The Call of the Abyss - Nguyễn Đình Phùng

 
 

 
 
The Call of the Abyss
 
Nguyễn Đình Phùng

Chapter 1
 
The sea was blazing under a scorching sun, utterly devoid of wind. The sky above was a crystal-clear blue, without a single cloud in sight. The small boat bobbed gently with each lapping wave, making no forward progress. It appeared as a mere speck amidst the vast, boundless ocean—motionless and silent as the grave. Lữ stood tall, sweeping his gaze across the entire horizon, yet he saw no sign of any vessel appearing.

It had been two days since the small boat’s engine had failed, leaving it stranded in one spot. The sole hope of the group of refugees aboard—risking everything to flee in search of freedom—was to be spotted and rescued by a passing foreign merchant ship. They clung to the stories recounted in letters sent from America by earlier refugees—tales of being miraculously picked up by U.S. vessels and granted immediate entry into the United States. These stories, often embellished with a touch of fantasy, were accompanied by photographs sent home: gleaming automobiles, magnificent houses, and images of a glorious land of freedom. Dreams that had, for those lucky few, become reality.

Huddled miserably within their fragile craft, the group aboard shared that very same wish: they prayed for a U.S. ship to pass by. Or, failing that, any foreign merchant vessel would do. Just please, let it not be a ship belonging to the Thai pirates.

Lữ felt the weight of responsibility for the nearly thirty souls crammed onto this flimsy refugee boat. He and Sơn had organized this escape attempt, and now Lữ blamed himself for placing too much trust in the mechanic—the man who had guaranteed that their outboard motor was more than capable of making the ocean crossing. Now, however, the boat lay dead in the water, and their meager supply of food and drink was fast running out. Sơn approached Lữ and, likewise, scanned the horizon. He clicked his tongue in frustration:

"Not a single ship in sight! I’m terrified! Two of the children have come down with fevers again. We’re nearly out of drinking water, too. I have no idea how we’re going to get ourselves out of this mess!"

Lữ looked at his friend with deep pity. In just a few short days, Sơn seemed to have aged several years. Lữ offered reassurance:

"It’s alright! I’m sure we’ll eventually come across a passing ship."

"But what about the Thai pirates? Lying here motionless like this just makes us easy prey for them. What happens if we run into them, Lữ?"

Lữ gave a grim smile:

"I’m fully prepared! Don’t worry."

He was confident that he had made ample preparations. Lữ had heard many stories about the pirates—tales of ill-fated escape voyages, of men being murdered and women being raped. His and Sơn’s fellow travelers on this journey were also well aware of the risks and had taken precautions; the women had even begun taking contraceptives a month before their departure. Lữ, too, had taken measures to protect himself. He was determined not to let any tragedy befall them, should they be unfortunate enough to encounter the Thai pirates.

Sơn scanned the horizon once more. A black speck seemed to have just appeared in the southeast. He spoke softly to Lữ:

"Look there, Lữ!"

Lữ nodded; he had just spotted it as well. He raised his binoculars and squinted through them, though the black speck was still too small for him to distinguish whether it was a ship, another fishing boat, or something else entirely. The speck grew larger. Lữ kept his eyes glued to the binoculars, never looking away. Sơn asked impatiently:

"Is it a merchant ship?"

Lữ did not answer. He remained motionless, his hands unmoving from the binoculars. Finally, he replied—his voice as cold as ice:

"No! It’s not a merchant ship!"

Sơn snatched the binoculars from Lữ’s hands and raised them to his own eyes. He let out a curse. Neither man spoke for a moment. After a while, Lữ turned to Sơn and said:

"You know what we have to do, right?"

Sơn nodded. They had discussed their plan before setting out—mapping out every step, every specific action to take in the event of any contingency. How would events unfold, and—should they take a turn for the worse—how were they to react? Lữ did not want matters to spiral beyond his calculations. Yet no one could foresee everything—such as the engine failure that had left them stranded here for two days. And now, the Thai pirates.

For that growing black speck on the southeastern horizon was another boat—one larger than their own. It was no battered, listing, and harmless refugee craft; rather, it was a sleek, jet-black vessel with white stripes along its flanks, looking as menacing as a demon. Peering through his binoculars, Lữ could already make out the figures of several men milling about on deck, guns in hand.
 
The pirate boat was bearing down on the refugees at full throttle, charging with the ferocity of a predator closing in on its prey. The Thai marauders were laughing, shouting, and pointing; they were certain of a haul of gold and jewelry, and eager to sate their lust upon Vietnamese women who were too exhausted to resist—and who, even if they had the strength, would not dare fight back if they wished to survive.

Sơn issued instructions to each person: Everyone was to lie flat on the deck and remain absolutely silent. No sitting up; no scrambling about in panic. Lữ and Sơn would handle everything. Everyone was to find whatever cover they could—the more thorough, the better—for he and Lữ intended to fight back against these pirates.

He retrieved his M16 rifle and handed a second one to Lữ. He also passed Lữ a hand grenade. These weapons were items he and Lữ had acquired at an exorbitant price from a corrupt government official. How the man had managed to procure such strictly forbidden and heavily controlled contraband remained a mystery; yet Lữ had the right connections and had successfully located someone willing to sell. Sơn would never have organized this escape attempt had he not first secured at least these two firearms. And the grenade—he hoped it hadn't rusted yet.

Lữ and Sơn each squatted down in a corner—one at the stern, the other at the bow. Lữ held his rifle at the ready, allowing only the top half of his head to peek out as he kept watch on the pirates' boat. He raised his binoculars to look. The boat appeared...

The boat came clearly into view, and he could make out every single pirate. They all stood upon the deck, their heads wrapped in bandanas. Their swarthy, sun-scorched faces gradually emerged from the haze. Each man carried a gun. Lữ counted them. There were six in all. These pirates—men who had once made an honest living fishing in the Gulf of Thailand—had transformed into sea bandits following the surge of people fleeing their homeland by boat.

The Vietnamese refugees, abandoning their country, carried with them whatever precious remnants of their former lives they had managed to convert into gold. The pirates soon realized that intercepting the flimsy boats of these wretched Vietnamese refugees was an effortless task. The loot from a single raid often equaled an entire year’s earnings from fishing.
 
Why, then, would they let such an opportunity slip away? And then there were the women—to be used for their amusement. Any husband who dared to resist was shot dead and his body tossed into the sea. The pirates had acquired a taste for blood; each man had participated in dozens of such raids, reaping heavy hauls of gold and silver every time, all without fear of punishment. Why bother fishing anymore when piracy offered them such a lavish life?

° ° °

Thomchan watched as the boat carrying the Vietnamese refugees gradually came into focus, and he sensed that something was amiss. The vessel was far too small to venture out into the open sea. He simply could not fathom how these Vietnamese people could be reckless enough to risk their lives to such an extent. He himself would never dare set foot on a boat like that—not even to hug the shoreline—let alone attempt to cross the vast ocean packed shoulder-to-shoulder with a crowd of people.

The boat sat motionless in the water. Had the engine failed, or was there some other reason? Usually, whenever he spotted prey, he had to give chase. He typically steered clear of the larger refugee ships; they were too densely packed with people—he wasn't sure he could keep such a crowd under control—and he feared that some of them might be armed.
 
But as time went on, the vessels used for these escape attempts had grown smaller and smaller. The large  freighters had likely all passed through by now—at least, that was Thomchan’s guess. As for the smaller fishing boats, carrying twenty or thirty people apiece, he and his crew could easily chase them down and overtake them. His vessel was equipped with the most advanced and powerful engine available; how could those patched-up, rickety old fishing boats—with their ancient, feeble motors—possibly hope to escape?
 
On almost every boat he had ever raided, not a single person carried a weapon. Thomchan surmised that these refugees had simply entrusted their lives to the heavens, accepting that their survival or death was a matter of pure fate; it never occurred to any of them to carry weapons for self-defense or protection.

All the easier for him! To him, the refugees were mere lambs to the slaughter—creatures he could butcher at will, strip of everything they owned, and grant the gift of life only if he so chose. If he decided someone should die, they died. Any woman who caught his eye, he raped on the spot. Any young maiden, he abducted. The brothels in Chiang Mai paid handsomely for these Vietnamese girls. Thomchan felt like a petty god, a deity in his own right. He held the power of life and death over every boat he intercepted, satisfying every whim and desire—what more could a man ask for?

Thomchan assumed the boat ahead of him had suffered engine failure, leaving it dead in the water. But why was it so eerily silent? During previous raids, he could always spot the refugees milling about from a distance—a huddled, restless mass of humanity. Their faces would turn vacant with terror, as if rooted to the spot, the moment his vessel drew near. The clamor he could hear when still several boat-lengths away would suddenly fall dead silent the instant he closed in. Thomchan could sniff out fear from afar, and he reveled in the twisted pleasure of knowing he had plunged those wretched souls into utter despair, casting the very shadow of death upon them.
 
But this time was different. There was something unusual about this particular boat. Not a single human figure was visible on deck. Not a sound could be heard. There was only the throbbing roar of Thomchan’s own engine as he bore down upon it. For a fleeting moment, Thomchan considered turning back. He sensed that something was amiss. There were countless other boats drifting across the open sea for him to plunder—so many other opportunities. This particular boat likely wouldn't yield much of a haul anyway. And Thomchan had no fondness for the strange or the unexpected.
 
Yet, despite these thoughts, he allowed his vessel to press onward. He had been sailing all day—now nearing dusk—without encountering a single target. He had suffered a crushing gambling loss just the night before and urgently needed to acquire some gold to recoup his losses. And then there was Saphang! That fellow seemed intent on striking out on his own, refusing to submit to Thomchan’s authority as he once had. If Thomchan were to turn back now, Saphang would surely laugh in his face. Worse yet, he might even persuade the other men to defect and join him. To lose these henchmen would mean the ruin of Thomchan’s enterprise. He had to save face; he had to push forward.

Thomchan ordered his boat to slow down. He tucked his Beretta pistol into his waistband. He left the automatic weapons to his subordinates; he wanted to project the image of a true leader. Thomchan turned to the henchman standing nearest him and ordered him to prepare to cast a grappling hook onto the hull of the refugee boat, thereby drawing the two vessels side-by-side.
 
The pirate boat gradually lost momentum; Thomchan’s henchman straightened his stance, whirling the rope rapidly overhead, ready to cast. The instant the hook snagged against the hull of the refugee boat—just as the Thai pirate was bracing himself to haul it in—a sharp burst of gunfire erupted. Thomchan’s henchman recoiled backward, blood spurting in crimson jets from his chest. He crashed heavily onto the deck, and Thomchan stared in wide-eyed horror.

 
Chapter 2
 
Lữ held his gun at the ready and signaled to Sơn to wait. He wanted the pirates to draw even closer before opening fire. And he intended to wipe them out—not merely to demonstrate that his boat was armed, prompting them to retreat in search of other prey. Lữ had heard much about these Thai bandits before preparing for his voyage. Those who had gone before him had sent letters back recounting their experiences.
 
He had heard countless people curse the atrocities these brigands had inflicted upon others. Lữ had made thorough preparations for the very contingency that his boat might encounter pirates. Deep down, perhaps, that was exactly what he wanted. For if he merely bluffed to intimidate them into turning their vessel away, another boat—another group of refugees—would inevitably fall into their clutches. Those with no means of self-defense would face a tragic fate.
 
Lữ felt compelled to do whatever lay within his power to spare future refugee boats from such a calamity. And if he could eliminate even a single pirate—no matter the danger, even if it meant sacrificing his own life—he would do so without hesitation.

Lữ waited until the bandit had hurled his grappling hook to latch onto their boat before opening fire. Sơn, grasping his friend's intent, fired in unison with him. The man who had just cast the hook was instantly cut down, while another took a hit and crumpled to the deck. The remaining bandits hit the deck and began returning fire.
 
The air filled with the whistling exchange of bullets between the refugee boat and the pirate vessel. Sơn glanced at his friend; between the two of them, they had only two magazines left. The pirates still numbered four, and their arsenal was undoubtedly far superior to the two men's meager supply.
 
Lữ met Sơn’s gaze and nodded. A smirk played upon his lips—a cruel, fierce smile. It was a smile Sơn had seen only during the most perilous moments the two of them had ever endured together. During the horrific battles of that "Summer of Red Fire"—and later, when the two of them escaped together from a re-education camp and were relentlessly hunted down—they had faced countless life-and-death situations.

Lữ jerked his head, signaling Sơn to provide covering fire for him. Sơn swept long bursts of gunfire across the pirates' boat; not a single one of them dared to raise his head. Lữ pulled the pin on a hand grenade and counted exactly three seconds; then, he rose above the gunwale of his small boat, took precise aim, and hurled the grenade straight into the very center of the enemy craft.

° ° °

Thomchan was beside himself with rage. He had sensed that something was amiss with this raiding expedition from the very start. The night before, he had lost a massive poker game—a game he had been certain was a sure win. Yet, the tables had turned, and he had been completely cleaned out. All the gold he had plundered over the entire week had to be handed over to another man. To make matters worse, his mistress had abandoned him on the spot to run off with the very man who had won his money.
 
He had spent the entire day scouring the seas for Vietnamese refugee boats, yet hadn't spotted a single one. And now, having finally stumbled upon a boat, he had blundered right into a nest of fire ants.

Thomchan had wanted to turn tail and flee immediately after the first volley of shots rang out from the other boat—never mind his two henchmen who had just been cut down, or Saphang, who was currently thrashing about in a frenzy. He knew he had crossed paths with some truly dangerous adversaries, and that making a clean escape was his only sensible option.

But he dared not raise his head. The gunfire coming from the other boat was simply too intense. Moreover, attempting to turn his boat around at this precise moment would be futile. The grappling hook he had cast was already firmly embedded in the hull of the other boat; even if he gunned his engine, he would only succeed in dragging their boat along with him.
 
To free himself from the very line he had bound himself with, Thomchan would have to crawl back toward the henchman who had thrown the hook—the man who now lay sprawled and incapacitated—and cut the rope. Thomchan had barely begun to crawl when another sustained burst of gunfire erupted from the other boat, forcing him to duck his head back down and freeze in place.
 
Suddenly, a round object dropped right in front of him. Thomchan stared, jaw agape, intending to scream—but it was too late. The final thought that flashed through his mind before his body was blown to smithereens was that he truly should have heeded his gut instinct and stayed home instead of going out that day.

° ° °

Lữ heard the deafening blast of the grenade and breathed a sigh of relief. His only fear had been that his sole grenade was too old—that the sea air had corroded it into a dud. The acrid smell of smoke hung in the air, and then, silence. The surface of the sea returned to its calm state.
 
Lữ lay there waiting for a few more minutes. Not a single shot was fired in return from the other boat. Lữ raised his head above the gunwale of his skiff. He swept another burst of gunfire across the deck, just to be sure. Still, there was no reaction from the pirate vessel. Then, Lữ began to see flames rising.

The pirate ship had caught fire. Lữ and Sơn both stood up straight. This confirmed that the grenade had successfully taken out all four of the remaining pirates. Sơn ran over to embrace his friend, grinning with delight. He froze, however, when Lữ pushed his hands away:

"Hold off on the celebrating! We still have work to do!"

Lữ pointed toward the skiff’s engine. Sơn understood immediately. He ran to grab a pair of pliers and some other tools, then plunged into the sea and swam toward the pirate ship’s engine. Lữ dove in after his friend and clambered aboard the vessel. The six pirates lay sprawled across the deck, their chests riddled with shrapnel. The largest among them—presumably the ringleader—lay dead with his mouth gaping open. His eyes stared wide and glassy, ​​filled with a look of bitter hatred. Lữ gave a grim, guttural laugh:

"You got exactly what you deserved! You’ve slaughtered countless innocent Vietnamese people! Let this be a lesson: there are still those who will punish your crimes!"
 
He helped Sơn detach the bandits' outboard motor. The flames, ignited by a grenade blast in the fuel tank, were rising higher and higher. They managed to retrieve the engine just in the nick of time. Lữ swam back to their boat first and tossed a rope to Sơn, who then securely fastened it to the motor. Aided by two other swimmers from their group of refugees, they successfully hoisted the engine aboard.

The bandits' vessel was now almost entirely engulfed in flames. Lữ unhooked the grappling line that the bandits had thrown over earlier, allowing them to pull away and escape the inferno raging on the burning ship....

 
Lữ felt a deep sense of satisfaction with himself. It had been a very long time since he had last experienced this feeling—the sensation of having successfully completed a mission. And having succeeded.

He had eliminated the pirates, sparing the people on his boat from disaster; moreover, future refugee boats crossing these waters would face at least one fewer risk of encountering this particular gang. While there remained far too many other pirate groups out there, at least one had been taken out of the equation. And in the process, he had secured a new engine—one powerful enough to sustain their perilous journey across the sea.

° ° °

Lữ gathered everyone on the boat together. Most were still shaken by the recent gunfight, yet everyone felt incredibly lucky to be alive. They looked upon Lữ and Sơn as their saviors. Lữ began to speak:

"The fact that we were able to eliminate the pirates and seize an engine to continue our voyage is proof that Heaven still watches over us. However, I ask that you all understand this: once we reach the refugee camp, you must remember that we never encountered any pirates, and that absolutely nothing out of the ordinary occurred. I implore everyone here not to breathe a word of this to anyone—not until we have all been resettled in a third country. I will keep the gun for now to maintain our security until we draw close to the island; at that point, we will cast it into the sea. Please, everyone, keep this in mind."

Lữ was certain that no one would dare to utter a word about the elimination of the pirates. Yet, he felt compelled to take every precaution. His chances of being resettled in the United States would be utterly destroyed if news of this incident ever reached the authorities on the island.
 
In principle—and certainly in the eyes of the Thai government—these pirates were officially regarded merely as fishermen; officially, there was no such thing as "piracy" in the Gulf of Thailand. Everyone on the refugee boat understood this reality, yet Lữ made a point of looking each person directly in the eye. He knew that when they met his gaze, each individual would recognize that what he asked of them was not merely a request, but an absolute imperative. And that no one would dare to speak of it!
 
Chapter 3
 
Lữ walked slowly along the path leading from his apartment to Don’s Hamburger, the shop where he had been working for just over a week now. Lữ liked leaving early, while it was still just the first glimmer of dawn; as he walked, he breathed in the crisp, cool air of a California morning—the promised land for those who had crossed the ocean from the other side.
 
Days as beautiful as this one—with a clear blue sky and clean air—were actually quite rare in the city of Los Angeles. Lữ had imagined the "City of Angels" to be perpetually sunny and pristine, just like in the movies he used to watch back home; but that wasn't the reality. Los Angeles was more often hazy with exhaust fumes—stifling and hard to breathe—than it was filled with the beautiful sunshine he was enjoying today. Lữ smiled to himself. Of course, when filming movies, they would naturally choose days with perfect weather; who would ever shoot on a day when the sky was choked with smog?

Lữ had arrived from the refugee camp on the island just over a month ago. He had wanted to start working immediately. Lữ was eager to dive headfirst into American life; he had waited nearly half a year to get here, and he wanted to integrate into society as quickly as possible. Sơn had an aunt living in Toronto, and he was impatient to leave the island right away.
 
