We are a perfect match destined by fate.

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The sun was slanting in the west, and dusk had begun to gather. Amid the crackling, leaping sparks, wisps of smoke and the rich aroma of meat drifted from the courtyard. Two burly men, a teenage boy, and a gray-haired woman sat around a grill, chatting. There were over a hundred households in the neighborhood, but only these three families gathered together; not all the neighbors were fond of Asians.

“Finished this job yet?” Jacob asked Paquay, who gave a wry smile and shook his head.

“It’ll be several more months before the year-long contract’s up. I have to go back to work the day after tomorrow. But after this year, I’m not renewing, unless that old skinflint gives me a raise. The economy’s terrible this year—there are unemployed folks everywhere, people who can’t even afford a full tank of gas. Some have turned to mugging right in the city center, especially those black kids—they’re reckless, wave after wave, a few of my buddies have been hurt. I don’t know how much longer I can take it.”

Paquay took a swig of Budweiser, eyes flashing.

“Their reasons for robbing people are laughable—just to get a nice haircut at the community barbershop, or check their blood pressure.”

“You yellow-skinned folk wouldn’t understand. The barbershop means a lot to black people—it's like a second home outside the family, a place to connect with their own. The barber is a jack-of-all-trades—cuts hair, checks blood pressure, gives health advice; a good barber can help his people live a few years longer.” Jacob wiped grease from his white beard and joked, “But their hot tempers are probably due to high blood pressure too—damaged brains, less fear, so even a gun in their face doesn’t scare them.”

Dean ate his barbecue quietly, savoring the meat while listening to these two men banter about the realities of American society. As for Mona’s identity, he decided to ask after dinner.

“Kid, you did well in that fight this time…” Paquay tore off a piece of charred steak and handed it to Dean. “Don’t be a coward like your dad. In this land of the brave, patience only earns you contempt. Only fists and strength win respect. If anyone bullies you, hit back—give it to them until they give in!”

“Don’t listen to their nonsense,” Granny Tonya said kindly, handing Dean a skewer of alternating lean and fatty meat. “Fighting should have its limits—don’t get into bad habits or you’ll end up like Paquay, risking your life as a bodyguard for a cheapskate, taking bullets, maybe dying without anyone knowing why.”

Dean suddenly understood—his uncle was a bodyguard? No wonder they talked so much about danger and violence. Unfortunately, his former self hadn’t learned a single fighting skill from this uncle.

“Old lady, wash out your crow’s mouth. How about praying to your God for me? What’s wrong with being a bodyguard? Easy work, good pay—if you’ve got the body and the brains.”

In this era, most of the professional bodyguard companies hadn’t been established yet. As Paquay put it, bodyguards these days were a rough bunch.

“Kid, you’re eighteen now. Whatever you do, whether you go to college or not, get strong first. Weak men can’t protect themselves, and they lack charm—they won’t attract women.” Paquay flexed his biceps for his nephew, then looked with dissatisfaction at Dean’s unremarkable arms.

Dean took a huge bite of steak, frustrated. He was clearly well-built—how was he weak?

“You should learn some self-defense too—you can’t always be this lucky, just barely escaping a mugging.”

Jacob raised his Budweiser to Dean, who returned the gesture with a can of juice. He had sworn never to touch alcohol again.

“In a little over a month, when your summer break starts,” Paquay’s face was thoughtful in the firelight, “you and Uncle Jacob can head to the shooting range in Vegas and practice.”

Dean nodded without hesitation. In this gun-saturated country, relying only on hand-to-hand combat for self-defense was a fool’s dream. No matter how tough you were, a criminal’s bullet would take you down. The only way to fight a gun is with a gun.

Besides, since there were fighting skills in the system, surely marksmanship could be learned as well! And his uncle and Jacob probably knew some fighting techniques too—once the system’s tasks were dealt with, he could ask them for instruction.

Paquay looked pleased. He’d asked many times before, but his nephew had always refused to touch a gun, just as timid as his father. Now, he’d finally come around.

He glanced back at the house’s broken window. Having the house trashed wasn’t all bad.

Paquay then asked about Dean’s studies, to which Dean selectively reported only good news and omitted any trouble with the rich kid Bob. Jacob and Tonya were full of praise for the academic talents of Chinese Americans.

When the moon hung high in the sky, everyone’s bellies were round and satisfied, the area around the grill littered with empty beer cans and bottles.

Paquay lay back in a wicker chair and burped. “Dean, have you used up the money I gave you last time?”

