“I will be no more than an hour,” Huang said as he climbed out of the escort car. Buttoning his black wool blazer, he peered through the restaurant window. Very few patrons were inside which suited him perfectly. Next door, the far more crowded American fast food establishment brimmed with Chinese citizens. This breakfast meeting was too important for grease and gummy pancakes. Authentic cuisine was needed.
It would be as much a parting meal for him as for his expected company.
He was greeted within the restaurant by a stooped old man dressed in the appropriate blue workman’s shirt and pants. Selecting a rear table, Huang sat down facing the window so he might see his guest upon arrival. The server offered him a menu, but Huang waved him off.
“Your traditional breakfast,” Huang ordered.
“Will your guest want cornflakes?”
He scrutinized the server. Surely, the man was old enough to know better. “When did cornflakes become a tradition in China?”
With a bob of his head, the server shuffled off into the kitchen. Huang checked his watch. In ninety minutes, his flight would leave for Colorado Springs in the United States. The benefits of being a diplomat meant he had no need to wait amongst the unruly people with whom he must share the flight.
The old man returned with a tray of covered ceramic dishes and wooden bowls. As he placed them neatly in the middle of the table, Huang reviewed his plans.
Thanks to one special capsule in Ambassador Chen’s evening tea, Huang was now lead ambassador to Beijing’s UN diplomatic corp. That capsule had waited long to serve its purpose. Chen had shared a new update from the Security Council’s report of the latest goings-on of Stargate Command. One of SG-1’s team members had been apprehended by Lord Yu only hours ago. A Dr. Daniel Jackson — the man who had unlocked the Chappa’ai’s mysteries.
Lord Yu had told him to look for a sign to commence his plan. Now, everything would progress as planned.
The US President had notified the Security Council of his intent to send in a rescue team. Huang had brought the news to Chen with his morning coffee. Chen had laughed off Lord Yu’s facade, scoffing at the Goa’uld’s efforts to pretend to be Chinese. That is, until Chen downed his cup and complained of chest pains. The embassy doctor had determined Chen suffered a heart attack. Who was Huang to disagree?
Upon Chen’s hospitalization, Huang had called the US President, demanding SG-1 place their plans on hold until he could confer with them face-to-face. Hence his reason for flying to their base of operations. The President had drawled so heavily on the phone that Huang could barely understand half the US leader’s apologies and assurances. All that mattered was that the SG-1 would wait until his arrival.
Hungry, and admittedly anxious, he reached out to uncover one of the small dishes. The right side of his blazer banged against the table. Quickly sticking a hand inside his pocket, he assured himself that the small lead box containing the two communications devices recovered from the Pacific Ocean were intact. They would serve as his bait and his means to an end. Huang would finally go home.
All he had to do was deliver SG-1 into Yu’s hands.
A chime on the restaurant’s doors sounded. Huang glanced up in time to see a young teenage girl close the door behind her. Her long black hair covered half of her face, but he still could see the resemblance to both her mother…
And himself.
“Weiyan!” He waved his daughter over.
As she neared, he thanked his inner courage for this meeting. Though Lord Yu would consider his offspring bù zhǔn xǔ — forbidden — Huang could not deny her existence in his heart.
“Father.” Weiyan sat down across from him. “I am honored.”
“Are you hungry?” He gestured toward the many dishes ordered. “Even a young woman like yourself must eat when opportunity arises.”
“I will try, Father.”
“One must simply do what needs to be done, child. Eat.”
She laid a napkin in her lap. “This seems more like a vast dinner than a simple breakfast.”
“A traditional Chinese breakfast can keep the body strong throughout the day.” His eyes moistened with joy at her demure nature. Quing had done well in raising their child.
“Mother has never served such a meal. We usually eat cornflakes or boiled eggs.”
He uncovered the dishes, naming each as they were unveiled. “First, a bowl of congee. It is a rice porridge.”
