“What’re you here for?” Chen Mingsheng asked.
As far as he was concerned, the only plausible reason for Yang Zhao’s visit was to return his stuff, yet Yang Zhao had come empty handed.
“I’ve come to find you,” Yang Zhao answered.
“Find me?” Chen Mingsheng repeated, looking at her. “What for? Oh right, that reminds me, I’ve pretty much recovered. It’s about time you return my stuff.”
Yang Zhao didn’t answer. She cocked her head slightly and gave him an appraising look, as if trying to determine the credibility of his claim. Finally, she nodded: “You do look better.”
“So—”
“Why didn’t you come look for me if you’ve recovered?” Yang Zhao interjected.
”Been busy these days. Couldn’t find the time.”
“Busy?” Yang Zhao frowned. “You drove?”
“No,” replied Chen Mingsheng. He shot Yang Zhao a look. “How am I supposed to, looking like this?”
Only an idiot would have failed to pick up on the streak of reproach in his voice. Yang Zhao, however, was not the average person; so long as she believed she was justified, she could maintain her composure even in the face of criticism.
“Before that, have a seat.”
Chen Mingsheng had an urge to point out who the apartment’s owner was, but he held his tongue, sat on the bed, and watched Yang Zhao settle onto the sofa. Her eyes met his, and the two locked gazes for a while. Out of the blue, Chen Mingsheng grinned.
Yang Zhao blanked. There was an indescribable flavor to Chen Mingsheng’s grinning face, and she felt her face go warm. “What’re you grinning about?”
Chen Mingsheng shook his head. “Nothing. Sorry ‘bout that, Ms Yang. Don’t mind me.”
“It’s Yang Zhao.”
The smile on Chen Mingsheng’s face faltered, then faded into a different, faint smile.
“Yang Zhao.”
Yang Zhao’s face grew hotter still. She drew in a breath, and asked again, “What’s so funny?”
Chen Mingsheng dipped his head, then raised it again. “Your sitting posture is way too proper. Feels like an executive lecturing her subordinates.”
Yang Zhao blinked. Sitting posture? Proper? She looked down at herself. She was simply sitting in her usual way. It never struck her as being particularly noteworthy. She looked up at Chen Mingsheng sitting opposite her, who was seated approximately three steps away from her. Back slightly hunched, he looked utterly relaxed. And then there’s his leg…
Yang Zhao’s gaze went to Chen Mingsheng’s leg on its own accord. As his right leg was severed at its thigh, his right pant leg flattened against the bed when he sat.
Although Chen Mingsheng noticed her gaze, he sat where he was and let Yang Zhao stare as much as she pleased.
“Your leg,” Yang Zhao said. “Mind sharing how that came about?”
“An accident.” Chen Mingsheng reached for a pack of cigarettes from the bedside, drew one out with his mouth, then raised his eyes to look at Yang Zhao. “Mind if I smoke?”
That he would ask for her opinion came to Yang Zhao as a surprise.
“Nope, feel free.”
Chen Mingsheng lit the cigarette, the thin curls of smoke causing him to squint.
“Go home. I’ll collect the stuff from you tomorrow.”
Yang Zhao peered at Chen Mingsheng through the haze. Her chest tightened, and then she felt as if she was in elementary school again, when she was flag-raiser for the first time, nervous yet restless. Spurred on by an impulse surging through her, she removed her coat, and looked at Chen Mingsheng. “Pass me one?”
Chen Mingsheng froze, eyed his hand and lifted his eyes. “The cigarette, you mean?”
“Yep.”
“You smoke?”
“Can’t I?”
Cigarette dangling in his mouth, Chen Mingsheng reached his hand out, grabbed the pack of cigarette from the bedside, and held it out to Yang Zhao. “They’re kinda shitty.”
Yang Zhao flicked a glance at the cigarette pack. He’s right.
“Doesn’t matter,” she said, rising and taking the cigarette. Chen Mingsheng made to take the lighter with his backhand, but Yang Zhao held his arm back. “No need.”
Before Chen Mingsheng could react, Yang Zhao bent over, put the end of her cigarette against his, and took two light drags. A faint spark glowed between them, then softly extinguished. Yang Zhao straightened up again, the long pitch-black locks of her hair cascading down both sides of her cheeks.
