[Translation] The Story Untold (那个不为人知的故事) by Twentine (周爱华): Chapter 8

 

Doctor Zhang quickly brought the medicine back, packed in a bag and handed it to Chen Mingsheng.

“I’ve prescribed both oral and external medication. You already know how to use them,” he said, still seeming intent on persuading Chen Mingsheng to be hospitalized. “Xiao Chen, you can’t keep forcing yourself like this. If it doesn’t improve in a few days, you must come back. I’m not joking about this.”

Chen Mingsheng nodded. “I understand. Thank you.”

Doctor Zhang sighed and returned to his desk to write something.

Chen Mingsheng rolled up his pant leg, leaned on his crutch, and stood up. Yang Zhao glanced at him and said, “You’re leaving already?”

Doctor Zhang interrupted, “Leaving? No. Stay here and get an anti-inflammatory drip before you go.”

He wrote a prescription slip, left the room, and returned shortly with an IV bag. He adjusted the needle and handed the IV bag to Yang Zhao.

“Here, hold this for me.”

Yang Zhao instinctively took it and watched him skillfully insert the needle into Chen Mingsheng’s arm. She lifted the IV bag.

Just as the needle was inserted, the phone on the desk rang. Doctor Zhang answered it, said a few words, and hung up.

“I’ve got something downstairs. I need to go check it out. I’ll be back soon. I’ll bring an IV stand when I return.”

Then he left.

Now only Yang Zhao and Chen Mingsheng remained in the room.

Chen Mingsheng leaned against the wall, sitting down. His clothes were still slightly damp and crumpled from the night before, hanging loosely on his body.

Yang Zhao could tell he was exhausted.

She couldn’t find anything to talk about. She wasn’t good at comforting people.

So the room fell into silence.

After a while, her arm and legs began to ache from holding the IV bag, but Doctor Zhang still hadn’t returned.

Chen Mingsheng moved slightly and looked up at her. “You can sit down. I can hold it myself.”

Yang Zhao said, “With your condition, how are you going to hold it? I’ll do it. It’s almost finished anyway.”

“…Thank you for today. Really.”

“It’s nothing.”

How long does an IV take?

Yang Zhao watched the drops slowly fall from the bag.

About twenty minutes.

She remembered it clearly—once when she was sick in the hospital getting an IV, she had stood in the smoking area holding the drip. From start to finish, she smoked two cigarettes. For her, one cigarette took exactly ten minutes.

While she was lost in thought, she suddenly realized Chen Mingsheng had fallen asleep.

His hand with the needle rested on the stool beside him. He leaned against the wall, head lowered in sleep.

The room was very quiet.

Yang Zhao stopped looking at the IV bag and instead looked at the sleeping man.

His lowered head gave him a heavy, subdued air. In fact, the feeling he gave off was generally oppressive—though she couldn’t quite describe it precisely.

A while later, hurried footsteps came from outside. Yang Zhao immediately turned her head and made a “shh” gesture the moment Doctor Zhang entered. He reacted quickly and kept silent.

She signaled that Chen Mingsheng was asleep. Doctor Zhang nodded in understanding, pushing in an IV stand.

“Ah, I was gone too long. Your arm must be tired.”

“It’s fine,” Yang Zhao said.

Even though she said so, she still couldn’t help shaking her arm once the bag was taken from her hand.

Doctor Zhang lowered his voice. “This medication has a sedative and pain-relieving effect. It’s normal that he fell asleep.”

Yang Zhao nodded.

Since the IV would take time, Doctor Zhang chatted idly with her.

“You’re Xiao Chen’s neighbor?”

“Yes. My name is Yang Zhao. You can just call me Xiao Yang.”

“Ah, alright.”

They moved to the desk to avoid waking Chen Mingsheng.

“How long have you known him?” Doctor Zhang asked.

“Not long. I just moved in recently.”

“I see… He usually comes to the center alone. This is the first time I’ve seen someone come with him.”

Yang Zhao asked, “He always comes alone?”

“Of course,” Doctor Zhang said. “It’s honestly reckless. After his surgery about half a year ago, he started rehabilitation but stopped halfway and left. He never properly cared for the wound. It kept getting better and worse, and only came back for medicine when it got infected. I don’t know what his family is thinking. It’s like they’re mistreating him.”

