Brian Westbrook slowly pulled his car over. As he turned off the engine and took out the keys, he looked at the neighborhood through the car window.
San Francisco is a city built on hills. The undulating terrain creates a unique cityscape, and the rolling street curves create a one-of-a-kind visual spectacle. Standing on a hill or at the foot of one, you can see completely different aspects of life.
Brian was now standing on a slope. The shady trees on both sides of the street went up in a north-south direction, and the red-and-white houses were interspersed with large patches of green, as if they were Jack's beanstalk. After being planted, they grew into towering trees, spiraling and rising all the way to the end of the line of sight, where you could touch the light blue sky, as if you were in the lazy, scattered clouds, peeking into the mystery of another world.
The colorful cobblestones, strange oak treehouses, old canvas wagons, casually parked bicycles, hippie symbols arranged with bottles and cans, and brightly colored linen handkerchiefs... The fragmented blocks of color on both sides of the street outlined a strange scene of cultural fusion, which was San Francisco's most unique image.
This was the neighborhood where Lu Ke grew up and lived. It was unexpected, yet it made sense.
He had the impression that Asian immigrants were more inclined to live in ethnic enclaves, such as Japantown, Koreatown, and Chinatown. Even Southeast Asian and Middle Eastern immigrants, who were a relatively small group, did the same. Each area was filled with its own culture and customs, as if they had carved out a piece of their homeland in a foreign country.
The fact that Lu Ke's parents chose to live here was a small surprise.
However, not all Asian immigrants lived in their corresponding areas. After all, San Francisco was the most culturally diverse and harmonious city on the entire North American continent, even more so than New York. If they wanted to choose another area, Haight-Ashbury was a reasonable choice.
After just one visit to the neighborhood, Brian began to form an image of Lu Ke in his mind.
It was not the number 14 quarterback on the field. That young man, wearing a jersey and helmet, whose face and eyes were not visible, seemed to be just a symbol on the team. "Number 14," "quarterback," and "undrafted rookie" were all the labels he had. This was about Lu Ke in his daily life.
What kind of person was he? What were his parents like? What kind of environment did he grow up in? What was his personality like? What was his style of dealing with people? What was the difference and connection between his playing style and his private personality? What were his hobbies outside of football? What kind of player was he?
Countless thoughts and questions swirled in Brian's mind.
It sounded a little absurd. In competitive sports, people would only be curious about the lives and images of true superstars outside of the field, such as Tom Brady and his supermodel wife, Gisele Bündchen, or Ben Roethlisberger's s*xual assault scandal.
As for those rookie players, their main task was to prove themselves on the field, rather than being the subject of gossip and personal image. No one cared if this rookie was "a good person or a bad person." Everyone cared if this rookie "could play well."
This was also the case for Lu Ke.
No one cared what the young man under the "number 14" jersey and helmet looked like outside of the field. Instead of caring about these meaningless topics, they should be discussing whether to choose Alex Smith for the third week's game or continue with this undrafted rookie quarterback.
But Brian was genuinely curious.
It was not only because Lu Ke's rise was so incredible, but also because his performance on the field was so amazing. It wasn't about numbers like quarterback ratings, but about his brave heart in critical moments. At that moment, Brian truly forgot Lu Ke's "Chinese-American" identity and saw him more as the hero who saved the day.
As he looked around the neighborhood, trying to find the target building, Brian inadvertently caught sight of a young man. He opened the front door of the house, holding two bags of trash in his hands, and walked out quickly with a brisk pace.
He was wearing a simple white T-shirt with light blue jeans, a pair of ordinary white canvas shoes, and a dark blue baseball jacket. His short black hair was a little messy in the San Francisco wind, but it outlined his young and energetic facial features and the youthful look of a teenager.
The young man in front of him was Lu Ke.
He didn't have the aggressiveness he showed on the field, the domineering presence of leading a team to a comeback victory, or the wit he showed when talking to the media. He looked like an ordinary young man who was obediently helping out with chores at home. He was complaining under his breath but was still doing everything he was supposed to.
"Little Seven," was the first impression that flashed through Brian's mind.
