“What’s your name?” she asked, gathering her courage.
“Shang Jinting.” He paused, then added, “Jin, as in burning embers; Ting, as in thunder.”
Rose silently repeated the three syllables: Shang, Jin, Ting. They fell into her eight-year-old life like three red-hot coals, leaving the first scar that would never heal. The car crossed the sea bridge, its wipers sweeping in fan-shaped arcs. Shang Jinting suddenly spoke, his voice so soft it sounded like he was talking to himself:
“From now on, call me Uncle.”
Rose nodded, only to hear him add in an even quieter voice:
“But don’t expect me to love you.”
