"We are arriving in Los Angeles in one hour. Don't forget your bags, and thank you for riding Amtrak."
Hank Calloway stared through the train window, dark-green hair brushing his green eyes. Graffiti-scarred walls and sun-bleached tracks blurred past. He was here.
His phone screen still glowed with Claudia's text:
"Hey Hank, I'll see you at the station! I'm sure you'll like it and I'll help you out as always :)"
He shook his head. Part of him still wondered if flying across the country to claim a mansion he barely remembered was the right move. Then again… it was his now.
The train sighed to a stop at Union Station. Hank hauled his two suitcases onto the platform, the air thick with coffee, diesel, and warm California sun. He found the food court easily.
There she was: long brown hair catching the light, blue eyes bright, halfway through a bagel and iced coffee. The moment she saw him, her whole face lit up.
"Hank!"
She wove through the tables and pulled him into a fierce hug that made the last two years feel, for one breath, a little lighter.
"Hey."
She stepped back, scanning him. "You lost weight."
"Yeah… change of habits."
"Want anything?"
"Nah. Let's just go."
They walked to her silver Prius. As they left downtown behind, the city transformed: palm trees, towering gates, people strolling with designer dogs. Claudia glanced sideways at him.
"You okay?"
He nodded.
She didn't press. Not yet.
The road curved, and both of them fell silent.
Two massive stone Chinese guardian lions flanked the private driveway, mouths open in silent warning. Beyond them stretched red pillars, moon gates, and a lotus pond glittering under the sun.
"I… didn't know Uncle Roy was this deep into Chinese culture," Hank murmured.
Claudia let out a soft laugh. "Looks like he went all the way."
The gate intercom crackled. A calm voice, lightly accented, answered.
"Yes?"
"This is Hank Calloway. I'm here to see the property."
"Oh—Hank! One moment please."
The gates glided open.
They drove deeper in. Small shrines nestled among winding paths. Golden koi slipped beneath lily pads. The main house rose ahead: no longer the plain Beverly Hills mansion from old photos. Sweeping eaves, carved dragons coiled around columns, silk lanterns swaying gently in the breeze.
"Ah, Master Calloway!"
A middle-aged Chinese man stepped onto the grand entrance wearing a simple black tang suit. His graying hair was tied in a neat, short ponytail, a thin mustache framing his warm smile.
"Mr. Wei Fong. Good to see you again."
They hugged like old family.
"I'm glad you made it safely," Mr. Fong said. His eyes flicked to Claudia. "And this is…?"
"My friend Claudia. She works in property management. She's helping with the estate paperwork and budgeting."
"You're not selling?" Mr. Fong's brows lifted in quiet surprise.
"I'm… still deciding."
"I see." He gave a small, respectful bow. "Welcome, Miss Claudia. I'll show you where to park."
While they were gone, Hank stood alone beneath the carved eaves and let the strangeness settle over him. This entire peaceful, beautiful world was his now.
When they returned, Mr. Fong began the tour.
"Your uncle started the renovations one year after your aunt passed," he explained as they crossed the entrance hall. Red lanterns cast a soft glow over ink paintings and flowing calligraphy scrolls. "His trip to Hong Kong changed everything. He found real peace there. He wanted this house to hold that peace every single day."
They stepped into the garden courtyard. Jasmine and wet stone scented the air. A fountain trickled somewhere out of sight.
"He meditated here every morning," Mr. Fong continued. "He said the sound of water helped him let go."
Hank's throat tightened. Let go. Easy words when you actually managed it.
They moved through the dining room, then up to the guest wing. Mr. Fong opened a door to a serene room with a low wooden bed and windows framing the lotus pond.
"Your luggage is already here. Rest. The journey was long."
The moment the door closed, Hank sank onto the edge of the bed. The mattress cradled him perfectly. He rubbed his face, bone-tired.
A soft knock.
"Come in."
Claudia slipped inside, still smiling. "Okay, this place is insane in the best way. I love what your uncle did."
"Yeah… it feels tranquil." Hank managed a weary half-smile. "He worked hard to keep it like this."
She sat beside him. "I'll come back first thing tomorrow to help sort everything. Tonight, just breathe. Walk around. Get to know the house again."
He nodded.
"How are you holding up?" she asked gently.
"Besides Uncle Roy dying… I'm fine."
She gave him the look. "It's been two years since the accident, Hank. It wasn't your fault."
"Still feels like it. I shouldn't have been driving that night."
"You have to let this go."
"I'm trying."
She squeezed his shoulder. "Maybe take a page from your uncle. This house helped him heal. It might help you too."
"No promises."
She stood. "See you tomorrow, green-hair."
After she left, Hank lay back and stared at the ceiling. "I hope it can heal me," he whispered.