He offered her a small plate of pickles. “Those can be added if you prefer.” Next, he removed the lid to a broad ceramic bowl. “This is yóutiáo steamed in soya.” Swimming in the milky liquid were deep fried sticks of dough. Finally, he removed a plate cover where beneath were puffy sheets of steamed bread accompanied by another small bowl of milky soy in which to dip the bread. He took up one of the bread strips and dunked it in the soya. “Like so, yes?”
Though she remained silent, her green-flecked eyes widened upon gazing at their meal.
“Is it too much?”
“No. No, Father.” She took up a spoon and dipped it in the yóutiáo. “It’s only… After so many years, I don’t understand why you have contacted me.”
Huang put down his half-eaten bread. “I am sorry for not contacting you earlier though my reasons were just.”
“I shamed you,” she whispered. “If I’d been born a male — ”
“No.” He grabbed her hand. “Never. The shame belongs to me, but please, do not ask for an explanation. I cannot give you my reasons. They must be held within me to protect you as well as your mother.”
Weiyan withdrew her hand. “Then why now? What has changed?”
“I am leaving.” Even as Huang said the words, a silent thrill ran through him, warring with this burning desire to know his child.
Weiyan put down the spoon, her food untasted. “Can I go with you?”
“It is too dangerous.”
“Dangerous?” She sat back against her chair. “I do not wish you to die, Father. Not when we have just met.”
“Death is not to be feared, child.” He studied her face closely, trying to decide just how much of the truth he should share. “Have you not read the teachings of Sun Tzu?”
“The Art of War? Once.” She shrugged. “All children must read his writings, but they don’t really mean much. Not in today’s world. Mother has me studying the sciences. She hopes I will pursue a degree in astro — ”
“Once is not enough,” Huang chided his daughter. “You spoke of fearing death. When you think of me, remember Sun Tzu. ‘Until death itself comes, no calamity need be feared.’”
“I will remember.” Weiyan again picked up her spoon and pushed the dumplings around. “Perhaps I should read Sun Tzu’s work again. If it gives me solace during my treatments — ”
“Treatments?” Huang’s head jerked up.
His dishonor weighed heavily on his mind as Weiyan explained her blood illness. While he could not admit to her the cause, he knew that her hemophilia stemmed from the fact that as a clone, he should never have created offspring.
Though he had failed as a Dragon Guard trainee, that would soon be rectified, but Weiyan would carry his failure to obey Lord Yu’s laws for the rest of her life. There was little he could do to make restitution for his trespass.
He reached into his chest pocket and pulled out a checkbook. While most of the funds from the ancient scroll had already been sent to Quing, there was still several hundred thousand Yuan left in his bank account.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
He wrote her a check for the entire balance. “Where I am going, money has no purpose.” He ripped the check from the billet and handed it to her.
She did not take it. “I do not want money. I want my father.”
Huang placed the check on the table with a sigh. “Your full name is Weiyan Shi. Have you ever wondered from where the second part of your name derives?”
She dropped her head. “Mother would not say.”
That was because even Quing did not know the truth of that name. “Many years ago, I had a brother named Lao Dan Shi.”
“What happened to my uncle?”
Huang swallowed back the bitter memory of Lao Dan’s death. “That does not matter. Instead, let me share with you a saying that his…” He stopped himself from saying ‘ancestor,’ for Lao Dan had been a direct descendent of Lao Tzu, crafter of the great Tao. To explain the relationship would reveal too much.
Instead, Huang picked up the check and pushed it into Weiyan’s hands. “A favorite quote of my brother’s is worth remembering. ‘He whose desires are few gets them; he whose desires are many goes astray.’
“Take the check, Weiyan. Perhaps it will help ease your struggles with this illness.”
She folded the check and slipped it into her purse. “Where are you going? Home to the Taklimakan Desert where Mother met you?”
Picking up his chopsticks, Huang whispered, “Further away, if I succeed.”