Chen Mingsheng looked to the solemn-looking Yang Zhao and asked, “What would you like to want to eat?”
Yang Zhao turned to the waitress. “Which dishes can be served quickly?”
The waitress, a girl who could not have been more than twenty years old, looked over at Yang Zhao. “All of them.”
“Just order whatever you like,” Yang Zhao told Chen Mingsheng.
Chen Mingsheng ordered three servings of pork-and-cabbage soup dumplings, a serving of fried pork tenderloins, and a serving of braised beef with soy sauce, then asked Yang Zhao if there was anything else she wanted. Yang Zhao thought about it and ordered a plate of Di San Xian, a Northern Chinese dish of potatoes, eggplant, and peppers stir-fried in a savory, garlicky sauce.
When they were done ordering, the waitress took her leave while the two of them continued to sit across each other, waiting.
The noisy backdrop of their surroundings only underscored the pregnant silence between them.
Chen Mingsheng’s eyes had been boring holes into the soy sauce bottle on the table for a while when he looked up to see Yang Zhao’s eyes trained intently upon him.
“What’s the matter?” Chen Mingsheng asked.
Yang Zhao shook her head. “I came straight from the middle school, so your leg’s still at my place. I’ll get it for you later.”
“My leg…” Chen Mingsheng laughed, the seasoning bottle in his hand bouncing with his movements.
”I’ll go back and get it for you later.”
“Don’t bother. I’ll drive.”
Yang Zhao flicked a glance downwards, and her gaze seemed to see right through the table and focus on Chen Mingsheng’s leg.
“What if you get caught looking like that?”
As if he’d remembered something, the corners of Chen Mingsheng’s lips quirked upward. “So you do know that I’ll get caught looking like this too?”
Yang Zhao turned mute.
The dishes came. Chen Mingsheng poured out half a saucer of soy sauce and passed it to Yang Zhao, who accepted it and filled it further.
Chen Mingsheng ate fast, gobbling down each dumpling in one swallow, barely cooling them down between bites. He put away half a plate of dumplings before Yang Zhao’s untouched plate caught his attention.
He asked Yang Zhao, ”Is the food not to your liking?”
”I’m sorry. I apologize.”
Chen Mingsheng was lost again. “Pardon?”
Yang Zhao assumed a formal sitting position and repeated herself, “I’m sorry, I apologize. Indeed, I’ve been really thoughtless in my actions.” She bowed her head toward Chen Mingsheng.
The dumpling Chen Mingsheng was holding with his chopsticks hovered in mid-air, suspended in motion. Soy sauce slowly trickled down the dumpling’s skin.
”…It’s all good,” Chen Mingsheng said.
Yang Zhao nodded. “Thank you for your forgiveness.”
Chen Mingsheng swallowed the dumpling silently, tasting nothing.
Post-luncheon, Chen Mingsheng asked for the bill.
“The total will be 53 yuan,” said the employee.
Chen Mingsheng took out his money and paid. To be sure, Chen Mingsheng thought this meal barely passed as a treat. This meal was too pathetic, even for him, a cab driver without much money. Besides, most of the food on the table ended up in his stomach; Yang Zhao ate only three dumplings before putting down her chopsticks and calling it quits.
Perhaps Yang Zhao wasn’t hungry, Chen Mingsheng thought. No, surely not; that she was unwilling to eat at such a humble eatery, and had only chosen the place to accommodate him, was the far likelier possibility.
At the thought of this, Chen Mingsheng could only swallow a bitter laugh.
“Wait,” Yang Zhao called out. “I’ll drive the car up to the entrance.”
Chen Mingsheng said, “Let’s go together.” He pushed himself to his feet with his crutch and followed Yang Zhao out of the restaurant.
“Ms Yang,” Chen Mingsheng began. “It’s fine if you just drop me off at Seventh Ring Road. That’s where my car is.”
“You mean to drive?”
“Yeah, I’ll follow you to get it.”
”But the way you are now…” No sooner had her words escaped her lips than her gaze drifted to Chen Mingsheng’s leg. Chen Mingsheng stood where he was, unmoving. “Relax. It’ll be fine as long as I don’t pick up any passengers. Nobody will peek into the driver’s seat for no good reason.”
Yang Zhao nodded.
Chen Mingsheng’s car shadowed Yang Zhao’s.
Once again, he had a taste of just how slow Yang Zhao’s driving was: every time they approached a streetlight, she applied the brakes well before reaching it, was slow to slow down, and was like this even when it was green light. The road had little traffic, but she drove as if they were in a busy downtown area.