The day before he left, the two friends went down to the beach to sit and talk. Sơn said:

"I feel like we’ve turned the page to a whole new chapter in our lives. Sometimes, I find it hard to imagine that life could change so quickly and so easily. Five years ago, we were out on military operations together. Then we ended up in prison together. We escaped the re-education camps together. We made our escape by boat together. And now, we’re each heading in a different direction. Who knows what things will look like five or ten years from now?"

Lữ thought to himself: *He’s probably feeling guilty about leaving his friend behind to go ahead on his own.* Lữ smiled:

"That’s nothing to worry about, Sơn! We’ve left our homeland behind; if one of us gets the chance to move on first, then naturally he should take it. Either way, we’re about to throw ourselves into a brand-new life, so it’s not like we’d have many opportunities to see each other anymore anyway. What do you plan to do once you get to Canada?"
 
Sơn replied:

"I’m going back to school. Back in Vietnam, I never had the chance to complete my education properly; once I get there, I’ll find a way to pick up where I left off. My aunt has promised to help me out during the initial period. What about you, Lữ? What are your plans?"

Lữ fell silent, deep in thought, and offered no immediate answer. He didn't even know himself what he would do. But there was one thing he knew for certain: he *had* to succeed. He would pour every ounce of effort and willpower into achieving success—at any cost. That was precisely why he had been so determined to wait for his chance to go to America. Only in that land, he believed, would there be enough opportunity for someone as resolute as him to truly make it—to achieve *great* success!
 
For Lữ, there was no such thing as a half-victory. Just as when he was out on military operations, he had never returned until he had fully accomplished the objectives assigned by his superiors. And just as when he encountered the Thai pirates, he hadn't been content merely to scare them off so they would leave his boat alone; he had felt compelled to wipe out every last one of them, thereby eliminating a future threat for all those who would attempt to flee the country after him.
 
Lữ still didn't know exactly what he would do. But he knew that once he reached America, every path would open up before him. Lữ turned to Sơn and said:

"I’m not sure yet! We’ll stay in touch, though. You let me know what you end up doing, and I’ll do the same for you. We’ll just take things as they come."
 
Sơn agreed. They parted ways shortly thereafter. Lữ eventually received a letter from Sơn sharing his contact details after he had arrived in Canada; later, when Lữ finally made it to America, he likewise sent his address to Sơn to let him know where he was—yet, beyond that exchange of addresses, there was no further contact between them. Not even a phone call. The new life stretching out before them was simply too full of other matters to attend to.
 
Lữ reflected that friendships, too, inevitably change as life unfolds. Each person eventually reaches their own distinct crossroads; after all, how could the currents of life possibly flow in the exact same direction forever? No matter how deep or heartfelt a friendship might be, it is ultimately a product of the specific circumstances and backdrop of the life left behind in one's old homeland—Vietnam.

 
Sơn would always remain his friend, yet Lữ felt that Sơn had sensed and understood the inevitability—and necessity—of change. Each of them had turned a new page in their lives.

Lữ turned onto La Brea Avenue and walked a short distance further to reach his workplace. He had landed a job as a waiter at a local hamburger joint. The pay was minimum wage and the work was grueling, but Lữ didn't mind. He needed to improve his English, and given his woefully poor command of the language, simply securing a job—any job—was a stroke of luck. Lữ believed there was no better method than diving straight into the work. And being a waiter, which compelled him to converse with customers, was the fastest way to practice his English.

Don’s Hamburger was, naturally, no upscale establishment. Situated in the South Central district of Los Angeles, it was hardly a neighborhood frequented by white Americans. The clientele consisted mainly of Black and Mexican patrons, along with Korean merchants who conducted business within those communities. Many people had warned Lữ to be on his guard while working in this area. Lữ thanked them for their concern, but he wasn't particularly apprehensive. He felt confident he possessed the resilience to handle any unforeseen risks. And it seemed that, for him, every new beginning invariably had to start from the most difficult place imaginable!

Lữ arrived early; the shop hadn't opened yet. The owner—a white man of Jewish descent—was rarely late for opening time. Lữ didn't care much for the old man, who struck him as rather stingy, yet he couldn't help but admire the owner's work ethic. Here was a man determined to succeed at any cost, undeterred by any obstacle. Just like himself!

Lữ leaned back against the wall and lit a cigarette. He noticed a convertible sports car pull up to the curb right in front of Don’s Hamburger. A young white woman—a blonde with strikingly sharp features—stepped out. A car that new, beautiful, and expensive stopping in this neighborhood was a rare sight indeed. For a white woman to venture into such a desolate place was even more surprising.
 
The blonde young woman approached the diner and pulled a set of keys from her purse. Don Lavitz’s daughter! The owner’s daughter! Lữ never would have imagined that old Don had such a beautiful daughter. And why hadn't old Don come out to open the shop himself, leaving his daughter to do it instead? It was truly dangerous.
And indeed, it was a move that should not have been made at all.
 
Lữ caught a glimpse of two Black men crossing from the opposite corner, heading straight for the diner. The young woman was fumbling with the lock. The two men—one tall, one short—were young, yet their faces already bore the menacing look of those born and raised amidst a landscape of crime, gun violence, and drugs. The pair closed in on the young woman. She turned around, only to see a knife blade flash in the hand of one of the men, who grinned, baring his stark white teeth. The other man grabbed her arm. The young woman kicked out and began to scream for help.

Lữ knew it was time to intervene. He stepped toward the man holding the young woman’s arm and delivered a powerful chop to his neck with the edge of his hand. The man crumpled to the ground under the force of Lữ’s strike. The second man spun around, a knife instantly appearing in his hand. Lữ launched himself into a kick; the knife flew from the man’s grasp. He followed up with another kick, and this man, too, clutched his stomach and collapsed.
 
Lữ let out a loud, intimidating shout, and both men fled. It had been a long time since Lữ had the opportunity to put his martial arts skills to use. Living in this country, in a neighborhood rife with violence, having a bit of combat training for self-defense—and getting the chance to save a life as he had today—truly made all his grueling training worthwhile. Lữ thought to himself as he reached out to help the young woman to her feet. He was surprised when she brusquely brushed his hand aside and rose on her own. She said:

"I don't need your help!" "I can protect myself!"

Lữ felt a mix of anger and amusement. Not only was the girl ungrateful, but she actually looked annoyed! He said nothing, merely offering a faint smile as he leaned back against the wall, waiting for the young woman to open the door. She turned back to him and asked:

"Do you work here?"

Lữ nodded. She looked him over from head to toe. Her expression gradually softened. A thought suddenly flashed through her mind, and she extended her hand for Lữ to shake:

"I’m Miriam. My father is ill and couldn't come in to work today. I came to open the shop for him. Some of my family members will be arriving shortly. You can go ahead and start setting up the tables and chairs."

She paused for a moment, then continued—her voice soft, as if slightly embarrassed:

"Thank you! My father really didn't want me coming out here alone, but I wouldn't listen. It’s a good thing you were here!"

Lữ responded with a simple, polite formality:

"It was nothing."

He still felt a lingering annoyance over the young woman’s initial behavior. Yet, he couldn't stay annoyed for long. She was simply too beautiful. With her blonde hair and green eyes, she exuded the captivating allure of an untamed mare—full of stubbornness, yet utterly charming. He surmised that old Dave must dote heavily on his daughter; unable to rein her in, he likely had to indulge her every whim—even allowing her to show up at a restaurant in a neighborhood that wasn't exactly known for its safety.

° ° °

Miriam watched the young Vietnamese man—her father’s employee—and felt a strange sensation. An inexplicable feeling washed over her. She had adamantly defied her aging father, insisting that she—and she alone—would open the restaurant that day.
 
The sudden impulse to go to the diner and look after things for a while in her sick father’s stead had struck her out of the blue, and she had been determined to see it through—despite never having paid the slightest attention to her family’s business affairs before. Miriam had been pampered since childhood; whatever she desired, she received, and no one had ever dared to cross her.
 

 
Miriam looked at Lữ once more. She recognized that feeling—a sensation she had known many times before. Miriam was a third-year psychology major at UCLA. She yearned to understand life deeply; the dynamics of human relationships were a subject that captivated her and which she was driven to explore. And so, she went in search of love. It was an academic pursuit, a vital subject to be mastered—a practical application of the lessons learned in the lecture hall.
 
Miriam had met many men and experienced numerous romances, yet she continued her quest. Attractions came and went; passions flared briefly, only to vanish just as suddenly. Miriam viewed love as a form of life experience—the more one accumulated, the richer one’s life became. The more memories she gathered, the more vibrant and abundant her inner world felt. And Miriam wanted to live her life to the absolute fullest—completely and unreservedly—so that she would never have to look back with regret, lamenting that life was too short or that she had failed to live it fully.

Miriam had known many men. There were fellow students—brief, casual flings that faded quickly. There were older men—poised, established figures of status and experience—yet none could hold her interest for long. There were young men from different social strata, whose romances carried a distinct edge of danger. Yet, Miriam had never taken an Asian lover before.
 
In the past, she had harbored a distinct aversion to people of Eastern descent. She found them too reserved, too guarded—unwilling to open up within the social circles she frequented. Moreover, she found their manner of speaking overly polite, overly soft-spoken—as if they were constantly terrified of causing offense to the person standing before them. But this time was different. Lữ bore a striking resemblance to an actor in a Chinese martial arts film she had stumbled upon once. She couldn't recall the details very clearly—she didn't even remember his name—though she thought it might have been "Bruce" something-or-other. She had also heard that the actor had died young, under circumstances that were themselves quite dramatic and mysterious.

Lữ bore a distinct resemblance to that late Chinese actor. This was especially true when he demonstrated the martial arts prowess he had used to rescue her from the two Black men who had attempted to rob her. Lữ appeared utterly rugged and masculine—precisely the quality she had long sought in the men who had passed through her life, yet rarely ever found. Moreover, an aura of danger and menace radiated from his face. He seemed like a killer—a man who would stop at nothing to achieve his desires.
 
Miriam felt a surge of arousal; she was captivated by the thought of the novel sensations she was about to experience. Sensations courtesy of Lữ. Courtesy of this young Vietnamese man—whose English was still halting—hailing from a land she had barely heard of, and about which she felt no need to know anything. The very first Oriental man she would come to know as a lover—at least for the time being!
 

Chapter 4
 
Lữ sensed Miriam’s attention, and he found it amusing. The young woman—blonde, with striking green eyes, the daughter of the restaurant owner—watched him with an intense, unwavering gaze as he moved tables and chairs, preparing the dining room for the day’s service. She possessed a strangely alluring beauty. Her attire was captivating, eye-catching, and overtly provocative—hinting at a burning, carnal passion; yet her face and eyes revealed a stark contrast: the signs of an intelligent mind, filled with complex thoughts and inner turmoil.
 
Lữ could instantly discern the difference between her and any other beautiful woman. It lay in her sharp, penetrating gaze. It lay in her demeanor and mannerisms. But more than anything else, Lữ was drawn to her physique and her sheer sex appeal.

Lữ viewed women primarily as objects of sexual desire. He had never felt a deep emotional attachment to anyone—nothing that could truly be called love. He sought out women to satisfy a need, a primal urge—an interaction devoid of any sentimentality. It was a purely transactional affair—a straightforward exchange, free of complications or emotional baggage.
 
Consequently, ever since coming of age, Lữ had known only prostitutes; his interactions with the opposite sex were nothing more than commercial transactions. While a few women had sought him out for reasons other than money, their motives were driven entirely by physical desire. These were the women of the decadent Saigon of old—bar hostesses, "beer girls," and wives deprived of a husband's presence—seeking him out merely to satisfy a primal need.

It had been a very long time since Lữ had truly known a woman—not since the days spent preparing for his escape by boat, the time spent on the refugee island, or his initial days upon arriving in America. And now, a woman as beautiful as Miriam—with her striking, exotic blonde hair and green eyes—was paying him attention, her gaze filled with a seductive, inviting allure. Lữ felt that perhaps his luck had finally begun to turn. And just in the nick of time, too!

° ° °

Miriam approached Lữ and asked:

"Have you been working here long?"
 
Lữ, who was in the process of taking several inverted chairs down from the tabletops and arranging them neatly on the floor, looked up to see Miriam perched on a high barstool, leaning her arms against the counter. Her white skirt had ridden up, revealing her long, slender legs crossed elegantly at the knee. Lữ replied:
 
"I’ve only just started working here. Is your father’s illness serious?"

She answered:

"He has a heart condition. He had chest pains today and had to go in for an emergency check-up. It will probably be a few days before he’s back at work. Where are you from?"

"I came here from Vietnam. Do you know anything about Vietnam?"

"I’ve only heard about the Vietnam War. I was still very young back then. Would you tell me a little about your home country?"
 
Lữ smiled. *As if she actually needed to know anything about Vietnam!* She simply wanted an excuse to keep talking to him. It was so simple—and so convenient. In that moment, Lữ recognized a fine quality in the American people. "If there is something you want, say it outright—no need for beating around the bush or hiding anything."
 
He replied:

"I will tell you..."

 
"I’ll tell you plenty of fascinating stories about my homeland, Vietnam. On one condition!"
 
"What condition?"
 
"You teach me English and help me practice my pronunciation."
 
Miriam nodded. Lữ felt he needed to strike while the iron was hot. He uttered a line he had never before used on a Vietnamese woman he had just met:

"You have such beautiful thighs!"

Miriam was taken aback. She had assumed Asians were reserved and unexpressive; she certainly hadn't expected this young man to be bold enough to offer such a frank compliment. Yet, she felt amused—and flattered. She knew she was attractive, and this young Vietnamese man was clearly no exception to the rule. If she set her sights on a man, how could he possibly turn her down?

Miriam smiled, replying in a casual tone as if she considered it just another ordinary compliment:

"Thank you!"
 
° ° °

Miriam arranged to return that evening to pick Lữ up for dinner, so she could listen to his stories about his homeland. *Just an excuse,* Lữ thought to himself, smiling inwardly. He wasn't yet accustomed to this American girl’s forward approach. Yet, he felt neither awkward nor embarrassed—quite the opposite, in fact. Lữ felt a surge of pride and delight; the restaurant owner’s daughter—young, beautiful, and clearly amorous—seemed to be taken with him, and it offered him a perfect opportunity to further hone his English. What could be better?

Lữ recalled the banter he and his friend used to share back on the island. For bachelors like them, the quickest and most effective way to master English was to hook up with an American woman. Sơn had once joked:

"I’m going to snag myself a Black chick—that’ll be quick and easy. Hitting on the white girls is probably too tough. Who cares about color, anyway? As long as she’s a woman, that’s all that matters! You get some flesh and curves to cuddle up with at night, and then you make her drill your pronunciation. You’ll be fluent in no time, talking English day and night. Once your English is solid, we’ll figure out our next move!"
 
Lữ nodded in agreement, conceding that Sơn had a point. As for American women—specifically Black women—he knew he was no match for them; he’d have to admit defeat there. But now, he would have Miriam to guide him through his first steps in America. It was truly a stroke of luck—like finding a mat to sleep on just when you’re feeling sleepy!
 
ữ felt incredibly fortunate; he had barely set foot in this country—still "wet behind the ears," as the saying goes—yet he had landed a job immediately, even if it was only minimum wage. A twist of fate had led him to rescue Miriam, and she had subsequently taken a liking to him. A woman as beautiful and alluring as a movie star! His arduous journey to escape his homeland and reach this place hadn't been in vain after all!
 
And with this, Lữ grew even more confident that success would eventually come his way. After all, what success doesn't begin with a bit of good luck? Lữ mused to himself as he worked cheerfully amidst the bustling, noisy, and hectic atmosphere of Don’s Hamburger joint.

° ° °

They walked side by side along the wooden pier stretching out toward the ocean at Santa Monica Beach. Miriam wore a pair of tight-fitting jeans that accentuated her long, shapely thighs. Her T-shirt hugged her figure, highlighting her full, ample bosom. Many heads turned to stare, their gazes filled with desire. Lữ felt a surge of pride. He thanked God for granting him a height that was well above average for a Vietnamese man. For even in flat sandals, Miriam stood nearly as tall as he did; yet, being slender rather than large-framed, she made a perfectly well-matched companion for him.
 
Lữ could never bring himself to accept a situation where a man was shorter or smaller than the woman walking beside him. Perhaps he really was a macho man! Miriam had noticed this trait in him as well—and had even taken the time to explain the meaning of the word to him. It meant he possessed a distinctly masculine nature—the spirit of a conqueror, of a man who fearlessly charges ahead—and she loved that about him.

Miriam asked him as they sat in an open-air eatery, where the brisk ocean breeze swept in around them:

"What do you plan to do in the future? I know your job at Don’s Hamburger is only temporary; a man of your caliber surely won't stay there forever."
 
Lữ gazed into the distance toward the sandy beach, where couples strolled in the night—embracing one another—right at the edge of the gentle waves lapping against the shore.

"I don't know yet, either. But I *will* get rich!"

"I thought you’d enjoy making money. Out here, money is everything! Fame means nothing without it. All that education and knowledge—it only serves to make you a hired hand for the wealthy. The rich—those with money—they possess everything in this land."
 
Lữ offered no reply. Such things still felt so distant. For now, his meager wages were barely enough to cover his meals and rent. He would have to work long and hard to achieve his ambitions. And he would need a great deal of luck, too. Lữ spoke up:

"Enough talk of making money. Let's take a stroll along the beach for a bit. You don't have to head home just yet, do you, Miriam?"
 
Miriam shook her head. Side by side, they walked along the water's edge; the tiny ripples washing onto the sand were too gentle to even wet their feet. Miriam pointed out toward the open sea—nothing but a vast expanse of deep, inky blackness.

"Your homeland lies on the other side of the Pacific, doesn't it?"
 
Lữ nodded.

"My country is poor; there is likely nothing of any consequence there for you to hear about, Miriam."

Miriam said nothing. In truth, she had no need to know. She simply liked this young man—that was all. His homeland held no interest for her whatsoever.

Miriam pressed herself closer against Lữ. The warmth radiating from his body made her pulse quicken. And the strong, earthy scent of him—the unmistakable scent of a man—suddenly filled her with a surge of desire. Miriam stumbled forward, feigning a loss of balance. Lữ quickly reached out and caught her in his arms. She wrapped her own arms around his neck and pulled his head down toward hers.
 
Lữ kissed her—passionately, hungrily. He kissed her like a man who had long been starved of affection, drawing the moment out endlessly, unwilling to let it end. Her breasts and thighs pressed tightly against Lu’s body, and he felt his own body swell as if it were about to burst. He held her close, and they stood kissing on the sand—as passionately as a pair of lovers who had loved each other for ages, and who, after a long separation, were finally reunited.

 
Miriam gently removed Lữ’s hand and spoke, her voice faltering and hoarse:

"Come back to my apartment, Lữ."

Lữ had always been a man who placed no faith in destiny. He viewed the theory of fatalism—the belief that each person’s lot in life is predetermined—as a sign of weakness. Was one simply to blame "fate" every time one met with failure or encountered something that did not go according to plan? Lữ would think this to himself whenever he heard someone lamenting their troubles, attributing everything to Heaven or to destiny.
 