Chen Mingsheng sat on his bed, looked up, and studied Yang Zhao in silence.
“What was that all about?” he asked, his voice low and deep.
Yang Zhao stood before him, cigarette pinched between her fingers. She met his gaze straight on.
“Lighting the cigarette.”
Chen Mingsheng snorted out a laugh, and arched a brow. “Lighting the cigarette?”
Yang Zhao didn’t say anything.
Chen Mingsheng looked down and flicked off the cigarette ash. Specks of the gray-white matter drifted down onto the cold concrete floor.
“You should go.” Yang Zhao looked at Chen Mingsheng. Sitting before her with his head lowered, Yang Zhao could see the two whorls of hair on his head. His hair was short, black, and stiff-looking. As she stared, her hand unconsciously stretched out, went to his hair, and before she knew it her hand was tracing light arcs across it without touching his head.
Chen Mingsheng looked up. “Your hair feels softer than it looks,” Yang Zhao said by way of response.
Chen Mingsheng grabbed her wrist, practically engulfing it. Yang Zhao felt that his palm was very large. The momentum caused her to sway forward, her black skirt gently brushing Chen Mingsheng’s left leg. Chen Mingsheng’s face was so close, she could feel the heat emanating from his body.
Chen Mingsheng looked down. Her black skirt was like a roiling cloud of smoke. “Don’t dress like that next time,” he said quietly.
Yang Zhao caught a strong whiff of tobacco. Did it come from him, her or both of them? She did not know.
“Why?”
Chen Mingsheng simply gave a low chuckle. Yang Zhao thought it was suggestive.
“Don’t laugh so indecently.”
“Indecent?” Chen Mingsheng repeated lightly. “Ms Yang, how old are you?”*
“It’s Yang Zhao.”
Chen Mingsheng nodded. “Okay, Yang Zhao, how old are you?”*
“27.”
Chen Mingsheng raised a brow. “27?”
“Why, do I not look it?”
Chen Mingsheng let go of Yang Zhao, leaned backwards, and scrutinized Yang Zhao from head to toe. “You look young. Figured you were 23, 24.”
Most women would be flattered to be regarded as younger than their appearance, and Yang Zhao was no exception. “And what about you?”
“34.”
Yang Zhao nodded. Chen Mingsheng was done smoking. He put out the cigarette, and said to Yang Zhao, “Leave.”
Yang Zhao stood before him, quiet and immobile.
Chen Mingsheng repeated, “leave”.
“Chen Mingsheng,” Yang Zhao called his name abruptly.
Chen Mingsheng looked at her.
“Don’t take me for an easy woman.”
Chen Mingsheng smiled. Even though he said nothing, his expression said it all—“yeah right, very convincing”.
Yang Zhao naturally got the message. “Today, today was…” she tried to explain. Though she remained largely expressionless, a flush had already begun to spread across her face.
She wanted to explain that today was an exception, that she never did such things in the past. “I—” She began. She searched for a reason for a long while, came up short, before finally blurting out, ”I wanted to see you.”
Chen Mingsheng’s smile dimmed. He looked at the floor. “What for?”
“No clue. Just wanted to see you.” Suddenly she felt that it was so much simpler to tell the plain truth without any reason, just like right now. It was Chen Mingsheng’s turn to become silent. He drew out another cigarette and lit it up.
“I’ve got nothing of value, if that’s what you’re after.” he said.
“I’m not after your anything anyway.”
Chen Mingsheng didn’t speak. Yang Zhao turned to leave. “I’m going. See you again next time.”
Yang Zhao retrieved her coat from the sofa and put it on. Chen Mingsheng continued sitting on the bed with the cigarette dangling from his mouth, staring at her.
After Yang Zhao was dressed, Chen Mingsheng opened his mouth. “You’ll bring my stuff over next time, yes?”
Yang Zhao shot him a faint smile. “Yes.”
Chen Mingsheng didn’t get up to see her off. While Yang Zhao went out of the bedroom, Chen Mingsheng collapsed onto his bed, mulling over that smile. Before he could give much thought to it, Yang Zhao’s voice came from outside.
”Is your door broken? Why can’t I open it—?”
”…”
Almost gleefully, Chen Mingsheng stood up, took his crutch, and went to open the door for Yang Zhao.
