Chapter 8: GOODMAN

As a time traveler, there were certain principles that must be followed—keeping secrets and making careful plans were non-negotiable. Two days later, Song Ya felt that he had done as much preparation as his current abilities allowed. So, during dinner when the whole family was gathered, he decisively put his plan into action. "I need money," he said, getting straight to the point.

"How much?" Aunt Su Qian asked, passing little Freddy to Connie and pulling out her coin purse.

"About seventy to a hundred dollars," Song Ya replied.

The clinking of cutlery and the sounds of chewing stopped instantly. Everyone's eyes turned toward him.

"I'll pay it back, with interest," he added.

"Damn!"

Aunt Su Qian reacted a few seconds later, her face flushed with anger. "Who did you get pregnant?!"

"Where did your mind go?!" Song Ya was speechless.

"Him? Impossible." Connie liked to tease her mom, but her take was different. "None of the girls at school even look at him."

Uh… forget it. Song Ya didn't feel like explaining his "invisible" strategy, though it did sting a little.

"Why not? Alex isn't bad-looking, right?" Aunt Su Qian's attention shifted. "Yesterday I ran into a teacher from school. She really likes Alex, said his grades are improving fast…"

"You're not planning to cause trouble, are you?!"

Tony, who had been silent up until now, suddenly interrupted. "You've been asking about little Lowry, about Al, about AK, and about the record company..." He fixed his gaze on Song Ya. "I'm warning you, don't get any funny ideas!"

"Am I that kind of person?"

Song Ya didn't plan to reveal his full hand to Tony just yet. "We'll talk properly tomorrow night."

"We definitely need to talk. You've been acting weird lately. Really weird..." 

Tony, who had shared a room with Alexander Song since they were kids, knew him best. Naturally, he noticed the changes in Song Ya's behavior, character, and way of thinking after the time travel. He had been repeatedly saying something was off, though he couldn't quite explain why. People were starting to get a little paranoid.

"Kid, what do you need the money for?" Aunt Su Qian asked with concern.

Song Ya gave a well-thought-out reason. "Uh… I need some legal help. You know, lawyers are expensive…"

"Did you really get someone pregnant?!"

Unexpectedly, his words caused some misunderstanding. Now even Connie was unsure. "You're not planning to get married just because of a baby, are you?! Don't believe those girls' lies. You know they might just want someone to take responsibility for the kid, and they don't even know who the father is among several possibilities…"

Song Ya's face was full of black lines.

"Oh my God, just shut up!"

Aunt Su Qian stood up. "Seventeen years old and you know so much?! I'm embarrassed for you!" She turned and went upstairs, followed by the sound of a door locking, likely heading to the place where she kept the money.

"I've barely ever gotten any pocket money from her, let alone this much." Tony grumbled.

"Alex does well in school." Connie teasingly poked him. "Have you ever been number one in the grade? Ever gotten an A+?"

"Wow, is Alex really that amazing?" Little Emily, the elementary schooler, still had a relatively normal view of things.

"Hmph, don't forget, I'm the one bringing money into this house now!" Tony snorted, rolling his eyes. "Emily..." He pinched his voice. "Do you like that puffy skirt?"

"Yeah!" Emily had gotten the puffy skirt she wanted from the secondhand store that day.

"So, who helped earn the money for that skirt?" Tony asked.

Emily thought for a moment. "You." She added, "But I was really tired after jumping around."

Connie laughed out loud.

"Here." Aunt Su Qian came back downstairs and tossed a bundle of money, tightly rolled with a rubber band, onto the table in front of Song Ya.

"Thanks."

Song Ya carefully sorted the mixed and neatly wrapped money. "I should be able to pay it back soon, including interest."

"You should express your thanks properly."

Aunt Su Qian turned her cheek away. "You haven't kissed me in ages."

Well, Song Ya knew this was just a normal way for foreigners to express affection, and Aunt Su Qian had always treated him very well. "Thank you, Aunt Su Qian." He hugged her and kissed her on both cheeks.

The next day, Song Ya got up very early. He meticulously prepared himself: freshly trimmed short hair, a dark turtleneck sweater, neatly washed light jeans, and sneakers. He topped it off with a plaid suit jacket he had gotten from a secondhand store for $9.9. Nowadays, cheap new suits often came with bulky shoulder pads, but he preferred this old style.

He neatly packed a pile of sheet music, a notebook, and some useful clippings into a secondhand canvas briefcase. Aside from the spare change he needed for transportation, all his cash was tucked into his socks under his feet. Unfortunately, the chances of being robbed were high in this area, especially with his slightly flashy attire.

No one else in the house was awake yet. He grabbed a cold pie from the cupboard, ate it while walking, and left the house.

First, he took the bus, then transferred to two subway lines, and after a short walk, he reached his destination: Clark Street.

By now, Connie should have helped him get his school leave, right?

He was a person who liked to follow a routine, so he particularly enjoyed the sense of things going according to plan. Since the apocalypse, he had gained the confidence of a time traveler, and now it was just a matter of personal effort.

Of course, finding the right direction was also crucial.

He pulled out a clipping from his bag and followed the address on it.

As he walked, more people with black hair and yellow skin passed by. Yes, this was Chinatown in Chicago.

People in the South Side's impoverished black neighborhoods never had anything good to say about lawyers, even black lawyers, so Song Ya figured he might as well find a Chinese lawyer for a consultation. Plus, he could stroll around Chinatown and brush up on his Mandarin. The main reason, though, was that their fees were the cheapest: $35 for an hour of consultation.

However, he didn't expect that this area was mostly Cantonese-speaking, and even English wasn't always useful for asking directions. After some twists and turns, he finally arrived at the building from the clipping.

"This?"

In front of him was nothing like the towering financial district with glass walls he had imagined. Instead, it was a plain, old-fashioned commercial building.

"Well, here goes nothing." 

He muttered to himself and took the old, gated elevator up to the fourth floor, reaching his destination: the *GOODMAN Law Firm*.

He took off his shoes, pulled the money from his socks, stuffed it into his pocket, and tidied his appearance before pressing the doorbell.

"Who's there?" A man's voice came from inside.

"Alexander Song. I made an appointment over the phone yesterday," Song Ya replied.

A sleepy-eyed white man opened the door. "You know my fees, right?" He let Song Ya in.

"This is a law firm?" 

Song Ya was surprised to see the small office—a desk, two chairs, and a row of filing cabinets. That was it.

The man, in his thirties with a slight balding spot, sat behind the desk and pointed to two certificates on the wall. "Yes, I'm Goodman. Please, take a seat. You mentioned copyright concerns over the phone yesterday, right? Let's get started, no wasting time."

Song Ya had the feeling that he was afraid of losing a client if he let him leave.

He glanced at the certificates on the wall. They seemed fine, so he decided to ask, "May I ask, why did you choose to set up your law firm here?"

"There's business here. Chinese people don't like using their own for divorce and inheritance cases," Goodman answered.

Hmm, that made some sense. "But I'm here for copyright issues..." Song Ya asked again.

"I know copyright too!" Goodman sounded a bit impatient as he pulled out a small timer and slammed it on the desk. "Time starts now."