Chen Mingsheng rolled down a car window and lit a cigarette, elbow perched on the window edge, watching as the silver Jaguar before him inched forward at a turtle-like pace.
After enduring for over an hour, they finally arrived at Yang Zhao’s apartment.
Chen Mingsheng let out a long breath.
Yang Zhao waited till Chen Mingsheng’s car pulled up below her apartment building, before rapping on the window of Chen Mingsheng’s car. “Come up and sit for a bit, okay?”
Chen Mingsheng’s instinctive reaction was to refuse, yet when he inclined his head and saw Yang Zhao looking down at him, that characteristic placid expression still on her face, he found himself agreeing in spite of himself.
This was, already, his third visit to Yang Zhao’s home.
Upon entering the apartment, Yang Zhao told Chen Mingsheng, “You can just leave your shoes on. Do have a seat first while I’ll go fetch your stuff.” Then she entered the study. Chen Mingsheng looked at the sparkling clean floor, then stayed by the door and took off his shoes. When Yang Zhao came back, Chen Mingsheng was leaning on his crutch and standing up again.
She crossed over to give him a hand.
“Thanks.”
Chen Mingsheng’s gaze went to Yang Zhao’s arms, where his prosthetic leg lay nestled in her embrace.
Chen Mingsheng felt a twinge of embarrassment, as if a part of his body was really curled up in Yang Zhao’s bosom.
Yang Zhao drew out a pair of indoor slippers from a cabinet. Chen Mingsheng watched as she bent down and slid the slippers beside his feet. When she raised her head, he looked away.
“Here, take a seat.”
“Thanks…” Chen Mingsheng lowered himself onto a sofa in the living room. Yang Zhao said, “Let me get you a drink.”
“Oh? So you’ve learnt how to use the kitchen now?”
Yang Zhao looked over her shoulder. Chen Mingsheng was looking at her, his expression three parts serious, seven parts teasing. Yang Zhao felt a flush creep up her face, though whether it was out of embarrassment or indignation, Yang Zhao could not say.
“You bet,” Yang Zhao returned. On the way to the kitchen, she thought of something again, twisted her head, and added seriously, “Ditto the navigation system.”
Chen Mingsheng watched Yang Zhao’s back round the corner and vanish. This time, unable to contain himself, he laughed.
Yang Zhao returned shortly with freshly boiled water. Chen Mingsheng’s gaze wandered to the tray in her hands and then to the two mugs atop it. The mugs looked truly outdated, like the sort that an old pedant in the 90s might have used. Compared to the rest of the apartment, they stood out like sore thumbs.
These two mugs were new purchases by Yang Zhao. While shopping for fruits in the supermarket a few days ago, the sight of these mugs had given her pause. These white mugs with blue trimmings reminded her of that somewhat old-fashioned cab driver. She stood staring at them for more than ten minutes before buying them.
Chen Mingsheng drank a mouthful of water. Yang Zhao asked, “Do you want to check?”
“Hmm?”
Yang Zhao pointed at the prosthetic leg on the sofa. Chen Mingsheng looked askance at it, and queried doubtfully, “What am I supposed to check?”
“The prosthetic leg. Before you go, you might want to inspect it or put it on, see if there’s any problem.”
Chen Mingsheng still didn’t quite understand. “What problem can there be?”
”Beats me,” Yang Zhao admitted. “I left it alone after bringing it home, but there’s no telling if it sustained any damage along the way. You might want to check it, just to be on the safe side. Let me know if there are any problems, and I’ll be sure to compensate you.”
Chen Mingsheng studied Yang Zhao for a long while. She was being serious. He put down the mug, reached for his prosthetic leg, and pushed himself up on one leg.
Chen Mingsheng examined it and turned to Yang Zhao. “Previously…there should be a set of bandages too.”
“Ah, right.” Yang Zhao hastily got up. “Of course. Be right back.” She went inside the apartment, and reemerged shortly with a set of neatly folded bandages.
“Slipped my mind. Here, have it back.”
Chen Mingsheng accepted the spotless bandages. “You washed them?”
Yang Zhao nodded. “Was I not supposed to?”
Chen Mingsheng smiled. “Never mind, it’s fine.”
Chen Mingsheng gave them a few tugs. Yang Zhao gave him a quizzical look. “Aren’t you going to put them on?”
Chen Mingsheng paused. “That’s hardly necessary, I should think.” He tugged at it a little and set the prosthetic leg aside. “No problems?”
Chen Mingsheng smiled. “None.”
“That’s good, then,” said Yang Zhao, nodding.
The afternoon sun streamed through the windows, carpeting everything in a gentle glow. Yang Zhao sat on the sofa, cradling that antique mug.