He didn’t seem to treat these neighbors as outsiders at all.

“Not a cent left,” Dean replied honestly.

“Since when did you start spending money so carelessly? Three hundred bucks—all gone in less than a month, and you’re still a student!” Paquay sighed, a pained look on his rugged face, but still resolutely fished his wallet out from a pocket and took out a small stack of twenties.

“Spend it carefully—remember, your uncle earned this with his life. It’s all yours.”

Dean stared at the hand stretched out to him, lost in thought. Six hundred dollars was a considerable sum in these times; few families could produce it at once. His former self’s family had no luxuries; lunch was eaten at school, and he biked to class to save on fare. According to Rust, his former self’s only expense was a few bucks a week for boring movies—there were no other big spends.

So it was odd—how had the previous three hundred dollars vanished so completely? If Paquay had given him three hundred every month, as a regular high schooler, he couldn’t possibly have spent it all. He should have savings. Yet he’d searched the house from top to bottom the other day—nothing!

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Dean fell into deep thought. Where had the money gone?

“Take it, kid—no need to be polite with your uncle. I was just kidding earlier. I don’t have a son, only you as a nephew. If I don’t let you spend the money, what else would I do with it—waste it on women?” Paquay, seeing Dean hesitate, thought he was embarrassed. With a bear’s paw, he pried open Dean’s fingers and shoved the cash into his hand.

“Ha, old buddy, don’t be so stingy,” chuckled Jacob, shaking his beard. “Who knows, maybe before long, Dean will bring a girlfriend home to meet you.”

“I’ve talked to that girl,” Tonya said gently. “She’s a cheerful one, has a great personality.”

“Girlfriend? You’ve figured that much out? Did the ancestors’ spirits bless you?” Paquay focused on his nephew with delight.

Before he could ask more, Dean dashed inside and brought out the sketch.

Under the warm glow of the fire, Mona’s radiant smile on the white paper was cast into shadow.

“Uncle Jacob, is this the girl you meant?”

“For the last three months, you brought her home almost every night—who else could it be? Unless you’re a real Casanova and found another girlfriend?” Jacob raised his brows in curiosity. In an instant, three pairs of eyes bore down on Dean, like three spotlights making him squirm.

“You’re joking…” Dean rubbed his temples, suppressing his alarm. Mona had been with his former self for months, staying over frequently, but he had no memory of it.

What was even stranger—his former self, timid, meek, a plain Asian boy, had a girl spending the night with him?! What did Mona see in him?

“Come to think of it, I haven’t seen her in half a month. What happened?” Jacob pressed on, but Dean lowered his head. He wanted to know where she’d gone, too!

Paquay had planned to ask his nephew a whole string of questions, but the old buddy’s question made him see Dean hugging his knees, face sad. With a veteran’s intuition, he got the point.

They must have broken up.

He hadn’t even met his nephew’s girlfriend, and they’d broken up already!

“Don’t be too down, kid. If a woman can’t bear you children, she’s just a stopover in your life.”

“I promise, you’ll find an even prettier girlfriend. Spend the money—invite a few girls to the movies, or take them to a hotel downtown, get to know them. If you’re not going to college, get married early, have a—”

Stop! What on earth was he rambling about?

Dean looked helplessly at his chatterbox of an uncle. He had no interest in other women; he just wanted to know more about Mona. But he couldn’t tell the neighbors he’d lost his memory of her.

He could only subtly probe Jacob and Tonya for information. They didn’t think much of it and answered almost everything.

He learned that Mona was about his age. That, like him, she was essentially an orphan, who’d dropped out of school early and worked at the Roche Cinema in the city. That she always wore a pale blue denim jacket, jeans, and cap. That whenever she spent the night at his place, she’d ride back to the city on his bicycle the next morning.

…

It was past ten when the barbecue finally ended. Tonya, exhausted, went home to rest. Jacob and Paquay sat under the eaves with their hunting rifles, chatting and puffing smoke.

“Kid, go inside and sleep. We’ll take care of security—if those guys come back, there’s plenty of ‘peanuts’ for them!”

“Are you sure?” Dean, though he thought Bob would lie low for a few days, was still worried. “Maybe we should rent a hotel room in the city? Or sleep in the park to lay low?”

“Why so much fuss? Brat, we’ve killed more muggers than you’ve seen die in movies!” Paquay roared, face red.

“Get inside!”

His uncle was thick-skinned enough not to notice Dean’s odd behavior.

