Taoist priest goes to America

The taxi stopped in the shadow of the streetlights below the apartment building. Ang Lee paid the fare, and the veteran Boone got out of the car with him.

The sound of the car door closing echoed across the empty street, and soon the night breeze vanished. The entire street returned to silence, save for the rustling leaves of the old sycamore tree at the street corner.

In the apartment lobby, warm yellow light shines through the glass doors onto the sidewalk, overlapping with the glow of the streetlights to create a bright area on the ground.

The veteran looked down at his old jacket, stained with blood and mud, the sleeves still covered in dried, hardened sap from the blowhead's neck.

He glanced again at the spotless, gleaming wooden floor of the apartment and the potted green ivy next to the reception desk, hesitating to take a step. His boots rubbed back and forth on the floor in front of the threshold, as if afraid of dirtying the area.

Ang Lee was not reserved. He pushed open the glass door, casually pulled the old soldier's elbow, and led him inside.

Warm air poured out from the cracks in the doorway, and the veteran was hit in the face by the heat. It wasn't the cold wind on the street that carried exhaust fumes and the smell of garbage; it was the aroma of roasted coffee beans and the sweetness of freshly baked bread.

He froze for a moment, staring at Ang Lee's back, his body involuntarily straightening up, just like when he heard the assembly call in the military camp back then.

Behind the front desk, Fineria was resting her chin on her hand, flipping through a magazine. Her long chestnut hair was loosely tied over her shoulders, and she wore a beige knitted cardigan. Her eyes reflected a soft, light brown light under the lamp.

She turned the pages slowly, her fingers gripping the bottom of the magazine pages, taking a long time to turn a single page. Although her gaze was on the magazine, her brows were furrowed and her lips pursed from time to time, clearly indicating that her mind was not on the beautifully printed fashion magazines.

When the door opened, she looked up and saw it was Li An. A smile immediately bloomed on her face, and her eyes curved into two shallow crescent moons.

"Li An? You're back so late?" Fineria stood up from her chair, walked out from behind the front desk, and leaned forward to ask Li An, her tone full of pleasure and concern.

[At this point, I hope readers will remember our domain name: 202ᴋᴋs.ᴄᴏᴍ]

Then, she saw the old man behind Ang Lee, covered in blood and with disheveled white hair, and her smile froze.

Fineria looked the unfamiliar old man up and down, hesitated for a moment, then opened her mouth and finally asked softly in a gentle and restrained tone, "And this is...?"

"His name is Boone, and he's a Vietnam War veteran." Ang Lee stepped aside, letting the veteran take a step forward. "He's run into some trouble tonight and needs a place to stay temporarily."

Fineria's gaze fell on the veteran's old jacket, which was so dirty that its original color was no longer visible. It was splattered with dark red bloodstains, and the seam on the left shoulder was mostly torn, revealing the yellowish cotton inside.

The veteran became uncomfortable under her gaze. He didn't know where to put his rough hands, so he clasped them together in front of him, lowered his head, and dared not look at her. He muttered an apology that even he could not hear.

Fineria's expression became more serious. She walked around the front desk to the veteran and looked up at his wrinkled face.

There was no disgust or fear in her light brown eyes, only a solemn expression. "Yue, a veteran of the war," she repeated, nodding as she said.

"My father said that those who returned from that war were mistreated, Mr. Boone. There are empty rooms here, please stay here."

"No matter what trouble I encounter, I take a hot shower and change into clean clothes first, and I'll deal with the rest tomorrow."

She took a key with a room number tag from the front desk drawer, handed it to the veteran, and gave him a few more instructions on the room's location.

Then she glanced at Ang Lee, her eyes asking for praise and recognition, as if she were asking if she had done the right thing.

Ang Lee nodded to her, and the corners of her mouth turned up. She then turned and led them up to the fourth floor.

The room wasn't big, but it was clean and tidy. The sheets on the single bed were newly changed, and the starched cotton fabric still had a faint scent of laundry detergent.

A small desk lamp sits on the desk, and under the beige lampshade lies a handwritten welcome card with delicate handwriting, written by Fineria herself.

In the private bathroom, snow-white bath towels hung neatly folded on the towel rack, and on the sink were a small, unopened bottle of shampoo and a bar of soap wrapped in plastic wrap.

Fineria led the veteran into the room, told him which shelf the towels were on, which way to turn the hot water wringer, and then bent down to check if the floor drain was clogged.

She waited until the veteran went into the bathroom and closed the door before coming out and calling out to Li An in the hallway.

She took out her phone and asked him what size clothes the veteran wore.

Ang Lee relayed the veteran's measurements, which Fineria wrote down in her memo. She then called a servant and asked him to go to the nearby 24-hour convenience store.

She said she wanted to buy at least twelve sets of clothes, adding that she also wanted to bring back a pair of soft-soled slippers, not plastic ones, but cotton and linen ones, so that the elderly could wear them comfortably.

After taking a shower, the veteran sat on the edge of the bed wrapped in a towel. The steam softened his gray hair, which no longer stood upright as before, but lay obediently against his forehead.

The bloodstains on his face were washed away, revealing a thin but well-defined old face with thick, messy eyebrows and countless scratches on his cheeks that had been left since the Yue War.

The servant brought over the clothes he had bought: long-sleeved T-shirts, casual pants, new socks, and underwear.

The veteran's hands trembled slightly as he took the clothes. He lowered his head, hugged them to his chest, and after a long moment of excitement, he stammered, "Thank you, Miss."

After the veteran changed into new clothes, he finally didn't look like a homeless man anymore; he looked like a thin old man who had experienced too much.

Ang Lee stood at the doorway of the room, watching the veteran sit on the edge of the bed, his hands on his knees, his fingers shyly stroking the fabric of his new clothes.

His expression was much calmer, though the sadness in his eyes hadn't completely faded and his brows were still furrowed. The defeated homeless man was gone, replaced by an old soldier who had put on clean clothes and regained his confidence.

Ang Lee gently closed the door, leaving the veteran alone for a while.

In the hallway, Fineria leaned against the wall, looked up at Li An, and whispered, "Is he alright?"

"It will be alright," Ang Lee said.

Fineria nodded. She looked up at Li An, her light brown eyes reflecting the warm yellow light from the corridor wall lamps, and a gentle smile appeared on her face.

She didn't say a word, but simply reached out and straightened the collar of Li An's dark red suit, pressing it down lightly on the lapel, before turning and going downstairs, saying she would go make another pot of coffee.

Tonight, some people will probably need to stay up late.