In the eyes of Westerners, Asian faces always look younger. To be more precise, it's impossible to tell their age. What's more, Lu Ke was not even 22 years old and had just graduated from college. To Brian, who had been working for many years, he was just an inexperienced young boy.
At this moment, this impression was even more profound. If someone said that Lu Ke was a high school student, Brian would believe them.
However, for football, this was not a good thing. The unfamiliarity and suspicion of an Asian face already made people doubt him. The youth and inexperience of a rookie didn't help either. It was foreseeable that Lu Ke would have to overcome many more challenges on his path to gaining fans' recognition.
Brian opened his car door but didn't follow him. Instead, he stood across the street and watched Lu Ke jog to the corner at the end of the street to throw away the trash. Then, he watched Lu Ke jog back.
"Good morning, Lu Ke," Brian greeted him. "Isn't today trash day?"
In a neighborhood like this, there were two ways to deal with trash.
One was a fixed trash day, usually four times a week, and the time was also fixed. Every household would bag their trash and place it at their door, and a garbage truck would come to collect it. But if you missed the collection time, you would have to choose the other way, or it would be considered illegal dumping.
The other was to take the trash to a large dumpster in a nearby neighborhood yourself. These dumpsters were usually several blocks away, so it was a long walk. So, in the US, people often joked, "I'm driving to throw out the trash." This was not a joke but something that happened in real life.
"Tomorrow is," Lu Ke stopped and said with a smile. "We have guests at home today, so my mom is cleaning." After a moment of thought, Lu Ke chuckled. "You look unfamiliar. I've never seen you around here before. I'm guessing you're the guest who's visiting today?"
"Brian Westbrook, from the 'San Francisco Chronicle.'" Brian quickly walked over and greeted him with a smile. "I'm sorry. I hope my arrival hasn't disrupted your daily life."
Brian was being polite, but Lu Ke said, "It's no trouble at all. However, my parents took the day off. They cleaned the house in advance and prepared lunch. Also, between you and me, my mom even put on makeup, and my dad found a formal but not-too-formal outfit to wear. Other than that, it's no trouble at all."
Brian's expression froze for a moment. He flinched a little. Was this a joke?
But Lu Ke didn't seem to be joking at all. He led Brian into the house with a serious look on his face. "Dad, Mom, the reporter is here."
Brian's heart was in his throat, and he was unsure of how to react.
Interviewing an athlete? He had done it countless times. But visiting an Asian immigrant's home? This was the first time ever. Brian was a little regretful. He should have Googled it last night. Were there any customs he should be aware of when visiting a Chinese family's home? Should he have brought a gift? He looked at his empty hands and wasn't sure if he was being rude.
As he was lost in thought, a middle-aged man appeared in his line of sight. Brian seemed to have gotten a subconscious signal and couldn't help but look at the man's outfit. He was wearing a light gray pinstripe shirt with navy blue dress pants. He couldn't really tell much from it, but it was polite and proper.
"Welcome, welcome," Lu Zhengze said with a smile, greeting him naturally. "How was parking nearby? This area is right on a slope, and it's always a challenge to park here for the first time. There's a rear-end collision almost every week."
He was relaxed and natural, showing no signs of nervousness. The simple and casual topic easily opened up the conversation. But Brian was a little unsure. Had this opening been prepared in advance?
Then, Brian saw Jiang Youning, wearing an apron, leaning out of the kitchen. She smiled and walked over. "I'm Anne. You must be Brian, right? I'm sorry, I haven't finished cleaning yet. I'm being a little rude. Please give me a moment. I'll be right there. Can I get you anything to drink?"
Brian's eyes were on Jiang Youning, but then he heard Lu Ke chuckle. He then realized he was being rude and quickly looked away. "Water. Water is fine. If you have any, juice or soda would be great."
Feeling Brian's nervousness and panic, Lu Ke finally couldn't hold it in anymore and chuckled. "It's okay. I was just joking with Brian. He seems to have taken it seriously."
Brian looked up abruptly and saw the look of realization on Lu Zhengze and Jiang Youning's faces. Jiang Youning shook her head with a helpless smile and said to Brian, "He always likes to joke around. You don't have to take it seriously."
Brian looked at Lu Ke, his head full of questions. So, everything he just said was a joke?
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