She feels uneasy in this strange country. It has no ancient dynasties, no roots.
“Tell me about Chengdu,” he says
Her mind rummages: early morning streets blurred with mountain mists, the thick aroma of hot pot restaurants, the clattering shuffle of mahjong tiles.
“China is very different,” she says.
“How so?”
She stares at him—his round gray eyes, his wiry copper hair—and wonders how so many disjointed fragments could possibly be fitted together.
“You don’t worship your ancestors here.”
“Who would we worship?”
She looks down, sees dragons swirling in the steam rising from her cup of tea.
“Tell me about Chengdu,” he says
Her mind rummages: early morning streets blurred with mountain mists, the thick aroma of hot pot restaurants, the clattering shuffle of mahjong tiles.
“China is very different,” she says.
“How so?”
She stares at him—his round gray eyes, his wiry copper hair—and wonders how so many disjointed fragments could possibly be fitted together.
“You don’t worship your ancestors here.”
“Who would we worship?”
She looks down, sees dragons swirling in the steam rising from her cup of tea.
