[Translation] The Story Untold (那个不为人知的故事) by Twentine (周爱华): Chapter 5

 

In the end, Chen Mingsheng still compromised.

They pushed the car to the roadside and parked it properly—though in reality, Yang Zhao barely helped. The second time they pushed, she felt so dizzy she almost collapsed. It was basically Chen Mingsheng who struggled to finish it alone.

After that, Yang Zhao, half-conscious, brought him back to her home.

She couldn’t clearly remember what happened on the way. She only moved forward on instinct. Her only impression was that they walked very slowly—extremely slowly. Before leaving, Chen Mingsheng locked the car and took a cane from the trunk. Even so, in the heavy rain, their pace was still very slow.

Once they got home, Yang Zhao insisted on taking a shower. She gritted her teeth, dragged herself into the bathroom, rinsed quickly, and came out.

“The bathroom is over there. You should go wash up too,” she said to Chen Mingsheng in the living room.

She didn’t remember if he responded. She collapsed onto the sofa and fell asleep.

Chen Mingsheng looked at the woman lying there, wrapped only in a bathrobe. He glanced around the apartment—it was beautifully decorated, neat and orderly, clearly reflecting the owner’s taste.

The sofa was a matching set in deep red, making the person lying on it look even more striking. Yang Zhao was wrapped in a white bathrobe, her long black hair still wet. Water dripped from the ends onto the floor, drop by drop.

After sitting for a while, Chen Mingsheng stood up with his cane. He placed it under his right armpit and used his free hand to remove his right prosthetic leg. When he took off the socket, he gritted his teeth—the rain and today’s strain had made his residual limb very painful.

He leaned the prosthetic against a chair and went into the bathroom with his crutch.

He really needed a hot shower, or his leg wouldn’t hold up.

The bathroom in Yang Zhao’s home was large. As soon as he entered, he smelled a strong jasmine scent—her body wash. There was a triangular bathtub, a sink crowded with cosmetics, and a large mirror, bigger than usual, likely specially installed.

He looked at his reflection: expressionless, standing on one leg, supported by a crutch.

He set the crutch aside, stood on one leg, and quickly took off his clothes. After hopping into the bathtub, hot water hit his injured limb, causing intense pain.

He endured it and washed quickly. His leg had recently reopened a wound, and rainwater had soaked into it—if not treated properly, it could easily become infected.

He did not use anything of hers—not shampoo, soap, or body wash. After finishing, he stood in the bathroom until the heat dried him slightly under the exhaust heater, then put his wet clothes back on one by one.

The sudden change from hot to cold made his leg ache sharply, but he endured it.

Back in the living room, he sat on the sofa and looked outside. The rain showed no sign of stopping.

Then he turned his gaze to the woman in front of him.

Yang Zhao was sleeping deeply. She shifted slightly, her bathrobe slipping a bit and revealing pale skin at her chest.

Chen Mingsheng looked at her calmly, from head to toe.

He recalled what she had said downstairs:

“I’m not afraid—what are you afraid of?”

He let out a quiet laugh, leaned back on the sofa opposite her, and closed his eyes to rest.

---

The next morning, at exactly six, Chen Mingsheng opened his eyes.

After last night’s exhausting ordeal, he felt tired.

Soft morning sunlight came in from outside—the sky had cleared.

The first thing he saw was the woman sleeping on the sofa. She looked uneasy, still frowning even in sleep.

He stood up. Wearing wet clothes all night had made his whole body ache. He took a deep breath and put on his prosthetic leg with the help of his crutch.

Because his right leg was amputated above the knee and the stump was short, his prosthetic required a locked hip joint and a pelvic strap to stay secure.

After finishing, he intended to leave immediately.

But as he took his first step, he suddenly heard a faint but urgent breathing sound from the sofa.

He stopped and turned back.

Something was wrong with Yang Zhao.

After thinking for a moment, he walked over on crutches and tapped her arm.

“Are you alright? Wake up.”

She didn’t wake. Her brows furrowed more tightly, breathing becoming faster and more strained. Her expression looked painful.

Because of the prosthetic, he couldn’t squat down. He bent over with difficulty and touched her forehead.

It was burning hot.

He sighed, straightened up, and looked at her.

After thinking for a moment, he made a decision. He went to the door on crutches. Her coat was hanging there. He searched the pockets—he remembered she had put her keys inside yesterday.

He found not only the keys, but also something else.

It was the contact information he had left her earlier.

The paper was wrinkled beyond recognition, the ink blurred from rain.

He looked at it for a moment.

She hadn’t called him. She hadn’t asked for repayment. Not even a note.

At times, it seemed like she didn’t care about the five thousand yuan at all.

He put the note back into her pocket, took the keys, and left.

First, he called a repair shop he was familiar with and arranged for them to tow the taxi away. Then he went to find a pharmacy along the street.

Walking was difficult, especially in his current condition. There were few shops around, and he regretted wearing his prosthetic—it would have been easier without it. But without it, he would draw too much attention.

He muttered a curse under his breath. He wore it to appear “normal,” even though he knew it was self-deception.

Useless—but he couldn’t stop himself.

After more than half an hour, he finally found a pharmacy.

A girl at the counter looked up when she saw a man on crutches enter.

“Sir, what do you need?”

“I caught a cold from the rain. Give me some medicine.”

“Okay.” She quickly picked out several boxes. “It’s been getting cold lately—lots of people with colds. Do you have phlegm? Sore throat?”

“Just treat it as if I do.”

She handed him the medicine.

“Forty-six yuan.”

He paid and left with the bag in his left hand.

The return trip was long. He forced himself not to think about the pain in his leg. By the time he returned to Yang Zhao’s apartment, his arm was trembling.

She still hadn’t woken up.

He set down his crutch, removed his prosthetic, and felt much lighter.

He opened the medicine box, chose Contac, crushed the tablets into powder, and mixed them into warm water.

Sitting beside her, he lifted her head slightly.

“Drink this.”

She drank weakly, desperate for water from her dry throat.

“Slow down,” he said quietly, steadying the cup.

After giving her the medicine, he covered her with a thin blanket from her bedroom.

He was exhausted. He hadn’t eaten last night or this morning, and the rain had drained him completely.

He took a few of the remaining pills himself, then sat on the sofa to rest.

He planned to leave once her fever broke—but he was too tired. He fell asleep again.

And this time, it was Yang Zhao who woke first.

She woke up with a dry throat.

She knew immediately she was sick.

Opening her eyes, she was startled by what she saw—and nearly cried out.

The first thing she saw was a leg.

A prosthetic leg.

Her first reaction was that Chen Mingsheng hadn’t left. That was obvious—otherwise why would the leg be here?

She remembered he was disabled, but not this severely. She hadn’t realized it was so extreme.

She swallowed and sat up, the blanket sliding off her.

She noticed something immediately: she had not covered herself with a blanket last night.

On the coffee table were medicine boxes and cups of water.

Then she looked up again.

Chen Mingsheng was sitting quietly on the sofa, eyes closed, asleep.