Chen Mingsheng looked at her. “So Ms Yang, what’s your occupation?”
Yang Zhao met Chen Mingsheng’s gaze. “Call me Yang Zhao.”
Chen Mingsheng smiled. “Yang Zhao.”
Yang Zhao took a swig of water. “I’m a freelancer. I accept commissions to restore works of art from time to time.”
”Restore works of art?”
“Mmhm.” Yang Zhao looked at Chen Mingsheng. “Are you familiar with this line of work, by any chance?”
Chen Mingsheng shook his head. “No, I’m afraid not.”
Yang Zhao said, “Basically, I restore things like calligraphy, paintings or jars and bottles.”
Chen Mingsheng smiled. “Jars and bottles?”
Yang Zhao looked at Chen Mingsheng. By the sunlight shining on his profile, his smile looked very dull. She put the mug down. “Follow me.”
Chen Mingsheng arched his eyebrows and stood up. “Where to?”
“Upstairs.”
Yang Zhao led him to her own studio.
Chen Mingsheng stepped into Yang Zhao’s studio for the first time. This apartment was a storey above the one Yang Zhao lived in and smaller in size. The walls of the apartment had been knocked down, so that only the bathroom was separated.
In the center of the studio, two long tables were neatly lined with clean white cloth, and one of them had a miniature safe placed upon it. A short distance away from the table was a sink. Yang Zhao went up to it, thoroughly disinfected and washed her hands, put on a pair of thin gloves, then opened the safe.
She shot Chen Mingsheng a look, bemused. “Why’re you standing so far away?”
Chen Mingsheng hesitated. “D-do I have to wash my hands too?”
“No need. Just keep your hands to yourself.”
“Right.”
Yang Zhao went oddly silent for a moment. Then she raised her head again, met Chen Mingsheng’s gaze, and said, “Actually, forget what I said. You can touch them if you want. It’s not a problem.”
Chen Mingsheng fell silent.
After a long while, it dawned upon Chen Mingsheng that she had probably thought that her words were too harsh and was attempting to make amends.
He looked down at Yang Zhao as she organized her boxes. He was much taller than Yang Zhao, and his current standing spot preventing Yang Zhao from seeing his expression unless she raised her head.
In the deserted room, a faint smile stole across Chen Mingsheng’s face.
Chen Mingsheng looked to the solemn-looking Yang Zhao and asked, “What would you like to want to eat?”
Yang Zhao turned to the waitress. “Which dishes can be served quickly?”
The waitress, a girl who could not have been more than twenty years old, looked over at Yang Zhao. “All of them.”
“Just order whatever you like,” Yang Zhao told Chen Mingsheng.
Chen Mingsheng ordered three servings of pork-and-cabbage soup dumplings, a serving of fried pork tenderloins, and a serving of braised beef with soy sauce, then asked Yang Zhao if there was anything else she wanted. Yang Zhao thought about it and ordered a plate of Di San Xian, a Northern Chinese dish of potatoes, eggplant, and peppers stir-fried in a savory, garlicky sauce.
When they were done ordering, the waitress took her leave while the two of them continued to sit across each other, waiting.
The noisy backdrop of their surroundings only underscored the pregnant silence between them.
Chen Mingsheng’s eyes had been boring holes into the soy sauce bottle on the table for a while when he looked up to see Yang Zhao’s eyes trained intently upon him.
“What’s the matter?” Chen Mingsheng asked.
Yang Zhao shook her head. “I came straight from the middle school, so your leg’s still at my place. I’ll get it for you later.”
“My leg…” Chen Mingsheng laughed, the seasoning bottle in his hand bouncing with his movements.
”I’ll go back and get it for you later.”
“Don’t bother. I’ll drive.”
Yang Zhao flicked a glance downwards, and her gaze seemed to see right through the table and focus on Chen Mingsheng’s leg.
“What if you get caught looking like that?”
As if he’d remembered something, the corners of Chen Mingsheng’s lips quirked upward. “So you do know that I’ll get caught looking like this too?”
Yang Zhao turned mute.
The dishes came. Chen Mingsheng poured out half a saucer of soy sauce and passed it to Yang Zhao, who accepted it and filled it further.
Chen Mingsheng ate fast, gobbling down each dumpling in one swallow, barely cooling them down between bites. He put away half a plate of dumplings before Yang Zhao’s untouched plate caught his attention.
He asked Yang Zhao, ”Is the food not to your liking?”
”I’m sorry. I apologize.”
Chen Mingsheng was lost again. “Pardon?”
