GINGER, SCARS, AND MOUNTAIN MEMORIES

The heavy velvet curtains of the Lotus Room muffled the restaurant's elegant murmur, enclosing them in a cocoon of dark wood and soft golden light. Zhòng Tiěshān – Iron Mountain – didn't just gesture towards a chair; he lowered himself into it like a battleship docking, the sturdy frame groaning in protest. "So," he rumbled, pouring jasmine tea from a delicate porcelain pot into cups that looked absurdly small in his massive hands. "Captain finally drags you out of the clouds, Little Warrior?" He winked at Yan, who was still staring at him with wide-eyed fascination, perched on the edge of her own plush chair. He slid a cup towards her. "Careful, hot. Not like your Shīfu's mountain brews."

Anze accepted his own cup, the ghost of a smile lingering. "This," he said, his voice cutting through the room's sudden intimacy, his gaze encompassing Xu and Li Na, "isn't just my old pack mule and human shield. Zhòng Tiěshān owns the Golden Dragon." He gestured vaguely around the opulent room. "All this. Retired, invested his hazard pay wisely. Or luckily. Depends on the day you ask him."

Tieshan grinned, a flash of white teeth in his rugged face. "Hazard pay and a knack for knowing when someone's overcharging for sea cucumber." He leaned forward conspiratorially towards Yan. "Also, marrying the best chef in Shanghai helped." As if summoned by the words, the private room's door swung open without a knock.

A woman stood there, framed by the doorway. She was compact, maybe five-foot-five, but radiated an energy that filled the space. Her immaculate chef's whites were spotless, sharply pressed, contrasting with the fiery intensity in her dark eyes. Her black hair was pulled back in a severe bun, not a strand out of place, emphasizing high cheekbones and a determined jawline. A thin, pale scar traced a path from her left temple down to her jawline, not detracting from her striking features but adding a layer of hard-won history. In her hands, she held a steaming platter of translucent soup dumplings, their delicate skins shimmering, fragrant steam rising in curls. Her stern expression scanned the room – lingering on the unfamiliar faces of Xu and Li Na, softening slightly at Yan's awestruck gaze, then landing squarely on Anze.

The transformation was instant. The stern chef vanished. Her eyes widened, then crinkled at the corners with pure, unadulterated joy. "*Ān Zé!*" The name burst from her, warm and rich, carrying the lilt of Southern China. She strode in, setting the dumplings down with practiced care, ignoring the table's grandeur, and crossed the room in three quick strides. She didn't hug him like Tieshan; instead, she grasped his shoulders firmly, her gaze searching his face, the scar on her own face catching the light. "You mountain ghost! What wind blew you down here?" Her voice was lower than expected, smooth as aged rice wine, but edged with the same command Tieshan's held. "Tieshan said he saw you, but I didn't believe him! Thought he'd finally cracked from sniffing too much truffle oil!"

Anze's wry smile returned, genuine this time. "Luo Ying," he said, introducing her to the table. "My demolition expert turned culinary demolition expert. Also, unfortunately for him, Tieshan's better half." He gestured to Xu and Li Na. "Xu Línxuě, wildlife photographer. Li Na, her friend. And you've met Little Yan, our village shadow."

Luo Ying's sharp eyes took in Xu's brace, Li Na's protective posture, Yan's curious stare. She offered a crisp, professional nod that was somehow warmer than a smile. "Honored. Any friend dragged down from Ān Zé's misty fortress is welcome here." Her gaze snapped back to Anze, the joy replaced by keen concern. "But seriously. What brings you? You look like you haven't slept since the Kyrgyzstan op. And you never leave that mountain unless the sky's falling."

Anze's expression sobered. "Liang Wei," he said simply. The name hung heavy.

Luo Ying's breath caught. Tieshan's joviality evaporated instantly, his large hands curling into fists on the tablecloth. "Liang?" Tieshan's voice lost its boom, turning gravelly. "What happened?"

"Heart gave out. Infection. Multi-organ failure. Critical." Anze relayed the facts with soldierly precision, but the tightness around his eyes betrayed the strain. "His wife wrote. I came down this morning. Surgery just finished."

Luo Ying sank into the chair Tieshan pulled out for her, her face pale beneath her professional composure. "Surgery? Is he...?"

"They found a lung donor. Mid-surgery. Miracle timing." Anze took a slow sip of tea. "Surgeon says he'll pull through. Long recovery, but he'll live."