He believed that everything was determined and decided by the individual; if something unfortunate occurred, the fault lay with oneself. Likewise, good fortune and smooth sailing were things one created for oneself. Of course, there was such a thing as chance—luck, both good and bad—but Lữ felt that such fortune or misfortune was merely a subset of pure coincidence. And Lữ certainly did not believe in any preordained plan orchestrated by fate.

Take, for instance, his meeting with Miriam and their subsequent becoming lovers. It was merely the random outcome of an encounter—brought about by their respective actions—occurring at a specific moment in time and space. Yet, Lữ had to concede one thing: their lives had been irrevocably altered the moment they met.
 
That night, they made love with a wild, fierce intensity—so consuming that it felt as if they were the only two people left in the world, transported back to a primordial, primal era where all of existence had distilled itself into pure erotic passion, into a singular, primal instinct.
 
Inside Miriam’s apartment on Butler Avenue, near the Santa Monica beach, there were moments when Lữ felt he had stumbled upon his own personal Garden of Eden—a place where he was the only man and Miriam the only woman, engaged in an endless, ceaseless dance of lovemaking.

He had never before encountered a lover as ardent as Miriam—nor anyone who aroused him quite as intensely as this white-skinned, blonde-haired, green-eyed woman. Perhaps it was the novelty of it, perhaps it was the flattery to his pride, or simply because it had been so long since Lữ had been intimate with a woman—he could not say for sure.
 
But of one thing, Lữ was certain: he had experienced the most intense sensations, the most exquisite ecstasies that an act of lovemaking could possibly yield. And etched deep into his soul, preserved in a memory he would never forget, was that first night in America—making love to a white woman as beautiful as the screen sirens he had previously only admired from afar.

Chapter 5
 
Miriam had known many romances and many men in her life, yet never had she felt such an overwhelming pull as she did toward this man who had come from across the Pacific. Lữ possessed the allure of the exotic, of a certain mystery—tinged with a hint of danger—and of a past that might be terrifying, yet which stoked her curiosity with irresistible intensity. Miriam could not quite pinpoint exactly what it was about Lữ that captivated her so profoundly.
 
But as she walked beside him on the beach, she understood instantly. It was the potent scent radiating from his body—a scent that enveloped her, leaving her utterly powerless to resist. It was like a mare catching the scent of a lead stallion from afar—a stallion galloping across a vast, open meadow—and feeling compelled to chase after him, to breathe in that heady fragrance, to immerse herself in and merge with the very essence of the male that commanded and governed her primal instincts.

She felt precisely that sensation. And that same urgent, primal compulsion. Miriam attained levels of pleasure she had never known existed—sublimities she had never before experienced. And all of it was owed to that potent, intoxicating scent of Lữ. It was the scent of the man she had been searching for all this time—a scent she had once tasted and found as intoxicating as a person taking their first steps down the path of addiction. It was like a drug: lovely, yet binding—as inescapable as the purest heroin.

° ° °

Don Lavitz looked out at the crowd of diners filling every seat in Don’s Hamburger and felt a deep sense of satisfaction. Never before had this eatery in the South Central district been so packed with customers. Lavitz owned three other restaurants in more upscale parts of Los Angeles; and although this particular location generated the lowest revenue—and security concerns were becoming increasingly alarming—he steadfastly refused to sell it off.
 
For this shop was the beginning; it was the very source of the Lavitz family’s prosperity. It was, in a way, like a first love—something one could never truly cast aside. That was how Don Lavitz felt, and so he kept the doors open, even as the number of patrons had steadily dwindled over time.

That changed, however, when a young Vietnamese man—freshly arrived in America—came to work at Don’s Hamburger. His name was Lữ, and he started out as a waiter. Lavitz had gone through a revolving door of waiters before Lữ came along. They were sloppy, habitually late, prone to arguing with customers, and prone to theft—committing every manner of infraction imaginable. But worst of all, out of any five waiters he hired, at least four were addicts.
 
It was an unavoidable reality; drugs had held the district in their grip for a very long time. Lavitz simply couldn't find anyone else willing to work there, so he had to make do—often having to fire and replace staff members after just a few days on the job. When Lữ first started working, he took immediate notice of this situation. He proposed to Lavitz that he take charge of assigning duties to the other waiters—and, more importantly, keep a watchful eye out to ensure the restaurant wasn't being used as a front for drug dealing.
 
Lavitz agreed without hesitation. The Black waiters initially pushed back against Lữ’s authority, but once he demonstrated a few of his karate moves, they fell into line instantly—not daring to utter another word of protest.

 
Business was running smoothly, and customers were more satisfied than ever before. Gone were the scenes of angry patrons storming out because their food took too long to arrive, or because a rude waiter had brought them the wrong order. Lavitz recognized that Lữ was truly an asset and began paying him a higher wage. Lữ then presented another proposal to Lavitz. He said:

"Have you ever considered adding new items to the menu?"

Lavitz looked Lữ up and down and retorted:

"Do you even know the name of this place? Don’s Hamburger! We serve only quick, simple fare. We can't just go adding a bunch of new dishes!"

"I think we could add one or two 'specialty items'—something different from other diners—to attract even more customers."

"Do you have a specific suggestion?"

"I know of a Vietnamese dish that many Americans enjoy; it’s called *chả giò*. It’s similar to Chinese egg rolls, but much tastier."
 
"And you know how to make this dish yourself?"
 
Lữ smiled:

"No! I’m no cook, but I know a place that supplies *chả giò*. They come pre-made—it’s very simple. Just let me offer a few of our regulars a taste. I think they’ll love it!"

Lữ had already begun to build rapport with several of the restaurant’s daily regulars—people who worked in nearby offices or owned shops in the neighborhood. He would cheerfully strike up conversations with many of the patrons. His primary objective, in truth, was to practice his English and gain fluency; however, many customers genuinely took a liking to him, and Lữ, in turn, would joke and chat with them as if they were old friends.
 
Lữ was not naturally an outgoing or gregarious person; yet, he recognized that in this society, one's ability to network—to win people over and make them feel at ease—played a pivotal role in determining one's success. Thus, going against his own natural inclinations, Lữ made a conscious effort to cultivate a persona that was affable, approachable, and adept at building connections.
 
Lữ, too, was surprised to find how effortlessly he could transform himself. Perhaps when speaking English—a language other than his mother tongue—it was far easier to don a mask of artificial friendliness and cheerfulness; it required much less effort than it did when speaking Vietnamese with his own compatriots.

Lữ drove down to the Little Saigon district of Westminster and stopped at a shop specializing in *chả giò* , where he ordered several portions to take back to work. Lữ offered some to his regular customers, and Lavitz immediately saw that he had been right. Orders for the dish began to pour in. The number of new customers—drawn in by recommendations from friends—also started to climb steadily. Lavitz began to look at Lữ through a different lens.

° ° °

Don Lavitz hailed from Poland. Having survived a Nazi concentration camp alongside his older sister, Lavitz arrived in the United States at the age of eighteen. As a teenager, Lavitz had to work every odd job imaginable, constantly battling to survive. Working by day and studying by night, he slowly climbed the social ladder, one rung at a time. There were many successes along the way—and just as many failures.
 
Twenty years earlier, after a disastrous foray into the stock market, Lavitz had lost absolutely everything. With the meager capital he had left, Lavitz opened this humble, unassuming little diner—and in doing so, he realized that any enduring business success must begin with the simple and the ordinary.

His youthful dreams of getting rich quick had long since cooled, yet his diner—"Don’s Hamburger"—had nonetheless brought a life of comfort and prosperity to Lavitz, his gentle-natured wife, and their only daughter. The additional restaurants he later opened in more upscale neighborhoods eventually brought Lavitz a sense of quiet satisfaction with his achievements.
 
It was not the earth-shattering success he had once craved, but it was, at the very least, a humble yet solid success within the restaurant trade. And the house he owned on the hills overlooking Mulholland Drive stood as a tangible symbol of his considerable wealth. Miriam got whatever she wanted—even expensive sports cars. Lavitz simply could not bring himself to deny Miriam anything, especially after his wife had passed away when Miriam was just eight years old.

Lavitz felt a kinship with Lữ. In this young man—who hailed from an impoverished land across the Pacific—he saw a reflection of his own self from decades past. Just as Lavitz had survived the concentration camps, reached the Promised Land, and resolved to make his fortune—at any cost—Lữ, too, was prepared to pay the price in sweat, tears, and suffering. Lavitz could read every thought in the young man’s keen eyes: the desires, the determination, and the driving ambition. How well Lavitz knew those feelings!
 
He wanted to see Lữ succeed. And so he watched, observing Lữ and anticipating his every move with a sense of fascination—as if it were an intriguing game. It was like being someone who had finally escaped the labyrinth of life, now standing high above to look down upon the one following behind—struggling, rushing back and forth, taking great leaps, stumbling, and striving to navigate the twists and turns of existence. All in search of that final exit beneath the arch of a rainbow, convinced that a pot of gold awaited him at the very end.
 

 
What displeased Lavitz—though he was powerless to do anything about it—was seeing Miriam frequent the restaurant so often, always accompanied by Lữ. Lavitz doted on his daughter, yet he also stood in awe of her. He felt no discomfort seeing Miriam paired with a man of a different race; Lavitz was of Jewish descent himself and had known the sting of discrimination firsthand.
 
Miriam had, after all, had lovers in the past who had made Lavitz shake his head in utter exasperation. By comparison, Lữ was actually something of a blessing—provided, of course, that Miriam was genuinely considering a long-term future with him. Yet Lavitz secretly hoped she wasn't.
 
He had often asked himself why his one and only cherished daughter couldn't simply fall in love with someone *normal*—someone like a doctor, a lawyer, or a wealthy, successful businessman—men with the solid foundations required to live comfortably in this society. Why couldn't Miriam simply choose a life of normalcy, just like every other girl?

It wasn't that Lavitz disapproved of Lữ because the young man currently possessed nothing—having arrived in this country as a refugee with his feet barely dry. On the contrary, Lavitz genuinely wished to see Lữ succeed. Yet Lavitz was also a realist. This was the Promised Land, to be sure, but it was also a place where countless dreams shattered into dust.
 
Immigrants arriving from distant lands—like Lữ—with a burning ambition to strike it rich in America were as numerous as the grains of sand on a beach. Ambition alone was not enough. One also required talent. One needed a unique blend of personal attributes to achieve truly *great* success. One needed opportunity. And one needed the acuity to recognize that opportunity the moment it arose—to seize it at precisely the right time and in the right place.
 
Above all, one needed luck. And not just a single stroke of luck, but one stroke following another—an uninterrupted streak—until one’s position was secure enough that, even if the luck eventually ran out, one’s entire world wouldn't come crashing down like a castle built upon sand.

Lavitz had lived a long life and traveled many roads. He estimated that, out of a million people, perhaps only one would achieve truly *great* success; out of ten thousand, perhaps one would attain moderate success. Modest success was easier to come by: for every hundred immigrants who arrived here with the aim of getting rich, perhaps one would actually manage to do so. The rest would simply scrape by, earning just enough to survive.
 
But Lavitz certainly didn't want his precious daughter contemplating a long-term future with a man who merely scraped by! The odds of success for someone like Lữ were far too slim; he hoped his daughter’s romance with this hired hand would prove as fleeting as Miriam’s other affairs—merely another life experience. As his daughter had once explained to her father—a man of an older generation who could never truly understand or accept the modern way of life.
 

Chapter 6
 
 
Lữ rose and walked over to the stereo system situated in the center of the room, where he selected a tape and inserted it into the player. Amidst Miriam’s haphazard pile of tapes, Lữ had discovered a handful of recordings from the 1950s and 60s—songs he particularly loved: "Smoke Gets in Your Eyes" by The Platters, "Strangers in the Night" by Frank Sinatra, "Unforgettable," and "Autumn Leaves" by Nat King Cole. Lữ often enjoyed playing these tracks in the aftermath of making love to Miriam—lying in bed with a cigarette on his lips, eyes half-closed in blissful contentment.
 
Beside him lay Miriam, beads of sweat glistening on her eyelashes and cheeks, trickling down across her bare breasts. There were moments when Lữ felt that the true ecstasy of a romance lay not in the act of lovemaking itself, but in the moments that followed—lying beside a woman who hovered between sleep and wakefulness, steeped in a blissful exhaustion, listening to a favorite melody while savoring a cigarette.
 
It was in these moments—when life truly settled into a profound stillness—that existence felt truly worth living, worth savoring, down to the very last minute and second.

Lữ had officially moved into Miriam’s apartment on Butler Avenue. The room he had previously rented was cramped and situated in a dilapidated, unsafe neighborhood. Both Miriam and Lữ had come to realize the sheer absurdity of his paying rent for that room when, night after night, Miriam would drive to the restaurant just to bring him back to her own apartment.
 
Miriam’s residence was located in a small, eight-unit building—a clean, respectable complex situated near the intersection of Santa Monica Boulevard and the grounds of the Wadsworth Veterans Hospital. From there, it took only about a five-minute drive through the charming Westwood district—located in the western part of Los Angeles—to reach UCLA. The rent for Miriam’s apartment was easily four or five times the cost of the room Lữ had been renting. He felt a bit awkward about the prospect of moving into Miriam’s place. She smiled:

“Drop the macho act, Lữ! It’s really no different if I just sublet a room in the apartment to you, is it?”

“Alright, then! I’ll pay you the same amount I was paying for my old place—we’ll consider that my rent. As for utilities, we’ll split the costs right down the middle. That’s the only way I’ll agree to move in!”

Lữ grabbed his small suitcase—containing little more than a few changes of clothes—and drove his beat-up old car over to move in with Miriam for good. That meager suitcase was the sum total of his worldly possessions. He gazed at his car—its paint faded and blotchy, its body dented front and back—parked right next to Miriam’s expensive convertible.
 
He felt a pang of impatience, wondering when on earth he would finally have enough money to buy a new car—let alone a magnificent vehicle like Miriam’s. Starting from scratch, with absolutely nothing to his name, was indeed a struggle. Yet Lữ had faith in himself. The greater the difficulties, the more determined he became; if others could achieve something, he was convinced he could achieve it too.

Lữ lay there with his eyes half-closed, listening to the voice of Nat King Cole; by now, Miriam was wide awake as well. Suddenly, she spoke up:

“You need to go back to school, Lữ.”

Lữ turned to look at her, taken aback. He stubbed out his cigarette.

“Why do you say that?”

“If you want to get rich—if you want to be successful—you have to get more education!”

 
Lữ remained silent. He reflected on his own academic past. He had completed his baccalaureate and entered university, enrolling in the Faculty of Sciences to pursue the first-year certificate in Mathematics, Physics, and Chemistry. Those theoretical subjects felt futile to him, as they offered no practical application; upon graduation, one could do little else but teach, for what facilities existed in Vietnam to conduct scientific experimentation? For the most part, first-year students like himself enrolled merely to bide their time until the day they would be drafted into the army. And indeed, Lữ had enlisted shortly after failing to pass his certificate exams.
 
During the long years of war that followed, simply surviving had been a stroke of luck; the notion of pursuing further studies had been the furthest thing from his mind. Miriam’s bringing up the subject of education compelled Lữ to think. Perhaps Sơn was right. For men like him and Sơn, an education in Vietnam had truly amounted to very little. Lữ turned to Miriam and asked:

"What subject do you think I should study?"

"I don't know what field interests you most. But if you want to go into business—trading, making money, building wealth—you really ought to learn about business administration. You could enroll in evening classes at a community college. If you aspire to build a large-scale enterprise someday, you should study investment and finance. There are so many options. I’ve never paid much attention to financial matters myself, so I’m not exactly an expert, but I can certainly make inquiries on your behalf."

Lữ gazed into her eyes—eyes the color of green jade. He had assumed they had sought each other out solely for physical intimacy, driven by a mutual curiosity for the novelty of a new romance. Why, then, did she concern herself with his well-being? Why was she thinking about his long-term future? Lữ voiced the question aloud:

"Why did you suddenly start thinking about this?"

"It made me think of my father. You remind me of him in many ways. My father used to work and study at the same time, too. He always said there were two types of people: those who study for the sake of learning itself, and those who study to acquire the skills to *do* something. He studied just long enough to master the knowledge he needed to build his fortune."


"I’m not sure one can truly learn how to get rich just by going to school. But I will take your advice."

Lữ felt that Miriam had a point. He had not been in the U.S. for very long; he still had much to learn about life on this side of the world. Thanks to Miriam, his English had improved somewhat, yet it remained insufficient for him to converse fluently with Americans. Taking evening classes, therefore, seemed like the most sensible course of action. There was simply too much he still needed to know. And he would make it a point to learn precisely those things essential for the business he envisioned for himself in the future. Operations, management, accounting, bookkeeping, taxation—he would have to master them all.
 
Furthermore, once he had accumulated capital, he would need to understand how to make that money generate even more money. The truly wealthy in this land of America were those who knew how to utilize their funds to foster growth—those who knew how to invest at the right time and in the right place.

Lavitz had once told him that the wealthiest people in California were those who had built their fortunes through trading houses and land, investing in real estate, developing vacant plots, and construction projects. No one, he noted, ever became truly rich simply by working as an employee for someone else. He would have to study these very principles Lavitz had spoken of—to gain a conceptual framework, to acquire knowledge, so that when the opportune moment finally arrived, he would at least be prepared to seize it and capitalize upon it.
 
A person who is prepared may not always encounter an opportunity; yet a person who is unprepared—who lacks knowledge—will not even recognize an opportunity as it passes them by, let alone be able to reach out, grasp it, and put it to use.

Lữ wanted to prove himself worthy of the good fortune and opportunities he was absolutely certain would eventually come his way—someday in the future. For that was precisely what he had resolved to achieve!
Lữ wrapped his arms around Miriam. A thought had just crossed his mind—specifically, regarding Miriam’s encouragement for him to return to his studies.
 
She was the only child of old Mr. Lavitz, the proprietor of four bustling restaurants across Los Angeles; as such, she stood to inherit her father’s entire estate—yet she harbored not the slightest enthusiasm for the task of overseeing or managing the business operations. And that was precisely why she wanted *him* to go and study business—to learn about management, bookkeeping, and administrative procedures. Could it be that the green eyes of that Jewish girl saw him as something more than a fleeting lover—more than a mere novelty born of demanding lust?

Could it be that, because her father suffered from a severe heart condition that could claim his life at any moment, she sought a man to lean on—someone to help her manage her father’s business? Could it be that she had chosen *him*—a refugee who had arrived in the United States only recently, who knew little of life here, and whose capabilities remained largely unproven? Could it be that fortune itself had appeared right before his eyes—lying beside him at this very moment: soft, burning with heat, pressing tight against his body, caressing and arousing him?

Lữ was stunned by these thoughts. Opportunity was not some distant prospect to be awaited in the future. His opportunity lay in the present—right here, right now—manifesting in the fiery ardor of Miriam’s body, and upon her full, ripe lips that demanded ultimate satisfaction. He knew she could not bring herself to leave him—that she was like someone who had swallowed a potent draught, ensnared by the spell of the sensations and pleasures he bestowed upon her.
 
