Bogotá sits near the equator, specifically at 4 degrees north latitude. Due to its high-altitude plateau, the climate shifts from hot to mild, with only dry and rainy seasons. The rainy season lasts from May to November, often featuring brilliant sunshine in the morning followed by sudden downpours in the afternoon. Sunshine, rain, blue skies with white clouds, and rainbows are common sights here. It’s not unusual to see both cool summer dresses and down jackets in the same view.
Miao Jing didn’t pack too much luggage from China. Following some travel guide he’d found, he brought plenty of common medicines, power adapters, mini electronic appliances, daily necessities, and clothes. When going through Chen Yi’s wardrobe, he only packed a few crisp semi-formal outfits.
After landing in Bogotá, Chen Yi observed the street fashion and first bought some clothes that wouldn’t mark him as a tourist. Local people’s clothing wasn’t much different from China’s, just featuring more earthy yet trendy colors and styles. Young people pursued fashion brands, and their outfit combinations often proved refreshingly unique. Of course, the wealthy class dressed elegantly, wearing modern formal attire and paying great attention to etiquette and occasion.
However, when Miao Jing saw the tight tank tops, floral shirts, flight jackets, and combat boots that Chen Yi brought back… he couldn’t help but twitch his lips slightly while maintaining his composure.
Life wasn’t like those 20th-century American movies filled with drug lords and gang warfare in a Latin style.
But Miao Jing didn’t say a word, just quietly lowered his head to sip the local specialty coffee, savoring its rich aroma while also appreciating Latin America’s specialty – the handsome men. Colombians were truly a melting pot; you could find all skin tones on the streets, from pale, melancholic Scandinavian backpackers with deep-set features, to Spanish youths with deep ocean-blue eyes, to muscular Indo-European mixed-race men with prominent brows and eyes, to local indigenous people with warm brilliant smiles. They were handsome and sexy, rugged and charming, passionate as fire… a parade of distinctly different types of attractiveness.
Miao Jing watched contentedly as Chen Yi put on the floral shirt, his tall, straight figure hidden beneath the cloth. The open collar revealed his honey-colored chest, powerful arm muscles, long legs, and firm buttocks wrapped in ripped jeans. Then he threw the leather jacket over his shoulder, casually holding a cigarette between his lips as he went out to buy groceries.
Fine – Asian handsome face, Cuban style shirt, African jeans, American combat boots, Marlboro cigarettes. Very mixed, very wild, very intimidating, very Latin style.
They lived in Bogotá’s wealthy district, where every apartment building had security guards, and the street safety was decent. During workdays, Bogotá had heavy morning traffic. Miao Jing shared Uber rides with colleagues to work. She usually worked overtime in the evenings, and Chen Yi would pick her up. During the day, he was an unemployed wanderer, enthusiastically blending into Bogotá’s streets.
The couple had moderate savings, but Miao Jing managed all the money. They didn’t keep too much cash at home, withdrawing as needed. Besides rent expenses, she gave Chen Yi a monthly allowance – it was quite an interesting feeling, like when he used to casually pull out crumpled hundred-yuan bills from his pocket to give her as living expenses in high school. Now Miao Jing held a stack of high-denomination pesos, watching Chen Yi rub his nose with an enigmatic expression as he stuffed the money into his wallet.
“How much do you give me each month?”
“1.5 million pesos for living expenses, and another 500,000 for drinking with Ramirez.”
Two million!!
Chen Yi still felt a little awkward inside. It’s fine, it’s just over 3,000 yuan – the amount he’d spend on food, drinks, and entertainment in a single day back in Teng City.
“Ask me if you need more.” Her lips curved in a gentle, beautiful smile.
He lifted his stern chin, pretending to snort disdainfully: “It’s enough.”
Chen Yi gladly accepted the new life. Their household chores were quite simple – laundry and cleaning were minor tasks that could be done roughly. Cooking was a bit challenging though; he’d never cooked back in China, but at most, he could make noodles. Moreover, making Chinese food wasn’t easy here – even finding a rice cooker was difficult, and various seasonings and ingredients had to be collected gradually. Fortunately, Colombian cuisine offered plenty of options. Coffee and juice were premium products, and street restaurants commonly served Ajiaco (corn chicken soup) and Sancocho (chicken stew), along with various grilled meats, fried dumplings, and trout with rice that suited Chinese tastes well. As a result, for the first two months, Chen Yi kept taking Miao Jing out to eat.
Neither of them was picky about food. During their teenage years, as long as there was food to fill their stomachs, they could adapt to eating anything. On their way home after work, Chen Yi would carry Miao Jing’s briefcase and, with his arm around her, pass by street food stalls where he’d buy a Lea – a Colombian traditional dish of whole roasted suckling pig stuffed with potatoes, onions, rice, and spices, roasted until fragrant with an enticing aroma. Back home, Chen Yi would slice some avocado for a salad and make canned tomato soup, treating Miao Jing to a hearty meal.
She wrinkled her nose, gracefully sitting at the dining table, waiting for the chef to bring chopsticks and bowls: “Is this all we’re having tonight?”
“Don’t like it?” Chen Yi served the dishes casually. “There’s still some Colombian meat sandwiches in the fridge, want me to defrost one for you?”
Miao Jing held her utensils, shrugging indifferently. Her thin, soft ears were caught between fingers, being kneaded and rubbed by calloused fingertips.
“You eat whatever I make, I didn’t complain even once about all those plain noodles you used to cook.” The man stood beside her with hands on his hips, his presence impossible to ignore, glaring intently. “Eat!!”
