident?” Ariel Coffin sounded exasperated. This man seemed to attract trouble—he’d only been here a few days and already had two run-ins with the police.

“No, I’m a good person! I was doing a good deed!” Qiu Fengyu didn’t want her to misunderstand, so he explained what had happened.

But Ariel Coffin clearly didn’t believe it was accidental. She scrutinized him suspiciously, but said nothing further, simply motioning him into the car.

“Don’t you have more to do?” Qiu Fengyu asked.

“All finished. Time to head back. Are you coming or not?” She was growing impatient.

“Yes, yes, of course I’m coming!” Qiu Fengyu hurriedly agreed, and they drove back together. Ariel Coffin dropped him at his door before heading back to the station.

Once inside, Qiu Fengyu stroked his chin. Was he really that prone to trouble? Causing so many incidents in America—it was hardly the way to keep a low profile.

With flour and spices in hand, he sliced some beef and prepared some greens, then pulled a bowl of noodles. Just as he was eating, Josh Britt walked in, as casually as if he lived there himself.

“Smells amazing!” Britt said, approaching Qiu Fengyu’s table. Peering into the bowl, he swallowed audibly at the rich aroma, making Qiu Fengyu a little embarrassed.

“Would you like some?” Qiu Fengyu offered.

“Absolutely, I’m starving!” Britt showed no sign of restraint.

Qiu Fengyu turned away, mentally chiding himself for his politeness—why be so courteous to an American? Still, he began making another batch of noodles. Britt watched the whole process with fascination, marveling as Qiu Fengyu worked the dough into thin, unbroken strands.

When the noodles were ready, Britt could barely wait, grabbing the chopsticks and slurping the noodles with such gusto that he nearly bit his tongue. Eventually, Qiu Fengyu handed him a fork, which proved much easier.

Britt ate with astonishing speed, devouring everything, even draining the last drop of broth from the bowl. He looked as if he’d gladly lick the bowl clean.

“You should open a restaurant!” Britt said, still unsatisfied, his eyes drifting hungrily to Qiu Fengyu’s bowl. He was obviously scheming—this way, he could have such delicious meals every day.