Lữ curled his lip into a smile—the very same smile he had worn not long ago on the Eastern Sea, when he pulled the pin on a hand grenade and hurled it onto the boat of Thai pirates. And then he pressed his weight down upon Miriam, summoning every ounce of his masculine prowess to satisfy the woman beneath him—to ensure that his fortune, his opportunity, would be locked tight in his grasp, never to slip away.

 
Chapter 7
 
Don Lavitz called Lữ into the office situated right next to the restaurant’s kitchen. It was a small room, cluttered with papers. A cheap desk sat in the center, flanked by two bare chairs. Lữ had never stepped into this room of Lavitz’s before. He hadn't expected his boss’s workspace to be so shabby. Perhaps all wealthy, moneyed people were frugal—never spending lavishly. Money was meant only for the bank or for business investment; personal expenditures were kept to a bare minimum. That, Lữ mused silently as he pulled up a chair to sit, must be how they became rich. Lavitz spoke first:

"I heard from Miriam that you’re taking classes in the evenings. How is your coursework coming along?"

Lữ looked at Lavitz, slightly taken aback. The old man hadn't seemed particularly pleased when Miriam first started seeing him. Perhaps—contrary to his prediction that Miriam would tire of him after two or three months—Lavitz had grown impatient upon seeing his cherished daughter still dating him after nearly half a year? Lữ replied:

"I’m studying business. I’m keeping up well enough. It’s a two-year program."

Don Lavitz nodded slowly:

"Very good! Miriam tells me you’re a quick learner. But studying alone isn’t enough; you need practical experience, too. How would you feel if I offered you the position of manager for this restaurant?"

Lữ’s stomach lurched. His heart skipped two beats in succession. His opportunity had finally arrived! Old Man Lavitz continued:
 

"I need to transfer Vincent up to the San Gabriel location to oversee things there. Vincent has been at this South Central branch for over ten years now, and he wants to move his family up north. I’ll have Vincent train you for a month before you take full charge."

Lữ spoke quickly, as if afraid Lavitz might change his mind:

"Thank you, sir! I’ll do my absolute best!"

Lavitz went on:

"Naturally, you’ll receive a raise. Vincent has been with me for a long time, so his salary is high; you, however, will start at forty thousand dollars a year." "After a year—if the restaurant attracts more customers—I will pay you a salary equal to what Vincent is earning right now. At the end of the year, if business is truly excellent, I will give you a bonus."

Lữ accepted immediately. This offer truly exceeded his wildest dreams. Miriam must have spent a great deal of time persuading her father behind the scenes. While the salary itself wasn't exactly astronomical, for someone who had been in the U.S. for barely a year, being entrusted with the management of an entire restaurant—and supervising a staff of over a dozen employees, comprising Black, White, and Hispanic Americans—was certainly no ordinary feat.

Lữ made a solemn vow to himself: he would find a way to double both the customer count and the revenue within six months. He would prove to old man Lavitz—and, above all, to Miriam—that they had chosen the right man. This establishment, Don’s Hamburger, would serve as the launching pad for his success; it would become the busiest restaurant in the South Central district—the one with the best food, the most loyal clientele, and the most refined atmosphere.

In Lữ’s mind, a host of other superlatives for *his* restaurant began to take shape. For this was, in every sense, *his* restaurant now. He did not yet hold the legal title of ownership, but it felt as though he practically did. Old man Lavitz had no choice but to groom him—whether he liked it or not—to take charge of the legacy Lavitz intended to bequeath to his only daughter.
 
Lữ was not the man Lavitz would have chosen for Miriam—not for the future of his cherished daughter, nor for the fortune he had labored so tirelessly to build. Yet, Lavitz had no other option. Miriam was utterly infatuated with this young man from a destitute land across the Eastern Sea; she simply could not bear to be apart from him. Lavitz had seen this, understood it, and—reluctantly—accepted it.

° ° °

Lữ threw himself into his work with boundless enthusiasm. After just one month of training under Vincent, he had mastered every aspect of the operation. Bookkeeping, cash flow, payroll, tax records, placing orders, receiving deliveries—he could handle it all entirely on his own. His time assisting Vincent had served its purpose: it was his apprenticeship, and he had passed with flying colors.
 
Lữ noted the shortcomings and errors, yet—with shrewdness—he remained silent, offering not a single word of criticism. He quietly observed and contemplated ways to implement improvements and corrections once he officially assumed the role of manager. He had no desire to cause Vincent to lose face, nor did he wish to incur his enmity or risk having him speak ill of him to Lavitz. Vincent was a childhood friend of Lavitz; the two regarded one another as brothers. Lữ was certainly not foolish enough to let Vincent perceive him as the more talented or innovative of the two.
 
On the contrary, he heaped praise upon Vincent, striving to win his favor and cultivate a sense of goodwill. Upon hearing Vincent sing Lữ’s praises—though not yet entirely convinced—Lavitz felt his reservations ease somewhat regarding his decision to appoint Lữ as the manager in charge of the restaurant. On the final day before his departure—leaving Lữ to officially oversee the establishment on his own—Vincent grasped Lữ’s hand and offered a word of counsel:

"I know you possess talent. This restaurant is merely a stepping stone for you, but remember this, Lữ: do not press your luck too far. Each person is allotted by Heaven a finite measure of good fortune. Do not squander your entire allotment too soon!"

Lữ gazed at Vincent, uncomprehending. *This old man is far more profound than I had imagined,* Lữ thought to himself. *But what exactly is he implying?* Lữ pondered the question for a fleeting moment, only to dismiss it just as quickly. He was still too exhilarated by his new responsibilities—and by the swelling tide of pride and self-importance that now consumed him—to waste his energy dwelling on such eccentric ramblings.

 
Lữ began devising ways to boost the restaurant's customer base. He analyzed the demographics of his clientele—where they came from, what they did for a living, and the specific reasons why regulars kept returning. He paid particularly close attention to the competing eateries in the neighborhood. He thoroughly assessed the strengths and weaknesses of both his own establishment and those of his competitors—evaluating everything from the food and service to the location itself.
 
Lữ formulated a comprehensive strategy and action plan designed to outpace the competition and draw diners to his restaurant—much like a military commander deploying troops and positioning his forces, determined to secure victory at all costs.

One advantage Lữ immediately recognized and began to capitalize on was the demographic shift occurring in the South Central region, specifically the influx of Korean immigrants arriving to establish businesses. Korean-owned grocery stores, markets, and liquor shops began springing up like mushrooms, gradually spreading throughout the entire area. Consequently, the number of patrons of Korean descent visiting Lữ’s restaurant grew steadily day by day.
 
By engaging with them in a cheerful, friendly manner and adding a few Korean dishes to the menu, Lữ soon transformed his restaurant into a favorite local haunt for this community. Lữ took great satisfaction in seeing Don’s Hamburger become a vibrant, bustling hub where people of every race and background mingled in equal measure. He also identified and eliminated inefficiencies in the ordering process and kitchen operations, thereby cutting out all unnecessary waste and superfluous expenses.

At times, Lữ would chuckle to himself, feeling rather like a frugal, penny-pinching housewife. Yet, he remained resolute in his objective: to make revenue skyrocket while slashing expenses to the absolute minimum. He was determined to prove to Lavitz and Miriam that, under his management, the restaurant’s profits would soar to unprecedented heights.

After three months at the helm, Lữ proudly presented his financial figures to Lavitz. The customer count had risen by 30 percent, and net profits had surged by over 50 percent. Lavitz was genuinely astonished; the restaurant had never before achieved such impressive financial results.
 
"Well done, Lữ!" Lavitz exclaimed. "At this rate, we might just have to expand the shop even further."

Lữ said nothing. Lavitz met his gaze and understood immediately. He spoke:

"I think you deserve to be compensated more fairly. What do you have in mind?"

Lữ hesitated. He didn't want Lavitz to think he was greedy, yet conversely, he didn't want to be shortchanged either. He had poured far too much effort into making the restaurant a success. And Lữ had picked up on a commendable trait of the Americans in this land: an acceptance of fairness that ensures mutual benefit.
 
Lữ had observed and studied the regulars who dined there—the owners of various shops, services, and companies—watching how they conducted their transactions and business dealings. And he noticed one thing: their success lay in fairness; he constantly heard them use the word *fairness*. Lữ realized the Americans had a point—and understood why they were more successful than other peoples around the world.
 
Deception and the excessive hoarding of profits might yield an initial advantage, but it is fleeting. No one allows themselves to be cheated a second time, just as no one tolerates being disadvantaged for too long. The key lies in understanding fairness—knowing exactly what it means to be *fair*. He replied to Lavitz:

"I think that, in addition to my monthly salary, you should pay me a bonus based on the level of profit. Using this month's figures as a baseline, you would pay me 40% of the *difference* in profit for the coming month, should earnings continue to rise."

"That’s asking for quite a lot, Lữ! You’ve only been in America for a little over a year. What you’re getting now is already more than generous! I’ll give you 30%."

"35%!"

Lavitz smiled and extended his hand for Lữ to shake:

"Well done, Lữ! You’re starting to become a real businessman! 35% is the right number. You’re a very fast learner. And don’t let Miriam get upset! Keep that in mind, Lữ."


 
Chapter 8

Lữ felt a sudden warmth at the back of his neck. He turned his head to look. The eyes of an Asian woman, seated in the back row on the left side of the classroom, were gazing intently at him. Noticing that Lữ was looking back, the woman broke into a smile. Her teeth were white and even, and her broad smile radiated a cheerful, friendly warmth. A pair of dimples further enhanced the woman's charm. Her long, almond-shaped eyes—with their alluringly upturned corners—held a look of playful coquetry, yet still retained the refined air of someone raised in a well-to-do, distinguished family.
 
She possessed the beauty of a woman who was fully aware of her own allure and attractiveness. Lữ felt a slight jolt of surprise. It had been a long time since he had paid any attention to the beauty of any woman other than Miriam. Miriam was like a serpent coiled around his neck, never granting him a single moment of respite. And she was perpetually like a volcanic inferno, erupting with ceaseless demands of carnal passion. Lữ always responded with ardor, yet at times, he felt utterly suffocated.
 
Lữ smiled at the stranger—an Asian woman who had joined his accounting class only a few days prior. Her fresh, vibrant presence piqued his curiosity. Was she Chinese, Thai, or Vietnamese? He could not tell simply by looking at her face.

She approached him as the class concluded and asked in English:

"Are you Vietnamese?"

Lữ smiled and replied in Vietnamese—the first Vietnamese words he had spoken to anyone in over six months:

"Yes, I am! Have you been studying here long?"

She extended her hand for him to shake. It was a slender hand with long, delicate fingers and nails painted a deep crimson.

"My name is Uyên. I’ve only been studying here for a few weeks. You look so diligent in your studies! I usually find this subject rather dull and sleep-inducing, but seeing how enthusiastically you’re studying, I’ve decided to follow your lead!"

 
Lữ smiled. He introduced himself and said:

"It’s really a necessity! It’s not exactly something I enjoy, but for the sake of my work, I simply have no choice but to study."

"What line of work are you in that requires you to attend evening classes so regularly?"

"I manage a restaurant for someone else. I didn't want to hand over all the paperwork and administrative duties to others, so I had to go back to school to learn how to handle it myself. And what about you? Why would a beautiful woman like you choose to study such a dry, academic subject?"

Uyên smiled radiantly. Lữ thought to himself that there surely isn't a woman alive who doesn't feel a thrill of pleasure when told she is beautiful. The more beautiful she is, the more she craves such compliments—as if to reassure herself that she truly possesses that beauty. Yet, in all honesty, he genuinely found Uyên to be beautiful!

"I work in real estate. I’m planning to branch out into investment, so I had to go back to school to brush up on things! What part of town are you from?"
 
"I live in Santa Monica, but I come all the way down here to Long Beach for classes. And you? Where do you live?"

"I live in Huntington Beach. So, it seems we meet right in the middle!"

She smiled, her eyes sparkling with an even more alluring, soulful light. A woman is perhaps at her most beautiful in her late twenties or early thirties—much like the woman named Uyên standing before him now. It is a time when she has fully ripened—when she has come to understand the true nature of love, the realities of life, and has gained ample insight into men.
 
A beautiful woman at this stage of life possesses all the allure and sensuality of a *star apple* fruit—plump, perfectly ripe, and exquisitely sweet—captivating the heart and soul. Lữ was slightly taken aback by the suggestive undertone of Uyên’s reply. He felt a sudden flutter in his chest. Involuntarily, Lữ glanced down at her hands. He hadn't noticed them earlier when they shook hands. On her ring finger, she wore a small, delicate gold band; it pressed tightly against her skin, as if trying to conceal itself—to blend in and vanish—so that no one would notice its presence. It was as if the ring’s existence were a mere formality—a necessary obligation that simply could not be omitted.

Uyên caught Lữ’s gaze. She smiled naturally:

"My husband is running late picking me up today. It looks like I’m in for a bit of a wait." "Is anyone coming to pick you up, Mr. Lữ?"

Uyen narrowed her eyes as she looked at him. Her smile held a certain air of complicity—like an invitation, like a playful enticement. She made no secret of her attraction to Lữ; she displayed it openly, without embarrassment or reserve. Lữ replied:

"No, I drove here myself. I still have a class at eight-thirty!"

Uyên glanced at her watch. She spoke with an almost jubilant tone:

"Ah! There are still fifteen minutes to spare! Let's go sit in the cafeteria and have a drink. My husband won't be here for another half hour, and waiting all alone is so boring! Are you free?"

She rattled on without giving Lữ a chance to answer, then took his hand and led him toward the cafeteria. Lữ followed along, surprised by Uyen’s boldness. *She must have been in the States for a long time,* Lữ thought to himself. He hadn't had much opportunity to socialize with fellow countrymen since arriving in the U.S. Buried in work all day, attending classes in the evenings, and spending late nights with Miriam, Lữ simply had no time left over.
 
Nor had he felt any particular need to meet and socialize with people from his homeland—or perhaps, it would be more accurate to say he simply hadn't felt the *need* yet. Lữ decided this was actually a good opportunity to get to know other Vietnamese people—especially when that person happened to be a beautiful woman like Uyên... and one who seemed to take quite a liking to him!

The cafeteria was nearly empty, as closing time was fast approaching. Lữ and Uyên grabbed their drinks and took a seat at a table. Uyên asked Lữ, her tone a playful mix of jest and earnestness:

"Do you mind sitting with me? Are you worried some girl might misunderstand the situation and get jealous?"

"If *you* don't mind, why should *I*? Have you been in the States long?"

"I came over in '75. You must be a recent arrival, Mr. Lữ?"

"I’ve been here for just over a year. I’m only just starting to get used to things!"
 
Uyên asked back in surprise:

"You’ve only been here for a year? I would have sworn you’d been here for ages! I can usually spot newcomers right away—it typically takes a few years for that look to fade. But you look like someone who’s been living here for at least six or seven years!"

Lữ smiled but said nothing. He owed it all to Miriam! Without her—and without Don’s Hamburger joint—he would likely still wear that bewildered air of a Vietnamese refugee struggling to integrate into life here while fumbling to make a living. He asked Uyên:

"So, you work in real estate? I’ve heard that a lot of people here make a fortune in that line of work."

"It pays the bills, that’s all,"
 
Uyên replied:
 
"I’m actually pretty new to the field. I saw how well everyone else was doing, so I decided to give it a shot myself. Before this, I worked in banking."

Lữ noticed the subtle shift in the way Uyên addressed him. Her voice had grown even sweeter, softer, and more tender. The woman smiled with her eyes—a gaze that locked firmly onto his. Lữ suddenly sensed a certain resemblance between the woman sitting across from him and Miriam: that same face, glowing with desire; that same flirtatious gaze, brimming with invitation.
 
Uyên looked like someone who had been deprived, only to suddenly discover a delectable treat right before her eyes—a treat she simply could not pass up. She gazed at him as if savoring an appetizer, allowing the pleasure to ripple through her entire body, letting the anticipation build—slowly, intensely—before the real feast began.

She asked him about his work at the restaurant. When Lữ mentioned that he was the manager, Uyên’s eyes went wide with astonishment:

"You’ve only been here for a year, and you’re already a manager? That’s truly impressive! That’s a pretty big place, too. I’ve eaten at restaurants down here in Orange County, but I wouldn’t dare set foot in South Central. You really are incredibly talented!"

"Just got lucky, that’s all. It’s nothing compared to what you do—selling houses!"

 
Lữ, too, shifted his manner of address. He found it increasingly difficult to maintain a polite, detached reserve as Uyên’s advances grew ever bolder. It was as if she could no longer tear her eyes away from him. She asked for his phone number and gave him her office line. Uyên said:

"I’m sure I’ll be seeing a lot more of you. I won’t stop until I’ve sold you a house! And you really ought to invest, too! In times like these, it would be a real waste if you didn't make a quick fortune!"

Suddenly, Uyên stood up. She extended her hand for Lữ to shake:

"My husband is here to pick me up! Do you study here every day? I have classes on Wednesdays, Thursdays, and Fridays. I’ll see you again in a couple of days. Have a night full of sweet dreams! I know I’m going to sleep soundly tonight—and I have you to thank for that!"

She gazed at Lữ with intense, lingering eyes. As she reached the door, she turned back to look at him once more—as if offering a promise; as if a clandestine affair had already begun; as if awaiting a fulfillment yet to come!
 
Lữ watched her go, catching sight of her husband stepping out of his car to greet her. And within his heart, a troubled sense of pity began to grow.
 

Chapter 9

Uyên climbed into the car, took her seat beside Vấn, and gave her husband only perfunctory answers. Her mind was still consumed by thoughts of the young man she had just met. She recalled Lữ’s deep, intense eyes and his bold, confident smile—his tall stature and broad shoulders, his close-cropped hair and thick, bushy brows. She replayed every gesture, every glance from the man, fueling her desire and leaving her restless with longing.
 
Uyên turned to look at Vấn. Why couldn't Vấn be more like Lữ? Why did she feel absolutely no spark of excitement whenever she was near him? And why, oh why, had she ever taken Vấn as her husband?

Uyên had met Vấn at the bank where she worked. She was a teller—sitting there all day, counting cash, accepting deposits, and paying out withdrawals. It was a tedious job that offered a meager salary. The most agonizing part was gazing at the colossal sums of money belonging to others—realizing that there were people of immense wealth who could effortlessly sign checks worth two or three years of her own salary. To them, it was as if the money were mere loose change, unworthy of a second thought.
 
Uyên dreamed of the day when she, too, would possess an account displaying such substantial figures—a day when she would command respect. A day when the very way people looked at her would shift the moment her account balance flashed across a computer screen, prompting the bank manager to come rushing over—fawning, effusive, and wearing that servile, money-grubbing smile upon his lips.

Uyên had come to believe that the bank where she worked would be more aptly described as a cathedral—a cathedral of money, where human worth was measured simply and with absolute precision by the balance currently residing in one’s account. Nothing more, nothing less. It was a system both scientific and pragmatic—and one against which no one could possibly lodge a complaint!