Yang Zhao assumed a formal sitting position and repeated herself, “I’m sorry, I apologize. Indeed, I’ve been really thoughtless in my actions.” She bowed her head toward Chen Mingsheng.
The dumpling Chen Mingsheng was holding with his chopsticks hovered in mid-air, suspended in motion. Soy sauce slowly trickled down the dumpling’s skin.
”…It’s all good,” Chen Mingsheng said.
Yang Zhao nodded. “Thank you for your forgiveness.”
Chen Mingsheng swallowed the dumpling silently, tasting nothing.
Post-luncheon, Chen Mingsheng asked for the bill.
“The total will be 53 yuan,” said the employee.
Chen Mingsheng took out his money and paid. To be sure, Chen Mingsheng thought this meal barely passed as a treat. This meal was too pathetic, even for him, a cab driver without much money. Besides, most of the food on the table ended up in his stomach; Yang Zhao ate only three dumplings before putting down her chopsticks and calling it quits.
Perhaps Yang Zhao wasn’t hungry, Chen Mingsheng thought. No, surely not; that she was unwilling to eat at such a humble eatery, and had only chosen the place to accommodate him, was the far likelier possibility.
At the thought of this, Chen Mingsheng could only swallow a bitter laugh.
“Wait,” Yang Zhao called out. “I’ll drive the car up to the entrance.”
Chen Mingsheng said, “Let’s go together.” He pushed himself to his feet with his crutch and followed Yang Zhao out of the restaurant.
“Ms Yang,” Chen Mingsheng began. “It’s fine if you just drop me off at Seventh Ring Road. That’s where my car is.”
“You mean to drive?”
“Yeah, I’ll follow you to get it.”
”But the way you are now…” No sooner had her words escaped her lips than her gaze drifted to Chen Mingsheng’s leg. Chen Mingsheng stood where he was, unmoving. “Relax. It’ll be fine as long as I don’t pick up any passengers. Nobody will peek into the driver’s seat for no good reason.”
Yang Zhao nodded.
Chen Mingsheng’s car shadowed Yang Zhao’s.
Once again, he had a taste of just how slow Yang Zhao’s driving was: every time they approached a streetlight, she applied the brakes well before reaching it, was slow to slow down, and was like this even when it was green light. The road had little traffic, but she drove as if they were in a busy downtown area.
Chen Mingsheng rolled down a car window and lit a cigarette, elbow perched on the window edge, watching as the silver Jaguar before him inched forward at a turtle-like pace.
After enduring for over an hour, they finally arrived at Yang Zhao’s apartment.
Chen Mingsheng let out a long breath.
Yang Zhao waited till Chen Mingsheng’s car pulled up below her apartment building, before rapping on the window of Chen Mingsheng’s car. “Come up and sit for a bit, okay?”
Chen Mingsheng’s instinctive reaction was to refuse, yet when he inclined his head and saw Yang Zhao looking down at him, that characteristic placid expression still on her face, he found himself agreeing in spite of himself.
This was, already, his third visit to Yang Zhao’s home.
Upon entering the apartment, Yang Zhao told Chen Mingsheng, “You can just leave your shoes on. Do have a seat first while I’ll go fetch your stuff.” Then she entered the study. Chen Mingsheng looked at the sparkling clean floor, then stayed by the door and took off his shoes. When Yang Zhao came back, Chen Mingsheng was leaning on his crutch and standing up again.
She crossed over to give him a hand.
“Thanks.”
Chen Mingsheng’s gaze went to Yang Zhao’s arms, where his prosthetic leg lay nestled in her embrace.
Chen Mingsheng felt a twinge of embarrassment, as if a part of his body was really curled up in Yang Zhao’s bosom.
Yang Zhao drew out a pair of indoor slippers from a cabinet. Chen Mingsheng watched as she bent down and slid the slippers beside his feet. When she raised her head, he looked away.
“Here, take a seat.”
“Thanks…” Chen Mingsheng lowered himself onto a sofa in the living room. Yang Zhao said, “Let me get you a drink.”
“Oh? So you’ve learnt how to use the kitchen now?”
Yang Zhao looked over her shoulder. Chen Mingsheng was looking at her, his expression three parts serious, seven parts teasing. Yang Zhao felt a flush creep up her face, though whether it was out of embarrassment or indignation, Yang Zhao could not say.
“You bet,” Yang Zhao returned. On the way to the kitchen, she thought of something again, twisted her head, and added seriously, “Ditto the navigation system.”
Chen Mingsheng watched Yang Zhao’s back round the corner and vanish. This time, unable to contain himself, he laughed.
