I am five years old, and I am happy.
We never moved from the small, humble apartment that my father’s construction job could afford, but after he was killed on-site in a freak accident, she opted to spend all the allowance my grandparents gave on my education. I was privileged to be taught by some of the best Mandarin and English teachers in Taipei, the best in the arts and sciences. At least, until she died. It was only then my grandparents in California tried to contact me.
I rejected their overtures. I knew nothing about them, but I suspected they were wealthy. The one thing I knew for certain was that they had cast my mom aside, and I was the only one by her bedside when she died.
Lingyi touched my arm and brought me back to the present. “Are you okay?”
My heartbeat thrummed. I cleared my throat, then lifted a corner of my mouth up in my trademark nonchalant smile. “My English name is perfect. I’m game.”
Victor and Arun grinned at me.
I hadn’t fooled Lingyi, however. We were close, but she never pried unless I was ready to tell, and I returned the favor. I unzipped from my new you suit, placing it back in the pod, busying myself as my friends chatted.
Somehow guessing I was more affected by the use of my English name than I’d let on, she clapped her hands together and said, “Let’s take a break and eat.”
It didn’t take more than that to convince us. Lingyi was a fantastic cook, and we boys seemed to be perpetually hungry. Soon, our headquarters began to fill with the mouthwatering aroma of stewed bamboo and tofu. “It’s the perfect weather for tofu rice bowls,” Lingyi said while stirring the pot, then sipping from the ladle to test its flavor. Victor stood beside her, cooking an eggplant dish, his height dwarfing Lingyi’s. “I’ve stocked up for the typhoon,” she said. “We should probably all stay here until it blows through.”
Arun and I were helping to set the table, and I clamped down on my protest. If I couldn’t stand being locked in for a few days, it was better just to slip out rather than argue with Lingyi. Because from experience, that had never worked in my favor. Victor ladled large bowls of savory bamboo and tofu over rice for all of us, while Lingyi brought the eggplants in oyster sauce and sautéed water spinach with garlic to the table. Arun was vegetarian, so that’s what we mostly cooked.
We sat down and ate in silence for a while, making appreciative noises because the food was that good. Lingyi was buying organic now that we had the funds, and it tasted vastly different from what we were eating on a mei person’s budget. But to get untainted meat and produce cost a premium, one that the majority of meis simply couldn’t afford. These days, if a food product was recalled—if they even bothered—the meis simply hoped that they got no worse than vomiting and diarrhea. If your immune system was compromised and you were unlucky, you might shit to death.
What happened to Lao Yang? someone might ask.
He ate too many of those pork chops.
“Have you started to look at Jin Corp’s security system?” Arun asked, leaning back after he had finished eating.
“Not yet,” Lingyi said. “I’ve been focused on establishing Zhou’s identity online. But now I’m ready to tackle their building security.”
Lingyi’s father, founder of Fortune Securities, had fled to China three years ago when his past criminal activities as the infamous “xiaoshu” hacker came to light. “Little mouse” might seem an innocent enough moniker, but there was no building security system that Lingyi’s father, as a teen living in Shanghai, couldn’t break through once he targeted it. He was the one who cracked Apple’s high-security warehouse in Shenzhen three decades ago in protest of the corporation’s labor and wage disputes in China. The warehouse was swarmed and dozens made out with hundreds of brand-new Apple products before the building was secured.
But her life had changed as fast as mine did, the daughter of a prominent millionaire most sought after for his expertise in building and cybersecurity, who fled Taiwan in the dark of night with Lingyi’s mom and younger brother. Lingyi remained and survived by freelancing her own skills picked up from her father. Or “researching” for the greater good, as she liked to say. Her hacking abilities would make her father proud. Or make him deny all culpability.
Although rich, they had never gotten suited. Lingyi had told me when we first met that her father detested Jin Corp and everything it represented. The tech sites were abuzz when he had refused to revamp or manage Jin Corp’s security system despite a multimillion-dollar bid. Not a few months later, his past as the “xiaoshu” hacker was leaked. In retrospect, it seemed eerily coincidental, and I know that same thought must have crossed Lingyi’s mind. What would her father think of our plans now? Lingyi had chosen to stay so she could finish high school with her friends, not knowing the decision would cut her off from her family. If she wanted to remain in Taiwan, she had to disassociate herself from her father’s infamy and scrutiny. But each day she watched Taipei—her city—deteriorate and crumble, and its people along with it. Soon, she’d often say, those only left living would be the bowl heads and roaches.
A sudden knock caused everyone to jump. Both Victor and Arun’s hands went to where their tasers were. I preferred knives but took my cue from Lingyi’s relaxed posture. “It’s only Iris.” She went to one of the two large windows covered in steel shutters and unbolted it, then pulled it open. “She does this when she wants to show off,” Lingyi said over her shoulder.
Sure enough, Iris pushed through and climbed into our headquarters, located three stories up. To scale that height was probably child’s play to Iris. I’d been bouldering for two years on Yangmingshan and had recently started indoor rock climbing but could never scale our building without equipment. Iris straightened, and ran a hand through her cropped hair, shorter than mine and bleached a platinum blond. She was Taiwanese-born and Asian, although her exact background was unknown.
“I heard that,” she said.
Dressed in black cargo pants and a tank top that showed the lean muscles of her arms, she looked like she had stepped off the set of an action film. Iris smiled, and Lingyi’s face softened. Then Lingyi grinned back. “We just ate, but there’s plenty left over.”
“I’m starving.” Iris settled beside Victor at the table and thanked Lingyi when she brought her a large bowl of rice, the tofu still steaming. “You’re a goddess,” she murmured and grabbed Lingyi’s hand, pressing it reverently to her cheek. Lingyi laughed.