It was already afternoon by the time they returned to SLO.
An Feng stopped by the DMV to get license plates for his new Ferrari.
The process was surprisingly straightforward — he just needed the invoice and title from the dealership.
No emissions test or physical inspection required.
The only real downside was the wait.
The DMV lived up to its reputation for slow service.
An Feng had heard the horror stories, but in a smaller city like SLO, it only took a little over an hour.
He chose a standard plate rather than waiting weeks for a custom one.
Afterward, he grabbed a quick meal at the only local Chinese restaurant.
The food was heavily Americanized.
‘They’ve adjusted the flavors too much for local tastes,’ he thought with mild disappointment.
During lunch, he received several calls from tutor applicants.
Most were unsuitable.
Plenty of men applied, and even some women spoke Cantonese instead of Mandarin.
‘I need to update the ad to be clearer,’ he noted.
The next morning passed with no strong candidates.
‘Eight thousand dollars a month is solid middle-class pay here.
Are my conditions too strict?’ He was considering raising the salary when his phone rang again at noon.
This time, it was a woman who spoke clear Mandarin.
After a short conversation, she agreed to come over right away since she lived nearby.
An Feng waited anxiously.
Before long, the doorbell rang.
He walked down the long cobblestone path to the gate.
A tall blonde woman stepped out of a Chevrolet Cruze.
She wore a casual plaid shirt, jeans, and heels, standing nearly as tall as him.
“Hello, Mr.
An?” she said with a warm smile, extending her hand.
“Hello,” An Feng replied, shaking it.
“I’m An Feng.” “My name is Joanna.
Joanna Circe Stanwell.
It’s nice to meet you.” “Please, come inside.” They settled in the living room.
An Feng asked the questions he had prepared.
Joanna answered confidently and fluently.
Her Chinese was good, though with a slight Hong Kong accent, and her English had a crisp, polished British tone.
“Have you lived in China before?” An Feng asked curiously.
“I’ve visited Hong Kong several times.
My mother has Chinese ancestry and taught me at home.” That explained the accent.
After a few more questions, An Feng was satisfied.
“You’re hired.
I’ll let you handle the contract details — I’m still not familiar with the paperwork here.” Joanna smiled.
“No problem at all.” With the machine brain’s help, An Feng picked up English rapidly.
But having Joanna around made everything much more natural.
They were close in age and found plenty to talk about.
By the afternoon, he was already learning common abbreviations like “LOL” and “OMG,” along with how American addresses worked.
After hours of conversation, An Feng’s throat felt dry.
He opened the fridge and found it embarrassingly empty.
Joanna laughed.
“Boss, I’ve never seen such a clean refrigerator in my life.
If you don’t stock up soon, I might not survive the week on this salary.” An Feng shrugged.
“I just moved in.
I heard Americans drink tap water?” Joanna corrected him with a grin, “I’m British, not American.
The tap water here is safe, but I still prefer bottled.” She helped him make a shopping list, and they drove to a nearby supermarket.
An Feng pushed the cart while Joanna explained American shopping habits.
They bought in bulk.
Prices for produce varied — some items cheaper, some more expensive than back home — but wages here were in dollars.
In the meat section, An Feng was surprised by the huge price range for beef.
“Why is there such a big difference?” he asked.
Joanna picked up a premium cut.
“This is high-grade beef.
America grades its beef strictly.
The best is mostly for high-end restaurants.
This one is second-grade — the best you can usually buy in supermarkets.
Most families eat lower grades that are mass-produced with corn and hormones.” “Hormones?” An Feng was immediately wary.
“I’ll take the best one.
At least I can eat with peace of mind.” Joanna watched in amusement as he loaded dozens of pounds of premium beef into the cart without hesitation.
By the end, they had two overflowing carts.
After scanning and paying taxes (which were added at checkout), they loaded everything into the car and headed back.
With Joanna’s help, they organized the groceries.
She looked around the kitchen and asked, “Boss, what do you usually cook?” An Feng muttered under his breath, “Does braised beef instant noodles count?” “What?” Joanna turned around.
“Nothing,” he said quickly.
“What about you?
Can you cook?” Joanna stared at him for a few seconds, then sighed.
“Fine, I’ll make dinner tonight.” “Thank you so much,” An Feng said with a grateful smile.
He sat at the kitchen bar, opened a can of beer, and watched her work.
Joanna made American-style beef stew.
Forty minutes later, the rich aroma filled the kitchen.
They opened a bottle of red wine from the cellar and ate together.
By the time An Feng leaned back on the sofa, stuffed and content, he had one clear thought: ‘This tutor is worth every single dollar.’