Vấn had been working at the bank a few years longer than she had, and he had already secured a position in the inner sanctum—the lending department. Vấn had also begun to master the demeanor of a true banker: professional, yet haughty toward those of limited means—the struggling merchants and small business owners who came seeking a loan. Yet, when encountering the wealthy—factory owners or men of influence—Vấn was quick to bow low, groveling and fawning in a desperate bid to curry favor.
 
Vấn had taken notice of Uyên when she first joined the staff and had set about trying to woo her. He took her out to lunch, bought her roses every weekend, and attended to her every need with meticulous care—all in the hope of catching her eye, of earning a smile or a fleeting glance in return. Vấn was, in every conceivable way, an ordinary man. He was neither tall nor short; while one could not exactly call him handsome, neither was he particularly ugly. Vấn possessed not a single distinctive feature. He was a man who could blend effortlessly into a crowd—noticed by no one, and whom no one felt any need to notice.

He knew himself—his limits and his place. And for that reason, Vấn felt content with what might be loosely termed his "success." Like Uyên, he had arrived in 1975, starting out amidst the same shared hardships faced by all newly arrived refugees. Yet Vấn had gone back to school. Having secured a job at a bank, he had persevered, climbing the corporate ladder step by step—slowly, perhaps, but surely—consistently pleasing his superiors and achieving one milestone after another, until he attained a respectable position within Bank of America.

While Vấn had achieved relative success in his professional life, when it came to women, he was a complete failure. He had set his sights on many women, yet none of them—in his estimation—ever deemed him worthy of their attention in return. For unlike in his career, Vấn lacked any true awareness of where he stood in the realm of romance.
 
He was drawn to beautiful women—women with voluptuous figures and a seductive allure. He paid attention only to those who possessed a charming manner of speaking and a solid educational background. Vấn sought to find a woman who would be entirely his own. And in his view, the "perfect woman" was, first and foremost, a beautiful woman—beauty remained the fundamental requirement—who was articulate and graceful, and who possessed the business acumen to join him in earning money and building wealth. And finally, she had to be an educated woman.
 
Vấn had been searching for years, yet the women who met his exacting criteria never saw *him* as a man worthy of *them*. Conversely, the women who *did* show an interest in him were all rejected by Vấn—primarily because, in his eyes, their physical appearance was simply too ordinary. It mattered not if they held advanced degrees or possessed high levels of education; nor did it matter if they were wealthy or shrewd businesswomen.

 
The moment he first met Uyên, Vấn was instantly captivated by her. She possessed nearly every quality Vấn sought in a woman. She was beautiful and alluring; her speech was sweet and seductive. She was also well-educated. The only thing Vấn couldn't quite gauge was whether she was savvy at business or adept at making money. Yet, he no longer cared much about that. Uyên’s beauty had left him utterly entranced, and Vấn was determined to possess her—at any cost.

At first, Uyên paid Vấn no mind. She had far too many suitors chasing after her and vying for her attention. She couldn't even keep track of all those who were infatuated with her. There were those who desired only her body—men drawn solely to her sensual figure, gazing at her with eyes filled with lust and carnal craving. Then there were the more high-minded young men who wrote poetry and books to dedicate to her; those who flaunted their academic credentials in hopes of catching her eye; and the businessmen who threw money at her, longing only to hold her in their arms. Uyên dated many of these men, yet she never singled any one of them out for special attention—until she met Huy.

She fell in love with Huy; he was her first love. It was a love devoid of calculation—a love of pure passion and romance. It was a love of dates and weekend getaways; of camping trips in Yosemite with a close-knit group of friends; of nights spent dancing until two in the morning; and of shared dreams of one day walking down the aisle. But Uyên made a grave mistake when she gave her all to Huy—when she surrendered her innocence to him. Her selfless, unconditional love became the catalyst for the first heartbreak of her young life.
 
For once Huy had claimed her body and shared her intimacy, he began to change. She was no longer a mystery to be unraveled; she no longer held the allure of forbidden fruit. And so, Huy grew bored of her and moved on to pursue a new romance—one that offered him a greater thrill and a more elusive challenge. Uyên was consumed by such bitterness and resentment that she felt she could have taken her own life. Her dream of marrying Huy had vanished into thin air, leaving behind an indelible scar of bitterness.
 
For months on end, she had felt utterly disillusioned with life. Her first days working at Bank of America marked the period when Uyên’s emotional crisis reached its absolute peak. Vấn entered her life at just the right moment to offer some measure of solace and help soothe her wounds. There was nothing particularly remarkable about Vấn to catch Uyên’s eye; in every conceivable way, he simply could not compare to Huy. Yet, Vấn offered her at least a glimmer of restored self-confidence—reaffirming that she was still beautiful, still capable of captivating others, and that there were men willing to grovel at her feet for even a shred of her affection. And, after all, Huy wasn't the only man in the world!

Uyên agreed to marry Vấn out of wounded pride—because she simply could not accept the harsh, brutal reality that she had been cast aside. Discarded like a worthless rag. Drained of her essence, like a flower stripped of its pollen. She felt compelled to marry before Huy did—to prove to him that she didn't need him, and to demonstrate that casting her aside had been a monumental mistake.
 
Uyên married Vấn without a shred of love; she took him as a husband solely because she needed a man to fill that role—to provide her with a lavish, extravagant wedding reception at the grandest venue in all of Orange County. Vấn had appeared in Uyên’s life at the precise moment she needed him most. Their connection was brokered by the bank where she worked—a veritable temple of mammon, a sanctuary of commerce devoid of genuine emotion or human warmth. It was a place utterly bereft of the kind of beautiful, pure, and perfect love she had spent her entire life—since the days of her youth—dreaming of finding.

At times, Uyên felt she had made a grave error in agreeing to marry Vấn. She realized that marriage was not—and could never be—the remedy for her feelings of inadequacy, for the trauma of being abandoned by Huy, or for her desperate need to prove to her ex-lover that she could survive without him. She harbored absolutely no love for Vấn, nor could she find a single quality in him that inspired her respect. And sometimes, Uyên found herself wondering why she was still with Vấn!
 
 
Chapter 10
 
Uyên asked Lữ just as class was letting out:

"Do you know anything about cars, Lữ? The car I drove to school just stalled out; I’m not sure if it’ll even start up again when I go back out there."

Lữ asked in return:

"What did you say? Isn't your husband picking you up today? I know a thing or two about cars—let me go take a look for you."

Uyên pointed out where she had parked, then stood by watching as Lữ tinkered with the engine. She gazed at his muscular arms—taut and hard—and suddenly found herself comparing them to Vấn’s. Why hadn't she met Lữ sooner? Uyên leaned over to follow Lữ’s gaze down into the engine bay. She had never known what parts made up a car engine, or even where the battery was located. Uyên thought to herself that men were born into this world to handle such things for women. And other things, too! Uyên asked Lữ:

"How does it look? Can I drive it home?"

"I’m pretty sure the alternator is shot. I think you should just leave the car here for now; call a garage tomorrow to have it towed away for repairs. Let me give you a ride home."

"Would that be too much trouble for you? Nothing would be better than getting a ride home from you!"

Lữ smiled and shook his head. He found this woman—his classmate in the accounting course—to be increasingly charming and alluring. But where was her husband? Lữ was slightly surprised to notice that Uyên made no mention of calling to inform her husband about the car trouble. For the past few days, he had noticed that Uyên was driving herself to school, rather than relying on her husband to drop her off and pick her up as she had done before.

He escorted Uyên out to his car—Miriam’s Mercedes convertible! Uyên exclaimed in admiration:

"What a beautiful car! You must be really wealthy, Lữ!"

"It’s not actually mine! It belongs to a friend; I’m just borrowing it!"
 
Uyên looked at Lữ, narrowing her eyes:

"Which friend of yours lent you such a prized car? A Mercedes convertible—that’s strictly a woman’s ride. You really are a lucky man, aren't you, Lữ?"

 
Lữ simply smiled. He felt a twinge of guilt toward Miriam. At this very moment, she was standing there, waiting for his return—like a devoted wife. And waiting, too, for the nightly act of intimacy that served as her sleeping draught—an absolute necessity. Driving from Long Beach down to Huntington Beach to drop Uyên off, then turning back toward Santa Monica, would cost him another two hours. Lữ began racking his brain for a lie to tell Miriam—an excuse to explain away this delay.

Uyên sat pressed close against Lữ in the car. He could smell her scent enveloping him—a blend of expensive perfume and the natural fragrance of her skin. It was heady and intoxicating—much like Miriam’s scent, which he had grown accustomed to over the past few months. *Why is it,* Lữ wondered silently, *that beautiful, passionate women all seem to share the same intensely stimulating scent?*
 
While each woman’s fragrance seemed unique on the surface, Lữ was beginning to notice a common thread: the potent, stirring scent of sexual invitation—the natural aroma of passionate women harboring unfulfilled desires—was, in essence, identical. The specific perfume and the individual skin chemistry might provide the superficial differences, but deep within the core of that feminine scent lay the same primal call, the same seductive allure—beckoning to the man they had chosen, and to the desires that yearned to be satiated.

Lữ turned off the 405 Freeway onto Beach Boulevard. Uyên gave him directions to her house, leaning in even closer to him as they drove. Strands of her hair brushed softly against his face. The car came to a stop; she took his hand in hers, gazing deep into his eyes.

"Come inside for a little while," she whispered. "My husband went to San Francisco for a meeting; he won't be back until tomorrow!"
 
Lữ hesitated for a moment. He knew exactly what Uyên wanted. He, too, felt aroused by her invitation, yet his thoughts drifted to Miriam, waiting for him back home—and to Uyên’s husband. But Uyên gave him no time to think any further. She grasped his hand—her touch soft yet burning with heat—holding him fast as she drew him inside the house.

Uyên’s home was quite spacious and tastefully appointed. The living room featured modern furnishings, adorned with reproductions of paintings by renowned Impressionist masters. Uyên invited him to sit:

"Would you care for a drink, Lữ? How about some Martell with Perrier?"

Lữ nodded. Uyên poured herself a splash of Dubonnet. She took only a small sip, yet her cheeks flushed pink, and her eyes seemed to sparkle even more brightly than before. Uyên turned to Lữ:

"What kind of music do you like? Vietnamese or American?"

"Anything is fine. Just put on whatever you feel like listening to."

Uyên smiled at Lữ, her eyes glistening. He had just addressed her informally—using the intimate pronoun *em*—for the very first time. Uyên thought to herself that a little alcohol certainly made a difference; Lữ no longer wore the guarded demeanor he had maintained earlier. She took out a Neil Diamond CD and placed it in the player. Uyên remarked:

"I usually listen to Vietnamese music, but I think this album feels more fitting for the moment."

Lữ nodded in agreement. He felt a surge of desire rising within him, growing stronger by the minute. The setting called for a specific atmosphere—one reminiscent of an American lifestyle, or perhaps a movie scene: uninhibited, carefree, lived entirely for the present moment without a single thought for the consequences. It was the perfect backdrop for the story of a beautiful, passionate, and alluring woman bringing a new acquaintance home for drinks and music on a day when her husband happened to be away at a meeting in a distant province.

Lữ set down the glass he was holding. He reached out and took Uyên’s hand:

"Dance this song with me."

Uyên’s living room floor was paved with marble. Lữ mused that the space could easily serve as a private ballroom. He wrapped his arms around Uyên’s waist and began to sway to the rhythm of the music. It had been years—so many years—since Lữ had last danced with a woman as beautiful as Uyên. He had frequented many dance halls back in the days when he returned from military campaigns prior to 1975.
 
Yet, from that time until now, he hadn't had the opportunity to visit one again. Miriam had taken him to American clubs, but Lữ hadn't cared for them; he felt absolutely no enthusiasm for dancing to jerky, rhythmic beats with Miriam—especially after having spent a full hour in bed with her just moments before!

Uyên held Lữ tight. Her breasts pressed firmly against him, and her thighs coiled around him like a slithering serpent—preparing to devour its delicious prey and feast upon a sumptuous banquet. Her lips parted slightly—a curving crimson line painted the fiery red of a burning flame. Her eyes, wide and luminous, gazed up at him in anticipation.
 
Lữ bent down and kissed her lips. Uyên seemed to burst instantly to life. She responded like someone who had long been starved, like a parched soul wandering the desert. She was voracious, devouring him with an intensity that left her breathless—as if she dared not pause to draw another breath, fearing that if she stopped, the moment would vanish, leaving her utterly alone with a raging fire that remained unquenched.

Lữ had never witnessed desire expressed with such raw intensity as Uyên displayed toward him. He had lived with Miriam for half a year, accustomed to her own ceaseless sexual demands. Yet, a level of craving as profound as Uyên’s—that, he had never encountered in any other woman, not even Miriam. Uyên was like a flash flood, surging forth, breaching every barrier in its path to engulf him completely—seeking release for her pent-up urgency within him, upon his very body.
 
She was a blazing inferno; the heat radiating from her breasts, her thighs, her lips, and her tongue enveloped Lữ, setting him ablaze. Uyên slipped her hands beneath Lữ’s shirt and began to unbutton it. They stood motionless, listening to the music and to the sound of each other’s breathing. And Lữ loved her right there, on the ice-cold marble threshold of her living room.

 
Chapter 11
 
Lữ drove back onto the 405 Freeway and headed north. It would take another full hour to get from Uyên’s house back to Santa Monica. And Miriam must surely be growing impatient, wondering why he was so late. Lữ smiled. Uyên had wanted him to stay the entire night; she was like a hurricane that had swept through—its violent storm now subsided, satisfied with the wreckage it left behind—yet the lingering drizzle remained, clinging to him as if to coax itself into a complete calm.

Lữ had to gently pry her hands away and take his leave. He wanted to dedicate the remainder of the night to Miriam. Because Miriam needed him. And Lữ needed her. For his new life in America. For his success. Miriam was the key that unlocked Lữ’s new world; he could not let his opportunity slip away, nor allow the bright, promising life of success he envisioned to vanish, to close off and drift out of his reach. Lữ knew he was fortunate to have Miriam’s love and her ardent devotion. He had to hold onto Miriam at any cost. And a little deception wouldn't hurt anyone.

Lữ felt no sense of guilt regarding his intimacy with Uyên. He viewed sexual desire as a natural impulse; the opportunity had presented itself at Uyên’s instigation, and he had been more than willing to indulge her. Lữ did not feel he was betraying Miriam. To him, that distinction was perhaps irrelevant; the only thing that mattered was ensuring Miriam remained blissfully unaware—and therefore untroubled—by his affair with Uyên. And that meant he absolutely could not let Miriam find out. Lữ smiled. He was surely an immoral man—but was morality truly of any consequence? Not in this society. Not in this cutthroat world where only the strong survive. And certainly not in this realm governed by primal instinct.

Lữ felt only a faint twinge of discomfort when he thought of Uyên’s husband—a man he had never met and did not know—who had now, unwittingly, become a cuckold. It was at Uyên’s insistence, yet also with his own complicity. The issue of betrayal was Uyên’s concern, not his. Yet Lữ still felt uneasy. He had focused solely on himself and Miriam; the thought of Uyên’s husband had truly never crossed his mind. Only now—driving along the vast, open highway, transitioning from the 405 onto the westbound 10—did the reality of the husband’s situation dawn on him, in the aftermath of his intimacy with Uyên.

But perhaps, in this world, there are men whom destiny has ordained to be cuckolded. Someone, somewhere, had written exactly that. What had transpired was merely the consequence of events that had already unfolded between Uyên and her husband. Lữ had merely served as a catalyst for an outcome that was inevitable. Lữ reasoned that he bore no responsibility toward a man he did not know—a complete stranger—and felt no need to dwell on the matter any further. Then, he made a sudden realization and burst into laughter. Perhaps, after all, he wasn’t entirely devoid of morality—for he *had* paused to think, to feel a flicker of unease, and to question the fate of the man he had cuckolded just an hour earlier!

As he neared the apartment complex where he and Miriam lived, Lữ pulled over. He popped the hood of his car, smeared a bit of motor oil onto his skin and clothes, and sprinkled a few drops of gasoline onto his hair to mask the scent of Uyên’s perfume. He opened the door and entered the apartment; Miriam was still awake, reading a book while she waited for him. Lữ spoke immediately:

"The car broke down on the road! It took me ages to fix it. I meant to call you, but I couldn't find a single place to make a call!"

Miriam urged him to take a shower. He went straight into the bathroom to change his clothes and wash himself thoroughly. Not a single trace—or scent—of Uyên remained. Lữ stepped back out. Miriam was waiting. She embraced him and kissed him passionately, as if welcoming home a lover who had been away for a very long time. Was there a flicker of suspicion in the corners of Miriam’s eyes?
 
Lữ couldn't be certain, yet he felt he still had to remain on guard. This fair-skinned, blonde, and green-eyed woman loved him—she was utterly infatuated, unable to tear herself away from him. For a newly arrived refugee, having a lover like her was a rare stroke of luck. But even more significant—and truly extraordinary—was the fact that she was the sole heiress to her father’s entire fortune, and he was currently being groomed to take charge of all of Don Lavitz’s enterprises.

Lữ realized he needed to be far more cautious. Even without Uyên, there were still plenty of other beautiful, passionate women in the world. But Miriam—and her fortune—were unique; there was only one of her. He had to keep the details of his affair with Uyên absolutely secret; he could not afford to let Miriam harbor even the slightest further suspicion.
 
And Lữ felt a sense of satisfaction, realizing he had been prudent enough not to squander all his energy on Uyên earlier. Miriam was like a volcano on the verge of eruption, arousing him just as intensely as Uyên had captivated him merely two hours prior. He felt no difficulty whatsoever in matching her ardor, and Lữ certainly did not let her down. Just as he had done on their first night—and every night since—he sought to ensure that she would be forever bound to him, utterly unable to break free—entangled as if in a potent sedative or an addictive drug, from which there was simply no escape.

 
Chapter 12
 
Everything happened so quickly, unfolding as if time were truly relative—bound by no fixed laws. Lữ began to suspect that the perceived difference between time back home and time in the United States might, in fact, be real. The very same moment—an hour, a day—seemed to pass at least three times faster here than it did in Vietnam.
 
And he felt, increasingly, that time continued to accelerate, sweeping him along like a galloping horse—striding out to chase down the life stretching out before him. What spurred him on and drove him forward was the path of life itself: laid out straight and vast, never compelling him to look back, requiring no stops for rest or respite; and although he anticipated that obstacles surely lay ahead, for the moment, the road remained a straight, smooth expanse.

At times, Lữ felt a twinge of apprehension regarding the sheer abundance and speed with which good fortune had come his way. Was it possible that each person was allotted a finite reserve of luck to draw upon—a capital that might, one day, simply run dry? Was luck akin to wealth—something that, if managed skillfully, could multiply and grow just like invested capital?

Lu watched as Don Lavitz’s coffin was slowly lowered into the grave, and a pang of melancholy stirred within him. Old Man Lavitz had expended his capital of luck to survive the horrors of Auschwitz, to make his way to America, and to build a fortune. He had used it to rebuild his empire time and again, each time rising from the ashes after losing everything he possessed.
 