Without being embarrassed in the least, Yang Zhao thanked him and left coolly. Right before she left, she discreetly looked down—only half of Chen Mingsheng’s slipper was revealed beneath his long pants, but that split second was enough for her to confirm her suspicions. That’s right, it was just as she had guessed—a dark blue bathhouse slipper. The sound of Yang Zhao’s high heels gradually disappeared into the corridor. When she pulled down her mirror to check her appearance, she realized she looked very relaxed. To her, it had been a hard to describe meeting. To sum it up, it was full of contradictions—reckless, borne out of blind impulse, yet full of purpose.
While she stared blankly into her reflection in the mirror, her phone rang. She took it out and glanced at it. It’s from home. She picked it up.
”Hello.”
“Xiao-Zhao,” said a man’s voice.
“Dad,” Yang Zhao answered, surprised. Her father rarely initiated calls.
“What is it?”
“Is your brother with you?”
“Xiao-Tian?” Yang Zhao straightened slightly. “No, isn’t he in school?”
Yang Zhao’s father fell silent for a moment. “The school just called. He hasn’t been to school for three days.”
“What?” Yang Zhao frowned. “Did Ms Sun call?”
“Yes.”
“I’ve got a few places in mind. I’ll search those first. Will call you again later.”
“Okay.”
Yang Zhao was about to hang up when her father spoke up again after a pause. “Xiao-Zhao…your brother…”
“What about him?”
Her father’s voice was low, “Jintian is unlike other kids, and he’s also at the rebellious age. If this isn’t handled properly, things can go south very quickly. His parents passed young and he’s not willing to listen to me or your mother. As the elder sister, you ought to do more to help him.”
Yang Zhao was stunned. While these words would not be out of place coming from others, it was a stark contrast to the Yang family’s usual style. That he was even saying these words aloud spoke volumes about his concern over Yang Jingtian. For a long while Yang Zhao did not speak. When she opened her mouth again, her voice was as emotionless as usual, “I understand. He’s the reason why I stayed in the country.”
*Asking about another’s age so directly might be perceived as rude in Western cultures, but it’s considered acceptable in Chinese cultures, provided you are not obnoxious about it.
“What’re you here for?” Chen Mingsheng asked.
As far as he was concerned, the only plausible reason for Yang Zhao’s visit was to return his stuff, yet Yang Zhao had come empty handed.
“I’ve come to find you,” Yang Zhao answered.
“Find me?” Chen Mingsheng repeated, looking at her. “What for? Oh right, that reminds me, I’ve pretty much recovered. It’s about time you return my stuff.”
Yang Zhao didn’t answer. She cocked her head slightly and gave him an appraising look, as if trying to determine the credibility of his claim. Finally, she nodded: “You do look better.”
“So—”
“Why didn’t you come look for me if you’ve recovered?” Yang Zhao interjected.
”Been busy these days. Couldn’t find the time.”
“Busy?” Yang Zhao frowned. “You drove?”
“No,” replied Chen Mingsheng. He shot Yang Zhao a look. “How am I supposed to, looking like this?”
Only an idiot would have failed to pick up on the streak of reproach in his voice. Yang Zhao, however, was not the average person; so long as she believed she was justified, she could maintain her composure even in the face of criticism.
“Before that, have a seat.”
Chen Mingsheng had an urge to point out who the apartment’s owner was, but he held his tongue, sat on the bed, and watched Yang Zhao settle onto the sofa. Her eyes met his, and the two locked gazes for a while. Out of the blue, Chen Mingsheng grinned.
Yang Zhao blanked. There was an indescribable flavor to Chen Mingsheng’s grinning face, and she felt her face go warm. “What’re you grinning about?”
Chen Mingsheng shook his head. “Nothing. Sorry ‘bout that, Ms Yang. Don’t mind me.”
“It’s Yang Zhao.”
The smile on Chen Mingsheng’s face faltered, then faded into a different, faint smile.
“Yang Zhao.”
Yang Zhao’s face grew hotter still. She drew in a breath, and asked again, “What’s so funny?”
Chen Mingsheng dipped his head, then raised it again. “Your sitting posture is way too proper. Feels like an executive lecturing her subordinates.”
