There was, as there always is, a boy. His name was Michel Valentine, and imagine for a moment if you will a tall, lanky figure with messy brown hair, a wide mouth with smiles tucked into its corners, and blue eyes that look far older and wiser than his nineteen years. He was on his way to Bytherand to look for work, as many do; he had apprenticed with the physician in his town for three years, and Doctor Louis had declared Michel ready for bigger things. Of course, he had only said so after walking in on Michel sealing a gash on an unconscious farmhand’s leg with nothing but his thoughts.

It hadn’t been easy parting with his mother, but Michel had carefully packed the reference papers from Doctor Louis, shouldered his bag and hefted his case, and walked bravely out into the world.

Fish Head Curry

Ben wasn’t sure when the last time he spent new year’s with a family – a proper Chinese New Year with a proper family unit – was. He’d been alone since he was sixteen; quasi-adoption into Dhuan’s rowdy loving family was amazing but it wasn’t the same as having uncles telling corny jokes over pork jerky and black melon seeds; nosy aunts asking about girlfriends, wives, children; a pair of mandarin oranges fresh from the refrigerator, perspiring in your hand as you hand them to grandparents who receive them with trembling fingers and a bright red envelope.

Ming asked the question over a dinner of beef and kimchi and metal chopsticks. Ben could only stare as Ming smiled, then yelped as the meat began to sit too long on the charcoal grill. He flicked slices of beef onto Ben’s rice, and Ben swallowed hard. “Why?”