The Hangover Chapter 1

Who the h.e.l.l in their right minds invented the Moon Festival?   In my opinion, it was more than enough having one day—New Year’s Eve—when you gather together under the name of ‘reunion’ and the elders corner and interrogate you about your life and future.   The Dragon Boat Festival is bearable. Occasionally, you could pa.s.s for a case of food poisoning after eating too many zongzi, but you can’t use this excuse too often since the Moon Festival is only less than half a year later. If not, they would say, ‘What a patriotic stomach you have—always knowing to act up during the major holidays. What are you, Lin Daiyu reincarnated?’   Thus, without fail, as it approached the end of August this year, the Gates of h.e.l.l hadn’t even closed shut when my old lady started calling me like the Grim Reaper trying to fill his quota on souls. Three times a day, once every meal, one after another—I don’t even think Yue Fei suffered as much as I did!   With no other choice, I agreed to attend the family party on August 15th (remember, this is the Lunar calendar). It’s just a dinner, I thought. I just had to chow down some rice porridge and flash a smile here and there. A couple of hours would past in the blink of an eye. No biggie.   As it turned out, I should have just slapped my innocent and naïve self unconscious.   When I arrived at the address of the restaurant my old lady gave me, the hostess led me to the reserved section for ‘The Family of Wu’ with a dazzling smile. The moment I stepped into the private room and saw the battlefield that lay before me, I thought to myself, s.h.i.t. I so desperately wished that I was only a pa.s.serby who had gone into the wrong room.   With my old lady in the lead, my old man at the end, and a bunch of uncles and aunties in between, they hustled me over like the lion plucking the greens. After I got pushed into a chair, every second felt like a year underground.   Some small talk here, some season’s greeting there, roasted meat to my left and white wine to my right—my eyes started to lose focus and drift all over the place. Every grinning face that flickered past looked about the same. Actually, they were all relatives who had adored me since I was little and I was happy to see them—if only the same old topic didn’t get replayed from their wrinkly lips.   “Xie, you’re not young anymore.”   “I guess twenty-five isn’t young but it’s not exactly old either,” I remarked.   “Look at you, all handsome and successful.”   “I agree with the first part but not so much the second,” I noted.   “You haven’t even held a lady’s hand yet. Don’t you think that’s a little embarra.s.sing?”   Don’t think I won’t hit you just because you’re old!   As if asking a billion, ga-jillion questions would get me a wife and a kid. I ain’t as good as Lao Yang when it comes to materialization!   Anyways, just as I was feeling that my EQ was struggling to keep up, my phone started to ring in my shirt pocket. I flipped it open and checked out the caller ID—it was Uncle Three.   Uncle Three had never been on good terms with the others in the family so he would never show up at these parties. I, on the other hand, was so grateful for the first time in my life from hearing my uncle’s voice that I could weep.   I was wrong. I have a potty mouth, calling you a sly old fox all the time. I’ll slap myself ten times as punishment.   Forgive me and just rescue me from this h.e.l.l hole, please. I will even jump between you and azongzi when we are underground next time.   Uncle Three seemed to have read my mind through the phone. After some chattering, he told me that he and some robber pals got a table at Full Moon House. Fats and Panzi are both there, he said, and the moon cakes and booze are all ready to go. They were just waiting for me.   I rejoiced for the ready-to-use scapegoat that lay before me. I couldn’t let it go to waste so I immediately brought Uncle Three up, saying some business-related things came up and he wanted to discuss them with me. This couldn’t have fooled Uncle Two—fortunately he didn’t attend. Obviously, my old lady and old man weren’t thrilled so I grabbed a few of the pictures of the matches my enthusiastic relatives found for me and stuffed them in my pant pocket. I laughed along with them, saying that I would seriously consider settling down, while secretly crossing my fingers behind my back. No matter what, getting out of that room was of utmost importance.       Maybe I tripped on a step later and hit my head or something, but there seemed to be a large blank s.p.a.ce in my memory. At least, I had no idea how I had gotten back home and how I was lying on my own bed now.   The first sensation I experienced when I opened my eyes was: Owww. I mean my head hurt. I had wanted to lift my head up but it was as if my head was filled with lead. I had only managed to move half an inch before dropping back on the bed.   Let me rewind. It didn’t seem like my bed. My head was turned to the side as I started evaluating my current situation. I was lying face down so logically it should be the mattress under me, but the sound that I had made just now from my jaw hitting it was quite sharp. The thing that my cheek and ear was pressed against was actually slowly rising and falling, too. I didn’t remember buying a ma.s.sage table though.   This woke me up eight-tenths of the way, although my head still hurt a lot. I squeezed my arms and thighs together and it became apparent that I was hugging a cylinder-shaped object. Naturally, I thought of the beanbag that I usually held when I slept.   I let out a sigh of relief from touching the familiar object. I squinted at the scene to my left. It was my room all right: the windows I had closed before leaving; the light beige curtains that were letting in a bit of light; the wooden floor boards glowing gold from the sunshine; the human-length beanbag cushion on the floor—   Hold it right there! My beanbag is there! Then what’s this in my arms?!   I lifted my head up so abruptly that I could almost hear my brain hitting the crown of my head and then falling back down. Consequently, I lost my vision for a few seconds. After my optic nerves reattached themselves, I saw a pair of eyes mere inches away in the 12 o’clock direction watching me.   Bangs, black bangs, hung in front of those eyes. Below them were one nose and one mouth (No f.u.c.king duh! As if there would be two noses and three mouths?).   Due to the severity of the impact, I momentarily could not match the facial features to a person I recognized—kind of like how you can’t identify the actor when you are too close to the TV screen. The only thought going through my head was: ‘I never bought no ma.s.sage table! And I bought a beanbag, not some blow-up doll. So what the h.e.l.l is this?!’   The person whom I suspected to be a blow-up doll sighed, “Wu Xie.”   I jerked like a machine that had just been plugged in. His voice and the way he had said my name along with his face suddenly became three-dimensional to me.