Yang Zhao listened quietly.

She looked at Chen Mingsheng.

From the side, she could clearly see his missing right leg. The sleeping man, head lowered, looked almost fragile under the light from the window.

Doctor Zhang continued complaining for a long while—about his family, about his stubbornness, about his neglect of his own body.

Yang Zhao remained a quiet listener.

Soon, the IV finished.

When the needle was removed, Chen Mingsheng woke up.

He clearly hadn’t expected to fall asleep. He rubbed his face with his uninjured hand and sat upright.

Yang Zhao watched him return to the wheelchair and felt that he was already extremely exhausted.

They said goodbye to Doctor Zhang and left the rehabilitation center.

At the entrance, Chen Mingsheng said he would take a taxi.

Yang Zhao refused immediately.

“You can barely stand. You’re still going to walk on your own?”

She drove the car over. She originally wanted to help him, but in the end only opened the door for him.

“I’ll take you home.”

At this point, Chen Mingsheng no longer had the strength to argue.

“Where do you live?”

“Qima Road,” his voice was clearly tired.

Qima Road was in the southern part of the city, not far from the Lingkong police station. Yang Zhao roughly knew the direction.

The ride was smooth, and the car remained quiet as always.

Chen Mingsheng fell asleep again.

It took nearly an hour from the rehabilitation center to his home. He slept deeply, head tilted to the side.

Yang Zhao tried to drive as steadily as possible. By the time they arrived, more than an hour had passed.

Qima Road was an older residential area with six- or seven-story buildings and no elevators.

She parked by the roadside and hesitated before deciding not to wake him.

The engine turned off. She leaned her seat back slightly and took out a cigarette.

She held it in her hand for a moment, then glanced at the sleeping Chen Mingsheng and put it away.

When he finally woke, it was already dark.

His eyes were bloodshot. He sat up, looking around, still not fully awake.

Streetlights outside cast a dim yellow glow.

“Miss Yang…”

She interrupted him. “It’s fine. You were sleeping too deeply, so I didn’t wake you.”

He paused, then said softly, “Thank you.”

She asked, “Which building is yours?”

“Just turn ahead and you’ll see it. I’ll walk myself.”

She didn’t respond, just started the car again. The interior heater had been turned up, and the seat was warm.

They turned into a narrow alley.

“Stop here,” Chen Mingsheng said.

She ignored him. “Where exactly?”

He pointed.

“Okay.”

He stopped talking and waited.

It took nearly ten minutes to drive that short stretch.

When the car finally stopped, he let out a long breath of relief.

He was about to thank her when she looked at him directly.

“…Miss Yang?”

She asked lightly, “Is my driving that bad?”

“What?”

“You sighed just now. Did you think I was a bad driver?”

He was confused. “No… that’s not what I meant.”

She turned off the engine.

“Get out.”

He got out, still confused, leaning on his crutch.

The air after the rain was fresh.

She said, “Which building? I’ll take you home.”

This was too much.

“I can go myself.”

“How many floors?”

“Fifth.”

“No elevator, right?”

“…No.”

“I’ll take you upstairs.”

He frowned deeply. “No need. You’ve already helped a lot.”

“I’m free anyway. Let’s go.”

He finally said, low and firm, “I can go myself.”

Without waiting for her response, he turned and walked away.

Yang Zhao watched his limping figure disappear into the residential area, then did not follow.

Back in the car, she lit a cigarette.

“What’s the big deal,” she muttered. “Always pushing away what’s handed to you.”

After finishing the cigarette, she suddenly remembered something and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper from her coat pocket.

She unfolded it under the cabin light.

The writing was already blurred beyond recognition.

She stared at it for a while, expression unreadable, then sighed and tossed it into the ashtray.

As she turned away, she noticed something in the back seat.

The prosthetic leg lay quietly there.

She looked at it and let out a soft laugh.

When she looked up again, in the far end of the headlights, a figure leaning on a crutch was walking toward her.

She didn’t even look at him.

She reversed the car and drove out of the alley.

There was no way Chen Mingsheng could catch up.

He tried calling out a few times, but she pretended not to hear.

On the way home, Yang Zhao felt unusually satisfied.

“I told you,” she said to herself. “Pushing too hard never pays off.”