A gentle knock pulled him from half-sleep. Hank opened the door and found a beautiful Chinese woman standing there, dark hair falling softly around her shoulders, dark eyes gentle but shadowed with grief. She wore a modest modern cheongsam-style top and trousers—elegant, but nothing flashy.
"You must be Hank."
"Yes. And you must be Aunt Huili."
She gave a small, awkward smile and stepped forward to hug him. Her embrace was warm, careful, like she was afraid he might break.
"Your uncle used to talk about you all the time," she said, accent soft but clear. "He said you were a good man. Always listened better than the others."
Hank scratched the back of his neck. "I'm… just an okay person."
She pulled back and lightly tapped the side of his head. "Hiyaa… don't talk like that. You are better than you give yourself credit for. Of all the children, you are the only one who still cares what happens to this family."
He blinked. "What do you mean?"
Huili sighed. "My stepchildren… they only came to take what they could carry. They were angry you received the house. They thought I was after Roy's money." Her eyes softened. "But I loved him. Truly. He was sweet, understanding, supportive. He treated me like I was the most precious thing in his world."
Hank offered a sober smile. He still didn't understand why his cousins had gone radio-silent, why they seemed to care more about the inheritance than about each other.
"I can't say much on my end," he admitted. "I tried reaching out. They… didn't want to talk."
"It's okay. At least you came." She touched his arm lightly. "I'll let you wash up. Dinner will be ready soon if you're hungry."
Later, as the sun dipped low and painted the courtyard gold, Hank and Huili sat across from each other in the dining room. The table held steaming dishes of Sichuan cuisine—mapo tofu, twice-cooked pork, spicy eggplant—nothing like the Panda Express he'd grown up on. The first bite made his eyes water in the best way.
"I can see you like it," Huili said with a quiet laugh.
"Yeah… it's amazing. Spicy, but perfect."
"You and Roy had that in common. Though he always sweated more than you." Her smile turned fond at the memory. "I introduced him to so many dishes. He changed his whole diet because of it."
Hank took a sip of cold water. "I might have to do the same while I'm here." He hesitated, then asked, "How are things with the property? Maintenance, bills, everything?"
"I've kept it exactly as he left it—nothing sold, nothing moved. But I'm not good with the numbers and legal side. I hoped you might find someone who is."
"My friend Claudia will help sort all that tomorrow. You and Mr. Fong have already been more help than I deserve."
She nodded gratefully. "I hope it's enough." After a moment she added, "And after this… what happens next?"
Hank set his chopsticks down. "If everything works out, I'd like you to stay. I'll move in too, at least for a while, to look after the estate. I hope that's okay with you."
Huili's eyes glistened. She smiled—small, genuine, relieved. "Thank you, Hank."
They finished dinner in comfortable quiet. When she stood to clear the plates, she paused.
"I have to call my family back home. They worry."
"Of course. Goodnight, Aunt Huili."
She gave a small bow. "Goodnight."
Alone at the table, Hank stared at his empty plate.
"I hope I can make you proud, Uncle Roy," he whispered. "I don't know how yet… but I'll try."
He rose and headed back to his room.
He lay on the soft bed and sighed in relief. The mattress was perfect—nothing like the stiff one back home. He closed his eyes.
He was laughing, holding her close in the passenger seat. Rain tapped the windshield. She was tipsy and beautiful, head on his shoulder.
"You drive tonight… I'm done."
He was nervous—license only a few months old—but he smiled and started the car.
Headlights.
Screaming metal.
Hank woke gasping, drenched in sweat. The room was dark. Someone had turned off the lights while he slept. He stumbled to the bathroom and splashed cold water on his face.
Then—crash.
A painting had fallen in the hallway.
He stepped out, heart still racing. The scroll lay face-down. He picked it up carefully and leaned it against the wall.
That was when he heard it.
A soft whisper, right behind him.
"…Hank…"
He spun. Empty hallway. Moonlight through the windows. Nothing.
"Hello?"
Footsteps approached—Mr. Fong in a simple robe, looking concerned.
"Mr. Calloway? Is everything all right?"
"Did you… call my name just now?"
Mr. Fong shook his head slowly. "No. I was about to retire for the night."
Hank forced a laugh. "Sorry. Must be the long trip. A painting fell—probably the wind."
Mr. Fong studied the fallen scroll for a moment, then nodded with quiet understanding. "I'll leave something by your door tonight. Just in case."
He returned a minute later with a handful of small circular mirrors, placing them carefully on the windowsills and above the door.
"There," he said softly. "No more troubling spirits."
Hank didn't believe in any of that, but the kindness settled something in his chest. "Thank you, Mr. Fong. Goodnight."
"Goodnight, young master."
Alone again, Hank stood listening.
The house was perfectly silent.
He went back to bed, but sleep didn't come easily.
He had a long day ahead.
A very long day.
End of Chapter