Warrior Gentlemen

The Warm

With a couple pounds at his disposal, Kyung decided to make ginseng chicken soup without the ginseng. His mother prepared a pot whenever he came down with colds and it wasn't hard for him to learn how. Ginseng strengthens the immune system, but you can't buy it here. The boy's altered recipe was simple: he simmered a whole chicken in the pot for two hours with garlic, cabbage, ginger, and a sprinkling of turmeric. His chicken soup, with a generous helping of shredded meat, was served with two golden-brown slices of toast, and a slice of cheese.

Earlier, the White Pine had worked its magic, knocking out the sick man upstairs for a night and half a day. When he awoke, his stomach grumbled but the cough was mostly gone. Reading his dismembered textbook, he waited patiently for dinner.

"I am the happiest creature in the world.

I am happier even than Mr Shing, he only smiles, I laugh."

The literary joke did not land. Exhausted from going to the market and cooking, Kyung dug into his chicken soup and consumed it with minimal conversation. If he had not gotten into such a predicament, he would've never lowered himself to make chicken soup for a barbarian. It was not Mr Adam's race which made him barbarous but his bad imitation of English gentility. For a blissful chapter, the Missus saw in his teacher's apparent kindness evidence of a wise and elevated soul. Abused and neglected, he did not revise his opinion of this vulgar man. Vulgarity was a concept he'd read about in the many etiquette manuals of his master's library. Experts say: A peasant, however rude, is not vulgar for his lack of manners. He is a child of nature. What is vulgar is the sham passed off as the genuine, the alum in the white bread.

"Why do I cook for this chap?"

Kyung asked himself this and felt his existence pitiful. Survive, he must, and make it home somehow. Not now. Eight months had not taught him much about the mythical West, spent as it was in copying, cooking, and cleaning. The scholar boy needed more time here, with his yellow Englishman. Hence, he resolved to endure the humiliations that come with barbarian learning.

Humiliation would cease for a short time. Medicated and well-fed, Mr Adam recovered and turned back into a right chap. In bed, he shared his quilt blanket. In the bath, he washed his friend's hair. Post-bath, the master conditioned a frizzy black mane with olive oil filched from the kitchen. Overcome with emotion, he kissed a lock of it when done. A letter from Weiss reached them the day after his illness lifted, bringing the good news: a suitable nest had been found. The two of them could move the week after New Year's. To allow time for procuring new furniture, their move would happen in the first week of February. Preparations for the new nest filled both attic birds with pleasure and all would've gone swimmingly if it were not for an unfortunate incident.

On his last day in Chinatown, the artist, ecstatic to wash his hands of everything and everyone there, was pressed into making a donation. Missus said it would be ungracious not to give thanks to the people who'd helped them. Even if it were a jest, or a backhanded insult, the fact of the matter was that them two had taken money from poor men and spent it. Having done so, the object of charity had to show his appreciation and good breeding. There was some back-and-forth on the subject, shamefaced pleas, invectives in three languages, and an outpouring of recrimination from both sides. When Fujiwara could argue with his wife no more, he surrendered.

Rolling up four treasures, he went down to the second floor and on the fat man's door, knocked.

These are the four gentlemen

Take them and display them in the shop

In this order: plum first, then orchid, bamboo, and chrysanthemum

Preferably facing the river

Three feet to the left of the octagon clock

At a height of...