And then, at long last—at the very end of his days, as his life drew its final breath—that reserve of luck had finally run out. Yet, he left it all behind to his only daughter, ensuring that his good fortune would live on—a legacy unbroken and eternal. Could it be that this—and nothing more—was the true meaning of life and death?\

Regardless, Lữ mused silently, one person’s misfortune is often another’s good luck. He genuinely held Lavitz in high esteem; yet the stark truth—cold as a block of ice and as insipid as a glass of plain water—was that Don Lavitz had passed away at precisely the right moment, at the exact juncture most opportune for his own future plans. It seemed as though there were some prearrangement—some unspoken pact woven into the grand tapestry of events, of people, and of the universe—wherein Lavitz’s existence had become superfluous, needing to yield its place to newer, more dynamic developments in which Lữ would play the pivotal role.

Don Lavitz died of a severe heart attack exactly one month after officially becoming Lữ’s father-in-law. Lữ was not the son-in-law Lavitz had desired, yet there was absolutely nothing the old man could have done to prevent it. Miriam had become increasingly infatuated with Lữ, undergoing a complete transformation in the process. She was no longer the stubborn, untamed mare constantly seeking out novel sensations; she had become docile, compliant, and utterly subservient to the man who had successfully broken her spirit.
 
It was as if Lữ were a master tamer of wild beasts in a circus troupe—or, more aptly, as if Lữ were a ferocious tiger whose mere growl was enough to make that wild horse—Miriam, whom no rope could ever bind—bow her head and lie prostrate in submission.

Even Miriam herself could not fathom her own state of being. All she could consciously grasp was that Lữ had completely enveloped her life and utterly dominated her consciousness. She could think of nothing else save for the image of Lữ and the overwhelming sensations that had burrowed deep into every fiber of her flesh, every inch of her skin, and every strand of her hair.
 
It was a realm of wondrous pleasures—pleasures that only Lữ knew how to bestow upon her—and of ceaseless carnal urges that had transcended the mundane, taking on a radiant, magnificent aura that left her utterly submerged in an ocean of infinite ecstasy. Their lovemaking had not yet ended, yet Miriam already yearned for the next encounter to follow immediately. The night of ecstasy still stretched ahead, yet she already longed for the night to come. Time was marked not by days, hours, or minutes, but by the milestones of those moments when Lữ made love to her. Miriam knew she could never bring herself to leave Lữ; and so, she resolved to ensure that Lữ could never bring himself to leave her.

The night Lữ returned late—having come from Uyên’s home—Miriam sensed immediately that something was amiss. Her keen intuition alerted her to a shift in Lữ’s demeanor: a smile that seemed slightly forced, a fleeting glance of apprehension cast in her direction, a voice speaking just a shade faster than usual. Above all, there was a subtle weariness about Lữ whenever he was near her.
 
Miriam felt no jealousy; she simply felt a deep sense of unease. She still did not fully comprehend the depths of Lữ’s nature—his past, or the distinctly Eastern cast of his mind. A vast chasm still separated the two of them, and she lived in fear of the racial divide that lay between her and Lữ. Would the day ever come when Lữ would grow weary of her and cast her aside?

One afternoon, as the two of them sat together on a rocky outcrop gazing out at the beach, Miriam asked Lữ:
 
"Have I ever told you that I love you?"

Lữ looked into Miriam’s eyes, taken aback. Her question left him stunned. It seemed they had never actually spoken those words to one another. Was physical passion truly the same thing as love? Lữ, in truth, had never truly grasped the concept of love. And he suspected the same was true of Miriam. Was love even necessary? Did it truly exist? Why was Miriam asking him this question now? Lữ replied:

"I don't know! Why are you asking me this?"

"I’ve never loved anyone before—not ever. But I think... I love you. I wanted to tell you that because I felt you needed to know."

 
Lữ said nothing. He held her close and kissed her gently. Miriam responded with fervor. They were amidst the crowds on Santa Monica Beach. Lữ had grown accustomed to the lifestyle here, yet he still hadn't quite shaken off the awkwardness he felt whenever Miriam displayed her affection for him too openly in public. Miriam grew even more passionate. She breathed heavily and spoke rapidly:

"Tell me you love me, Lữ!"

"I love you!"

"Tell me you want to make me your wife, Lữ!"
 
Lữ was stunned. He had thought about this very thing. He knew that Miriam’s future fortune would be of no use to him if he remained merely her lover—just like all of Miriam’s previous lovers. He had wanted Miriam to need him, to depend on him for her sexual gratification, but Lữ hadn't known just how deep that dependency ran. And he had wondered: when would Miriam eventually tire of him and go off in search of new thrills?
 
Lữ never imagined that everything would fall into place sooner than he had ever dared to dream. He kissed her long and passionately. He no longer paid any attention to the people around them—acting like a true-blue American, born and raised right here. Lữ finally released her and asked:

"Do you want to be my wife?"

Miriam answered instantly, before he could even finish his sentence:

"I want to be your wife—to be by your side forever. We’ll have a huge wedding, Lữ! I want to call my father right now. To give him the good news!"

Lữ wasn't sure how Lavitz would receive the news. He knew Lavitz had a certain fondness for him, but Lữ also understood perfectly well that Lavitz didn't like him enough to actually want him as a son-in-law. Yet, he knew that Lavitz could never deny Miriam anything she wanted. And so, he would simply have to accept it!

° ° °

Just as Lữ had predicted, Lavitz was far from pleased when Miriam informed her father that she and Lữ were going to get married. Lavitz simply asked Miriam:

"Have you thought this through carefully?"

"I’m absolutely certain!"

Miriam replied, her tone sharp toward her father. She wanted Lavitz to joyfully accept her decision to marry Lữ. Lavitz’s attitude dampened her spirits, and—as usual—she laid the blame squarely on her father:

"Don’t you like Lữ? I thought you weren't the prejudiced type!"

"It’s not a matter of prejudice! I just want to know if you’ve considered the consequences of your decision."
 
Lavitz replied gently. Whenever Miriam flared up, he would immediately soften his tone and seek to make peace with his cherished daughter. When Miriam was angry, how strikingly she resembled her mother! How could Lavitz ever deny Miriam anything, when the image of the woman he had loved most in his life was vividly present in every single moment he spent with their only daughter—constantly reminding him never to do anything that might displease Miriam?

Miriam retorted:

"You’re an excellent judge of character! You were the one who promoted Lữ to manager of our restaurant. He’s certainly worthy of it!"

"I don’t deny that I have a soft spot for Lữ. But I worry that your marriage to him will face many difficulties in the future. There is a wide gulf between you and Lữ, and I don’t want you to suffer later on if things don’t turn out the way you hope."

"I can handle anything that comes my way. I am Don Lavitz’s daughter, after all!"

Lavitz smiled. Miriam was right! His daughter was certainly no fool! Besides, marriage in this country—in these times—was a precarious affair; for every two couples, barely one managed to stay together. Whether it was Lữ or anyone else, the odds were much the same. What truly mattered was that Miriam possessed the wisdom to protect herself and secure her own happiness.
 
However, there was one thing Miriam would have to do exactly as he wished—no matter how displeased she might be, or how angry she might get with him.
 
"Before you get married, I want you to go to a lawyer and draw up a prenuptial agreement with Lữ regarding your assets. Each person’s property is to remain strictly separate. And you must retain ownership of everything currently in your name, should I pass away in the future!"

Miriam replied:

"Lữ isn't marrying me for my wealth! He has more than enough talent to make his own fortune! But I will do as you say, Father. Please don't worry about that."

 
Chapter 13
 
 
Lữ told Uyên about his situation with Miriam. After their intimate encounter—right there in her own home on the night Vấn was away—Uyên had arranged to meet Lữ once a week, every Friday evening. They would skip their classes and rent a motel room near the community college. On the occasions when Vấn insisted on driving his wife to and from school, Lữ simply had to drop Uyên back at the campus before Vấn arrived to pick her up.
 
Everything went smoothly and without a hitch, and Uyên felt reasonably satisfied with her arrangement. She decided that her earlier intention to leave Vấn was no longer necessary. Perhaps things were actually more stimulating this way. And simpler, too—provided, of course, that no one else found out.
 
Lữ stroked Uyên’s bare shoulder. Why was it that a woman’s shoulders always seemed rounder and softer after making love? He spoke to Uyên:

"Miriam wants to get married in two weeks. I think we should avoid seeing each other for a few weeks. Let's wait until I get back from Hawaii and resume my studies; then we can meet again. What do you think?"

Uyên laughed:

"Of course I’m jealous! What do you expect me to do? Congratulate you on getting married?"

"I want you to attend the wedding. And Vấn, too! Miriam wants a big wedding, but I don't really have any close friends or relatives here. I’m not even sure if my friend in Canada will be able to make it. You can introduce me to Vấn, and then I’ll send you an invitation. Just tell him that you took Miriam and me around to look at houses—that a client of yours invited you to their wedding, and you simply couldn't turn them down!"

"Vấn will go in a heartbeat! I’ll tell him that you and Miriam are planning to buy a house worth a million dollars! Vấn just loves rubbing shoulders with rich people!"

"I actually do want to talk to Vấn. Who knows—I might even ask him to go into business with me! He works for Bank of America, doesn't he?"
 
"What do you want? To rob a bank? Isn't stealing another man's wife enough for you?"
 
Lữ smiled and replied:

"I’m not stealing anyone’s wife; if anything, *you’re* the one trying to steal someone else’s husband!"

Uyên asked Lữ in return:

"Are you planning to go into big business or something? Is that why you want to get acquainted with Vấn? I’m worried it would be a hassle if Vấn were to discover our little secret."

Lữ told Uyên about the agreement he had made with Miriam—that each of them would keep their assets entirely separate. He said:

"I want to make my fortune on my own. I want Miriam—and my father-in-law—to see that I can build an empire all by myself!"

Uyên looked at him; her expression suddenly turned serious, like someone who had spotted a lucrative opportunity right before her eyes—where everything instantly transformed into numbers and calculations. It was all business—pure business!

"You can’t possibly borrow money from a bank to start a business if you don’t have any capital of your own! I worked in that field before, so I know. Vấn has said the very same thing. You need to have some form of security—some collateral—before you can even set foot inside a bank’s loan department. If you want to go into business, you’re still going to have to rely on your wife’s family, Lữ!"

Lữ nodded silently. Uyên was absolutely right. All he had was his monthly salary as the manager of the restaurant owned by old man Lavitz; he possessed no assets whatsoever that would give him any standing to discuss business ventures. Lữ knew he could likely persuade Miriam, but Lavitz would never allow his daughter to hand over capital for him to launch a major enterprise.
 
That old fox of the business world—that seasoned investor—would never believe that Lữ was capable of amassing a great fortune. Letting him serve as a manager was already stretching it. Lavitz had agonized enough just over the decision to let Miriam marry him in the first place. And the stipulation requiring a prenuptial agreement had been put in place specifically to safeguard Miriam’s assets. How on earth could Lavitz ever agree to put up capital for him?

Uyên appeared visibly excited. She told Lữ:

"I think you should use Miriam’s name to secure a bank loan. They’ll roll out the red carpet for you—practically begging you to sign their loan papers—if Miriam is signing right alongside you. I happen to know of a fantastic investment opportunity." "If we can secure a bank loan, we could really make it big!"

Lữ sat up. He began to pay attention. This conversation was no longer just the usual idle pillow talk that followed their intimate moments—the kind he and Uyên typically shared. Uyên was a capable woman; she possessed a natural flair for business and commerce—a woman capable of amassing wealth for herself, for her family, and even for her lover! He realized he could make an excellent business partner for her. Lữ asked:

"Tell me, what kind of investment opportunity are you talking about?"

Uyên replied:

"I’ve been selling residential properties, but I’m gradually shifting my focus toward commercial investment. I know of a specific plot of land right on Bolsa Avenue that’s currently up for sale. If you buy it and develop it into a commercial complex catering to the Vietnamese community, I’m absolutely certain it will be a massive success."

Lữ shook his head:

"I’m afraid that’s going to be difficult. It’s a project worth over a million dollars; we don’t have the down payment, so how on earth could we ever qualify for a bank loan?"

Uyên pondered for a moment:

"I might be able to find a group of investors—Hong Kong Chinese businessmen—to partner with us. The total cost comes to about one and a half million. We’ll establish a corporation: the Chinese investors will put up the down payment, while you and Miriam will act as the primary borrowers to secure the bank loan. You won’t have to put up a single penny of your own!"

"How exactly do you propose we structure this corporation?"

"The company would consist of the Chinese investors, you and Miriam, and Vấn and myself. The Chinese investors, for providing the down payment, would hold a 30% equity stake. I would handle all the paperwork—and Vấn would leverage his connections to facilitate the loan approval at Bank of America—earning us a combined 30% stake. Finally, since you and Miriam would be the ones personally guaranteeing the loan—and because you would be the one managing the entire operation—you would hold the remaining 40% stake. How does that sound to you?"

"It sounds great! But how are you going to find these Chinese investors willing to put up the down payment? Nearly half a million dollars is no small sum! Furthermore, I’m not even sure if my father-in-law, Mr. Lavitz, has placed enough assets in Miriam’s name for us to use as collateral for a bank loan. I’d still have to convince Miriam to go along with it—and figure out a way to pull this off without my father-in-law ever finding out! It’s going to be incredibly difficult. Tell you what—let me go on my trip to Hawaii first, and we can figure out the details once I get back."
 
Uyên gave Lữ a sharp pinch:

"You're lying right here—who exactly are you talking about going on a honeymoon with?"

 
She began to make demands. To his surprise, Lữ discovered that talking about money and business acted as a powerful aphrodisiac for both himself and Uyên. Sexual desire and money were intertwined far more intimately than he had ever imagined. Uyên’s cheeks flushed crimson. Like the shimmering mirage of wealth—money pouring in in abundance—it sent her into a feverish state, reigniting her sexual desire until it burned with renewed intensity.
 
And Uyên suddenly realized that she needed Lữ to satisfy the two most powerful instincts within her: one instinct was consuming her very flesh; the other—the burning desire to grow rich and achieve financial success—had become a primal instinct of its own. Uyên thanked destiny for bringing her together with Lử—the man who could satisfy both of the instincts that were now consuming her.

° ° °

Lữ and Miriam’s wedding was held at the Beverly Hills Hotel. Lavitz spared no expense in orchestrating a wedding of unparalleled luxury—one of the most lavish events in all of Los Angeles—for his cherished daughter. His only regret was that Lữ was not another young man of Jewish descent—a doctor, a lawyer, or a business owner—as Lavitz had always envisioned.
 
But what could be done? Lavitz met the surprised, questioning gazes of his wealthy, high-status friends and peers—fellow congregants from his synagogue—and felt a pang of melancholy. Life was so full of surprises. Did plans and hopes for the future ever truly unfold exactly as one wished? Especially when those calculations and hopes were not for oneself, but for one’s children? Lavitz shook his head. Perhaps this was simply the universal fate of all parents.

The wedding was a lavish affair, yet it belonged entirely to the bride’s side. For Lữ, the only person who had flown in from Toronto to serve as his best man was Sơn; and his only other guests were the couple, Vấn and his wife. Sơn had felt as if he had fallen from the moon when Lữ called to tell him about Miriam and the upcoming wedding. Sơn exclaimed:

"You lucky dog, Lữ!" "I thought you were going to marry a Black woman just to learn English! But now you’ve gone and married the daughter of a wealthy shop owner. Talk about falling into a pot of gold! You’re a modern-day Cinderella now, Lữ!"

"It was *you*, Sơn, who wanted to snag a Black woman to practice English—I never wanted one! Remember? So, what are you up to these days?"

"I’m studying accounting. Once I finish—if I can’t find a job—I’ll come work with you, okay?"

"It’s a deal! Just let me know whenever you want to come over. The sooner you come, the sooner you get rich! If you wait too long, you’ll end up just scraping by on gruel, Sơn!"

The two friends shared a laugh. Lữ thought to himself that he really ought to urge Son to come to the States sooner rather than later. His business ventures would require a trustworthy partner to collaborate with. And who could he possibly trust more than the friend who had stood by his side through thick and thin?
 
Sơn had gone back to school and was working toward a proper university degree—not just a vocational program at a community college like the one Lữ and Uyên were attending. But a degree in this country didn't carry the same weight it had back in Vietnam. Miriam was right! In America, the people with the most degrees often just end up working as employees for the wealthy!

Lữ went to the airport to pick Sơn up, and Sơn rubbed his eyes in disbelief as he settled into the passenger seat of Miriam’s convertible Mercedes. He was even more astounded when they arrived at the apartment and he finally met Miriam. All he could do was whistle in admiration:

"Lữ! Man, you’re absolutely *glowing*! You’ve got it all—love *and* money. And a sweet-smelling white woman to boot! I ought to start calling you 'Red-Hot Lữ' from now on! Hey, Miriam—does she have any sisters, Lữ?"

Lữ laughed and shook his head. Fortunately, Miriam didn't understand a word of what they were saying. If she had, she surely would have kicked Sơn out on the spot! Sơn would have been even more flabbergasted had he known the full story involving Lữ and Uyên!
 
Lữ had kept his word and sent wedding invitations to both Uyên and Vấn. Inviting his mistress—and the cuckolded husband she had cheated on—to attend his own wedding struck Lữ as a perfectly normal thing to do. After all, there were far stranger things in this world than that! What if he was still planning to go into business with Vấn?
 

 
Chapter 14
 
Uyên was not mistaken in assuming that Vấn would be delighted to receive an invitation to Lữ and Miriam’s wedding. She simply explained that they were a couple—clients of hers—whom she was currently showing around prospective homes. Vấn glanced at the invitation and could not conceal his excitement:

"The wedding is at the Beverly Hills Hotel! How incredibly posh, dear! What a lucky Vietnamese guy he must be!"

"He’s marrying the daughter of a Jewish tycoon, you know! If we go to this event, we’ll rub shoulders with all the wealthy elite in town. Who knows—the whole banking crowd might be there. Your boss is bound to show up, too!"

Vấn insisted that she tell him all about Lữ. Uyên sang Lữ’s praises endlessly, and the more Vấn listened, the more favorably disposed he felt toward this fortunate young man who was about to marry into a wealthy Jewish family.
 
Uyên added:

"He also mentioned that he’d like to meet you to discuss some business opportunities! I really think cultivating a friendship with them would be highly beneficial for us."

Vấn nodded in agreement. Networking with the wealthy was his primary objective—and a professional necessity as well. Vấn eagerly awaited the day he would finally meet Lữ. Moreover, this wedding—with its guest list packed with ultra-rich Jewish figures—presented a golden opportunity for Vấn to forge new connections. In America, two-thirds of those truly worthy of the title "wealthy" are of Jewish descent—a demographic that even included Vấn’s own boss. He considered himself incredibly lucky to have a wife like Uyên, who had introduced him to this Vietnamese-Jewish couple, thereby opening up a whole new avenue of opportunity for him. Vấn kissed his wife:

"You did a great job! Let me give you a reward!"

Uyên winced slightly, though she quickly regained her composure. She knew exactly what kind of "reward" Vấn had in mind! Vấn’s standard frequency was once a week—an interval that left her with nothing but a lingering sense of unsatisfied desire. And she wouldn't be seeing Lữ again for another few weeks! How on earth was she supposed to wait that long?

