Kim sat in a house in the village, watching Shego arguing with several of the town elders, one of which included Grandma Lo.
“They want to hold a feast for Shego.” Cheung explained. He paused to listen some more, before continuing on cheerfully, “Shego is telling them to get a life.”
Kim turned to Cheung. “I don't get why Shego's so popular.”
“Maybe its her winning personality?” Cheung laughed. “Well, I would tell you the whole story, but I have a feeling that Shego doesn't want me to tell you anything. You should probably ask her.” Cheung paused. “But I can tell you that she saved our village. She makes life easier for us.”
“Shego?” Kim blinked.
“Yeah. Hard to imagine, hm?”
Kim decided not to ask if he knew that Shego was an international terrorist wanted in almost all continents.
“Ni bu xiao shun!” Grandma Lo accused, still arguing with Shego.
“Grandma Lo is saying that Shego isn't showing her filial piety.” Cheung explained. “That's--”
“Respect to your parents.” Kim nodded.
Shego snarled, “Wo bu shi ni ger hai zi!”
“Shego just said that she isn't Grandma Lo's child,” Cheung struggled to translate at the pace the conversation was going.
Grandma Lo started wailing. “Tien, tien ah! Wei shen mo wo sheng yu ger hai zi--”
“Now Po-Po is asking the heavens why she gave birth to a child--”
“You did not give birth to me!” Shego tried to cut in, but Grandma Lo kept on wailing and crying into her hands in anguish, cursing the gods for giving her an ungrateful child.
“Why do you call Grandma Lo, ‘Po-Po’?” Kim asked curiously.
“You see,” Cheung pulled up a stool. “Po-Po means ‘grandma’ in Chinese, and you call your mother's side of the family ‘Po-Po'--”
“That's Shego's maternal grandmother?”
Cheung shook his head. “No, Po-Po is what you call any elderly woman not related to you, its a respectful thing. I don't know how to put it into terms you might understand… its like a title. Like Grandmother Lo. Instead of Mrs. Lo. Do you get it?”
“Nope.”
“Wei shen mo?!” Grandma Lo turned wet eyes to the heavens. Or to the rafters of the house in this case. “Wei?!”
“ALRIGHT!” Shego shouted. Grandma Lo calmed down and looked at Shego expectantly. “Alright! I'll stay! Sheesh!”
Grandma Lo, who had been teary-eyed before, threw back her head and started cackling triumphantly.
“She's one hell of an actress.” Cheung voiced what was on the teenager's mind.
Kim nodded. “And how!”
Shego stomped over, obviously in a bad mood. “We'll leave tomorrow morning, Cheung.”
“Of course,” Cheung said cheerfully.
Shego turned around and was about to stomp away again when she turned back and looked at Kim thoughtfully. Kim felt like a bug under a magnifying glass on a hot day.
“Kim needs to learn how to cook. Get ah Fong to teach her.”
“We have plenty of people in the kitchen already--”
“Cheung, don't argue with me.” Shego cut him off, and turned her gaze on Kim again. Kim was well aware that Shego's look brooked no refusal and demanded nothing else but her submission. It promised, that if Kim did not show her the proper respect, than Shego would teach her what respect was. With that look in Shego's eyes, running straight through her like a sword, Kim dropped her gaze to the ground.
“Cheung,” Shego's voice radiated with pleasure at the litle victory. “Tell her where she should go. I need someone who can cook on my trip. Right now, she's useless to me.”
Kim's hands had automatically tightened into fists at those words, feeling a cold rush of anger and helplessness.
“Of course.” Cheung caught hold of Kim's arm, and led her away, out of the house.
Arms crossed, Shego's eyes followed Kim until she had exited the house.
As soon as they were clear of Shego, Cheung eyed Kim, frowning. “So, what's up with you and Shego?”
“Don't ask.” Kim replied darkly.
“Okay.” Cheung knew when to change the subject. When it came to Shego, he knew it was better to not ask certain questions. He rubbed the back of his neck… he won't ask, but he would ponder the strange relationship he sensed between the brunette and the redhead.
Cheung lead the redhead through alleyways that twisted and turned between the brick buildings. Ancient electrical wirings ran along the top of the rooftops, snaking along smoke-streaked red bricks. Doors were usually plastered with images of two grotesque men with weapons and in full armour, grimacing at people who entered the house they were guarding. With news of the feast on, there was plenty of bustle and hustle. But everybody still found time to stop and gawk at the redhead walking through the village.
“They've never seen a redhead before.” Cheung explained. “For most everyone in this village, Shego's the only white person they've seen.”
