The sun was shining brightly, and a gentle breeze rustled the leaves.
An Feng lay lazily on a lounger by the pool, looking out over his lush, rolling vineyards and taking a slow sip of cold beer.
“Perfect,” An Feng muttered, squinting up at the blue sky.
“I wouldn’t trade this life for anything.” His phone had been ringing on the side table for a while before he finally summoned the energy to swim over to the edge of the pool.
By the time he reached out and grabbed it from the deck chair, the call had ended.
He glanced at the missed call, leaned back against the tiled edge of the water, and redialed.
“Hi, Jenny!
I was just about to pick up.
How are you doing today?” “Not bad,” Jenny’s cheerful voice came through the receiver.
“I’m actually trying to figure out what to wear for that charity press conference.
What about you?” “Stop!
Don’t you dare jump!” An Feng suddenly barked away from the phone.
He hastily pushed Pipi and Eggy away as the two sleek black Flat-Coated Retrievers hovered at the edge of the pool, practically vibrating with excitement and looking ready to dive in.
He pointed a stern finger at them, making his most commanding face to show they were violating house rules.
The two young retrievers wagged their feathered tails pleadingly, giving him their most devastating puppy-dog eyes.
“What’s going on over there?” Jenny asked, hearing the commotion.
An Feng brought the phone back to his ear.
“Sorry about that.
I’m in the pool, and my two troublemakers are dying to join me.
Sit!
Go on, sit down!
Haha, they are incredibly energetic retrievers.” “Aww, how old are they?
They must be so cute!
I’m so jealous,” Jenny said.
An Feng smiled.
“They’re almost six months old now.
If you want to come over and meet them sometime, you’re always welcome.” “I’d love to!
But maybe not today.
Right now, I’m actually looking for a shopping buddy.
Cathy is swamped with work, so I’m trying to see if any of my other friends are free to head out.” “I was actually just thinking about how boring it is lounging around here by myself,” An Feng suggested.
“Why don’t we go together?” “Really?
I’d love that!
Where are you right now?” Jenny asked happily.
“I’m up in SLO, so I’m a bit far.
How about I drive down to meet you?
I’ve been wanting to find a local who knows the area to show me around Los Angeles anyway.” Jenny happily read out her address.
“Awesome.
I’ll be waiting for you!” An Feng climbed out of the pool, dried off with a plush towel, and led the two disappointed retrievers back into the house.
He rummaged through his walk-in closet.
Aside from his two tailored suits, his wardrobe consisted almost entirely of casual designer shirts and jeans.
Unlike women, he didn’t enjoy long, drawn-out clothing hunts; he usually just grabbed whatever looked good on a mannequin.
Over time, his impulse buys had piled up, and several items in his closet still had the tags attached.
He picked out a clean, sharp outfit, checked himself in the mirror, and decided it would do.
He backed his car out of the garage and hit the highway toward Los Angeles.
Following his GPS, he eventually arrived in front of a modest apartment building.
In the US, six-to-seven-story residential buildings were relatively rare outside of major urban cores.
Most towering high-rises were office buildings that buzzed with activity during the day but became ghost towns once the clock struck five.
He pulled over to the curb and gave Jenny a call.
A moment later, she jogged down the front steps.
She was wearing a light blue button-down shirt, slim light-grey jeans, and a pair of chic flat boots.
She looked effortlessly stylish, radiating a classic, approachable “girl-next-door” charm.
“You look beautiful,” An Feng complimented.
“Thank you,” Jenny smiled, her cheeks flushing slightly at the compliment.
An Feng stepped out to open the passenger door for her like a proper gentleman.
Once she was settled and he got back behind the wheel, he started the engine and turned to her.
“So, where should we start our adventure?” Jenny looked at him.
“How much of LA have you actually seen?” “Honestly, practically none of it,” An Feng admitted.
“I’ve driven through a few times, but always in a rush.
I’ve never actually stopped to look around.” Jenny nodded thoughtfully.
“In that case, we have plenty of ground to cover.
Universal Studios and Hollywood Boulevard alone could keep us busy all day.” “Universal Studios?