Yang Zhao blinked. Sitting posture? Proper? She looked down at herself. She was simply sitting in her usual way. It never struck her as being particularly noteworthy. She looked up at Chen Mingsheng sitting opposite her, who was seated approximately three steps away from her. Back slightly hunched, he looked utterly relaxed. And then there’s his leg…
Yang Zhao’s gaze went to Chen Mingsheng’s leg on its own accord. As his right leg was severed at its thigh, his right pant leg flattened against the bed when he sat.
Although Chen Mingsheng noticed her gaze, he sat where he was and let Yang Zhao stare as much as she pleased.
“Your leg,” Yang Zhao said. “Mind sharing how that came about?”
“An accident.” Chen Mingsheng reached for a pack of cigarettes from the bedside, drew one out with his mouth, then raised his eyes to look at Yang Zhao. “Mind if I smoke?”
That he would ask for her opinion came to Yang Zhao as a surprise.
“Nope, feel free.”
Chen Mingsheng lit the cigarette, the thin curls of smoke causing him to squint.
“Go home. I’ll collect the stuff from you tomorrow.”
Yang Zhao peered at Chen Mingsheng through the haze. Her chest tightened, and then she felt as if she was in elementary school again, when she was flag-raiser for the first time, nervous yet restless. Spurred on by an impulse surging through her, she removed her coat, and looked at Chen Mingsheng. “Pass me one?”
Chen Mingsheng froze, eyed his hand and lifted his eyes. “The cigarette, you mean?”
“Yep.”
“You smoke?”
“Can’t I?”
Cigarette dangling in his mouth, Chen Mingsheng reached his hand out, grabbed the pack of cigarette from the bedside, and held it out to Yang Zhao. “They’re kinda shitty.”
Yang Zhao flicked a glance at the cigarette pack. He’s right.
“Doesn’t matter,” she said, rising and taking the cigarette. Chen Mingsheng made to take the lighter with his backhand, but Yang Zhao held his arm back. “No need.”
Before Chen Mingsheng could react, Yang Zhao bent over, put the end of her cigarette against his, and took two light drags. A faint spark glowed between them, then softly extinguished. Yang Zhao straightened up again, the long pitch-black locks of her hair cascading down both sides of her cheeks.
Chen Mingsheng sat on his bed, looked up, and studied Yang Zhao in silence.
“What was that all about?” he asked, his voice low and deep.
Yang Zhao stood before him, cigarette pinched between her fingers. She met his gaze straight on.
“Lighting the cigarette.”
Chen Mingsheng snorted out a laugh, and arched a brow. “Lighting the cigarette?”
Yang Zhao didn’t say anything.
Chen Mingsheng looked down and flicked off the cigarette ash. Specks of the gray-white matter drifted down onto the cold concrete floor.
“You should go.” Yang Zhao looked at Chen Mingsheng. Sitting before her with his head lowered, Yang Zhao could see the two whorls of hair on his head. His hair was short, black, and stiff-looking. As she stared, her hand unconsciously stretched out, went to his hair, and before she knew it her hand was tracing light arcs across it without touching his head.
Chen Mingsheng looked up. “Your hair feels softer than it looks,” Yang Zhao said by way of response.
Chen Mingsheng grabbed her wrist, practically engulfing it. Yang Zhao felt that his palm was very large. The momentum caused her to sway forward, her black skirt gently brushing Chen Mingsheng’s left leg. Chen Mingsheng’s face was so close, she could feel the heat emanating from his body.
Chen Mingsheng looked down. Her black skirt was like a roiling cloud of smoke. “Don’t dress like that next time,” he said quietly.
Yang Zhao caught a strong whiff of tobacco. Did it come from him, her or both of them? She did not know.
“Why?”
Chen Mingsheng simply gave a low chuckle. Yang Zhao thought it was suggestive.
“Don’t laugh so indecently.”
“Indecent?” Chen Mingsheng repeated lightly. “Ms Yang, how old are you?”*
“It’s Yang Zhao.”
Chen Mingsheng nodded. “Okay, Yang Zhao, how old are you?”*
“27.”
Chen Mingsheng raised a brow. “27?”
“Why, do I not look it?”
Chen Mingsheng let go of Yang Zhao, leaned backwards, and scrutinized Yang Zhao from head to toe. “You look young. Figured you were 23, 24.”
Most women would be flattered to be regarded as younger than their appearance, and Yang Zhao was no exception. “And what about you?”