Dean shook his head and went inside.

…

The living room had been tidied up, but the second-floor bedroom still had stray bits of torn paper left to clean.

Having gotten the information he wanted about Mona from the neighbors, Dean let out a sigh of relief and stuck to his plan: three hours of martial arts practice, bringing his proficiency to 27 out of 100. By one in the morning, he was exhausted, eyelids drooping.

“That’s enough for today. Tomorrow, everything should become clear.”

He lay on the bed, clutching the sketch, trying hard to remember.

As fatigue from the day’s toil crept over him, his features relaxed, his expression hazy, as if drifting between reality and a dream.

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The light around him quietly dimmed.

A memory flashed again.

“Dean…” A gentle, familiar yet somehow strange voice echoed in his ear.

He turned, and there was Mona, propped on her left hand, reclining on the bed, her gaze soft as water fixed on him. Her blue T-shirt was taut across her chest, reading “Super lo cinema.”

“Do you like Los Angeles?” she asked, her delicate fingers trailing over Dean’s chest, making his skin tingle.

“Of course. Hollywood’s right over there, and you know how much I love anything to do with movies—especially Star Wars.”

“How about we visit the Walk of Fame? It’s just over an hour by plane.”

Dean hesitated.

Mona watched him closely, sighing with disappointment. “I wanted to wait for your summer vacation and go together, but if you don’t want to, that’s fine.”

“You misunderstand—I want to go too,” Dean shook his head. “But I’ve never left Las Vegas in my whole life… I’ve never traveled. Going to a big city like LA must cost a lot, right?”

“Silly, they’re not far apart. Vegas is actually more expensive… Besides, I’ve saved some money from my job. If we spend it carefully, it’s enough for the two of us for ten days, maybe even two weeks.” Mona smiled, gripping his hand.

“No way!” Dean squeezed her hand in return, his tone brooking no argument. “I’m a man—I can’t let my girlfriend pay. My Uncle Paquay’s given me plenty of pocket money over the years. I’ve saved almost two thousand dollars—should be enough for the trip!”

“That’s too much.” Mona’s eyes lit up, but she shook her head, her black hair playfully flicking Dean’s face. “You should save your money for college.”

“Tuition can be covered by loans and scholarships… but this trip—miss it, and we’ll never have another summer at eighteen,” Dean said.

The girl pressed her forehead to his, breath warm on his face. Dean’s eyes grew hazy.

She murmured, “Why do you like me? I’m dumb, didn’t even finish high school… my parents died early… I have no money, I’ve lived in filthy, dark sewers, and I’m not even pretty…”

“What about you?” Dean looked into her eyes. “My parents vanished years ago, and only my uncle raised me. No matter where I go, I’m the one everyone bullies, the invisible kid.”

Dean’s eyes suddenly reddened.

“Rust is the only one who’d be friends with me—everyone else calls me ‘China Barbarian,’ isolates me, discriminates, mocks me. I’m not handsome, I’m not athletic, I’m not even brave enough to fight back.”

“I thought I’d go my whole life without a girlfriend… Mona… it must be the goddess of luck smiling at me, letting me meet you. You always make me forget my troubles and worries, make me happy.”

She laughed.

The bulb in the ceiling flickered.

The two of them rolled together in an embrace.

Mona nestled in Dean’s arm, a sweet smile on her lips.

“Just like they say in the movies: We are made for each other.”

“We are made for each other!”

The two voices intertwined, echoing in the rundown bedroom.

Dean blinked, the vision faded, and his eyes cleared. Sitting up, he touched the corner of his eye and found it wet—as if he’d wept in that dreamlike memory.

I don’t even like Mona!

Damn these leftover feelings!

“Mona and my former self really were a pair.”

But when Mona said she’d lived in the sewers, was she serious or joking?

Dean couldn’t connect the laughing girl in his mind with the damp, dark, filthy sewers.

It must have been a joke, right?

He sighed, recalling the dream. Such innocent feelings—once money gets involved, how much can they endure?

Dean thought of his past life’s tangled relationship with his girlfriend. Mona’s looks were nothing compared to hers. But his former self had been smitten.

…

“Reckless youth always pay the price.”

The investigation progress bar jumped to ninety percent.

Dean glanced down at his T-shirt: “super Lo, cinema.”

“So this is what the system meant by the truth being right under my nose—it was on me all along.”

“Tomorrow, I’ll visit the cinema where Mona works. Everything should be revealed.”