“Except for you.” Kim looked at the young man. With his hair shaved close to his skull and his clothes, though a bit worn, set himself apart from the villagers. The villagers wore clothes that they could work in, tank tops and pants, simple white shoes that had one could just slip on and had no laces, buckles or velcro strips. Cheung wore Addidas shoes, jeans and an open short-sleeved shirt. He had ‘popped’ his collar up and Kim noticed a diamond stud in the lobe of his left ear.
“Except for me.” Cheung nodded. “Can you tell I'm not from around here?”
Kim nodded, a bit distracted as a flurry of children ran to their doorway to gape at her.
“Eh,” Cheung shot the kids a look. With a collective ‘eep!', they disappeared back into the house. But came out to follow Cheung and Kim when they had passed by.
“I grew up in Hong Kong.” Cheung grinned. “My grandparents lived and died here. My parents wanted a better life for me, so they swam to Hong Kong from the Mainland, with me. Back then, when Hong Kong was still a colony, it was illegal, you know.”
“Wow.” Kim was struck, and realized suddenly, that she was an extremely privileged girl. She had heard of immigrants who risked their lives to travel to other countries. Braved impossible odds and took life-threatening risks for their future.
“They made a good life for me, sent me to a good private schools in England, that's why I speak English so fluently.” Cheung explained. “And I don't know if you realized or not, but I speak two dialects of Chinese. Mandarin and Cantonese. Courtesy of my upbringings.”
“Why did you decide to come back?”
“I grew up partly in this village. I want the same life for my child.” Cheung shrugged. “That little girl from before who wanted a chunk of your hair, that would be my daughter, Ting Ting.”
“Oh, I didn't know.” Kim looked slightly shocked. Cheung looked so young! Barely into his twenties!
“Youthful indiscretion,” Cheung seemed to read Kim's mind, and slapped her on the back heartily when she blushed. “Don't be embarassed! I know you were thinking I'm too young to have a child. Its refreshing, because the elders in the village keep saying I had the child way too late.”
“Where's her mother?”
Cheung shrugged. “Died in labour.”
“Oh,” Kim stopped in her tracks. “I'm sorry!”
“Its alright.” Cheung smiled. “It was a long time ago. Well, not that long. But I've gotten over it. And Ting Ting doesn't remember having a mother. Like I said, youthful indiscretion.”
Cheung hadn't paused in his footsteps, and Kim quickened her pace to catch up to the young man and her questions had ceased.
Bursting through the maze of buildings, Kim could see a kitchen through the wide-open doors of a building. The rich smells of food wafted out from those doors, a heady mixture of sweet, spicy and filling.
“Do I shock you?” Cheung asked, tilting his head to one side to look at Kim.
Kim hesitated a second, before nodding sheepishly. “A little bit.”
“I didn't really love her mother. I never really wanted a child.” Cheung said simply. “I'm very non-traditional in that sense. I had an illegitimate child and I'm a single father. But here I am, back in the village of my ancestors, adherring to tradition, raising a kid, coming back because of duty.”
“Duty?”
Cheung glanced at Kim, and seemed to be considering something thoroughly before making up his mind. “This village is more than meets the eye, Kim. All of these things, you'll have to ask Shego. She'll explain it to you.”
Kim voiced her doubt. “I don't know about that.”
Cheung shrugged, and motioned to the building. Kim stepped over the threshold, noting that all the buildings she had gone to had high thresholds, almost a foot in height.
“Keeps out the floodwater when it comes,” Cheung explained as they entered the kitchen, and turned to wave at a young woman. “Ah Fong! There you are!”
“What is it?” A Chinese woman parted from the crowd of women in the kitchen. Her English was slightly accented, but good. Her hair was tied up into a manageable bun, in which a few wisps of ebony hair was getting lose from under the kerchief she had over her head. Clothed in a simple navy blue shirt and black pants with black shoes, she finished off her look with a black apron. Her face was streaked with soot in odd places, and flour clung to her sleeves and shoes. Wiping her hands on a white cloth, she scowled at Cheung. “Come to steal food?”
“No, no. I came to help, this time.” Cheung nudged Kim forward. “This is Shego's friend, Kim. She's going to help you.”
Fong gave Kim a once-over. “Do you know how to cook?”
“Sort of.”
Fong glared at Cheung accusingly. “You want me to give her a cooking lesson? Just when we have Shego's party to prepare for?”
“I'm sure you have a lot of things done for Shego already,” Cheung said slyly. “You can spare some time.”
At that comment, Fong visibly flushed. “Shut up! Anyways,” Fong gathered herself. “Right now isn't the time. Maybe tomorrow I could--”
“She's leaving tomorrow with Shego, so she needs a crash-course quicktimes.”
