The air in China was more oppressive than what Joaquin Dela Cruz was used to back home in the Philippines. The cold winter wind would cut right through his jacket as he walked out of the airport, his duffel bag slung over his shoulder. His breath puffed up small clouds in the air, a far cry from the warmth of the tropics that he had left behind.
"Joaquin Dela Cruz?" a voice called out.
He turned around and found a middle-aged man in a black coat and glasses holding a sign with his name. His expression was unreadable-professional but as if he wasn't really interested in anything.
"Yes, that is me," Joaquin said, gripping tightly at his bag.
"Welcome to Henan University. I am Professor Liang, your academic advisor. We should leave now. Your host family is waiting," the man said before walking towards a waiting black car.
Joaquin took a deep breath and followed. This was the beginning of something new, something exciting. Yet, a strange uneasiness settled in his chest.
The drive through Zhengzhou was silent. Joaquin looked out the window, taking in the unfamiliar sights. Tall buildings loomed over busy streets filled with bicycles, cars, and pedestrians. Red lanterns decorated the shops, glowing softly against the evening sky.
"You must be tired from your flight," Professor Liang finally spoke.
"A little, but I'm excited to be here," Joaquin replied.
"Good. The Zhang family has hosted students before. They have a daughter, Lianhua. She will help you get along here," explained Professor Liang.
Joaquin nodded although he wasn't sure how he felt about the idea of a guide. He liked to think things through and figure things out on his own.
When they arrived at the Zhang residence, Joaquin was taken aback by its grand yet traditional setting. A red gate with golden Chinese characters stood before them, opening into a courtyard held by gray stone walls and a curved tiled roof.
But before he could admire the place further, the door opened, and a tall man with sharp eyes stepped out.
"You are Joaquin," he said in a firm but polite tone.
"Yes, sir," Joaquin replied, bowing slightly, remembering his research on Chinese customs.
"I am Wei Zhang. Welcome to our home,"
the man introduced himself.
Beside him, a woman with a softer demeanor smiled. "I am Mei Zhang. Please, come in."
Joaquin stepped inside and immediately felt the weight of their gazes. He followed them into the living room, where a girl stood near the staircase.
Lianhua Zhang.
She was beautiful in a way that felt distant—long, jet-black hair cascading over her shoulders, eyes sharp and unreadable. She wore a simple yet elegant deep blue sweater, her posture straight, her expression unreadable. She looked at him as if she had already made up her mind about him.
"Lianhua, come greet our guest," Mei Zhang said gently.
Lianhua moved forward, not smiling. "Lianhua Zhang," she introduced herself. Her voice was smooth but cold.
"Joaquin Dela Cruz," he answered, flashing a small smile.
She didn't return the favor.
There was something about her presence that made Joaquin feel tense. Maybe she detested him already or maybe she just didn't give a rat's arse. Either way, this was going to be intriguing.
The initial days in Henan University were overwhelming. Joaquin was studying Mandarin for years, but the fast pace of the language was something he could not keep up with. The campus was huge, and students barely gave him a glance. Winter air made everything so foreign, so cold that felt even colder.
Lianhua, assigned as his student guide, was less than enthusiastic about the role. She spoke to him only when necessary, answering his questions with the shortest responses possible.
"Where's the library?"
"Left, then straight."
"Do you always walk this fast?"
"Yes."
Joaquin sighed. He had hoped for at least a friendly face in this new world, but Lia was as distant as ever.
One evening, as they strolled through the courtyard of the university, Joaquin decided it was time to break the ice. "So… do you not like foreigners or is it just me?"
Lia stopped walking. For the first time ever, she looked at him—really at him. Her gaze was sharp, calculating.
"You're not the first Filipino to come here," she finally said. "And the last one didn't end very well."
Joaquin frowned. "What do you mean?"
She is silent, walks on without an answer, but leaving him with more questions than before.
Late at night, when Joaquin sat down in his room, he couldn't get rid of the feeling that something was not right. The Zhang family was polite, but whenever he appeared, there was a certain air of unspoken tension inside the room. And Lia she was holding secrets from him.
As he lay in his bed, staring at the ceiling, he made a silent promise to himself.
He'd find out what Lia meant.
And he'd find out why he felt like his presence here wasn't just a coincidence.
The tension persisted on the next morning. During the breakfast meal, Mr. Zhang was affable, Mrs. Zhang was hospitable, but Lianhua was silent. She sat facing Joaquin, pushing food around with chopsticks but almost avoiding eye contact.
"Are you adjusting all right, Joaquin?" Mei Zhang asked with a gentle smile.
"Yes, Ma'am. It's a bit different from the Philippines, but I like it so far." He shot a glance to Lianhua, hoping to elicit some response. No response.
Wei Zhang nodded. "Good. Studies come first. I expect you to work hard. You'll be representing your university here."
"Yes, sir," Joaquin responded.
Lianhua finally broke her silence. "You shouldn't expect things to be easy," she said, not even bothering to lift her head up.
Joaquin blinked at her directness. "I don't. I know there will be challenges."
She looked back at him, expression unchanging. "Then let's see how long you last."
The room became heavy with awkward silence. Mei Zhang coughed to clear her throat and steer the conversation toward another topic, but the point was made: Lianhua did not believe he belonged.
Joaquin spent the succeeding days trying to understand Lianhua. He watched her in class, saw how she interrelates with other people. She was bright, disciplined, and definitely respected by her classmates. Yet, she kept distance from everyone, including him.
Afternoons and coincidence wandering in and out of the university's old library, rifling through the records. It's not anything about what Lianhua told him, that stayed in his mind. "The last one did not go so well." What does that even mean?
Glancing through books, one pile caught his eye. This is the student archives from when students started, which caught his eye as it has Philippines.
There was, in that old, tattered photograph, a Filipino student standing beside an obviously much younger Lianhua. They smiled. But the only word penned in ink at the bottom was this:
Gone.
Joaquin gripped the paper harder. He felt his heartbeat quicken.
What had happened to the last Filipino student? And why was Lianhua trying so hard to push him away?
He needed answers. And he was going to get them—whether Lianhua liked it or no