The Hua Shan Hospital Murders

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Fong reached over and touched Lily’s cheek. A smile creased her face as, without waking, she tried to kiss his fingers. “Don’t get up, Lily,” he whispered.

She rolled over and snuggled into his side. “Mine,” she sighed.

Fong permitted himself a moment of satisfaction. Their three-month-old daughter Xiao Ming had given them a break. She’d actually slept for five straight hours – a record. Fong pulled back his side of the covers and stood on the ancient wooden floor. He slid his bare feet back and forth along the smoothness of the boards – an old familiar thing.

He looked back at Lily. In sleep her features were so soft. He was grateful for her and Xiao Ming and for the rarest of all things – a second chance.

He entered the bathroom and lit the flame beneath the small rusting water heater connected to the shower. Then he went to see if there was anything to eat. No apartments had kitchens in Shanghai but there was an old breadbox. Inside was a half-eaten pastry that Lily told him was called a palmier. He took a tentative bite then put it back. Wheat-based products were new to him and he didn’t care for them. Lily, on the other hand, seemingly couldn’t do without them.

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