I’ve definitely heard of that one.” “Well, it’s already afternoon, so we might be cutting it a bit close for a full tour,” Jenny noted.
“But if you just want to do a quick drive-by and check out the sights, we can manage.” An Feng tapped the steering wheel as they stopped at a red light, watching the pedestrians cross.
“To be honest, I just wanted some good company.
Staying up at the estate by myself was starting to give me cabin fever.” “And I was the first person you thought of?” Jenny asked archly.
An Feng glanced at her, offering a warm smile.
“Absolutely.
You’re incredibly lively, and I always have a great time when you’re around.
You were the obvious choice.” “I have to admit, that’s incredibly flattering,” Jenny laughed.
Given the limited time, they skipped the massive lines at Universal Studios.
Instead, the talkative Jenny took him on a grand tour of LA’s most vibrant neighborhoods.
They cruised down Sunset Boulevard and strolled along Rodeo Drive, passing endless blocks of high-end boutiques, trendy cafes, and gourmet restaurants.
Jenny kept scanning the crowds, mentioning that this was prime territory for celebrity sightings, as major stars frequently popped in for impromptu shopping sprees.
The window displays along the street practically dictated global fashion trends.
They did a full loop of the high-end district, and while An Feng found the walk highly entertaining, Jenny still hadn’t found the perfect dress she was looking for.
An Feng noticed that Jenny’s tastes were incredibly versatile.
She wasn’t a brand snob; she was just as likely to be captivated by a quirky, inexpensive trinket in a local boutique as she was by a designer gown.
He happily followed her, watching her flutter from shop to shop like a butterfly lost in a garden.
As they kept walking, they merged onto a bustling, crowded sidewalk where large, coral-pink terrazzo stars began to appear beneath their feet.
An Feng realized they had wandered onto the famous Hollywood Walk of Fame.
The sidewalk was a tapestry of five-pointed stars bearing the names of legendary entertainment icons.
He looked down, trying to spot a few familiar names, but most of them predated his era.
The street was packed with tourists, many of whom walked with their heads down, actively hunting for their favorite stars.
However, the famous “Avenue” itself felt a bit underwhelming in person—the actual sidewalks were surprisingly narrow, and the heavy traffic of the adjacent street felt incredibly close.
After snapping a few photos together, An Feng’s attention was caught by the street performers dressed up as iconic movie characters.
They actively approached tourists for photos, expecting a small tip in return.
Conveniently, An Feng had a pocket full of five-dollar bills, so he happily posed for several pictures.
This instantly made him a prime target for the surrounding cosplayers, who converged on him to get in on the action.
Just as Jenny was lining up a shot of An Feng posing with a very convincing Captain Jack Sparrow, a slightly lopsided Spider-Man suddenly popped his masked head into the frame, flashing a peace sign as the camera clicked.
An Feng chuckled and handed out a couple more tips.
For the most part, only tourists and foreigners like An Feng paid any attention to the performers; the locals simply walked by, completely unfazed.
An Feng couldn’t help but admire their dedication—wearing heavy, sweltering mascot costumes in the stifling August heat must have been brutal, regardless of the tips.
By the time they finished their stroll, it was past six in the evening, and both of their stomachs were rumbling.
Not wanting to settle for standard American fast food, An Feng asked, “Should we find a nice French place nearby?
Or maybe Italian?” To his surprise, Jenny shook her head.
“Actually, I really want to try authentic Chinese food.
Cathy told me that most of the Chinese restaurants in the main tourist spots completely alter their recipes to cater to Western tastes, and I want the real thing.” “Authentic Chinese?” An Feng pondered.
“Well, Chinatown is our best bet, though I haven’t been to the one here yet.
I can’t guarantee how authentic it will be, but I’ll make sure to speak to the staff in Chinese.
Hopefully, they’ll give us the real menu once they see my face.” “Perfect!
You have to teach me a phrase so the owner knows we mean business,” Jenny insisted.
An Feng laughed and taught her a few basic Chinese greetings.
Her pronunciation was hilariously off, but she didn’t mind the struggle and was thrilled when she finally managed to mimic a couple of phrases correctly.