° ° °

The wedding unfolded exactly as planned. Although Lavitz felt a twinge of displeasure—sensing the subtle scorn of some acquaintances—the sight of Miriam, radiant and happy in her magnificent wedding gown beside Lữ, made him forget it all. What did Lavitz need, after all, other than his daughter’s smile?
 
Lavitz knew he did not have long to live; his heart condition was worsening day by day, and he could pass away at any moment. Better to see Miriam blissful in this very moment—on her wedding day—than to die with eyes unclosed, unable to rest in peace because he had not yet seen her settled in marriage.

Another contented soul at the reception was Vấn. Never in his life had he encountered so many wealthy and influential people. Vấn bustled excitedly from place to place, eager to make acquaintances and introduce himself. He even ran into his department head—who stared wide-eyed in astonishment upon seeing that Vấn, too, had been invited. What’s more, Vấn actually got to meet the bank’s president—a man of such high stature speaking to a lowly loan officer like himself!

Uyên stood watching Vấn’s antics, unsure of how to feel. Regardless of everything, Vấn was still her husband. Perhaps everyone truly has a destiny of their own, she mused silently. Vấn had his destiny—to be cuckolded. She had hers—to have a husband, yet also a lover in Lữ. Lữ and Miriam, too, had their own respective fates. Life had turned its wheel to orchestrate each person’s placement within their own unique circumstances.
 
Uyên stood watching her husband fawn over his conversation partners, then looked at the radiant Lữ and Miriam, and felt a profound sense that there truly must be a grand design behind the dramas of human life. Like hers. Like Vấn’s. Like Lữ and Miriam’s. Who else, she wondered? Perhaps that friend of Lữ’s—the groomsman who had just flown in from Canada? Who else among this crowd? Or which other characters might yet arrive from the world outside these walls?

Uyên felt a sudden pang of emotion. Surely, she wouldn't burst into tears right here, in the midst of a joyous wedding celebration? But who wouldn't feel a pang of unease attending the wedding of their own lover? Even if—as was the case here—one’s husband was right there alongside them!

Uyên reflected on her affair with Lữ. She couldn't decide whether or not she ought to feel guilty toward her husband. Had Lữ never entered her life, Uyên surely would have filed for divorce long ago. Her marriage to Vấn had been a mistake. She had harbored absolutely no love for him when she accepted his proposal. In their life together, the only bond that might have conceivably united her and her husband was sex—yet even that was missing. Uyên had never once found satisfaction with him; indeed, on their very wedding night, she had discovered that they existed on two entirely different planes of being.

Uyên noted with bitter irony just how disadvantaged women truly were. If a woman slept with her lover before the official wedding—as she herself had done with Huy—she risked being devalued, while the man would feel no further compulsion to ask for her hand in marriage. She could be cast aside as ruthlessly and easily as a tattered garment the moment another woman—one prettier or offering better prospects—came along. Yet, if she did the opposite—marrying someone on a whim, as she had Vấn, and prudently withholding intimacy until after the wedding day—she faced a different injustice: the ultimate disappointment in her husband’s sexual capabilities. It simply wasn't fair—not in the slightest!

 
Uyên came to believe that love was unnecessary after Huy abandoned her. She was a pragmatist. Her first love had been like a soaring bird—something ethereal and beyond her grasp—but she no longer felt she needed it. Uyên regarded love as merely a sentiment of adolescence—a time when one lacks clarity and cannot yet distinguish it from sexual desire. To her, love was merely an embellishment, a romanticization of sex—nothing more than a series of emotional stirrings designed to lead one toward the more intense, profound sensations of the flesh.
 
She no longer believed that true love existed. There were only demands that needed to be satisfied—needs as fundamental as any instinct. Why deceive oneself? Why conceal desires that are as natural and routine as eating, or as brushing one's teeth and washing one's face every day?

Uyên frequently read women's magazines such as *Cosmopolitan* and *New Woman*. She would pore over readers' questions and articles penned by psychologists and sex therapists—pieces published in various periodicals—and realize that her own situation mirrored that of countless others. It was no wonder that American women seemed to divorce their husbands as casually as they changed their clothes.
 
She knew that the majority of divorces stemmed from sexual incompatibility—and, in most cases, the fault lay with the husband! They simply lacked the capacity to satisfy their wives' demands. Affairs would ensue, followed by acts of retaliation, and ultimately, divorce. Uyên saw herself reflected in these scenarios—in the questions submitted by readers, and in the stories recounted by the advice columnists and psychologists.

The sexual incompatibility between her and Vấn was simply too vast—a chasm too wide to ever be bridged. Vấn was a man of moderation; his sexual appetite was sparse. Perhaps that was simply the natural rhythm of his body. Every individual is born with a unique constitution and a distinct sexual cycle; no two people are alike. For Vấn, once a week was his limit. Vấn simply could not exert himself any further—nor did he have any desire to try. The worst part was that he did not view satisfying Uyên as a necessity, nor did he care to give it any thought.
 
Their lovemaking sessions were brief—far too brief for Uyên—and invariably led to Vấn falling into a deep, immediate sleep, leaving Uyên wide awake to toss and turn in frustration and distress. Uyên felt she needed intimacy every day—that she required complete fulfillment during every encounter to feel truly whole. She felt herself withering away; like a flower garden left unwatered, she was beginning to fade. She grew more sullen than before, constantly irritable, and felt an ever-present sense of discomfort lingering around her. Frequent headaches set in; her body felt perpetually exhausted, and she felt as though she were suffering from every ailment imaginable.

Uyên was an intelligent woman; she did not need to visit a doctor for a diagnosis, nor did she need to seek counsel from anyone. Uyên knew that all her symptoms—her deteriorating mental state and her feelings of existential weariness—stemmed from a single, solitary cause: Vấn was simply incapable of satisfying her. His sexual vitality was woefully inadequate. And in the most critical aspect of married life, the two of them were worlds apart.

Uyên pondered the situation, weighing various solutions to the problem plaguing her and Vấn. The first option that crossed her mind was divorce—much like the advice she had read in newspapers, and much like the path taken by so many other American women. Yet, Uyên hesitated. Divorce was a last resort—a measure to be taken only when absolutely unavoidable.
 
For a woman—and especially a Vietnamese woman—divorce entailed far too many disadvantages. Leaving aside the financial aspect—for she currently earned far less than Vấn, and a division of assets would hardly work to her advantage—divorce left a woman branded with an indelible mark. Finding another man who was a more suitable match was no easy feat once one had already been married. And who was to say that her next husband would be any better than Vấn—in terms of education, career, or social standing?
 
Matters of sexual intimacy could only be truly known after a couple had lived together for some time. Nor was she at all certain she would find a partner who was as compatible with her in this regard as she desired. At times, Uyên wondered if her demands were perhaps a bit excessive. It seemed that men of Vấn’s caliber were hardly a rarity—or, if they were any better, it was only by a slim margin. In her estimation, the number of men who truly matched her own level was likely quite small; and Uyên suspected that among this select group, those who also possessed high education and social status were rarer still.

Uyên briefly considered suggesting that she and Vấn visit a specialist in sexual health, but she quickly dismissed the idea. Vấn would never agree to such a thing. After all, he remained a Vietnamese man—still clinging to the lingering vestiges of that absurdly inflated male ego so characteristic of Vietnamese men. This held true despite the fact that he had lived in the U.S. for many years, worked there, and lived his life much like a genuine American. Whenever she had even obliquely alluded to the subject, Vấn had brusquely brushed it aside. And doing so would only serve to erode his self-confidence, causing his performance to plummet even further!

 
Uyên came to the conclusion that, perhaps, she had no other recourse but to take a lover. She did not wish—or was not yet ready—to divorce Vấn. She knew that Vấn would never possess the capacity to fully satisfy her. And Uyên began to worry about her beauty. She did not want to become a withered, faded, and unattractive woman simply for lack of the necessary physical fulfillment. Moreover, youth passes all too quickly; one day, looking back on life, one realizes one has aged without even knowing when it happened.
 
For a woman of her age—the prime of her life—she was at her most vibrant, her most beautiful, and best poised to savor life to the fullest. She would be a fool to let this most exquisite chapter of her existence slip by unfulfilled and incomplete. A woman like her required a daily shower of refreshment to keep her skin radiant, her cheeks perpetually rosy, her eyes sparkling with liquid luster, and her body voluptuously firm. If her husband could not provide that daily rain, Uyên saw no reason to stop herself from seeking out other spring showers elsewhere. She simply had to keep it a secret—to ensure Vấn never found out. After all, what no one knows can hurt no one! So Uyên reasoned, and with that thought, she felt a sense of inner peace.

Of all the solutions she had contemplated, this seemed perhaps the most sensible. Her marriage to Vấn would remain intact, sparing him the anguish—and herself the myriad hassles—of a divorce. Vấn, too, would be relieved of the pressures, the reproaches, and the criticisms she had previously leveled against him regarding their intimacy. He would feel more at ease—and who knows, perhaps that newfound comfort might even serve to boost his performance a little. By taking a lover, she would ensure her own desires were met; consequently, she would become happier, more beautiful, and more enamored with life.
 
Vấn would take pride in having a wife who was alluring, stunningly beautiful, and radiantly fresh—a wife he could proudly show off to the world. Ultimately, she would bring Vấn even greater happiness. Provided, of course, that he remained completely unaware of her affair. It was a win-win situation for everyone involved. Everyone was happy. Uyên felt she had absolutely no reason to harbor any feelings of guilt. She simply had to keep it a secret from everyone else. That was all.

° ° °

If life is merely a continuous chain of coincidences—of interlocking links binding one event to another—then surely there must be some underlying design at work. Uyên met Lữ at the very moment she had resolved upon a solution for her marital life. At times, Uyên wondered if a guardian spirit had perhaps intervened, guiding her path so that she might cross with Lữ. For Lữ was the very embodiment of everything she had ever desired in a lover. He lifted her to the very pinnacles of passion—peak after peak, in ceaseless succession—where she would either cry out as her pent-up sensations erupted in a cathartic release, or lie in silent rapture, utterly overwhelmed, teetering on the brink of unconsciousness.
 
Lữ possessed a potent ability to make her feel completely fulfilled; never once was she left disappointed after their lovemaking. Her affair with Lữ had blossomed into something truly sublime—something far exceeding even Uyên’s wildest expectations. She was no longer troubled by her husband’s sexual inadequacies. On the contrary, she became more patient and more generous—qualities that left Vấn astonished by the transformation he observed in his wife. He harbored not the slightest suspicion; indeed, he even felt a faint surge of pride in his own prowess.

Uyên also became more attentive to her husband than before, as a form of compensation. She felt she had calculated correctly and was thoroughly satisfied with the outcome. She was happier than she had ever been; her headaches, irritability, and various minor physical ailments vanished as if by magic. A lover like Lữ was a miraculous stroke of good fortune—a rare gift that comes but once in a lifetime. Uyên considered herself truly blessed. Intimacy with her husband no longer left her feeling frustrated or resentful as it once had, for she knew that Lữ would be there to provide the fulfillment for any desires left unfinished or unexpressed.
 
The anticipation of meeting Lữ—of having her desires fully sated—combined with the thrill of clandestine secrecy, heightened her arousal to an absolute climax. To Uyên, it all felt utterly real. It began like an aperitif, preparing her palate for a sumptuous feast—a banquet of rare and exquisite delights embodied by Lữ. Uyên reveled in—and became intoxicated by—the intricate arrangements of each illicit tryst. She wished for things to continue just as they were, unchanging: with a husband who remained blissfully unaware, and a lover who continued to carry her to the very pinnacles of satisfaction and overflowing bliss.

 
Chapter 15
 
Uyên watched Lữ—radiant, dashing, and impeccably polite in his tuxedo—standing beside Miriam, and she began to feel a growing anxiety for her own personal happiness. Lữ and Miriam’s wedding had begun to complicate everything. Uyên sensed that the simple, uncomplicated nature of her affair with Lữ was a thing of the past. With his wife’s fortune at his disposal, Lữ would gain access to a wealth of new opportunities and broader horizons; Uyên was no longer certain how long she would be able to hold onto him.
 
She wanted to broach the subject of business—to maneuver Lữ into a position where he was inextricably bound to her, ensuring he would remain her lover even after officially taking a wife. Uyên realized she would have to orchestrate her plans with even greater precision. She would have to bind Lữ to her with multiple ties. Sexual passion alone would not suffice. There had to be a sturdy tether woven from money, from mutual gain, and—who knew—perhaps someday, from power itself.

She wanted to keep Lữ at any cost. Uyên knew she would be hard-pressed to find anyone else capable of satisfying her sexual needs as he did. Moreover, he was a man of immense ambition, eager to amass wealth quickly—a trait that aligned perfectly with her own business schemes. Uyên resolved that she would not allow Lữ to slip through the net she had cast. He would be bound to her, for better or for worse. Bound within a passionate, tempestuous affair. Bound within a life-long race for money, fame, and power. Until her very last breath. Or his.

° ° °

One month after Lữ and Miriam’s wedding, Don Lavitz suffered a severe heart attack. Lữ was on his way to a restaurant in Beverly Hills to review the books. Following the wedding, Lavitz had entrusted him with the oversight of all four restaurants—specifically the paperwork, accounts, and cash flow—requiring him to shuttle between the various locations every day. Lữ knew that Lavitz was assigning him these additional responsibilities with the intention that, in the near future, he would take over the management of the entire operation permanently.

That day arrived sooner than Lavitz had anticipated—and far sooner than Lữ could have ever imagined. No sooner had he stepped into the restaurant than he was informed that Miriam had called for him urgently. Lavitz had suffered a severe heart attack and had been rushed to the hospital emergency room. Lữ asked for the hospital's location and drove off immediately. Lavitz had been taken to Cedars-Sinai Medical Center, a facility renowned for its cardiac care in Los Angeles.

Miriam met him at the entrance to the emergency ward, her face pale and streaming with tears. She was accustomed to her father’s heart attacks, but this time was different. Lavitz had already fallen into a coma by the time he arrived at the hospital. He was currently undergoing an emergency cardiac catheterization procedure, but the doctors had warned that the chances of survival were slim. All Lự could do was hold Miriam close and offer his comfort. He felt a genuine affection for Lavitz—the man who had first hired him, given him a chance, and who—through some twist of fate or destiny—had ultimately become his father-in-law.
 
Lữ held Miriam in his arms, feeling deep sympathy for her and for Don Lavitz; yet, from the deepest recesses of his mind, thoughts regarding the consequences of Lavitz’s death began to insidiously encroach upon his thoughts.
Miriam would inherit the entire estate. He did not yet fully grasp the sheer magnitude of Lavitz’s wealth. Back when he had first started working there, Lữ had assumed Lavitz was just an ordinary man, owning nothing more than that shabby little "Don’s Hamburger" joint in South Central; Lữ had been sorely mistaken.
 
That restaurant was merely a relic of Lavitz’s humble beginnings. His three other restaurants were upscale, highly successful establishments where money flowed in like water. Lavitz also held investments Lữ knew nothing about—things he had only occasionally heard Miriam mention in passing: real estate holdings down in Laguna Beach, a stake in a ranch in Santa Barbara, stocks, and bonds. He had no idea what other investments might exist.
 
Lữ thought of the luxurious home situated in the exclusive neighborhood along Mulholland Drive. Before his eyes, he envisioned the prospect of a vast and immense fortune. He cursed old man Lavitz for being so overly cautious and shrewd as to make him and Miriam sign a prenuptial agreement. Everything still belonged to Miriam!
 
Lavitz’s heart ceased beating twelve hours after he was admitted to the hospital, despite having received treatment utilizing the most advanced medical methods available. Miriam wept inconsolably, leaving Lữ to handle all the arrangements. He dutifully fulfilled his obligations to his father-in-law—a man he had been the son-in-law for barely a month—by organizing a solemn funeral attended by many of the very same faces who had celebrated his wedding just the month before.

° ° °

Lữ watched as Lavitz’s coffin was lowered into the cold earth, and he felt a strange, unsettling flutter in his stomach. The following day, he and Miriam were scheduled to visit the offices of the law firm Leibovitz, Gunther & Adams to hear the reading of Lavitz’s last will and testament. Lữ would soon discover the full extent of Lavitz’s assets—everything the old man possessed.
 
He thought of the colossal figures involved. Although everything was legally registered in Miriam’s name, he would be the one to manage it all. His great opportunity—his true ascent—was only just beginning. A recent refugee from impoverished Vietnam, he had been in the country for exactly two years. Now, he had a wife as beautiful as a movie star, possessed of a colossal fortune—and a passionate mistress, every bit as ambitious as he was.

 
Lữ instinctively glanced toward the funeral procession. In the distance behind the crowd, he spotted Uyên clad in a tight-fitting black dress. She looked strangely beautiful and alluring amidst this somber setting. He hadn't seen Uyên since returning from his honeymoon in Hawaii with Miriam—a trip that had been immediately followed by his father-in-law's funeral.
 
Uyên must surely be eager to reunite with him for another round of their wondrous trysts. He shook his head, feeling a pang of shame. In truth, it was utterly inappropriate—even disrespectful—to Don Lavitz and Miriam to be entertaining thoughts of adultery with Uyên at this very moment, while Lavitz was being laid to his final rest and Miriam was leaning against his shoulder, sobbing uncontrollably.

Yet, Lữ could not resist stealing one last glance at Uyên. She nodded and raised two fingers to signal him. Lữ understood her meaning. She wanted to see him. She needed him. And she knew that with Lavitz's passing, a new door had opened for Lữ—specifically regarding his own independent business ventures, just as they had discussed in the past. And she wanted to remind him of that very fact!
 

Chapter 16
 
Lữ stepped into Uyên’s real estate and investment office for the first time, feeling a fleeting moment of hesitation. Uyên had arranged to meet him there to take him to view a building on Bolsa Avenue—a property with the potential to be transformed into a commercial hub catering to the Vietnamese community. She had urged Lữ repeatedly:

"You need to come see this property with me right now, before someone else snatches it up. Land on Bolsa Avenue has become prime real estate; if we buy it now, we could easily double our investment within just a year. Shops and service providers are flocking to this area in droves; if you don't act fast, you'll miss out on the opportunity to become the owner of this entire complex!"

Lữ knew he needed to move quickly to get his business dealings with Uyên underway. Uyên was right. Investing in this commercial district on Bolsa Avenue—at a time when real estate prices were skyrocketing daily, Vietnamese immigrants were flocking to California, and the Westminster neighborhood was growing increasingly prosperous—was an opportunity that would slip away if one didn't act fast. However, he did not yet want Miriam to know of his plans. Lavitz’s funeral had only just concluded; he felt Miriam needed some time to heal from her grief, and he did not want her to be burdened with concerns about his intentions just yet.

Yet, Lữ did not want to wait too long, either. He was, in truth, growing impatient. On the day he visited the offices of the law firm Leibovitz, Gunther & Adams to hear the reading of the will, Lữ was left stunned by the assets Miriam had inherited. Four restaurants were estimated to be worth six million dollars. Real estate holdings—including the house on Mulholland Drive, land in Laguna Beach, and property outside Palmdale—were valued at five and a half million.
 
