Chapter 12: Homefront

The apartment smelled of ginger-scallion crab and unresolved tension. Mom's glare could've frozen the Bohai Sea as Shangguan bowed with textbook-perfect *keigo*. Dad, ever the peacemaker, piled my bowl with braised pork until it resembled Mount Fuji. 

"Eat!" he ordered, chopsticks clattering against porcelain. "Tokyo turned you into a sparrow." 

The CCTV documentary on Dalian Port played second fiddle to our family drama. Shangguan's polished veneer cracked when Mom "accidentally" served him century egg congee. 

"It's... distinctive," he choked out, sweat beading his collar. 

Uncle Liang's call came during dessert. "Your Prince Charming's suite is ready," he drawled. "Fifth floor, ocean view. Try not to elope before breakfast." 

The taxi ride reeked of awkwardness. Dad's knuckles whitened on the passenger seat as Shangguan's knee brushed mine. Through the rearview, Driver Li winked. "Nice catch, Linlin. When's the wedding?" 

**9:47PM – Shangri-La Suite 509** 

Marble floors echoed our silence. Shangguan's suitcase gaped open, revealing a silver-framed photo — us at Haneda, my head lolling on his shoulder. 

"You kept this?" 

"Evidence." His fingers traced the glass. "Of what, I'm still determining." 

Mom's warning hummed in my ears as night swallowed the harbor lights. Somewhere between duty and desire, the line blurred. 

**WeChat @ 23:15** 

Mom: 他看你的眼神不对 

Me: 工作需要 

Mom: 工作不包结婚证 

Dawn painted the container ships gold. In the lobby, Uncle Liang's wife pressed a mahjong tile into my palm — *Eight Bamboos*, the matchmaker's symbol. 

"Your move," she whispered. 

The game had crossed oceans.