Chapter 6: An Unexpected Turn

Late May.

The weather in Los Angeles grew even hotter; a short-sleeved shirt sufficed when stepping outside, and the climate of central California always seemed so agreeable. Of course, that was true for most of the year—soon it would be the local’s least favorite season. In the mid-1980s, air conditioning in Chinatown remained a rare luxury.

The installation costs were too high, and the electricity bills could make one’s heart ache. Many Chinese families living in Chinatown would rather endure the heat with an electric fan for a few weeks—the hottest days were, after all, so brief.

It had been more than ten days since Su Mu had accidentally tuned into that bizarre radio station. The static-filled broadcasts from the school radio ceased, signaling the end of the recent solar storm, and he had never again heard those strange transmissions. Quietly, he asked other students about it and browsed recent newspapers at the newsstand. Aside from a single satellite affected by the storm, he found no strange news related to his experience.

He placed the small notebook where he’d recorded everything back on his bookshelf and resumed his steady, peaceful life: five dollars a day for pocket money—sometimes more—school, homework, extracurricular activities, reading notes… All these things soon made him forget the recent oddities and refocused his mind on his studies.

Students who’d given up on college lived carefree days, free from academic pressure. But for those with greater ambitions, ninth grade was already a crucial time to begin preparing. Su Mu was among them.

He studied hard every day simply to secure a good job in the future, so that his family and he might live well. It didn’t sound difficult, but it was anything but easy to achieve.

After Ms. Susie had once spoken to Su Mu about the SSAT, she never brought it up again. Given his family’s hardships, he believed that as long as he worked harder, even at a place like Castelar, he could eventually get into a decent university. The Chinese were known for their academic talent; many of Chinatown’s success stories had changed their destinies through study.

“Changing destiny” usually meant becoming middle class like Du Zhong’s father—or, if one was lucky, a millionaire. There were some worth tens of millions, but they were rare, hardly more than a handful. Wealth did not necessarily bring matching social status. Considering the millions of Chinese Americans, the wealthy were pitifully few; ninety-nine percent remained at the bottom of society.

It was seven in the morning, and the calendar on the wall showed May 26th. After hurriedly finishing breakfast, Su Mu grabbed a five-dollar bill from the table and stuffed it into his pocket—lunch money for the day. Casually, he called out, “I’m leaving! The school bus is coming!”

His mother, who couldn’t bear to let him eat cold lunches every day and insisted he use money for a hot meal, poked her head from the kitchen and replied with a smile, “Be careful on your way. Did you bring everything? Don’t stay out too late tonight—remember to come home early. It’s your birthday, and I’ll cook something special for dinner. How about roasted lamb chops? The restaurant’s too expensive; it’s better to eat at home.”

“Alright! When I make money in the future, I’ll take you to a restaurant every day!”

“In a while, you should get your scholarship. How about I buy you a gift, Mom? What do you think of bell-bottoms? I’ve seen people wearing them—they look nice.”

“No, those pants are too flashy for me. I’m not used to them. I’ll save the money for your future wedding.” Her son was sensible and her husband honest. Though not wealthy, Su Mu’s mother felt content, and her face blossomed with joy.

Su Mu simply nodded and stepped outside. His childhood friend Li Ping’an was already waiting at the door, holding two piping-hot buns. “Hey, Su Mu, want one? My family just steamed a batch yesterday—all meat inside! Delicious!”

“I’ve already eaten. You keep them—eat as we walk or we’ll miss the bus,” Su Mu replied with a smile.

The day seemed ordinary, but on the way to school, the bus passed several LAPD vehicles with flashing lights, and even people from the FBI had shown up.

As they neared the school, the driver received a radio call. Su Mu could see him talking, his face visibly tense, but couldn’t hear what was being said. When they were almost at the entrance, they saw numerous police cars driving onto campus.

The bus erupted into chaos as students whispered and craned their necks, some opening windows to question students standing along the street.

The driver pulled over and shouted in English, “Quiet! Hey! Shut your mouths! We’re turning around now. I’ll make a U-turn at the next intersection. School’s canceled today—tentatively, we’ll be back tomorrow! I’m responsible for getting you home safely, so don’t wander off. Your teachers will call your parents!”

These were all students under tenth grade, so Su Mu was among the older ones—easier to manage than the high schoolers. Hearing the driver’s words, the busload of exuberant boys burst into cheers.

But Su Mu noticed an ambulance speeding past, nearly brushing against the bus. There was blood on the side window, and through the glass, he glimpsed a woman—nurse or doctor—standing inside.

Curious, he said to Li Ping’an beside him, “You’re always chatting with Mr. Bernard—go ask him what happened.”

Mr. Bernard was the bus driver. Li Ping’an, being more outgoing, often talked to him on the ride. At Su Mu’s suggestion, he excitedly nodded, got up, and went to the front. “Why aren’t we having class today, Mr. Bernard? My textbooks are still in the classroom and my homework is due today!”

“To hell with your homework! Some student brought a gun to school—someone’s been hurt, I hear. Luckily, you guys live far away and got delayed by traffic. Go home and thank God!” the driver replied.

Su Mu heard and wore a look of understanding, his eyes betraying a touch of fear but not much surprise.

It wasn’t the first time such an incident had happened at Castelar. During his years there, this was the third time. Such events were common in America. Los Angeles’s crime rate was nothing to boast about; people often said the city was the City of Angels by day and the City of Sin by night.

Growing up poor in Chinatown, every child had matured on tales of guns and blood. Good schools rarely saw such things, but Castelar was no good school—students ranged widely in quality, and most were notorious troublemakers.

These kids weren’t even old enough to own guns legally, but their parents often owned them, and hotheaded youths would sneak them out. Some even thought carrying a gun was cool. Su Mu had met plenty who bullied others for fun.

Li Ping’an, uneasy but relieved, said, “Good thing we live far away. If we’d arrived earlier, we might’ve walked right into it. With so many police and ambulances, someone must’ve died. This is a huge incident.”

Su Mu agreed. The last time something similar happened, there hadn’t been nearly this many police.

The poor lived in perpetual anxiety in such a rough environment. If trouble didn’t find you, that was already a blessing. There was no time to mourn strangers—sometimes, a body would turn up in an alley, and after years, the murderer was never found. Even trivial matters could spell disaster. He’d heard of a Chinese shopkeeper killed over fifty-odd dollars.

The bus driver made a decisive U-turn to take all the students home. After driving a little farther, they saw a group of girls standing by the road, along with a middle-aged woman who looked like a teacher, waving for the bus. Su Mu’s gaze lingered on one of the girls.

She had brown hair, softly curled, and a profile of exquisite delicacy—her features gentle rather than sharp, matching Chinese standards of beauty: big eyes, long lashes, and a slender frame. This was Kate, whom Li Ping’an had mentioned before. Like Su Mu, she and her parents had lived in Chinatown for years, and Su Mu had quietly admired her for a long time.

Perhaps sensing his gaze, Kate glanced toward Su Mu’s seat. He quickly looked away, his expression unreadable, though his heart began to race. He wasn’t the only one excited—the rest of the boys on the bus started making a commotion.

Admiring beauty is a man’s nature, and every community had its local sweetheart. In Chinatown, among the younger generation, Kate was universally acknowledged as the most beautiful girl.

It wasn’t that Black or Mexican students hadn’t openly courted her; whenever that happened, it was practically a challenge to all the Chinese boys in school and had sparked more than a few fights.

As Su Mu once said, “A femme fatale, even at her age…”