6
In that instant, Yang Zhao felt very strange.
She had yet to take a proper look at Chen Mingsheng. Even though she had spoken to him, and even brought him home to take shelter from the rain, she had yet to study Chen Mingsheng's face up close.
This cab driver was not ugly.
Going by the standards of young girls these days, Chen Mingsheng was not handsome. He had no vitality, no refined yet winsome appearance. At best, you could say that he had regular features.
And yet, he fit the aesthetic standards of women of Yang Zhao's age.
Chen Mingsheng's appearance was very down-to-earth. He had a head of black, clean-cropped short hair, eyes that were not big, and a distinct profile. Yang Zhao still remembered how black and deep-set his eyes were.
Even though he was missing a leg, he did not look frail at all. Conversely, his body looked very well built. His chest was wide, his shoulders broad, and his waist narrow. When Yang Zhao mentally pictured him with his other leg, she discovered, with some surprise, that Chen Mingsheng was in fact in very good shape.
His lips were firm. Some people's lips would slacken while sleeping, but not Chen Mingsheng. Even when he's sound asleep, his lips were tightly shut, and a faint laugh line would crease the sides of his lips.
Yang Zhao once read a book on physiognomy that said that people with this sort of lip shape were inordinately stubborn. Whether or not this applied to Chen Mingsheng, Yang Zhao did not know.
Yang Zhao looked to the side, at the prosthetic leg that had given Yang Zhao such a fright. This prosthetic leg did not look like a high-end model. Xue Miao once had a client who was an amputee, an American. It was summer when Yang Zhao met him. He wore shorts openly, and had a prosthetic leg attached to his shank. It looked very high-tech, like the robots in American blockbuster movies. The way he walked was also no different from an ordinary person. Yang Zhao vaguely remembered the way Chen Mingsheng walked— Cumbersome, unnatural.
Hugging his arms, the man slept while sitting up, and his posture was a lot more upright than one would expect of someone deep in sleep.
Finally, after looking around, her eyes came to rest on the coffee table before her.
Atop the coffee table was a mug, packets of medicine, and her door keys. After a brief moment of reflection, Yang Zhao had a pretty good idea of what happened.
She got up and went to the bedroom to get changed.
In the span of this short walk, the first thought that came to Yang Zhao's mind was—
He can keep that 5,000 yuan.
Yang Zhao changed into long-sleeved linen top and pants. She returned to the living room, took out her phone, and ordered two sets of takeout in the balcony. After sweating it out in her sleep, her fever had subsided, and even though she still felt unwell, it was bearable. She went back to the living room, sat on the sofa, picked up a mug and drank a sip. The water in the mug was still warm. She had no idea where Chen Mingsheng had conjured the warm water from.
Sitting there, mulling over this meaningless question, she quietly waited for Chen Mingsheng to wake up.
This driver had moved her a little.
Yang Zhao was a cold woman. Indeed, this coldness was a shortcoming that every member of the Yang household shared. Their interpersonal relationships were transparent and terse. Since childhood, Yang Zhao never participated in family gatherings besides her parents' birthdays and New Year's Eve family dinners. Not that she ever looked forward to them. Yang Zhao's family members each lived within their own social circles, maintained tepid relations, and kept a policy of mutual non-interference.
Yang Zhao had two ex-boyfriends, one Chinese, one Caucasian. They did all the things men and women in love could do. Then they went separate ways. Yang Zhao would draw a blank whenever she tried to recall her exes. Even their appearances were a fuzzy blur.
The reason for both break ups was the same —due to incompatible personalities.
Yang Zhao knew clearly that her personality was aloof, but she had no intentions of changing.
And so she always had free time, her work revolved around antiques filled with their own colorful histories; life was varied yet fulfilling. Presently, bar her younger brother Yang Jintian, her life was a relatively predictable and uneventful one.
Which was why, the subtle way in which this driver had touched Yang Zhao left an unusually vivid impression.
Chen Mingsheng woke up while she was just idly sitting around.
When he opened his eyes, he paused upon seeing Yang Zhao, as if composing himself. Then he straightened up and rubbed his nose bridge.
"Sorry 'bout that, I fell asleep."
Chen Mingsheng's voice was deep and thick with sleep.
Yang Zhao looked at him and said, "I'm Yang Zhao."
Chen Mingsheng blanked, not knowing why Yang Zhao was reporting her name all of a sudden. "Hi, Ms Yang," he said after a pause. He considered for a moment, then spoke up again, "I'm Chen Mingsheng."
Yang Zhao nodded. She peered at the medicine on the coffee table.
"You bought this?"
Chen Mingsheng nodded. "Yeah, you had a fever last night. I took your keys, went out, bought the meds. I left your keys on the table." He looked over, only to realize that the keys were gone. Seeing his confusion, Yang Zhao said: "I've kept the keys."
Chen Mingsheng paused for a beat. "I got anxious and searched your pockets. Sorry."
Yang Zhao's "I've kept the keys" sounded a lot like reproach, and both Yang Zhao and Chen Mingsheng had picked up on it.
Yang Zhao shook her head and clarified, "I didn't intend it that way. Thanks for buying the medicine for me." Not knowing what to say, Chen Mingsheng replied with a simple "you're welcome". Then, silence.
Chen Mingsheng had half a mind to put on his prosthetics and leave, but the way the woman before him kept staring at him rooted him to the spot. Putting on his prosthetics was a troublesome affair that required him to hitch up the leg of his pants completely, and Chen Mingsheng wasn't so easy-going that he'd casually expose his own deformity before a woman. He thought for a bit, then said to Yang Zhao: "Ms Yang, I've got to go."
