Vincent hated lying more than anything. He had once tormented Star for days over a seemingly harmless, trivial falsehood. What would happen in the future when it came to marriage registrations or green card applications? Diego was talented, but even he could not manufacture an identity this perfect unless the real Leon was killed.
Star clutched his forehead in panic, and Vincent steadied him. “What is wrong? Is your head hurting?”
“I…” Star pushed him away. “I am just too happy. I need to calm down. I will be right back.” Star grabbed the car keys.
Vincent was worried about him leaving like this. “I will go with you.”
“No,” Star said, putting on his shoes and grabbing his phone. “I want to call my family. I do not know how to say it while you are here.”
Vincent finally relented. “All right, go ahead.”
Star floored the Ferrari’s accelerator, turning the deserts on both sides of the road into a blur. He slammed on the brakes, the car drifted in a circle, and the tires emitted a harsh screech, billowing white smoke. He hammered the steering wheel, his hands trembling as he lit a cigarette. The desert before him was both clear and blurry, and the fiery sunset gradually vanished from the horizon.
The water bottle filled with cigarette butts, the clear water slowly turning yellow and black. Star’s breathing finally calmed. He lit the last cigarette and pulled a new, disposable phone from the glove box. After unboxing it, he dialed a number.
“Be ready.”
“No problem, brother. I will be there tomorrow.”
Star snapped the phone in two, threw it out of the window, started the car, and drove back toward the house.
“Hahaha.”
“Vincent, Star, Cipher.”
Star did not know what he was saying, what he was laughing at, or even why he was crying. He laughed and cried simultaneously, like a death row inmate finally receiving a pardon, a cancer patient miraculously cured, or a madman.
When he drove into the underground garage, a tall figure stood waiting. Star wiped his tears, trying his best to look normal. “Sir, why are you here?”
The heavy scent of cigarettes in the car was unmistakable from a distance. Vincent noticed the tear stains on his face. “I was worried about you.”
Those three words nearly made Star’s tears burst forth again. He bit his lip, holding them back, and tried to step out of the car as naturally as possible. Vincent’s warm thumb brushed across the corner of his eye. “Did it not go well?”
“It went well, very well.” Star hugged Vincent’s waist, craving his scent. “My mother is very happy for us.”
Vincent felt relieved and tousled his hair. “That is good. Come, I am cooking tonight.”
“You can cook?”
“Of course.”
Not only could Vincent cook, but he was also excellent at it. He prepared a standard Huaiyang-style dish with such precision that every sliver of tofu was distinct, and it practically melted in his mouth. Star ate in silence at first, then became quite happy, even taking photos of the meal.
“I am so lucky.”
Vincent wiped a drop of sweet and sour sauce from the corner of his mouth. “Do people from Shandong often say ‘enjoying blessings’ like that?”
Star froze for two seconds. “Mmm, yes, we say that for everything.”
After dinner, they did not immediately head to the bedroom. Vincent opened a bottle of gin and poured two glasses. “A client gave this to me. Try it.”
Star finished his glass in one gulp. “Cambridge Distillery? Your client has good taste.”
“You are very knowledgeable about these things.” Vincent felt more convinced than ever that he had made the right choice. Aside from a momentary detour, Cipher was perfect, and that detour had serendipitously brought them together.
Star looked at his glass and smiled relaxedly. “I guess so.”
They sat on the bedroom balcony, admiring the bustling night view. Vincent mentioned the idea of a honeymoon in Iceland, and Star agreed with a smile. There they were, two people, a glass of wine, and a story, breathing in the night breeze and enjoying each other’s company.
When Vincent’s hand grew unsteady from the drink, Star helped him back to the bedroom and tucked him into bed. Star watched him until his eyes finally closed. Star reached out, tracing Vincent’s shoulder, and pressed his forehead against his, a single tear sliding down onto Vincent’s face.
“I am sorry,” he repeated. “I am sorry. Husband.”
When Vincent woke up, it was still dark outside. He reached out to pull Star close, but his hand found only empty space. His head felt heavy, a feeling of deep exhaustion he had never experienced before, even after a heavy night of drinking. He braced himself against the headboard and struggled to sit up. “Cipher?”
No response.
“Cipher?”
Still nothing. The sprawling house was empty and silent, illuminated only by the night view outside the window. Vincent walked to the living room and retrieved his phone from his jacket pocket. The screen lit up, making him frown. A long string of messages appeared. Vincent frowned, trying to recall the events before he fell asleep.
