Chapter Fifty-Seven: Night in Florence

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The days of being Wukong’s junior brother—no pop-up windows

That afternoon, as Yu Qing and Ram left for their piano lessons, Liu Yunfei returned to his room. Suddenly, he thought about his evening date with Yu Qing—their very first. It was only right to prepare a small gift, but what should he give? Liu Yunfei was troubled. Back in school, no one had money; a simple trinket or accessory sufficed. Yet, for a prince or a billionaire, such things seemed utterly inadequate. Though they say the value lies in the sentiment, in today’s world, sentiment is weighed against the preciousness of the gift.

Who would have thought that it’s troublesome for the wealthy to choose presents? After much deliberation, he decided that girls always like flowers. But flowers were not truly a gift; they were merely embellishment, their meaning distinct from that of a present. This added to Liu Yunfei’s frustration.

Deep down, Liu Yunfei felt their relationship had reached the point where he could give Yu Qing a diamond ring. He didn’t want to lose her; he was prepared to cherish her for a lifetime. But he worried Yu Qing might not like the style or design. It would be better to choose the ring together, for this was the most important gift a couple could exchange in their lifetime. Liu Yunfei didn’t want regrets over size or style.

Thinking about diamond rings, Liu Yunfei suddenly recalled the last time he visited Times Square with Park Minji. They’d seen a jewelry store displaying a beautiful gold rose. The time difference between New York and Florence was five hours—morning in New York. Acting quickly, Liu Yunfei mounted his cloud and flew to New York.

He rushed into the jewelry store, drawing nervous, tense gazes from everyone present. The staff wore expressions of fear and wariness; the other customers hurriedly left. Liu Yunfei was baffled—what was going on? Approaching the gleaming counter, he saw his own reflection: an Arab face.

Since 9/11, Arabs in America had become synonymous with terrorism, especially in New York. Locals avoided them at all costs. The U.S. government tried to clarify matters, but prejudice and discrimination were hard to erase. Shaking his head, Liu Yunfei mused that the ten billion dollars from the Arab League might as well have been thrown into the sea.

He thought of how Jewish people had rooted themselves in America, and how Arabs, hoping to defeat the Jews in the hearts of the American government and its people, were fighting a losing battle. He remembered the Manchu queue of Qing dynasty China, a symbol of discrimination; now, the Arab robes and their five daily prayers were, in essence, a modern queue.

Liu Yunfei reflected that there was little he could do. Arabs were his friends, but some things were beyond his power to change. The 99.99% pure gold rose, however, was exquisite and satisfied him greatly. Its stem and leaves were cast in pure gold; two jade leaves inlaid with green, and the blossom adorned with genuine South African diamonds. Each petal’s edge was rimmed in platinum, and under the lights, the rose shone with a dazzling array of colors. With each rose came a block of flower granite, and customers could have a phrase engraved for free. Liu Yunfei decided to have “Yu Qing, I love you forever” carved onto it.

The price was steep—eight thousand dollars. Liu Yunfei used Awahid’s bank card; no reason not to. Hesitating for a moment at checkout, he bought a second rose, engraved with “Park Minji, I love you forever.”

“Sir, can you truly love two ladies forever?” The saleswoman’s tone was openly mocking, and laughter echoed around. After paying, Liu Yunfei fled the store.

He realized it had been days since he’d seen Park Minji, so he headed toward New York University, pondering what to say. Since becoming intimate with Yu Qing, he’d kept in touch with Park Minji, but always felt uneasy facing her—as if he’d done something wrong. Liu Yunfei’s heart was traditional; he felt guilty.

Unexpectedly, Park Minji wasn’t at her temporary apartment. Liu Yunfei felt relieved, remembering she’d mentioned taking another job out of boredom. He slipped into her room, placed the rose on her desk, and left a note saying he’d visited and to call him when she returned.

With everything arranged, he returned to Florence. There was still time, so he drove to a nearby florist, bought a large bouquet of fresh flowers, and delivered them to the Chinese restaurant, instructing the staff to bring them out that evening. He also brought a bottle of fine red wine; the restaurant’s wines no longer suited his palate. Then he rushed back to the Knights’ castle, showered, changed into a pale yellow, striped casual shirt and white fashion trousers, and carefully styled his hair. Glancing at his reflection, he saw a stylish urban youth—except, regrettably, he couldn’t use his handsome Chinese face. Liu Yunfei thought, “In half a month, if school starts and I show up like this, won’t all the girls scream? Who knows if I’ll make it back in time.”