Fong stiffened at that. “What?”
“Michelle--”
“No, Vince. You know what? Don't help her explain herself. I'll hear it from her later.” Fong spun around furiously.
“Mich,” Cheung floundered helplessly.
Fong (Michelle?) looked over her shoulders at Kim. “Come with me. We'll crash course you and I hope you poison her when you go up that mountain with her lying ass.”
Kim, casting a quick look at Cheung (Vince?), followed quickly after the woman.
“Ms… Fong?” Kim asked, uncertain of how to address the woman.
“My full name is Wong Hiu Fong.” Fong said, without turning around. “My English name is Michelle Wong. You can call me Michelle. Our friend, ah Cheung, in case he didn't tell you, his English name is Vince.”
For the next few minutes, Michelle showed Kim the woodstove, and just to watch her as she started cooking a dish.
“I'm pretty sure you're used to your fancy electrical appliances, but unfortunately, we only have a wood stove here. You'll have to learn to keep the fire up. From what I gather, Shego has a wood stove up there. You will learn to use a wok and cook, forgoing most of the preparations.” Michelle's voice was rife with scorn, and Kim was pretty sure it was directed at her.
“Why?” Kim found the courage to ask a question.
“Because I will be sending you the food to cook.” Michelle's reply was curt. “I will make almost all the preparations you need. So you have a pretty easy job.”
Kim nodded. It was pretty straight forward, and she watched for a while until she was distracted by a commotion near the entrance of the kitchen.
“Shego!” Excited voices kept repeating, announcing who the source of the commotion was. “Shego!”
Playing the part of returning hero, Shego scowled benevolently at the cooks and kitchen help that all wanted to take turns shaking hands with the woman, talking to her or offering her food that was just being made.
“Wo bu yao,” Shego said irritably, but her attitude didn't put any of them off as they surged forward more enthusiastically.
Ever since Shego had beaten her, Kim couldn't shake that uneasiness whenever the green-and-black clad woman came near her. Shego reminded her of vulnerability, reminded her of her own vulnerability. But Kim tamped down that feel, and managed to ask Shego wryly, “Came to check up on me?”
“No,” Shego said curtly. “You're in good hands. I came to see someone else.”
Michelle was looking at Shego with a wounded look on her face.
“Fong,” Shego dipped her head in a mocking bow. “Nihao.”
The Chinese woman gave Shego a venomous look.
“Fine.” Shego's face lost her pleasant look. “Lets go somewhere to talk. In private.”
“Hao.”
With Shego leading the way, the crowd parted for the two before they came back to fill the space they left. Everybody continued bustling around, preparing. There was so much food! Enough to feed a small army! There were meat dishes, vegetable dishes, dishes of things that looked too pretty to eat while other things were still being cooked, simmering in pots and steaming in wicker containers. Her place in front of the fire was quickly taken up when they saw that she wasn't doing anything, and Kim wandered around the kitchen, watching people closely.
What stood out was a little girl, maybe several years Kim's junior, preparing something in a small bowl. Curious, Kim approached and looked over the girl's shoulder. Unfortunately, right at that moment, the girl turned around and bumped right into Kim, spilling the contents of her bowl.
“Oh, I'm sorry!” Kim bent down quickly to help the girl pick up the pieces of the shattered bowl.
The girl smiled mutely and pushed away Kim's hands.
Feeling useless, she watched the girl clean up quickly.
“Shego ger pun yao,” The girl finally spoke and motioned for Kim to come closer. “Wo jiao ni.”
The girl picked up another bowl, and reaching into a bag, took out a handful of rice and put it in the bowl. “Ni kan.”
Turning on a tap, filled the bowl halfway with water, covering all of the rice, then proceeded to swish the rice around, making the water turn milky. Then she drained the water carefully, using one hand to act like a sieve, catching any stray grains that might escape the bowl. After she was done, she went back to her table, took some oil and poured a small amount in. Kim watched the girl's preparations intently.
“Yan,” The girl held out a small bowl with white salt in it, then took a couple of pinches of salt and threw it in with the rice. Then she mixed it. There was a small pot already bowling on the stove, and she poured the mixture into the pot. The girl made stirring motions with her hand, then handed a wooden spoon to Kim. Stirring constantly, Kim watched, completely entranced, as the watery mixture turned into a thick gruel-like substance.
“Zhou.” The girl pointed at the mixture, apparently satisfied. She grabbed another bowl, and took the pot off the stove, poured the ‘zhou’ into the bowl.
“Hao.” The girl sniffed the white mixture, and smiling, gave Kim a thumbs-up.
That was how Kim learned to cook congee.