He had slept for an entire day and night? He snapped awake, running to the bathroom and the storage room, searching every corner of the house. No one. He was completely alone. A suffocating feeling gripped his chest. Vincent made a call.
“Uncle Li, get everyone here.”
“Who?”
“Everyone.”
Star was currently 2,600 kilometers away, in Milwaukee, Wisconsin. He had dyed his hair pink, wore heavy smoky makeup, had piercings on his lips, and was dressed in a leather jacket. He dragged his suitcase out of the airport, past a group of idle ground crew members chatting away.
“Did you hear? The twenty-first body might have been found in Milwaukee.”
“My god, Milwaukee is truly cursed. First Jeffrey Dahmer, now a killer who plays three-way chess.”
Star dragged his suitcase in the opposite direction and headed to the ticket counter. “Is there still a flight to Montgomery?”
“Yes.”
Anywhere would do. Star finally arrived at a motel in the middle of the night. He burned his two driving licenses, forcing himself to memorize his new identity and phone number. The disposable phone in his suitcase rang. Star answered.
“Star, are you really doing this?” Diego sighed. “These identities are not worth that much; you do not have to use them like this.”
“I am a runaway groom this time; I have no other choice.”
“What? A groom?”
Diego coughed twice. “Forget it. What is your next move? Do you want to look around before we decide, or…”
Star collapsed onto the bed, stroking the ring on his finger. “I want to rest for a while.”
“Fine, I will wait for your call.”
Star hung up the phone and raised his hand. In the dim light, the black diamond sparkled brilliantly. Usually, when a job ended, he would sell everything he had and move on. This time was no different, but after packing, he had unpacked everything, taking only this ring out from the corner. He told himself it was because the serial number was too easy to track. But in truth, he knew better; he simply did not want to sell it.
The black market had endless ways to launder, split, and resell items. But he did not want to. His life seemed to have returned to the darkness he knew before. Star smoked and drank ice water, leaving his room only every three days to buy a sandwich and three packs of cigarettes. His addiction was growing, from a few cigarettes a day to a full pack. No one was there to tell him to eat, and no one was there to tell him to stop smoking.
On one such day, he was carrying an ice bucket to the end of the hall when the phone rang. It was the disposable phone. Star clamped the phone between his shoulder and cheek. “What is it?”
Diego said excitedly, “Star! I found you a lifelong meal ticket!”
Star scooped half a bucket of ice and headed back. “What is going on?”
“An elite family that started in China is currently searching for their long-lost youngest son. This family is thriving in the United States, involved in real estate, finance, even jewelry and arms dealing. The eldest son married the daughter of a prestigious old-money family in Yellowstone. The daughter married the eldest son of a vintage winery. There is also a second son, but he is quite mysterious; I could not find anything on him. In short, the son of the eldest brother, who is the next in line for succession, has been missing for eleven years. He is exactly eighteen years old this year.”
Star lit a cigarette and took a deep drag. “So, you want me to be this fake young master?”
“A fake can become real.” Diego spoke cryptically. “Do you know where this person disappeared?”
“Where?”
“The US-Mexico border. Star, you should know what the border was like eleven years ago. How likely is it that a pampered seven-year-old boy survived that?”
Star stroked the ring on his finger. “Send me the identity, the photos, and the specific details.”
The moment the call ended, his phone rang again. Star picked up the other phone and froze the instant he opened the file. Blonde hair, blue eyes, dimples; could it be such a coincidence? If Star had not known that Diego had no idea what he truly looked like, he would have suspected Diego was testing him.
“I have already arranged his whereabouts for the last eleven years.”
Star laughed. “So thorough?”
“Santa Maria, you have no idea how coincidental this is. I just sent someone away who looked exactly like this boy. He was adopted by an old German immigrant when he was seven, right after the boy disappeared, right near the US-Mexico border.”
Star sighed. “Have you ever thought that with such a coincidence, he might actually be the real young master?”
Diego said, “Impossible. He clearly remembers his life before the age of seven and has absolutely nothing to do with China. He will never return to that life, and the Wen family is a low-key clan; they would not broadcast to the world if they found the child. So, are you doing it or not?”
Star snubbed out the cigarette butt between his fingertips, sparks dancing in the air. He stared at the dissipating sparks, silent for a moment before saying, “I will do it.”