He punched Chinatown into the car’s navigation system.
However, not long after pulling onto the main road, An Feng experienced his very first legendary Los Angeles traffic jam.
“Wow, this is unbelievable,” An Feng said, looking around at the sea of stationary brake lights.
Fortunately, the local driving etiquette was quite good—at least there wasn’t a chorus of angry car horns echoing through the streets.
“This is completely normal for rush hour,” Jenny said, entirely unbothered.
“LA has some of the worst traffic in the country.
There was a study showing that the Greater Los Angeles area has over ten million people and nearly as many cars.
I always feel terrible for the people driving convertibles in this!” “But the weather here is so perfect for a drive,” An Feng said, glancing up through the windshield at the clear blue sky.
Even with the massive volume of cars, the air quality didn’t feel oppressive enough to warrant wearing a mask, unlike some of the heavily polluted metropolises back home.
Jenny nodded.
“The air is actually decent these days.
Back in the mid-20th century, LA had some horrific photochemical smog crises due to vehicle emissions.
The state government had to pass incredibly strict environmental regulations, cracking down on fuel standards and manufacturing.
It’s gotten so much better, though it still doesn’t compare to the fresh air up in the suburbs.” An Feng smiled quietly, deciding to drop the environmental debate.
There was simply no comparison to be made with the smog issues back in China, where even with a fraction of the car ownership per capita, self-proclaimed “experts” constantly blamed vehicle exhaust for the poor air.
After crawling through the gridlock, they finally rolled into Chinatown.
An Feng’s eyes lit up as he spotted a storefront with bold Chinese characters reading: Hot Pot, Malatang, and Authentic Yunnan Crossing-Bridge Rice Noodles.
Having lived off Western salads and steaks for so long, seeing those familiar culinary terms practically brought a tear of joy to his eyes.
When it came to the sheer diversity of comfort food, nothing could beat Chinese cuisine.
He found a parking spot nearby, and they walked into the bustling restaurant.
As soon as they sat down, a young Asian waiter approached, taking one look at An Feng before handing him the menu.
“What looks good to you, Jenny?” An Feng asked, scanning the options.
“I’m open to suggestions, but preferably something light and not too greasy,” Jenny requested.
‘Non-greasy Chinese food?’ An Feng chuckled internally.
He flipped through the pages and decided on two orders of Yunnan crossing-bridge rice noodles.
He then looked up at the waiter and spoke in Mandarin, “Are you from the mainland?” “Yes, Guangdong,” the waiter replied with a slight Cantonese accent.
An Feng nodded.
“Great.
Tell the chef to make these authentic.
Don’t give us the watered-down versions meant for tourists.
And for the lady’s portion, please ask them to go light on the oil.” “No problem at all, brother.
We get plenty of Chinese students asking for the same thing,” the waiter smiled, taking the menus and heading back to the kitchen.
While they waited, An Feng noticed Jenny staring intently at a corner table.
He turned to look and saw a group of four Caucasians sitting around a steaming hot pot.
Their foreheads were glistening with sweat, and they were actively huffing from the spicy broth, but they looked like they were having the absolute time of their lives.
An Feng shook his head in amusement.
‘People are truly amazing,’ he thought.
‘Eating roaring spicy hot pot in the middle of a sweltering August.’ “Do you want to try that sometime?” An Feng teased.
“Oh, absolutely not,” Jenny said, shaking her head vigorously.
“Everyone putting their chopsticks into the same boiling pot?
It seems a bit unsanitary.” An Feng was amused.
‘You happily eat raw salad greens with your hands, yet shared boiling soup is where you draw the line?’ Deciding not to debate the hygiene of communal hot pot, An Feng instead picked up a pair of chopsticks and began giving her a quick tutorial.
Unfortunately, the tall American girl’s fingers refused to cooperate, and she was still struggling by the time two steaming stone bowls of rice noodles were placed on the table.
“Oh!” Jenny gasped, looking at the thin white noodles swirling in the rich, clear broth with a sudden look of realization.
“It’s like spaghetti soaked in soup!” An Feng’s chopsticks froze mid-air, his face falling into a deadpan expression.