Khalid's house was more spacious and tidy than expected.
Although not very wealthy, the hostess, Lete, was evidently a woman of great taste, keeping this small ho clean and neat.
"Please, sit down."
He invited everyone to the living room, and a few sat down on the sofa.
Unlike the MSL families Song Heping had visited before, the décor here leaned more towards European style.
Khalid introduced himself as a professor of English literature at Aden University, his wife Lete as a doctor, and their daughter Nina, who had just turned six.
The little girl curiously stared at the three strangers, especially at Nura — the Eastern man with bloodstains on his face and shoulders, who both frightened and intrigued her.
"Have you eaten anything yet?"
Looking at the disheveled trio, Khalid's first thought was about food.
Speaking of food, they really hadn't eaten.
In that life-and-death situation earlier, there was no ti to eat…
"We actually haven't."
Antonov was not shy at all.
This Da Maozi had quite a gregarious personality.
"Do you have anything to eat here?"
He was not polite about it.
In fact, he had individual soldier rations and energy bars in his backpack.
But no one liked those things.
"Lete, please prepare sothing for our guests."
Soon after, the sll of cardamom and cumin wafted through Khalid's dining room.
Lete brought out a cast-iron pot from the kitchen, with steaming beans inside, topped with a layer of golden oil.
Song Heping noticed the "Le Creuset" brand mark on the pot — a luxury in war-torn Yen.
"Please don't mind the simplicity," Lete said in fluent English, her fingers gently brushing the headscarf by her ear, "The market hasn't been operating normally for three days."
Antonov's eyes were fixed on the bubbling beans in the pot, his Adam's apple moving up and down.
Song Heping knew this Russian giant hadn't had a hot al in two days, and the energy bars from the rations could only sustain life, not satisfy the Slavs' obsession with hot food.
"Slls great."
It was rare for Nura to speak proactively, but his gaze landed on the little girl hiding behind her mother.
Nina showed half her face, her big eyes curiously observing this man with a scarred face.
Khalid broke apart a piece of naan that was still warm from the oven, the aroma of the bread filling the room.
"Baked at ho, with the last batch of flour we stocked up last week."
Song Heping took the naan, feeling its resilience in his fingertips.
He mimicked Khalid's gesture, tearing off a piece and dipping it into the bean stew.
The beans were soft and tender, lting in the mouth, with a complex flavor of minced garlic, onions, and unknown spices blossoming on the tongue.
For a mont, he felt as if he had returned to his grandma's kitchen in rural Fujian during his childhood.
"Is there cinnamon in it?" Antonov suddenly asked.
Lete looked at him in surprise, "You can taste that? It's our family's traditional recipe, with a hint of cinnamon and dried lemon peel."
"My grandma cooked beans like this too," Antonov tore off another piece of naan, "only she used pork instead of olive oil."
The table went silent for a second.
Khalid and Lete exchanged a glance — ntioning pork in a Muslim household was offensive.
But Khalid soon laughed, "Seems like you're definitely not locals."
"We are independent investigative reporters; I'm a Chinese Arican, he's Russian, and Nura is Egyptian."
Song Heping continued his lie without changing his expression, "We were doing a war special in Africa, and recently heard about the unrest here, so we ca to get so stories."
"You arrived last week?" Khalid scooped a spoonful of beans onto his daughter's plate, "The situation was already deteriorating by then. How did you manage to enter the port?"
Nura quickly took over the conversation, "We originally planned to evacuate yesterday, but the port was blocked by protesters."
"Not protesters, mostly rioters with political motives!" Lete's voice suddenly turned cold, "They burned down the port's dical station; my colleague Fatima almost died in the fire."
Nina suddenly chid in, "Auntie Fatima gave a lollipop!"
The little girl naively gestured with her hands, "This big!"
This unexpected childish remark eased the tension at the table a bit.
Seizing the opportunity, Antonov scooped another large plate of beans and devoured it with naan.
Song Heping noticed that this seemingly crude Russian was actually observing every exit in the room with his peripheral vision — a professional instinct.
"What have you captured on cara these days?"
Khalid suddenly asked, his gaze behind the glasses becoming sharp.
Song Heping was prepared, "The chaos in the streets and this so-called revolution…"
Khalid put down his spoon and sneered, "Not a coup, but a foolish suicide."
He wiped the corner of his mouth with a napkin.
"Those young people, holding signs for democracy and freedom, are unaware that Washington is counting money behind their backs."
Song Heping noticed the professor's fingers trembling slightly under the table as he spoke - not out of fear, but suppressed anger.
Lit wiped her daughter's mouth and softly added, "There are injured young people in the hospital every day, still shouting revolutionary slogans on their deathbeds."