Yang Zhao said: "You've not eaten yet, right? I've ordered takeout. It'll be here very soon. Eat before you go."
Chen Mingsheng didn't expect Yang Zhao to order takeout while he was sleeping. He shook his head and said: "No need, I'll eat when I get back."
Yang Zhao said: "But what do I do? The order has been placed, I can't finish them all by myself. It'd be a waste to throw them away."
Chen Mingsheng: "…" He was going to press his case, but thought better of it upon seeing Yang Zhao's resolute expression. "Alright then. Much obliged."
Yang Zhao said nothing. Silence again.
This time, however, the silence was not an awkward one. Yang Zhao could tell that Chen Mingsheng was not a chatty person. She noticed the mug on the table, and remembering something, said to Chen Mingsheng: "Where did you get the warm water from?"
Chen Mingsheng seemed to have thought of it too. "Nowhere," he told Yang Zhao. "I boiled it. Opened your new pot."
Yang Zhao went silent.
Interpreting her silence as anger, Chen Mingsheng apologized again: "Sorry, I did it without your permission—"
"I have a pot?"
"Ah?"
Yang Zhao looked at Chen Mingsheng with quizzical eyes.
"I have a pot? Why don't I know about this?"
Chen Mingsheng thought that this woman was a little random. After some deliberation, he said: "There's one, unopened. It was in the lowermost kitchen cabinet." To help jog her memory, he added, "A milk pot, brand's Supor, made of stainless steel."
Yang Zhao thought about it expressionlessly, then gave a soft "ah".
"Right, it was a free gift that came with the kitchen ware. I remember it now."
Not knowing what to say, Chen Mingsheng simply nodded.
Yang Zhao eyed Chen Mingsheng and said abruptly: "Are you feeling unwell?"
Chen Mingsheng briefly looked her in the eye.
"You don't look too good," said Yang Zhao.
Chen Mingsheng reflexively hung his head. He was feeling unwell. His clothes were still damp, and the way they stuck to his body made him feel awful. His right leg especially was throbbing something fierce. Chen Mingsheng very much wanted to go to the bathroom; he suspected that his leg was already infected.
His silence confirmed Yang Zhao's suspicions. She took the mug to the kitchen. There was still half a pot of water left in the milk pot. Yang Zhao poured away the remaining water in the mug, refilled it, and brought it back to the living room. She handed the mug to Chen Mingsheng and said: "Did you catch a cold too?" She held up the medicines on the coffee table and examined them. "You should take some medicine too."
Chen Mingsheng accepted the mug but did not drink from it. He told Yang Zhao: "Thanks, but I'm fine. I don't need them."
He was being truthful. Even though he did catch a cold, it was not the root of the issue. These medicine could not treat his leg. Eating them would not be of any use.
Yang Zhao said: "What's making you uncomfortable?"
Chen Mingsheng didn’t have the habit of explaining his condition to others, so he simply shook his head and said: "I'm fine. It'll pass."
Yang Zhao took the hint and let the matter drop.
After some time, the takeout arrived.
Yang Zhao took the takeout boxes in, set them on the coffee table, and opened them up. She stopped mid-action.
Chen Mingsheng looked at her uncomprehendingly.
Yang Zhao said, "There's only one pair of chopsticks."
Chen Mingsheng said, "Just get another."
Yang Zhao raised her eyes to meet his gaze: "There aren't any chopsticks in my house."
"…" Chen Mingsheng was truly at a loss for words. He rubbed his chin lightly and said: "You eat first."
"That won't do," Yang Zhao shook her head. "I ordered two sets of food, but they only provided one set of chopsticks. Go ahead and tuck in, I'll make a call and have them send the chopsticks over."
Chen Mingsheng didn't think the matter was grave enough to warrant another delivery just for a pair of chopsticks. He thought about it, then told Yang Zhao: "No need, I can use the rice paddle. There was a free rice paddle that came with the milk pot."
"Really?" Yang Zhao stood up and headed for the kitchen. Moments later, she emerged with a long rice paddle. "You're sure about this?"
Chen Mingsheng nodded. "Positive. Pass it over."
Yang Zhao passed him the paddle, and the two began eating wordlessly.
Chen Mingsheng held the food box up to eat and shovelled his food down very quickly. Since the paddle was literally meant for scooping rice, he ate without issue. He ate quickly for a purpose: so that he could leave as soon as possible, before his leg reached its limit.
Yang Zhao ate at a much slower rate than Chen Mingsheng. Chen Mingsheng's eating speed inexplicably pressured her. She did not eat much before stopping.
Chen Mingsheng polished the food off cleanly without leaving a single grain of rice behind. He placed the food box on the table and said: "Thank you for your hospitality. I've got to go."
Yang Zhao nodded. Indeed, it was about time.
Chen Mingsheng reached for the crutch lying on the right side of the sofa. He stretched, inadvertently applying pressure on the right side of his body. Yang Zhao watched as he paused, frowned, clenched his teeth—straining laboriously from the effort—before seizing hold of the crutch.
He hoisted himself to his feet. A split second later, his shoulder drooped sharply, as if unable to support the weight of his body.
Cold sweat beaded Chen Mingsheng's head. Great, he grumbled under his breath. The one thing he didn't want to happen was now happening.
While his left leg trembled uncontrollably, Yang Zhao rose to her feet and made to support him without further thought.
"How are you feeling? Are you okay?"