It had been a few months since Laike sat down with his grandmother. She had been back in China for some months, though no one knew quite what she was up to. Often she would leave with a cryptic statement — this time, she said she was getting Laike's grandfather back, as if they were having a friendly spar — but nobody knew what that actually meant. And his grandmother had been taking care of herself for many years, and taking care of each of them for many more, so they each knew better than to question her.

Laike sat on a floor pillow, at a low, carved wood table. He waited with his elbows leveraged on top of it, and his cold hands wrapped around his own neck. He heard her talking to herself in her native tongue, then cackle at the end, as if she was playing the supervillain in someone's story.

He never interacted with her much. Laike usually stuck to his mom or his sister. Both of them could be boisterous at times, but neither were particularly underhanded. Not that he thought his grandmother was underhanded, but there were enough family rumors circulating that she cut herself quite a figure. His grandmother had taken more of an interest in He growing up, and he was content to remain unnoticed.

He was surprised to hear she wanted to speak with him. She had a guest house on the property that she often retreated to — something of a lair, she called it. She called Laike there, and it gave him pause, knowing that this conversation wasn't suited for the brunch counter, or his parents' living room.

She lit an incense stick off the stove and carried it with her. She groaned as she settled down on the pillow next to him, then reverently set the stick into its burner. Laike watched the orange glow as it settled into itself.

Well. At least one of them was comfortable.

When his grandmother settled, he expected her to speak. Instead, she closed her eyes, as if she was praying. So he spared her a moment. Then another moment. Then the silence between them stretched into an awkward, ugly thing, and Laike knew he wasn't going to escape unless whatever she wanted to talk about was talked about. Finally, he opened his mouth. "So, uh, what did you need?"

She smiled a crooked thing, then cracked an eye open at him. Then she looked at the incense stick, and nodded to herself. "One centimeter."

"… What."

"You lasted longer than your sister did. The incense stick — it has a centimeter of ash. Ho ho ho, tell me Laike. What do you think this is about?"

Laike chewed the inside of his cheek. His grandmother was the only one in the family to call him Laike. "I… Don't know? That's why I'm asking?"

"Your sister says you've been disappearing lately. Remember how we sent her over to your place for Lunar New Year? She's got a key to your apartment, you know. She says that she can't find you about half the time. It's got your mother worried. I want to know what you've been up to. You'll tell dear old Grandma, won't you?" She smiled, and the edges of her face folded over themselves like ripples in the water.

"Um." Jet told him to be careful about who he told, and what he told them. If Laurelite didn't look so young, Laike would've felt comfortable assuming his grandmother was the Queen of the Negaverse, or at least a General, but he hadn't any proof to fall back on. So… What could he say? What would be reasonable?

"I got a new job. Sort of."

"Sort of?"

She always did things like that, Laike remembered. She'd take the end of someone's sentence and turn it into a question, like she didn't understand.

"Yeah. It's. Uh. Under the table, I guess." He shoved his hands into the cuffs of his sweatshirt and sat back on his heels.

"Ohooooo. Heh heh heh." She peered at him again — she knew he could feel it. "Your Granny wonders if you're a rent boy."

"A what?"

"Oh goodness me, kids these days. Do strangers pay you for sex?"

"Wh…" Laike's face flushed as red as his sweatshirt, and he melted into a pool of shame and ill-fitted clothes. He wheezed out his own soul, felt it bump morosely into the ceiling, and retreat back into his body. "No. What? Ew, no. Why would I do that? Grandma, I can't — nope, just, nope, can't."

"Oh, that's too bad. Where I'm from, you'd make a lot of money."

"G r a n d m a. P l e a s e." Laike whined from the confines of his sweatshirt.

His grandmother shifted her hans into the sleeves of her robe and nodded sagely. "Is it OnlyFans, then?"

"Hhhhhh. How do you know about that?"

"How do you know about that?"