“Oh-” she drew out the sound.
Being new to the area and concerned about safety, they usually didn’t go out at night. After dinner, Miao Jing would work overtime, coordinating projects online with colleagues in China. Chen Yi would clean up, wash dishes in the kitchen, and afterward sit on the balcony, lounging in a recliner with his long legs crossed, leisurely smoking a cigarette while looking at Bogotá’s night scenery.
“Are you bored?”
Miao Jing finished her work and brought over a can of beer, placing it beside him. Chen Yi looked up at her through the pale blue smoke, casually pulled her into his lap, and asked lazily: “Bored about what?”
“Aren’t you bored?”
The former Chen Yi was never home, always followed by a group of followers, mixing in various scenes high and low. When had he ever been lonely? Now he’d followed her thousands of miles to South America, where he couldn’t speak the language, had no career, no friends, no entertainment.
“When you have nothing to do, do you call Bo Zi and your old friends to chat?”
“I have. Those guys… they’re drooling with envy.” His eyes fixed on the dim sky beyond the balcony, voice faint and distant as he bit the cigarette filter. “I had Daimao sell my car for some money. The pool hall was ruined, so I gave it up. Bo Zi didn’t want to do anything else, he only knows the pool hall business, so I told him to open one in a new location. Found a semi-outdoor place with a courtyard. He’s the boss now, and the car money counts as my investment. This business won’t make you rich, but it’s enough to make a living. I asked Bo Zi to check on my house every few months. Nothing else to worry about.”
Truly without attachments.
Miao Jing nestled into his chest, stroking the few faint red scars on his arm. He tightened his hold around her slender waist, pulling her close and deeply inhaling her fragrance. “Bogotá… people here aren’t wealthy, but they’re not lazy. Traffic starts getting congested after 7 AM. People are interesting, optimistic, a bit scatterbrained, straightforward. Look at those robbers and killers, they’re brainless. Though there aren’t many Chinese people – when I go out, groups of women surround me asking if I’m a Korean oppa. Damn it, how do my double eyelids look Korean?”
She smiled: “I’ve been asked that too. Korean dramas are quite popular in Colombia, and there are some Koreans in Bogotá.”
“Should learn some Korean phrases. If I ever do something embarrassing, I’ll just say I’m Korean.” He showed a mischievous smile, lowering his head to nuzzle her cool little nose, his eyes sparkling like fallen stars as he pecked her lips. “Finished with work?”
“Yes.”
“Then shall we do something not boring to pass the time?” His voice was soft and husky as he stubbed out his cigarette. “Reward me for washing clothes, cooking, and driving you to and from work today?”
Miao Jing’s clear eyes rolled playfully: “It’s only 8:30 PM.”
“The French old man downstairs was bragging about how great he used to be. I told him we Chinese men are no slouches – we can go for two hours straight without getting winded.”
Miao Jing squeezed his mouth disapprovingly, suddenly letting out a light cry as he picked her up, striding into the bedroom and tossing her onto the soft pillows. She propped herself up on her arms, turning to watch Chen Yi. His tall figure stood by the bed, head lowered as he undid his shirt buttons one by one. She could only see his thick black lashes under his brow ridge, his high nose bridge dropping to tightly pressed lips. His strong arms flipped downward, crumpling the shirt into a ball and throwing it at the foot of the bed. He looked up and flashed her a grin, eyes gleaming, that smile containing an indescribable abandon.
Her heart trembled as she cleverly tried to scoot further into the bed, but a large hand grabbed her ankle and pulled her back, causing her to whimper as she fell under his dominance.
Around five or six in the morning, there would be rustling sounds among the snow-white pillows, followed shortly by silence. Miao Jing usually slept a bit more, while Chen Yi got up refreshed, exercised, showered, then came into the bedroom with a toothbrush in his mouth to nudge the small head in the blankets, calling Miao Jing to wake up.
On the dining table sat already-brewed coffee, her favorite hazelnut milk flavor. Colombian coffee was truly excellent – Chen Yi had learned to try this cultured taste with her and found it quite good, quickly accepting the flavor. Every morning when she got up with sore muscles, she relied on a cup of coffee to clear her mind. Turning around, she sees Chen Yi in a white tank top and track pants in the kitchen frying eggs and bacon, every inch of his muscles and skin radiating vibrant vitality.
“You’re wearing that out?”
Chen Yi chewed on Miao Jing’s leftover last bite of corn tortilla and half a burnt egg, watching as she put on an apricot-colored suit jacket, loosely tied up her hair, with lustrous pearl earrings, her flowing long dress revealing fair slender ankles as she slowly stepped into high heels.
“Is something wrong?” Miao Jing attempted to pull up her turtleneck sweater for more security, trying to cover the marks on her neck.
“Can’t you change into something uglier and cheaper?” He frowned deeply. “You look very expensive and worth robbing.”
If he remembered correctly, that dress she was wearing was bought in Teng City, using his card – fifteen thousand yuan.
Miao Jing raised her fine eyebrows: “Then what should I wear?”
Latin women all had very curvy figures, especially bountiful in the chest, and they were skilled at using clothes to accentuate their hotness. This style of dress had become commonplace, but Miao Jing’s loose, simple style, fresh and natural while exuding Eastern feminine elegance and gentleness, was particularly… eye-catching.
Whether in the work environment or out strolling with Chen Yi, men’s advances were endless. To the point that every time Chen Yi took her to restaurants, he had to dress intimidatingly and maintain a fierce, impatient cold face to block those restlessly eager gazes.