“34.”
Yang Zhao nodded. Chen Mingsheng was done smoking. He put out the cigarette, and said to Yang Zhao, “Leave.”
Yang Zhao stood before him, quiet and immobile.
Chen Mingsheng repeated, “leave”.
“Chen Mingsheng,” Yang Zhao called his name abruptly.
Chen Mingsheng looked at her.
“Don’t take me for an easy woman.”
Chen Mingsheng smiled. Even though he said nothing, his expression said it all—“yeah right, very convincing”.
Yang Zhao naturally got the message. “Today, today was…” she tried to explain. Though she remained largely expressionless, a flush had already begun to spread across her face.
She wanted to explain that today was an exception, that she never did such things in the past. “I—” She began. She searched for a reason for a long while, came up short, before finally blurting out, ”I wanted to see you.”
Chen Mingsheng’s smile dimmed. He looked at the floor. “What for?”
“No clue. Just wanted to see you.” Suddenly she felt that it was so much simpler to tell the plain truth without any reason, just like right now. It was Chen Mingsheng’s turn to become silent. He drew out another cigarette and lit it up.
“I’ve got nothing of value, if that’s what you’re after.” he said.
“I’m not after your anything anyway.”
Chen Mingsheng didn’t speak. Yang Zhao turned to leave. “I’m going. See you again next time.”
Yang Zhao retrieved her coat from the sofa and put it on. Chen Mingsheng continued sitting on the bed with the cigarette dangling from his mouth, staring at her.
After Yang Zhao was dressed, Chen Mingsheng opened his mouth. “You’ll bring my stuff over next time, yes?”
Yang Zhao shot him a faint smile. “Yes.”
Chen Mingsheng didn’t get up to see her off. While Yang Zhao went out of the bedroom, Chen Mingsheng collapsed onto his bed, mulling over that smile. Before he could give much thought to it, Yang Zhao’s voice came from outside.
”Is your door broken? Why can’t I open it—?”
”…”
Almost gleefully, Chen Mingsheng stood up, took his crutch, and went to open the door for Yang Zhao.
Without being embarrassed in the least, Yang Zhao thanked him and left coolly. Right before she left, she discreetly looked down—only half of Chen Mingsheng’s slipper was revealed beneath his long pants, but that split second was enough for her to confirm her suspicions. That’s right, it was just as she had guessed—a dark blue bathhouse slipper. The sound of Yang Zhao’s high heels gradually disappeared into the corridor. When she pulled down her mirror to check her appearance, she realized she looked very relaxed. To her, it had been a hard to describe meeting. To sum it up, it was full of contradictions—reckless, borne out of blind impulse, yet full of purpose.
While she stared blankly into her reflection in the mirror, her phone rang. She took it out and glanced at it. It’s from home. She picked it up.
”Hello.”
“Xiao-Zhao,” said a man’s voice.
“Dad,” Yang Zhao answered, surprised. Her father rarely initiated calls.
“What is it?”
“Is your brother with you?”
“Xiao-Tian?” Yang Zhao straightened slightly. “No, isn’t he in school?”
Yang Zhao’s father fell silent for a moment. “The school just called. He hasn’t been to school for three days.”
“What?” Yang Zhao frowned. “Did Ms Sun call?”
“Yes.”
“I’ve got a few places in mind. I’ll search those first. Will call you again later.”
“Okay.”
Yang Zhao was about to hang up when her father spoke up again after a pause. “Xiao-Zhao…your brother…”
“What about him?”
Her father’s voice was low, “Jintian is unlike other kids, and he’s also at the rebellious age. If this isn’t handled properly, things can go south very quickly. His parents passed young and he’s not willing to listen to me or your mother. As the elder sister, you ought to do more to help him.”
Yang Zhao was stunned. While these words would not be out of place coming from others, it was a stark contrast to the Yang family’s usual style. That he was even saying these words aloud spoke volumes about his concern over Yang Jingtian. For a long while Yang Zhao did not speak. When she opened her mouth again, her voice was as emotionless as usual, “I understand. He’s the reason why I stayed in the country.”
*Asking about another’s age so directly might be perceived as rude in Western cultures, but it’s considered acceptable in Chinese cultures, provided you are not obnoxious about it.