If Laike could become more boneless as to melt into the floor, he would've done so by sheer force of will. He knew his grandmother was teasing him, realistically, but did she need to go this rough on him? Or be this embarrassing??? Was he being punished?????

This was his sister's fault, he was sure of it. She put her up to this.

"It's not OnlyFans," he muttered into his sleeves. "I just work for this guy. He asks me to do odd jobs for him, it's different stuff every time. Nothing weird like that."

"Oh, so you're working for the mob. You could've said so in the first place, Laike. Your grandmother wasn't born under a rock."

"I…"

"Your grandfather would've been very proud of you." She nodded, self-assured. "It takes diligence and discipline to work for the mob. It takes an iron stomach, too. Why, I remember, when your grandfather first joined, he had one of the more stubborn ones on his route. We collected protection money from the local shops, of course, but one business owner always liked to stand up to us. Your grandfather thought he could break that man's ankles and get money out of him, but that man wouldn't give up one single yuan.

"You should've seen the look on his face when my father told him to break the daughter's ankles instead. Turned white as a mourner, he did. Ho ho ho! He never thought he'd have to break a six-year-old's ankles! Oh, my… Those were the days…"

Laike was stunned. Couldn't fish for words. He peeped his head up just enough to stare incredulously at his grandmother.

"Oh, don't look at me like that. It was a joke! The man's wife was sleeping with one of the other members. All it took was showing him some of the photos, and we got our money without a problem. Goodness, Laike. We're not all monsters.

"Now, I told you my story, so you tell me yours. What's your boss like? Does he treat you well?"

Laike's face was buried in his sweatshirt again. "I… Yes? I guess??? I don't talk to him much, we both do our own thing? He has me collect dues from people. Like Grandpa." That was a strange fact to learn about their family. "But I don't break people's ankles, or kneecaps, or whatever. And if I get into any trouble, I can call him."

"Is he handsome?"

"… I don't know??? He's like, my age."

"Do you like him?"

"…" Was this really a conversation he had to be having? "I guess so? Wait, do you mean it like that? Cuz no, I don't, but he's nice to me, so he's a good boss I think?"

"Oh, dear, it's going to take you forever to move up with that attitude." She drew a sigh, then thought to herself in the long moments following

"We haven't talked much for a couple weeks. He just got a promotion, so —"

"Oh, say no more! Laike, my boy, you have to get him a gift! It's improper not to." The old at sprang to her feet with uncharacteristic spryness, and shuffled off to the kitchen quite a bit faster than Laike ever expected her to move. He heard something metal rustle, like she was unfolding a step latter, then a couple knocks of her slippered feet on its steps. A cabinet door opened, then he heard glass clinking. Sounded like something heavy, something full. She groaned, almost as if it was too much for her, and then he heard it thud hard against the countertop. She groaned again, muttered something that he couldn't understand.

When she came back, she was stooped, with a large jug in her hands. Laike couldn't read what it was.

"Maotaijiu!" She declared, smiling. She looked proud of herself, and more vibrant than Laike usually saw her. But Laike usually saw her having a broody spat with his mom, and she often retreated to her guesthouse to sulk about it.

Sitting up, Laike stared at the jug quizzically. "What's that?"

"Only the best gift you could give your boss, Laike." Straining, she deposited the jug on the table before him. The incense burner rattled in protest. "Liquor, my boy! Each batch is brewed, then stored underground in jars for another four years. Some of the finest, strongest stuff he'll ever taste. You can thank me later."

"But Grandma, I said he's like my age. And I'm eighteen."

"You can thank me later."

"… Right. Okay." Warily, he took up the jug.

Breathing a sigh, his grandmother examined the burner. "Well, look at that. It's time for you to head back, or your mom will start thinking I've gotten my claws into you. Off with you, now! You don't want her getting on your case — you can trust me about that…"

Laike was more than happy to leave, Taking up his heavy, unasked-for gift, he scurried for the door, even as his grandmother started muttering under her breath again.

How was he going to explain this to Jet…

WC: 1693