Zhu Ran said, “Boss Song is generous.”
They took a cab to the restaurant. No one greeted them at the door, and they waited nearly a minute before a white server approached and asked in English if they had a reservation.
“No,” Song Xingchen said.
The guy seemed not to understand until they switched to English. Then he asked if they were dining and handed over an English menu.
Zhu Ran and Song Xingchen stood dumbly at the entrance poring over it until they placed an order, at which point the server led them inside.
They must have arrived too early; the place was mostly empty, with all the window seats free.
The server seated them in the middle. Song Xingchen asked about a window spot and learned it required a reservation, so he dropped it.
As they waited for food, Song Xingchen gushed about how adorable his dog Xiao Bao had been while Zhu Ran was away.
After showing off the pup, Song Xingchen said regretfully, “When I said I was coming to find you, Xiao Bao clung to my leg howling. Funniest part? I tricked it saying I’d bring it along, and the dummy believed it, haha. If Mom hadn’t held it back, it would have jumped in the car… Holy shit!” Song Xingchen froze, shocked, and flipped his phone screen toward Zhu Ran.
The vibrating screen showed “Zhu Ran’s Mom.”
The phone kept buzzing. Song Xingchen hesitated and whispered, “Pig, why’s your mom calling my phone?”
Zhu Ran took a deep breath. “I turned off my SIM. I’ll take it outside.”
Zhu Ran stepped out of the restaurant. An elevator opened across the way, spilling out a white couple. He turned to the other end, hit accept.
“Xingchen, your mom said you’re in Hong Kong Island hanging out with Zhu Ran—is that true? Have you seen Zhu Ran? How is he now…”
“Mom, it’s me.”
“Dye Dye?” She paused, then asked, “Why do you have Xingchen’s phone?”
Zhu Ran said, “You just said it—he came to hang out with me.”
“Your Aunt Zhuoying said you’re staying in a hotel? You…” She seemed hesitant to broach it, silent for seconds before asking carefully, “You two aren’t doing anything sneaky, are you?”
“Mom, what are you thinking?” Zhu Ran was speechless.
“Oh,” Wang Ruyun explained dryly, “Mom’s just worried. You’re out there alone; I can’t relax.”
“I’m fine.” Zhu Ran heard Song Xingchen’s voice and turned to head back. “Got something—gotta hang up.”
“Or maybe Mom should come over…”
Beep.
Zhu Ran ended the call.
He’d thought Song Xingchen’s voice from outside was a hallucination, but inside, he saw Song Xingchen by the window arguing with the server.
“What’s going on?” Zhu Ran stood beside Song Xingchen.
“This place discriminates!” Song Xingchen fumed. “When we came in, he said window seats need reservations, right? Then these white people walk in—no reservation—and this server seats them right there. I asked to switch after hearing, but he stonewalled, no negotiation. Said it three times!”
“How’s that fair? I’ll ask.” Zhu Ran wasn’t one for conflict, but he wasn’t a pushover either. He went to the bar to talk, but got the same answer.
“Then we won’t eat here,” Zhu Ran told Song Xingchen. “I recorded a video. We’ll call the government hotline later and complain about discriminating against customers.”
Song Xingchen: “And trash them online!”
Zhu Ran: “Yeah, bad reviews on Google and IG.”
They stood to leave, feeling stares like needles in their backs.
“Zhu Ran?” A voice in Mandarin suddenly rang out. Chen Jiaming emerged from a side private room, puzzled. “What happened?”
He hadn’t expected Chen Jiaming here—which probably meant Huo Boyan…
But whether Huo Boyan was there or not had nothing to do with him. Zhu Ran shook his head and greeted Chen Jiaming.
Chen Jiaming had noticed the commotion outside but didn’t pry directly. He just chatted: “Here for dinner?”
“Planned to, but we’re switching spots now,” Zhu Ran smiled. “This restaurant seems to prefer white customers only.”
“What happened?” Chen Jiaming looked up at the server, face darkening.
Zhu Ran was surprised—this was the first time he’d seen Chen Jiaming look so stern.
At first, Zhu Ran didn’t get why he’d changed, until he saw the arrogant server’s face pale.
Zhu Ran was shocked; even Huo Boyan’s assistant commanded such respect out here.
Questioned by Chen Jiaming, the server switched to broken Cantonese apologies and invited Zhu Ran and Song Xingchen to a window seat, offering to comp the meal.
Zhu Ran glanced at Song Xingchen: “Still wanna eat?”
Song Xingchen huffed: “Nope!”
“Me neither,” Zhu Ran said. “Let’s go…”
Chen Jiaming hesitated, unsure of the line. Then the private room door opened again. Huo Boyan stood in the shadows, suit jacket over his shoulders, oversized bowtie, crisp shirt and vest.
Huo Boyan had an unlit cigarette in his mouth. His gaze skimmed Zhu Ran and landed on Chen Jiaming behind him.
Zhu Ran felt awkward, a hard-to-name grievance bubbling up. He’d shrugged off all those stares earlier, but with Huo Boyan here, he regressed to feeling like a bullied kid.
Chen Jiaming explained the situation. Zhu Ran stayed quiet, fingertips digging unconsciously into his palm.
He told himself it wasn’t his fault, nothing to be embarrassed about—the one who should be was someone else.
Huo Boyan listened, then looked at the head chef with a smile. “So the boss picks and chooses guests now? By your standards, I don’t qualify either.”
“No way! Mr. Huo is an honored guest—we can’t welcome you enough!” The chef’s Cantonese was poor, his words a jumble mixed with English. He claimed they treated all customers equally, especially valued their friendship with Mr. Huo, and begged him and his friends for a chance to prove it.
“No need,” Huo Boyan sniffed the cigarette lightly, tone calm. “If the boss scorns serving locals, perhaps take the business elsewhere off Hong Kong Island.”
