Kong Xiang's Trouble
Seattle's sky seems perpetually veiled in a damp, cold gray. The dry scent of wilderness and sunshine brought back from Eagle Creek Ranch is quickly replaced by the city's unique, humid air, a mixture of exhaust fumes, coffee, and the salty smell of the sea.
Less than two hours after Lin Feng and his group returned to the safe house, before they had even fully unpacked their luggage, Kong Xiang hurried over, looking anxious.
His tall frame was squeezed in the study doorway. Gone was the leisurely air he had displayed a few days earlier, listening to stories by the ranch campfire; gone was the calm, analytical gaze he had taken when observing the "female water ghost." Only an urgent mix of anger, resentment, and lingering fear remained on his face. He first gave a quick nod to Lin Feng, who was sitting behind the desk, then glanced at K standing by the window. His throat bobbed before he spoke in a somewhat hoarse voice:
"Boss, K-bro, you're finally back... I've run into a bit of trouble here."
Lin Feng put down a report he had just picked up about local Seattle building materials suppliers, looked up at Kong Xiang, and said, "No rush, sit down and talk. What's the problem?"
Kong Xiang didn't sit; standing seemed to alleviate his inner anxiety. He took a deep breath and began to speak quickly, trying to clarify the matter:
"After I came back, I thought I couldn't just sit idle all the time, nor could I always rely on my boss and the others to arrange things. Luckily, my advisor had some connections with a supervisor in the Seattle Police Department's Criminalistics Division (CSI), and he gave me a letter of recommendation so I could do a temporary part-time job there doing evidence analysis. It would be a kind of professional practice, I could earn some extra money, and... I could also get some local information."
He licked his slightly dry lips and continued:
"It was alright at first. The work involved basic tasks like photographing evidence, initial screening of traces, and data entry. Although it was tedious, the environment was professional, and I was able to learn something."
The problem stemmed from a colleague. His name was Mike, in his forties, white, a seasoned veteran. He'd been with CSI for over a decade and was still just a regular technician, all talk and no action, and had a particularly foul mouth.
As Kong Xiang recounted the events, Lin Feng understood exactly what had happened:
The laboratory of the Criminalistics Division was filled with a faint smell of chemical reagents and ozone.
Wearing an ill-fitting white coat, Kong Xiang was carefully taking a photomicrograph of a colored pill sealed in a transparent evidence bag, delivered by the anti-drug team, under specific lighting. His movements were meticulous, strictly following the operating manual.
"Hey, newbie!" a mocking and clearly impatient voice rang out from the side. Mike, holding a cup of coffee, leaned against the nearby worktable.
He was slightly overweight, with thinning hair and heavy eye bags. He wore a wrinkled plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled up, revealing his hairy forearms.
"Not finished filming yet? It's just a few pills, is it really necessary to dawdle like this? Are all Asia this... 'meticulous'?"
He emphasized the word "exquisite," with undisguised sarcasm.
Kong Xiang frowned, but didn't turn around, trying to keep his voice calm. "Mike, there are standard procedures for handling evidence, and I must ensure that every step is clear and traceable."
"Standard procedure?" Mike chuckled, took a sip of coffee, strolled over, almost touching Kong Xiang's back, and looked at the image on the screen.
"The process is rigid, but people are flexible. If you follow the steps like this, when will you ever finish your work? No wonder you can only learn by following in other people's footsteps." He paused, lowered his voice, and spoke in a volume that only the two of them could hear.
"I heard you got in through 'connections'? A top student from the east? Ha, here, degrees and connections don't work, kid. You have to rely on that." He lightly thumped his chest with his fist, implying "seniority" and "local experience."
Similar incidents continued to occur over the next few days. Mike would "accidentally" knock over the files that Kong Xiang had organized, he would talk and laugh loudly while Kong Xiang was operating the precision instruments, and he would "temporarily borrow" the reagents or tools Kong Xiang needed and then forget to put them back.
Furthermore, in front of other colleagues, they would use seemingly unintentional but actually malicious remarks to ridicule Kong Xiang's accent, his eating habits, and even his serious work attitude, misinterpreting him as "rigid," "inflexible," and "trying to please his superiors."
Kong Xiang endured it all. He kept in mind that he was a newcomer, an outsider, and that it was better to do less trouble than more. He just wanted to do his job well and get his internship certificate and salary. But sometimes, patience doesn't lead to restraint, but rather to escalation.
That afternoon, Kong Xiang was heating up his packed lunch—a simple chicken and vegetable fried rice—in the common rest area. Mike and two other colleagues were sitting next to him eating pizza. Smelling the aroma, Mike deliberately pinched his nose and loudly said to his companions, "Wow, what's that smell? Something's gone bad? Or did someone spill the solvent in the lab?" His companions let out a low chuckle.