Yang Zhao returned shortly with freshly boiled water. Chen Mingsheng’s gaze wandered to the tray in her hands and then to the two mugs atop it. The mugs looked truly outdated, like the sort that an old pedant in the 90s might have used. Compared to the rest of the apartment, they stood out like sore thumbs.
These two mugs were new purchases by Yang Zhao. While shopping for fruits in the supermarket a few days ago, the sight of these mugs had given her pause. These white mugs with blue trimmings reminded her of that somewhat old-fashioned cab driver. She stood staring at them for more than ten minutes before buying them.
Chen Mingsheng drank a mouthful of water. Yang Zhao asked, “Do you want to check?”
“Hmm?”
Yang Zhao pointed at the prosthetic leg on the sofa. Chen Mingsheng looked askance at it, and queried doubtfully, “What am I supposed to check?”
“The prosthetic leg. Before you go, you might want to inspect it or put it on, see if there’s any problem.”
Chen Mingsheng still didn’t quite understand. “What problem can there be?”
”Beats me,” Yang Zhao admitted. “I left it alone after bringing it home, but there’s no telling if it sustained any damage along the way. You might want to check it, just to be on the safe side. Let me know if there are any problems, and I’ll be sure to compensate you.”
Chen Mingsheng studied Yang Zhao for a long while. She was being serious. He put down the mug, reached for his prosthetic leg, and pushed himself up on one leg.
Chen Mingsheng examined it and turned to Yang Zhao. “Previously…there should be a set of bandages too.”
“Ah, right.” Yang Zhao hastily got up. “Of course. Be right back.” She went inside the apartment, and reemerged shortly with a set of neatly folded bandages.
“Slipped my mind. Here, have it back.”
Chen Mingsheng accepted the spotless bandages. “You washed them?”
Yang Zhao nodded. “Was I not supposed to?”
Chen Mingsheng smiled. “Never mind, it’s fine.”
Chen Mingsheng gave them a few tugs. Yang Zhao gave him a quizzical look. “Aren’t you going to put them on?”
Chen Mingsheng paused. “That’s hardly necessary, I should think.” He tugged at it a little and set the prosthetic leg aside. “No problems?”
Chen Mingsheng smiled. “None.”
“That’s good, then,” said Yang Zhao, nodding.
The afternoon sun streamed through the windows, carpeting everything in a gentle glow. Yang Zhao sat on the sofa, cradling that antique mug.
Chen Mingsheng looked at her. “So Ms Yang, what’s your occupation?”
Yang Zhao met Chen Mingsheng’s gaze. “Call me Yang Zhao.”
Chen Mingsheng smiled. “Yang Zhao.”
Yang Zhao took a swig of water. “I’m a freelancer. I accept commissions to restore works of art from time to time.”
”Restore works of art?”
“Mmhm.” Yang Zhao looked at Chen Mingsheng. “Are you familiar with this line of work, by any chance?”
Chen Mingsheng shook his head. “No, I’m afraid not.”
Yang Zhao said, “Basically, I restore things like calligraphy, paintings or jars and bottles.”
Chen Mingsheng smiled. “Jars and bottles?”
Yang Zhao looked at Chen Mingsheng. By the sunlight shining on his profile, his smile looked very dull. She put the mug down. “Follow me.”
Chen Mingsheng arched his eyebrows and stood up. “Where to?”
“Upstairs.”
Yang Zhao led him to her own studio.
Chen Mingsheng stepped into Yang Zhao’s studio for the first time. This apartment was a storey above the one Yang Zhao lived in and smaller in size. The walls of the apartment had been knocked down, so that only the bathroom was separated.
In the center of the studio, two long tables were neatly lined with clean white cloth, and one of them had a miniature safe placed upon it. A short distance away from the table was a sink. Yang Zhao went up to it, thoroughly disinfected and washed her hands, put on a pair of thin gloves, then opened the safe.
She shot Chen Mingsheng a look, bemused. “Why’re you standing so far away?”
Chen Mingsheng hesitated. “D-do I have to wash my hands too?”
“No need. Just keep your hands to yourself.”
“Right.”
Yang Zhao went oddly silent for a moment. Then she raised her head again, met Chen Mingsheng’s gaze, and said, “Actually, forget what I said. You can touch them if you want. It’s not a problem.”
Chen Mingsheng fell silent.
After a long while, it dawned upon Chen Mingsheng that she had probably thought that her words were too harsh and was attempting to make amends.
He looked down at Yang Zhao as she organized her boxes. He was much taller than Yang Zhao, and his current standing spot preventing Yang Zhao from seeing his expression unless she raised her head.
In the deserted room, a faint smile stole across Chen Mingsheng’s face.