A collective sigh of relief washed over the table. Luo Ying closed her eyes for a second, murmuring something that sounded like a prayer or a curse. Tieshan reached across the table, covering her smaller hand with his enormous one. "Stubborn old ox," Tieshan muttered, a shaky grin returning. "Knew he wouldn't go easy. Not before owing me that hundred yuan from poker night '09."

Luo Ying opened her eyes, blinking away moisture. "Thank the ancestors," she breathed. She looked at Anze, then at Xu and Li Na. "Apologies. Old ghosts." She straightened her already pristine jacket. "Anze, these ladies… mind if we impose? Food's coming, and frankly, I need to sit down after that news."

Anze looked at Xu and Li Na. "Will their presence bother your dinner?" His question was formal, offering an out.

Xu shook her head immediately. "Not at all." The intensity of the bond between these three, forged in some unseen fire, was compelling. Li Na, though still visibly processing the whirlwind of soldiers, salutes, and now these formidable restaurateurs, managed a polite smile. "Please, join us. We're just… grateful for the hospitality."

"Xu Línxuě," Xu said, extending her hand across the table towards Luo Ying. "As Anze said, I take pictures of things that hide. Mostly birds. Ended up hiding in his village after a fall." She gestured to her ankle.

"Luo Ying," the chef replied, shaking Xu's hand with a firm, dry grip. "I make things that shouldn't hide – flavors, mainly. Pleasure." Her sharp eyes flicked to Li Na.

Li Na leaned forward, brushing a strand of sleek, dark hair – cut in a sharp, asymmetrical bob – away from her face. She wore stylish, practical clothes: charcoal grey tailored trousers, a cream silk blouse that shimmered subtly under the lights, and low-heeled leather ankle boots. A minimalist silver necklace glinted at her throat. Her eyes, behind fashionable tortoiseshell glasses, were intelligent and observant, missing little. "Li Na," she introduced herself, her voice calm and measured. "Xu's partner in chaos prevention. Art curator by day, professional worrier by… well, constantly." She offered Luo Ying a warm, if slightly guarded, smile. "Your restaurant is stunning. And those dumplings smell incredible."

Luo Ying acknowledged the compliment with a slight incline of her head. "Thank you, Li Na. Chaos prevention is a noble calling. Especially with this one." She nodded towards Xu. "Mountains and falls. Sounds familiar." Her gaze held a flicker of understanding towards Anze.

As if orchestrated, the door opened again. Waiters streamed in, transforming the table into a landscape of culinary artistry. Steaming baskets revealed har gow shrimp dumplings, translucent as moonstones. Plates held slices of glistening, caramelized *Dongpo* pork belly so tender it promised to melt. A whole steamed sea bass, perfectly cooked, nestled on a bed of scallions and ginger. Stir-fried snow pea shoots, vibrant green and garlicky. Crispy-skinned Peking duck arrived with delicate pancakes, hoisin sauce, and slivers of spring onion. And finally, the restaurant's namesake: a magnificent golden lobster, split and grilled, its sweet meat glistening with a ginger-scallion butter sauce. Bottles appeared – chilled Tsingtao beer, a bottle of delicate Shaoxing rice wine, and a vibrant pink cocktail in a coupe glass for Li Na, who'd murmured a preference when asked.

"Cola for the Little Warrior!" Tieshan declared, placing a frosty glass bottle in front of Yan, who beamed. He poured beers for himself, Anze, and Xu, while Luo Ying sipped jasmine tea. "Eat! Captain's orders!" Tieshan boomed, raising his beer. "To Liang Wei! The stubbornest ox in the pen!"

"To Liang Wei!" the toast echoed around the table, even Yan clinking her cola bottle solemnly against Li Na's cocktail glass.

The ice, thoroughly broken by near-tragedy and good news, melted completely. Conversation flowed as freely as the drinks. Tieshan regaled them with (heavily sanitized) tales of Anze's legendary stubbornness during training exercises. Luo Ying described the chaos of opening the Golden Dragon, her scarred hand gesturing emphatically. "He wanted neon and karaoke!" she accused Tieshan, pointing her chopsticks at him. "I threatened to use his wok as a helmet!" Anze remained mostly quiet, a calm presence at the center, adding dry, understated comments that often drew surprised laughter. Xu shared the story of the Blue Mountain Pheasant, Luo Ying listening with a chef's appreciation for rare beauty. Li Na talked about the challenges of curating modern art in a city obsessed with the new, finding an engaged listener in Luo Ying, who saw parallels in balancing tradition and innovation in her kitchen. Yan, emboldened by the cola and the atmosphere, shyly showed Tieshan her sketches of the Spirit Messenger bird, earning a surprisingly gentle compliment from the giant. "Eyes are good. Sharp. Like your Shīfu's."