Her voice suddenly choked up: "Last week, a boy under twenty had his intestines blown out, still clutching my hand saying 'for freedom'..."
Nina seed to feel her mother's sorrow, quietly holding onto Lit's fingers with her small hands.
"Why don't you leave?" Nura asked suddenly, her voice softer than usual, "With your education, you could find a better job in the United Arab Emirates or Qatar."
Khalid's expression beca resolute: "This is my ho. If intellectuals like flee, who will tell Nina's generation the truth?"
He patted his daughter's head.
"Those Western dia only report the Yen they want people to see; if you said you were from BBC or CNN, I definitely wouldn't have let you in."
Song Heping chewed on the flatbread thoughtfully.
Khalid's words were not like those of an ordinary university professor; they felt more like soone who had experienced real pain. He noticed a photograph hanging on the restaurant wall - a young Khalid in military uniform standing beside an armored vehicle.
"Did you serve in the military?" Song Heping pointed at the photo.
Khalid's gaze suddenly beca distant: "Forr Army Captain, military doctor. Discharged five years ago for refusing to shoot at my own citizens."
He smiled bitterly, shaking his head.
"Ironically, those practices I once opposed are now being excessively used by those so-called opposition parties."
Nina suddenly slid off her chair, ran over to Song Heping, and curiously touched the bandage on his arm.
"Does it hurt?" the little girl asked in innocent English.
Song Heping froze.
The man who wouldn't blink when cutting an enemy's throat hesitated at a six-year-old girl's question.
"It doesn't hurt anymore."
Song Heping answered softly, "For an uncle like , it's just a slight scrape."
"I'll cast a magic spell, and you won't hurt anymore." Nina closed her eyes, murmured softly, drew a circle in the air with her hand, and gently touched Song Heping's shoulder.
Everyone laughed.
A warm feeling surged in Song Heping's heart, and he said tenderly, "Thank you, Nina, uncle doesn't hurt at all now, your magic worked."
After dinner, Lit brewed a pot of mint tea.
Tea leaves unfurled in the glass cup, the green leaves floating up and down.
Khalid took out a box of dates, and Song Heping noticed the production date was from three months ago - stock from before the unrest.
"Imported from Oman," Khalid handed over the box, "now with border closures, you can't buy this kind of thing."
Song Heping picked up a date.
The honey-colored flesh covered with a layer of sugar frosting was overwhelmingly sweet yet surprisingly cut the bitterness of the mint tea.
He suddenly recalled details from the mission briefing - Oman is one of the few Arabic countries maintaining friendly relations with Iran.
If there's truly no way out and Naxin can't arrange the evacuation, relying on oneself, traveling by land to Oman is also a choice.
"What are your plans next?" Khalid sipped his tea, seemingly casually asking.
"Leave when the port opens." Song Heping put down his teacup, "Perhaps in two days, perhaps longer; we've contacted friends in the Middle East, and they'll send people to pick us up."
Khalid's gaze swept over the three of them: "Independent journalists' gear is quite special."
He glanced aningfully at their bulging waist bags - loaded pistols were inside.
Just as Song Heping was about to respond, a series of rapid gunshots suddenly sounded outside, followed by the roar of a car engine.
Everyone instantly tensed.
Nura's hand already reached for her lower back, while Antonov quietly moved to the window.
"Just the patrol team." Khalid waved his hand, signaling everyone to relax, "It's like this every night lately."
Lit picked up the already asleep Nina: "I'll go soothe her to sleep."
Her gaze told Song Heping she didn't want her daughter to see more violence.
When only the n remained in the living room, Khalid suddenly lowered his voice: "Who are you really? CIA? MI6?"
Song Heping did not respond imdiately.
He noticed Khalid's bookshelf held an Arabic translation of "The Art of War by Sun Tzu," alongside several specialized books on electronic warfare - not typical reading for an English literature professor.
"Does it matter?" Song Heping retorted, "We're not here to harm Yen."
Khalid stared at him for a few seconds, then suddenly laughed: "You know? I've seen real journalists. Their palms don't have gun calluses; they wear caras around their necks, not tactical headsets."
He pointed at Antonov, "And your 'photographer' holds his teacup like he's ready to smash it over soone's head anyti."
Song Heping laughed too.
This forr Army doctor was sharper than he appeared.
"Friends will co to pick us up in two days," he decided to partially confess, "until then, we need to keep a low profile."
Khalid nodded, not probing further.
Yet Song Heping noticed as he stood up, Khalid discreetly slipped a map from the desk into a drawer.
A corner of the map peeked out, marked with locations of checkpoints in Aden - precise enough not to be a civilian map.
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