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Across the table, the man is slurping instant noodles from the break room, occasionally stopping to comment on how strange and disappointing future food is. He’s got the abrupt, lilting accent of the recently time-displaced and he’s still wearing his fifteenth-century hat, even though Sui Zhou knows the agency must have provided him with some modern clothes.
He goes over the man’s file again, ignoring the wet noises. Tang Fan, displaced two months ago from the fourteenth year of Chenghua — 1479, it adds, helpfully. He’d appeared in the street in Beijing, managed to avoid getting hit by a car, and caused quite a stir. The agency had taken him in immediately, no other incidents since.
Finally, the man, Tang Fan, scrunches his nose and puts his chopsticks down.
“No, no, I really can’t eat any more of this!” He pushes the cup away from him with the tips of his fingers like a biohazard. From where he’s sitting, Sui Zhou can see the artificially bright green curry broth still halfway filled with noodles.
“Are you ready to tell me what you saw, then,” he asks.
“This cannot be what people eat every day, you’d all be starving!”
“Earlier you told the agent at the scene that you knew the victim and that you had— ” Sui Zhou lifts a page of his notes to read out, “ I quote, seen something odd. What were you talking about?”
“Ah, the taste is stuck in my mouth! I’m going to be tasting it all day.” There are more feelings in his voice than there have been any time Sui Zhou has mentioned his dead neighbor. If he didn’t have such a good alibi, he’d be a prime suspect, but the time agency official in charge of Tang Fan’s case had vouched for his whereabouts at the time of the murder, as well as half of the other displaced people who lived on that floor. Quiz night was well attended apparently.
Sui Zhou tries to get him to answer his questions another couple of times, and again, Tang Fan only says some nonsense about food. Sui Zhou is tired, he hasn’t had a good night's sleep in weeks, he hates time displacement cases and having to deal with the smarmy, creepy police liaison the agency keeps sending. Lunchtime has come and passed and he’s hungry. He eyes the leftover noodles, considering.
“If I make you real food, will you tell me everything?”
“Yes, everything. I’ll help you find out who did it.”
“Just start by answering the question. What did you see?”
“So, are you going to let me watch you make the food? I really want to see a future kitchen, there isn’t one in the rooms they gave me.”
“What. Did. You. See.”
“You’re right, I should stop using the word future for everything, it’s the present! Show me a present kitchen, please.” The man leans forward on his elbows, taps the chopsticks twice on the table, and smiles at Sui Zhou.
It is shamefully easy to sneak the key witness to a murder investigation out of the precinct. Technically, Tang Fan is not a suspect and can leave at any time, but the agency likes to keep an eye on new arrivals, and Sui Zhou cannot deal with Wang Zhi right now.
Tang Fan seems amused by the secrecy, leaning in close to Sui Zhou to blow an amused huff of breath in his neck every time a uniform gives Sui Zhou a polite head nod as they walk past. He’s wearing sneakers under his medieval robes, they squeak.
Sui Zhou doesn’t know what’s on the itinerary for gently introducing people to the modern age, but the subway must have been on it because Tang Fan doesn’t freak out when Sui Zhou takes him underground. He asks which station they’re going to and mouths along with the announcements.
It gives Sui Zhou time to figure out what he’s going to make for lunch. He’s too hungry to make noodles from scratch, still he imagines Tang Fan watching him knead the dough. Imagines what his pinched face might look like, smoothed out with satisfaction.
Sui Zhou gets two entire seconds to survey his own apartment before Tang Fan bursts in after him. Sui Zhou is not a messy person by nature, he likes to keep his place clean and tidy. It might, he’ll admit, be a little bare. There’s nothing on the walls, or on the shelves that had come with the apartment, nothing for a curious time traveler to inspect.
It doesn’t seem to matter, though, as Tang Fan tears through the living room, yelling for the kitchen.
“What will you make me? You haven’t told me yet,” he says, from the bathroom’s doorway.
Sui Zhou grabs his elbow and drags him, gently, to the kitchen.
“Eggs,” he says, “and rice.”
He puts rice in the cooker and is absurdly satisfied that he remembered to put two portions instead of one.
Tang Fan is examining the fridge, slowly closing the door and getting his face in close, to see when the light goes off. Sui Zhou has to gently shove him out of the way to get some leafy greens. He dips them into boiling water before stir-frying them, which he never does when he’s alone. He doesn’t want to serve Tang Fan gray spinach and refuses to think about why.
When he adds the garlic and ginger, the smell drags Tang Fan away from the fridge. He comes to sniff the cooking food, speaking under his breath in satisfied tones.
The rice cooker chimes its jaunty little tune and Tang Fan goes to poke at it.
Sui Zhou fries two eggs, adds his best soy sauce to the rice, and assembles the food into two bowls. To his horror, he briefly regrets not having anything other than the plain white bowls he uses every day.
He chops some green onions while Tang Fan flutters around him like a hungry cat, and adds them to the dish. He takes a step back and observes his work. Acceptable.
When Sui Zhou puts the bowl in front of him, Tang Fan sits up straight, almost bouncing in his chair.
“Oh, that smells so much better than what you gave me at the station!” He leans over the bowl, his nose almost touching the food. Amazingly, his hat stays on his head, doesn’t even slip forward.
He takes one bite and closes his eyes, chewing slowly. He makes a happy little moan, low in his throat. Satisfaction curls up in Sui Zhou’s stomach, which he decides he will not be examining today.
“Simple, but perfectly done,” Tang Fan says. As he goes to take a second bite, Sui Zhou reaches over and grabs his wrist.
“It’s your turn now.”
“At least let me finish before,” he says, whiny tone back in full force. “I’m so hungry, I’ll faint before I finish telling you everything.”
Sui Zhou tightens his hand.
“The body you found wasn’t Mr. Luo,” Tang Fan says. “He didn’t wear a wedding ring.”
Sui Zhou lets his wrist go. Tang Fan has a lot of theories, which he explains between bites. they’re all ridiculously elaborate, full of twists and turns, and secret identities. Sui Zhou is deeply dubious and desperately wants to be convinced.
“The electrician is a Tang dynasty spy,” he says, dumping some of his eggs in Tang Fan’s bowl.
Tang Fan nods, shovels more food in his mouth, and starts talking again.
As he listens, staring into his disgusting open-mouthed chewing, Sui Zhou starts listing all the arguments he’ll have to use to get the captain to allow Tang Fan to officially consult on the case.
Shit, he’ll have to talk to Wang Zhi.