My mother is the wisest person I have ever known. She would always tell me, “Whenever you feel like criticizing anyone, just remember that not everyone has enjoyed the same advantages you’ve had.”

Out of every piece of advice she’s ever given me, this is what stands out to me the most. We were close, my mother and I, and of course I did my best to live up to her principles. As a result, I’ve always been inclined to reserve all judgment. Unfortunately, this gave everyone the impression that they were to free to share all their deepest, darkest secrets with me. It was almost unbearable when I got to college. So many guys were ready to confide with me, ready to show me the very worst part of themselves that they would never show anyone else. It wasn’t much, considering how repressed most guys were back then, and still are, but it was still enough to drive a guy crazy. I would use every excuse I could come up with to get out of becoming everyone’s human diary.

Even after all that, I still prided myself on being the most tolerant man I knew. Of course, mother made sure to remind me, and I would continue to remind myself, that not everyone was blessed with a sense of common decency. And no place proved this statement more than New York City, as I would eventually find out.

But let’s leave New York for later and go back to me. I come from a family with a fairly good social standing. The Wu are a prominent family here in the Midwest, going back quite a few generations. It all started when who-knows-how-many-greats-grandfather Jiaheng Wu came to Minnesota after getting lucky during the gold rush in California way back in the 1840s. He opened up a fine jewelry shop that Mother still runs to this day. My family insists that I’m a spitting image of the man, right down to the thick fuzzy eyebrows. The painting that hangs in my mother’s office is too faded to confirm or deny this.

I graduated from Yale in 1915, at the age of 21. And soon after I went off to Europe to take part in that bloody mess known as the Great War. I will not lie, it did up the way I saw things. When I came back, even my hometown felt off and unreal. And so, I headed east to work in the bond business, of all things. My family was reluctant at first, but eventually, they gave me their blessing and Mom even promised me financial backing for a year. I left home and arrived in the spring. The year was 1922.

The initial plan was to live in the city, though I, a small-town boy, would feel out of place in such an urban area. So when one of my coworkers suggested that we live together in a house in one of the towns I just couldn’t refuse. It was small and the rent was low, but things didn’t work out how we expected them to. At the last minute, he had to go to Washington to work so I went to live in the house alone, save for my dog Rourou. Oh, and Do Kyungsoo as well. He was a short man with full heart-shaped lips who cooked and cleaned for me and would occasionally sing slow jazz tunes as he prepared my coffee. For the most part, he just did his work and kept to himself. I took great pleasure in teasing him about his average height; at 6 feet and 2 inches, I was taller than most and Kyungoo’s bitterness about this fact was just too entertaining to ignore.

Other than that, I was really lonely when I first moved in. It wasn’t until I had to help a lost tourist find his way to a nearby village when I realized that there was so much for me to do this summer. I studied hard with the help of all the new finance books I bought that stood proudly on my shelf. I also brought my art supplies from back home as well some new brushes and paints from the city. I want to use as much free time as I could to just relax and have fun with my painting. It wouldn’t be good for me to only study and work, after all.

On the north shore of Long Island, there were two unusual peninsulas that were shaped very much like fangs. The one on the east side of the bay was a bit more curved and slightly bigger than the one on the west side. Other than that they were practically mirror images of each other. I lived on the western side of the bay, a place known as Yutadari. It was said to be the lesser of the two fangs as far as wealth and class were concerned. My house was near the tip, sandwiched between two giant mansions. The one to my right was like a Chinese palace out of the stories Mom used to read to me. It was white with blue trim and even though it was a bit out of place with the more American mansions in the area, it still looked beautiful to me. My own place was mediocre by comparison, but at least I was able to enjoy a nice view of the lake and a partial view of one of my neighbor’s many imperial-style gardens, with the added benefit of being surrounded by all these rich people. And all I had to pay was a cheap rent of $80 a month.

Across the bay were the elegant mansions of Yutamigi. One fine summer day, I drove over there to have dinner with Kim Lu Han and his husband Kim Minseok. Han was my second cousin once removed and Minseok and I had gone to college together. And shortly after the war I spent a few days with them in Chicago.

Minseok was a man with impressive physical strength and many accomplishments. He was one of the best soccer players Yale had ever seen and even went on to play at the national level. I feel like he definitely peaked in college and everything in his life after that felt dull and unfulfilling. His family was extremely wealthy; in school, he would spent freely and without a care in the world. When he left Chicago and came east he made a breathtaking entrance; for example, he bought a couple of Thoroughbreds from Hwainun Lake. It amazed me that someone my age could make such a bold and expensive purchase.

I had absolutely no idea why they came to New York. I know they spent a good year in France and later just drifted along, going anywhere there were other young rich people. When Han and I were talking over the phone earlier today he told me that they were going to live here permanently but honestly, I didn’t believe it. I wasn’t sure about my cousin but I knew Minseok would not want to settle in any one place. Instead, he seemed like the type who would wander aimlessly in search of a thrill that would never compare to what he felt during his soccer games.

The evening was warm and a bit windy when I drove over to have dinner with a family member and a friend who were more like strangers to me. Their house was a beautiful Georgian-style mansion, built with dark gray brick coupled with a clean white trim. There it stood overlooking the bay, surrounded by neat gardens and a lawn that seemed to go on for about a quarter mile. The windows were open today and the cream-colored curtains flowed gently in the wind. I could see Minseok standing tall (about as tall as a man with a height of 5 feet 8 inches was able to stand) and proud on the porch.

His appearance wasn’t much different from our college years. His cheeks were not quite as round anymore and his dark curly hair was now in a side part instead of bouncing freely but overall very little had changed. The riding clothes he was wearing did nothing to hide his strong figure; if anything, they only emphasized it. He was the type who sweated a lot, so the white long-sleeve button-up he was wearing clung to his body like a second skin and showed off his abs and biceps. His body was nothing to be jealous of (I was but shhh). If anything about his appearance threw me off, it was his eyes. They were grey, and as cold as ever, but now they seemed to hold an emotion I didn’t know Minseok was capable of feeling: sadness. Before I could think about this further, he spoke.

“Evening, Yifan.” His voice as soft and childish and arrogant as it was seven years ago. His words were laced with a bitterness that seemed to be directed towards everyone, regardless of whether or not he liked them, and there had been people in college who hated his guts. This detail reminded me of my own relationship with Minseok back then. We weren’t really friends, but I got the feeling that he approved of me and wanted me to like him, though I am still not sure why.

We stood on his porch for a while, making light conversation.

“I really have a nice place here, don’t I?” he asked me, but it seemed like he wasn’t expecting me to actually respond. Sure enough, he suddenly gripped my arm and led me through a walkway, apparently towards a side entrance. We passed a small garden full of the reddest roses I have ever seen collectively giving off a scent so strong even I, with my tragically weak sense of smell, could notice it. I stared for a bit at the bay, admiring the way the water sparkled in the evening sun.

“Hey.” Minseok snapped his fingers in my face and I turned to look at him. I didn’t realize I had spaced out. “Come on Yifan let’s go inside.”

He let go and walked inside. I followed.