Her investment stake in a ranch property in Santa Barbara was worth one million eight hundred thousand. Stocks and bonds held in a trust fund for Miriam totaled two million six hundred thousand. The sum total of all assets now belonging entirely to Miriam amounted to fifteen million nine hundred thousand dollars.

The elderly lawyer—a friend of Lavitz’s—shook Miriam’s hand and offered her his congratulations. She had become a wealthy woman, with a net worth approaching sixteen million dollars. Lữ gave a slight, wry smile as he listened to the lawyer speak of Miriam’s "value"—her net worth.

The measure of human worth in this country—America—was, indeed, remarkably simple and pragmatic. It could be easily quantified and defined. And Lữ felt the Americans had a point! One simply had to tally up one’s existing assets, convert them into a monetary figure, and then subtract one’s total liabilities—mortgages, car loans, business debts, and the like—to instantly arrive at a person’s precise monetary value. In this way, a human being’s worth could be measured swiftly and accurately. And it allowed for immediate comparison with anyone else.
 
Lữ performed the calculation in his head. His own worth, calculated in monetary terms, amounted to a mere six thousand U.S. dollars! He immediately grasped the stark disparity between his own value and Miriam’s—a percentage so minuscule that it mirrored the scrutinizing gazes of the people in the law firm, who had appraised him with that very same degree of insignificance.

Lữ felt a sudden pang of discomfort. He was Miriam’s husband, yet within the confines of this law firm, he felt like a complete outsider. Everything belonged to Miriam. Why, then, should anyone bother paying him any mind?
Lữ felt a surge of anger welling up from the depths of his soul. He envisioned a day when he would amass a fortune of his own—a day when those detestable faces at the law firm would be forced to recalculate his net worth, altering both their expressions and the way they looked at him.
 
Lữ turned to look at Miriam. Suddenly, he sensed a certain distance between them—a coldness, like a faint mist, seemed to be insidiously creeping in to wedge itself between the two of them. Just days ago, Miriam had been merely a wealthy man’s daughter, seemingly unconnected to her father’s colossal fortune. Today, however, Lữ found himself looking at Miriam through different eyes—and that realization troubled him deeply.
 
She had transformed into a wealthy woman, burdened by a figure of nearly sixteen million dollars—a sum that felt like a heavy millstone shackled around her neck, akin to a life sentence. Had the estrangement already begun? Was this, then, the destiny that awaited both her and him? Lữ sensed it with an unsettling certainty, convinced that his intuition would prove correct.

As they drove home from the law firm, Lữ spoke to Miriam:

"I will continue to oversee the restaurants for you, but things will remain exactly as they were—nothing more, nothing less. I don’t want to make any changes regarding the business; just consider it as me continuing to work as your employee, exactly as I did for your father."

Miriam nodded.

"As you wish. I have no desire to burden myself with the details of management. If the workload becomes too much for you, or if you decide you no longer wish to assist me, I’ll simply hand the oversight duties over to someone else."

 
Lữ shook his head:

"Of course I’ll help you! But there’s something I want to tell you. I want to pursue a few other investment ventures—strictly for myself. I might need your assistance a little at the start, but ultimately, I want to build my own separate assets. You don't mind, do you?"
 
Miriam looked at him:

"I understand! I won't stand in your way. But I do wish things could have stayed the way they were before!"

Lữ remained silent. Does life ever truly stand still? Especially when money takes the lead—guiding the way and charting the course? He suddenly realized that Miriam, too, sensed the growing distance between them—that their romance, and her marriage to him, had begun to veer toward a new, uncharted turn.

° ° °

Lữ sat waiting for Uyên in the reception area. She was still occupied with another client—a prospective homebuyer. Lữ glanced around. Her office was quite elegant and spacious. A secretary sat at her desk, fielding a ceaseless stream of phone calls. Uyên’s business appeared to be booming. Lữ felt a quiet sense of admiration. Vietnamese women who had immigrated to America had successfully shed the dependency on men that had defined their lives back in their homeland.
 
They had stepped out into the world to hustle, to compete, and to vie for success—holding their own against men in every respect. In fact, they often seemed even more adept at business than their male counterparts. They were more independent, more self-assured. And, perhaps, a touch freer—even a little more uninhibited. Lữ smiled to himself. Just look at her affair with him!

Uyên walked her client to the door. She extended her hand to shake Lữ’s, giving his palm a firm, lingering squeeze. Uyên raised her voice so the secretary could hear:

"Hello, Mr. Lữ! Please give me just a moment; we’ll head out to view the property right away."

She stepped back inside to retrieve her keys, tucking them into her small handbag. Uyên left final instructions with her secretary:

"I’ll be out for about an hour. I’ll be back shortly!"
 
Lữ followed her out to the car. He asked:

"Are you really that busy?"

"I certainly am! These days, everyone is out buying property and doing business like crazy. If you don't move fast and partner up with me, you’ll miss out entirely!"

Lữ and she had just gotten into the car. Uyên immediately threw her arms around him and kissed him passionately. She whispered:

"My car has tinted windows—nobody can see a thing!"

Lữ gently peeled her hands away:

"Let's go check out that property first. I still have to get back to the shop."

Uyên shot him a sidelong glance:

"I’ve been missing you for a whole month now! You owe me some compensation for that!"

Lữ planted a light kiss on her burning lips:

"Come on, I’m right here now! But let's take care of business first."

As she drove, Uyên explained the details to him:

"This area isn't very big, but we could renovate it into ten units to rent out as offices or storefronts. They’re asking for 1.5 million, but I think we can probably close the deal for somewhere between 1.1 and 1.2 million—at most."

"Didn't you mention that we’d have some Chinese partners joining in?"

"I’ve been talking to a guy named Triệu Tôn. He’s a Chinese-Vietnamese from Chợ Lớn, but he does business with the Hong Kong crowd. They’re looking to move their capital over to the U.S. to get out of Hong Kong, so they’re eager to sink their money into business ventures. I’ll set up a meeting for us to sit down with Triệu Tôn and discuss it."

Lữ nodded in agreement. He sat in the car, observing the streets on either side. This Little Saigon district was becoming more prosperous by the day; having stayed away from Orange County for only a few months, he could already see the difference—shops and services were springing up like wild mushrooms, creating a bustling, chaotic atmosphere of commerce and trade.
 
Lữ wondered how many of these shops would ultimately fail. Many Vietnamese immigrants, tired of working for others, had ventured into business to test their luck and seize the opportunity to become their own bosses. Others, having lost their jobs, had scraped together their savings—or borrowed heavily—to invest in a business of their own. The successful ones boast loudly of their brilliance, their skill, and the accuracy of their calculations.
 
The failures, having lost everything, make urgent calls  to sell their shops before packing their bags and heading off to another state to eke out a living. And so the cycle continues. The ones who benefit most are the owners of the commercial complexes. They never fear a shortage of tenants—provided the location is prime—such as this site right on Bolsa Avenue, the very place Uyên and Lữ had come to inspect.

Lữ followed Uyên into the building, which bore a "For Sale" sign. The location was excellent, though the structure would require extensive renovation to transform it into a Vietnamese commercial hub. Uyên led him through each unit, chattering excitedly—buoyant with the confidence of someone who could already foresee their success.

"I think this asking price is a real bargain, Lữ," she enthused. "Even if we bought it and did absolutely nothing with it, if we decided to sell six months later, we’d still make a profit of one-and-a-half times our investment! I know for a fact that the real estate market here is skyrocketing right now. If we renovate it into a Vietnamese commercial center, its value is bound to appreciate even further. But I don't think we should hold onto it for too long—maybe a year and a half, or two years at most—then we sell immediately. We need to cash out before anything happens that could drive the value down. What do you think of this place? Is it a go?"
 
Lữ replied immediately; his decision was instantaneous:

"I think it’s perfect! You handle the price negotiations and the paperwork. I’ll go home and talk it over with Miriam. And as for Triệu Tôn—when are we going to meet with him?"
 
Uyên looked at Lữ, pausing for a brief moment, slightly taken aback by the swiftness of his decision. Yet, she understood immediately. Lữ possessed the temperament of a natural-born businessman. She hadn't needed to say much; Lữ had instantly recognized the potential advantages—and pitfalls—of acquiring this building. And he didn't waste precious time dithering or overthinking—the kind of hesitation that so often ruins a deal.
 
Lữ possessed the instincts of a hunter. Uyên had encountered a few men like him during her real estate dealings—individuals endowed with a keen nose and a sharp, immediate insight into opportunities that promised massive returns, or ways to make money with effortless ease. Those who succeed in the business world—those who amass great wealth—all possess that very same ability.
 
Uyen felt a quiet sense of pride. Lữ—her lover—was also one of these gifted individuals; he, too, would succeed, and would become immensely wealthy in the future.

 
Chapter 17
 
Triệu Tôn was a half Chinese-half Vietnamese man, roughly forty years old, with a round, puffy face and a truly peculiar smile. Lữ had never seen anyone with a smile quite like his. Triệu Tôn’s mouth was perpetually stretched wide, revealing a set of even, white teeth—giving the impression of a permanent, unceasing grin. Perhaps even in moments of anger or irritation, he would still give the person facing him the sensation that he was smiling, simply because his mouth was stretched so wide—as if someone had taken pins and fastened it rigidly in that position.
 
Lữ felt an unsettling sense of unease, even instability, because of this fixed smile. He perceived Triệu Tôn as a deceitful individual—potentially a dangerous one. The man’s eyes stood in stark contrast to the smile on his face; his gaze was sharp, cold, and venomous—at times furtive and probing, like that of a snake poised to strike at an enemy.
 
Lữ disliked Triệu Tôn’s smile and eyes, yet he felt no apprehension toward him. He shook Triệu Tôn’s hand, sizing him up in the brief moment Uyên introduced the two men. Triệu Tôn might be a dangerous, difficult adversary for those weaker than himself; but against someone tougher—someone of greater mettle and capability—he could be dominated and brought to heel. And, within certain limits, he could prove to be a useful asset.

Lữ observed Triệu Tôn’s demeanor toward Uyên and immediately understood why she wanted to bring this man into their business dealings. The man made no secret of his infatuation with her; it was written all over his face! His eyes devoured her with a ravenous intensity—as if attempting to strip the clothes right off her body—lingering lecherously on her most private and provocative curves whenever Uyên moved.
 
Lữ caught him swallowing hard as he watched her, his Adam’s apple bobbing crudely up and down his throat. He looked like a rutting boar—the very embodiment of raw lust, aroused to its absolute zenith, and a living symbol of the wretched torment of unfulfilled desire. Uyên treated him like a mere slave to command, using her beauty and seductive provocations to dangle him like a morsel of meat before a cat’s mouth—never close enough for him to snatch, yet never so far away that he would lose heart and abandon all hope.
 
Lữ genuinely felt pity for Triệu Tôn. He had become ensnared by Uyên’s allure as if by a potent elixir of lust—perpetually driven to possess her, yet never finding fulfillment.

Uyên invited them both to sit, and she was the first to speak:

"You’ve both gone to see the site with me and have agreed to the plan, haven't you? Now, let’s discuss the mechanics of the purchase. I propose we form a partnership to acquire and develop this commercial property. Lữ, you would serve as the general partner and handle operations. I will take charge of the paperwork and finances alongside you, Lữ; as for you, Tôn, your contribution—amounting to a 20% equity stake—will serve as the down payment. What do you both think?"

Triệu Tôn seemed to snap back to full alertness the moment the conversation turned to money. He ceased gazing at the cleavage revealed by Uyên’s deliberately low-cut blouse and lifted his eyes to meet hers. The vacant, dazed look vanished from his eyes, replaced by a sharp, calculating, and cunning glint. He spoke:

"So, if I understand you correctly, you’re saying I have to put up five hundred thousand in cash for the down payment, while the two of you will handle securing the bank loan for the remaining balance? Is that it?"

Uyên replied:

"Precisely! The matter of the bank loan is strictly between Lữ and me. As for you, Tôn: the amount you put down determines your equity stake. However, there is a cap—a maximum of 20%!"

Her tone had grown slightly sharp. Uyên seemed unaccustomed to the fact that Triệu Tôn dared to question her so closely:

"You don't have the creditworthiness to qualify for a bank loan. Your only option is to contribute capital directly, Tôn!" "Once we buy this site and transform it into a Vietnamese commercial hub, we could double our money in just six months if we chose to sell. You won't find a better investment opportunity anywhere else! You stand to make a substantial profit on this deal—that’s precisely why those Hong Kong investors trusted you enough to entrust you with even more capital! But it’s entirely up to you; if you’re apprehensive, then let’s just drop it. I’ll simply find someone else!"

Triệu Tôn visibly flinched. He was genuinely intimidated whenever he saw Uyên lose her temper. And Uyên seemed even more beautiful and alluring when she was angry. Triệu Tôn swallowed hard, gulping repeatedly; he yearned to hold her in his arms just once—he would gladly die for the chance! How much more enticing, then, was the prospect of going into business with her and having the opportunity to be in close proximity? With a bit of luck, he might one day see his desires fulfilled.
 
He didn't yet know the full measure of this man Lữ, but his instincts told him that the figure standing before him could bring him significant financial gain. Triệu Tôn felt only a slight unease regarding Lữ’s eyes—a gaze that seemed to bore deep into one's very soul, exerting a commanding influence that left him feeling wary. Yet, sniffing out the scent of money was Triệu Tôn’s special talent; he never passed up an opportunity if it promised immediate profit and appeared trustworthy. And then there was Uyên! How could she be so beautiful and so captivating? Triệu Tôn spoke up:

"I was merely asking for clarification, Uyên! The fact that you’re letting me join in at all is more than enough to make me happy!"

Uyên nodded, then turned to look at Lữ:

"What do you think, Lữ?"

Lữ smiled:

"I think it’s entirely appropriate for Triệu Tôn to be thorough. The capital involved here is substantial, after all—not a trivial sum. But this is merely the first step. If everything proceeds smoothly, we could join forces to tackle even larger ventures. I assume you’re interested in playing in the big leagues, aren’t you, Triệu Tôn?"

Triệu Tôn was left slightly dumbfounded. Lữ’s confident, somewhat condescending tone compelled him to take a second, closer look at the man. There was something about this individual that inspired a sense of awe—and fear—within him. And Trieu Ton knew that there was nothing better than following a successful man—riding on his coattails to get rich by association! Although he still knew little about Lữ, he sensed in him the natural authority of one who could transform difficulties into effortless tasks—of a man born to lead and to resolve matters.

 
Triệu Tôn made an immediate decision:

"It is truly an honor to go into business with you and Uyên! I can arrange the five hundred thousand for the down payment within a week. If you need it sooner, just let me know, Uyên!"

Uyên cast a fleeting, relieved glance at Lữ. She knew Triệu Tôn lusted after her, yet she hadn't expected she could manipulate him quite so easily. Uyên hoped everything would proceed smoothly. This was her first major deal; if successful, it would give her the momentum to pursue other ventures—the true launch of her career. Above all, she was going into business with Lữ—the lover she adored so passionately. Triệu Tôn was merely the icing on the cake; what woman wouldn't feel a thrill of gratification knowing there was a man utterly infatuated with her—even if that man was as coarse as this half-Chinese fellow?

Uyên began organizing the tasks:

"I’ll draw up the partnership papers right away. I’ll also handle the price negotiations. The down payment isn't needed immediately—not until closing—but you must ensure the funds are ready and available, Tôn. We’ll secure financing through Bank of America, where Mr. Vấn works. Mr. Vấn will speak directly with you regarding this matter, Lữ."

Lữ watched Uyên as she excitedly delegated the responsibilities, and he smiled. Her eyes sparkled, her cheeks were flushed pink, and she looked utterly seductive. A woman like Uyên was truly a rare breed. She had managed to harness the utility of three different men for the sake of her business: a husband who failed to satisfy her sexual needs but proved invaluable for business purposes; a lover who fulfilled her desires for both romance and financial gain; and a besotted admirer willing to blindly hand over his money to help, clinging to the hope that, one day, his devotion might finally be rewarded.
 
Suddenly, Lữ felt an intense surge of desire for her. Beside him, Triệu Tôn’s eyes seemed to bulge from their sockets, his nostrils flaring as he breathed heavily. He stared, mesmerized like a simpleton, his gaze locked immovably upon her swelling bosom. And Lữ watched as his Adam’s apple continued to bob up and down—steadily, ceaselessly!
 

Chapter 18
 
Vấn sat smoking, waiting for his wife to return home. He had all but resigned himself to Uyên’s erratic schedule, yet a sense of irritation was slowly beginning to well up inside him. Vấn looked back with wistful nostalgia on the days when he and Uyên worked together at the bank. Husband and wife would commute in the same car and return home at the very same hour. How simple and serene life had been back then! Why must change inevitably intrude upon every human life? And is there any change that does not bring with it vexations and complications? Or, worse yet—suffering?

Vấn longed for his life to be a seamless, unchanging continuum—like the wheels of time, turning slowly and steadily. He found joy and contentment in the very things others deemed tedious. Sitting in one spot at the bank, counting money—even if it belonged to others—was Vấn’s true passion. Adding and subtracting endless columns of numbers on a computer screen provided him with a genuine thrill. Vấn felt he had been born for the banking profession; he was deeply satisfied with both his work and his life.
 
The period immediately following his marriage to Uyên marked the happiest days of Vấn’s existence. He was utterly captivated by Uyên; having won her hand and working alongside her in the same workplace, Vấn felt that his life had reached a pinnacle—it simply could not get any better.

That is, until Uyên began to complain that banking offered too little pay and insisted on leaving to pursue a career in real estate. Vấn hesitated and voiced his reservations, but ultimately, he was won over by Uyên’s persuasion. He, too, was a man with an appetite for money; the prospect of Uyên’s business ventures offering a chance at wealth helped to quell his doubts.
 
Vấn reminded himself that one of his key criteria when seeking a wife had been to find a woman with business acumen—someone who knew how to trade and earn. Uyên had fulfilled that very wish of his; therefore, he reasoned, what possible justification could he have for standing in her way? However, it was only a month or two after Uyên quit her job and officially entered the real estate business that Vấn realized his mistake.

Uyên changed at a pace far faster than he could have imagined. She became confident, resourceful, and more talkative than before; she was constantly on the move. It was as if her energy levels had suddenly doubled, and Vấn found himself visibly struggling just to keep up with her. Uyên’s schedule also became erratic, and what worried him most was that she was coming home later and later. Vấn was no fool; he knew all too well that once a woman attained a certain level of independence—especially with a job like Uyên’s and such shifting hours—determining whether or not she would remain faithful was a task beyond his ability to verify.

The change in Uyên’s demeanor during their intimate moments was what Vấn noticed most acutely. He became acutely aware of his own inadequacy; it felt as though he was almost never able to fully satisfy her. Without letting Uyên know, Vấn sought out doctors, tried hormone injections, and took traditional herbal remedies—yet he remained unable to boost his performance.
 
He knew Uyên was frustrated, but his efforts only served to heighten his anxiety whenever they were intimate, thereby exacerbating his physical shortcomings even further. Vấn developed a deep complex regarding his sexual prowess. He lived in fear that one day Uyên would simply refuse to accept the situation any longer and leave him—yet, he remained utterly at a loss as to what else he could do.