The best of times

"Just as the marathon is the final event of the Olympics, our broadcast is also drawing to a close. Beyond the thrilling competition, every Olympic Games leaves vivid snapshots of its host city and country at a moment in time, and this year's Beijing Olympics have been especially dazzling..."

"...because the rise and ongoing transformation of Cyrus are not only the focus of worldwide attention and discussion today, but will remain so for the foreseeable future..."

A sizzle briefly drowned out the television in the background. As an egg was cracked into a frying pan of melted butter, the proteins and reducing sugars in the egg white mingled with the fat and underwent the Maillard reaction at high heat, forming melanoidins that gave food its wonderful flavor.

On the other side of the stove, a pot bubbled away with milky-white broth, giving off a different but even more mouthwatering aroma.

Nick deftly lifted out the fried egg. Not intending to waste the butter left in the pan, he tossed in a few lettuce leaves and pressed them down a few times with his spatula before turning off the heat.

On the television, veteran NBC sports host Bob Costas was still talking away.

"...this country covers a vast territory, with diverse ways of life and a history so long that no one could take it all in at once. But during these Olympic Games, we haven't needed an in-depth understanding of international relations to feel the heartfelt warmth of the people of Cyrus..."

Nick couldn't help smiling knowingly at that. Perhaps because Cyrus had yet to fully rise in this era, America still retained a measure of confidence and tolerance.

In another ten years or so, even NBC, which was more objective than the BBC and CNN, would no longer carry commentary this free of bias.

Portland was quite hot and humid in late summer, but people in this middle-class neighborhood were still out exercising early in the morning.

A shapely white girl passed along the sidewalk outside the house. Turning her head, she happened to meet the eyes of Nick, who stood at the kitchen window shirtless, revealing the clearly defined muscles of his chest and abdomen.

"Hey, watch out!"

As Nick called out his warning, the girl walked straight into a large tree by the road.

"Are you all right, Juliet?" Nick hurriedly opened the window and asked with concern.

"I'm fine. Good morning, Nick." The girl hastily greeted him, then disappeared down the street without looking back, one hand over her chest and the other pressed to her forehead.

A somewhat old gray Ford Mercury sedan slowly pulled into the driveway outside the house. A tall, powerfully built Black man got out, caught the scene, and shook his head with a chuckle.

His face bore a slight resemblance to the famous Black Hollywood comedian Eddie Murphy, with a large nose, thick lips, and small patches of facial hair above his upper lip and on his chin.

Though he was Black, like many African Americans, his complexion was much lighter than that of his counterparts in Africa, closer to tan.

"Aha, good morning, Nick. I could smell that from practically all the way across the street."

The man greeted him through the window, retrieved the spare key from beneath the flower bed with practiced familiarity, and let himself in.

"Was that Juliet, the girl who works at the veterinary clinic? I hear her father is a very rich dentist. I'd love to have a beautiful neighbor walking past my window every day, too."

"Good morning, Hancock." Nick grabbed the T-shirt draped over the back of a chair and pulled it on. Rather than take up the subject of the beautiful neighbor, he asked, "I only made two fried-egg burgers. Will that be enough?"

"Anything's fine. You know I don't usually eat breakfast."

Despite saying that, Hancock rubbed his hands together and eagerly sat down at the dining table, looking up at the television.

Bob Costas had just finished his closing remarks. Images of the Great Wall, Longhu Mountain, Jiuzhaigou, the Longsheng Rice Terraces, the Mengshan Giant Buddha, West Lake, the Forbidden City, and more appeared in succession. The splendid scenery left Hancock astonished.

"Damn, I never knew this Eastern country was so beautiful." Only after a long while did he recover, declaring firmly, "I'm definitely going there on my next vacation."

Nick's smile immediately turned a little bitter. As someone reborn with white skin and a Chinese heart, he had long wanted to go back and take a look.

But this world seemed to harbor some inexplicable malice toward him. Every time he was ready to travel, all sorts of strange obstacles cropped up. Even after he bought tickets, sudden severe weather would get his flight canceled.

After more than a dozen unsuccessful attempts through various means, Nick finally faced reality and reluctantly gave up.

The land he had once known so well seemed shrouded in a barrier, a special barrier aimed specifically at a reborn person like him, forbidding him from approaching-even Frog Island.

Hancock knew nothing of his friend's homesickness. It took him a long time to recover from the magnificent scenery of Cyrus. "So, how many gold medals did we get altogether?"

"Thirty-six, putting us in second place. But we still came first in total medals, with 112."

Nick set a burger filled with pieces of egg and lettuce and an empty bowl in front of him, then brought over the pot of soup. "I bought the lamb at the market yesterday. Supposedly it's prime Hampshire lamb. Give it a taste."

Hancock lifted the lid. The aroma of the lamb broth, without a trace of gaminess, made him narrow his eyes slightly. "Buddy, your cooking just keeps getting better."

Nick ladled himself a bowl of the milk-white broth too, sprinkled in a little white pepper, and pushed the bottle across the table. "Don't add too much. It'll overwhelm the original flavor."

Lamb broth with burgers was, in a sense, an East-meets-West version of lamb soup with crumbled bread, bringing on a sweat, dispelling dampness, filling the stomach, and refreshing the mind.

Hancock finished a fried-egg burger in a few bites, then noisily downed two bowls of lamb broth in a row. Wiping the fine beads of sweat from the tip of his nose, he leaned back in his chair and let out a long breath.

"I haven't eaten this much in the morning in ages. Seriously, I don't understand why you wanted to become a cop like me. Opening a restaurant would make much better use of your talents."

"Maybe someday." Nick turned his gaze away from the television. The scenes of Cyrus had now given way to a montage of Olympic highlights.

The Cyrus diving dream team, Phelps, Yang Zongwei, Cheng Fei, Isinbayeva, Bolt, the Williams sisters, Nastia Liukin;

Steiner, the German weightlifter who honored his deceased wife with a gold medal and moved the entire audience to tears, and, of course, Liu Feiren, who shed tears on the track... and so on, and so on. It was truly a time when humanity's stars shone.

These were the best of times, but no one could have imagined that in little more than a decade, plague, war, and hunger would arrive one after another like the horsemen of the apocalypse from myth and legend.