The feast dwindled to empty plates and contented sighs. The easy camaraderie, born of shared relief and good food, had woven a warm tapestry over the evening. Finally, Li Na checked her sleek watch and nudged Xu gently. "We should get you home, Linxue. That ankle needs elevation, and you look dead on your feet." Xu nodded, realizing the long day – the predawn descent, the hospital, the emotional whiplash – was catching up with her.

They said their goodbyes. Xu thanked Anze again, her gaze lingering on him, the enigma deepening in the warm restaurant light. "Safe travels back… whenever that is." Li Na shook hands with Luo Ying and Tieshan, thanking them for the incredible meal and their kindness. Luo Ying pressed a small container of ginger-infused honey into Xu's hands. "For the throat, or the spirit. Whichever needs soothing." Yan gave Xu a quick, impulsive hug. "Find the bird again!" she whispered.

Tieshan watched them go, then turned to Anze and Yan. "Right. Captain. Little Warrior. Follow me." He led them not back through the bustling restaurant, but down a discreet corridor behind the kitchens, past storerooms humming with refrigeration, to a heavy, unmarked door. He pulled out an old-fashioned brass key. "Your quarters, sir," he said with mock formality, swinging the door open.

The room beyond was an oasis of calm. After the restaurant's opulence and the city's roar just outside, it felt like stepping back into a refined echo of Yúnzhī Cūn. The walls were paneled in warm, light ash wood. A low platform bed dominated one side, covered in crisp, undyed linen bedding. A simple dark wood desk held a reading lamp and a vase with a single, elegant branch of plum blossom. A scroll painting of mist-shrouded mountains hung on one wall, uncannily reminiscent of the view from Anze's café terrace. The only modern touch was a small, efficient bathroom visible through an open door. The air smelled faintly of sandalwood and clean cotton. It was minimalist, serene, and utterly peaceful.

"Tieshan…" Anze began, his voice thick with uncharacteristic emotion as he took in the space clearly designed with him in mind.

Tieshan waved a dismissive hand, but his eyes were soft. "Spare room. Needed furnishing anyway. Thought you might appreciate something… quiet. Reminds you of home." He pointed to a smaller adjoining room, its door ajar, revealing a cozy space with a single bed and a desk perfect for sketching. "Little Warrior's barracks. Bathroom's through there. Lock the main door from inside." He clapped Anze on the shoulder, a gentler echo of his earlier bear hug. "Sleep. You look like you've marched across the Taklamakan. Liang's stable. The mountain will wait." He nodded to Yan. "Be good for the Captain, Little Warrior. Don't let him brood too much." With a final rumbling chuckle, he pulled the door shut, leaving them in the profound silence of the room.

Yan immediately explored her small room, running her hand over the smooth wood of the desk. "It's nice, Shīfu! Like a little cave. But warm." She yawned hugely, the day's adventures finally overwhelming her youthful energy.

Anze stood in the center of the main room, absorbing the quiet. The city's pulse was a distant murmur here, muffled by thick walls and thoughtful design. He looked at the scroll painting, the mist on those painted peaks mirroring the mist he'd left behind hours, yet a lifetime, ago. The tension he'd carried since receiving the letter, the focused energy of the descent, the hospital vigil, the boisterous dinner – it all seeped out of him, leaving behind a profound exhaustion. He walked to the bed, the linen cool under his hand.

"Get some sleep, Yan," he said, his voice rough with fatigue. "Big city tomorrow. Maybe we'll find those giant firefly buildings you liked."

Yan mumbled an assent, already half-asleep as she crawled into the small bed in her room. Anze didn't bother changing. He simply sat on the edge of his own bed, pulled off his boots, and lay back on the crisp linen. The scent of sandalwood and the image of misty peaks filled his senses. He closed his eyes, the salute of the soldiers, the bear hug of Tieshan, the worried eyes of Xu, the shimmer of the pheasant, and the steady thrum of the village looms all swirling together before dissolving into the deep, dreamless sleep of utter exhaustion. High above the Shanghai bustle, in a room designed by a comrade who remembered the mountains, Anze Li and his Little Warrior finally rested, the city lights painting faint, shifting patterns on the ceiling like distant, unfamiliar stars.