Kong Xiang tightened his grip on his chopsticks, then continued eating without saying a word.
Mike persisted, moving closer and pointing at Kong Xiang's lunchbox. "Seriously, Kong, is this all you eat every day... um... sticky stuff? Is there some weird spices in it? Just like your brain, it's incomprehensible." He deliberately pronounced "incomprehensible" in a strange tone.
A surge of anger finally welled up in Kong Xiang's head. He put down his chopsticks, looked up at Mike's maliciously smiling face, and said in clear but suppressed anger-filled English, "Mike, it's my freedom to choose what I eat. If you have opinions about Asia food, you can keep them. But please don't disturb my meal, and please don't make any more personal attacks. It's very unprofessional and impolite."
"Oh? Unprofessional? Impolite?" Mike's voice suddenly rose, drawing more attention from the rest area. "A rookie who got in through connections dares to talk to me about professionalism? While I was working on evidence in this lab, you were still playing in the mud back home! Giving me feedback? Who do you think you are?"
The atmosphere instantly became tense. Kong Xiang knew that arguing further would only make things worse, so he abruptly stood up, packed up his lunchbox, and turned to leave.
"Stop!" Mike wasn't going to let him off the hook. He stood up and blocked Kong Xiang's path, his finger almost poking Kong Xiang's nose. "Did I say you could leave? Rookie? You need to explain to me clearly today what 'personal attack' means? Huh? Are you all so sensitive that you can't even handle a few words?"
Just as the conflict was about to escalate, a gentle yet undeniably powerful voice broke in. "Mike, it's break time, what's all the noise about?"
The visitor was Chen Qiming, a refined-looking senior technical expert of Chinese descent in his forties. He was also the "senior brother" whom Kong Xiang's Kong Xiang had privately told him to seek help from if he encountered difficulties.
Chen Qiming has worked at CSI for over fifteen years. He is highly skilled, upright, and respected within the department. He is one of the few people who can keep a seasoned veteran like Mike in check.
Upon seeing Chen Qiming, Mike's arrogance immediately diminished, but he still forced a smile, "Chen, it's nothing, just exchanging work tips with the new kid."
"Does communication require such a loud voice and pointing fingers?" Chen Qiming's tone was calm, but his gaze was sharp. "What I heard wasn't communication. Kong Xiang is a formally registered intern in the bureau, and his mentor and supervisor have high hopes for him. I hope you can give him the respect he deserves, and also the respect that our department's professional environment deserves. Now, apologize to Kong Xiang."
Mike's face instantly turned a deep shade of liver. Apologizing in front of so many colleagues, especially to an Asian newbie he looked down on, was an utter disgrace. His lips trembled, wanting to argue, but seeing Chen Qiming's calm yet firm gaze, and glancing at the curious or amused looks of his colleagues, he knew that if he didn't back down today, Chen Qiming would definitely not let it go, and if it escalated to the supervisor, he wouldn't be in the right.
He stiffened his neck and, extremely reluctantly, squeezed out a few words through clenched teeth at an almost inaudible pace. "Sorry." His eyes, however, glared fiercely at Kong Xiang, filled with resentment.
Chen Qiming looked at Kong Xiang. Kong Xiang knew his senior was trying to establish his authority, but he also understood that the feud was now firmly established. Not wanting to escalate the situation, he nodded to Chen Qiming, then looked at Mike and said calmly, "I accept your apology, Mike. I hope we can cooperate professionally in the future." After saying this, he stopped looking at Mike, thanked Chen Qiming, and left the rest area.
Behind him, he could hear Mike's heavy, suppressed breathing, and the jarring noise of him deliberately dragging his chair back to his seat.
Kong Xiang paused here, a bitter smile and weariness appearing on his face:
"Boss, K-bro, that's roughly what happened. I thought that after I apologized, he would at least behave himself. But I didn't expect that not only would he not behave himself, but he would also hate me. These past few days, I've felt that the way he looks at me is strange, sinister. I'm worried... with his vengeful nature, he probably won't let this go so easily."
The study fell silent for a moment. Outside the window, the city lights diffused in the damp air.
Lin Feng listened without showing any expression, only tapping his fingers lightly on the table before calmly looking at Kong Xiang: "Understood. I'll handle this. You're at the police station these days, so keep a close eye on yourself."
His tone was calm, but those who knew him well knew that beneath this calmness often lay the fact that the matter had been brought to the point where it needed to be "handled".
Kong Xiang breathed a sigh of relief and nodded quickly, "Yes, boss. I'll be careful."
He didn't know how his boss would "handle" it, but he had an almost blind trust in Lin Feng. Since the boss said he would take care of it, then... there shouldn't be any problems, right? He felt a little relieved, but he also had a vague feeling that Mike's resentful gaze was like a thorn that had already pierced into some shadows that he hadn't yet noticed.