After a busy afternoon, evening finally arrived. Yu Qing, dragging Ram and swaying like a flower, came in. “Go shower—let’s head out soon,” Liu Yunfei urged.

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“Where are we going?” Unexpectedly, Belgrade followed them in. This American version of a bumbling fool was, in fact, shrewd. Upon hearing that the king’s favorite grandson was visiting, he lowered his status to personally greet them. Liu Yunfei inwardly scorned the old man, but outwardly was warm and enthusiastic: “Ah, Mr. Belgrade, welcome! Brother of the Saudis, may God bless you.”

He hastily had the servants call Awari and the old prince downstairs. The butler arranged the motorcade according to yesterday’s plan, drawing the black curtain inside the central Bentley limousine and instructing the driver to follow yesterday’s route. Everyone chatted in the hall for about ten minutes, then two black Mercedes slowly pulled out from the Knights’ castle. The first, driven by Belgrade, carried Awari and the old prince; the second held two others. Seeing them depart, Liu Yunfei took Yu Qing by the hand and climbed into the Ferrari, turning the radio up loud. The Ferrari sped through the daisy- and lavender-lined roads of Tuscany, their laughter trailing behind.

Since Liu Yunfei wore pale yellow today, Yu Qing was also dressed in a pale yellow camisole, exposing her slender, snow-white shoulders, and a lopsided skirt—typically worn for samba dancing. Liu Yunfei thought, after dinner, they should revisit Michelangelo Square and relive their last passionate dance.

They parked in front of the Chinese restaurant. The city lights had just come on; stylish couples laughed as they passed by. Liu Yunfei closed the car door, walked to the front, and Yu Qing hurried after him, slipping her hand through his arm. They entered the restaurant, blending in with Florence’s countless couples.

From the outside, this Chinese restaurant looked much like a mid-range eatery back home, but inside, it was lavishly decorated. Chinese restaurants were rare in Florence, so prices were steep—a bowl of noodles cost twenty euros.

Every Chinese visitor to Florence came here for another reason: rumor had it that this was a century-old establishment where the poet Xu Zhimo once dined and stayed, composing his beautiful and mournful prose poem, “A Night in Firenzi” (Firenzi being the old name for Florence).

It was dinner time, and the hall was filled with patrons—mostly foreigners. Most of the staff were foreign, with only a few Chinese chefs. Upon entering, they were led to their reserved table.

Liu Yunfei had requested this spot earlier; beside them was a floor-to-ceiling glass window, affording a clear view of passing pedestrians and the winding Arno River across the road. Liu Yunfei loved sitting by the street-facing window, perhaps because he could watch the evening crowds.

As the waiter served their dishes, Liu Yunfei went to the front desk to fetch the bouquet. Unlike China, Europeans preferred large bunches of identical flowers, wrapped in pale, striped oil paper instead of plastic for environmental reasons—fresh and clear. Tonight, he’d bought a big bouquet of roses, placing the pure gold rose in the center. He walked to Yu Qing, bowed slightly, and presented the flowers with both hands, smiling softly: “For you, the most beautiful girl tonight.”

Warm applause filled the air. Besides the mafia, Florentine locals were very passionate; whenever they saw romantic couples or proposals, they applauded to show support. Boys needn’t worry about rowdy shouts or jeers; Florentines were gentlemanly, smiling or giving a thumbs-up. Their applause and attention made even ordinary moments more romantic.

Liu Yunfei saw the intoxicated look in Yu Qing’s eyes as she cradled the roses. He himself was entranced. The band played a tender saxophone melody. Through the glass, fireworks suddenly exploded over the far bank of the Arno—a coincidence, or perhaps fate, that this was happiness predestined.

I can never forget that day you came
Like light shining on a dark future
You are my teacher, my beloved benefactor

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You taught me what life is, what love is
You awakened me from stupor, repaid my innocence
Without you, how would I know the sky’s height, the grass’s green?
Touch my heart—see how fast it beats now;
Touch my face—how fevered it burns, lucky for the dark night
You can’t see; I love you so much I can hardly breathe
Don’t kiss me anymore; I cannot endure this fiery life
In these moments, my soul is like red-hot iron
Struck on the anvil of love, sparks flying everywhere
I’m faint—hold me
Let me find peace in this quiet garden of love.

ps: The lines above are excerpted from Xu Zhimo’s “A Night in Firenzi.” The poet writes from the perspective of a young woman in love.