Let Me Meet You chapter 2

Sheng Min

“The interview starts at nine tomorrow morning. Yang Xu will pick you up at seven.”

Zhang Zhihua strode ahead briskly as he spoke.

He hadn’t gone far when he banged his leg against something and stumbled, catching himself against the wall and flipping the light switch.

“What is all this mess?” he shouted.

Sheng Min pressed a hand to his brow, came over to turn on the light, and helped Zhang Zhihua up. Then he returned to the sofa and sat down.

“What is this?”

Under the light, the culprit stood innocently in the middle of the living room.

“A delivery box,” Sheng Min replied.

“Do I not know that?” Zhang Zhihua yelled again, his voice echoing, accompanied by a kick to the box.

You asked me, though. Sheng Min sighed internally but didn’t say anything.

He glanced at the box, recalling it likely contained a mug he’d ordered and had yet to open.

After being kicked across the room, the box still didn’t make a sound, probably thanks to thick bubble wrap or sheer luck that it hadn’t broken…

“Why didn’t you turn on the light when you came in?” Zhang Zhihua seemed to cover up his embarrassment from tripping by vigorously dusting off imaginary dirt from his clothes.

If the mug hadn’t broken, maybe he should leave a good review for the seller, Sheng Min thought, his thoughts trailing off as the sound of Zhang Zhihua’s patting grew louder.

Too noisy. Sheng Min’s head began to ache. He opened his mouth, but his voice was drowned out, so he took a deep breath and raised his volume slightly. “The light’s on now.”

Zhang Zhihua paused, “What?”

“The light,” Sheng Min gestured weakly overhead. “It’s on now.”

“Yeah, so what if it’s on?”

Zhang Zhihua seemed either confused by what Sheng Min had said or stunned by his own fall. His voice wasn’t as loud anymore.

Still, as he walked over, he delivered another kick to the box, then slapped a paper onto the table like he was collecting a debt. “This is the interview script. Study it tonight. Don’t show up tomorrow with nothing to say… You hear me?!”

His voice was loud again. Sheng Min closed his eyes for a second, then nodded.

Zhang Zhihua clicked his tongue once. When he saw that there was no response, he clicked again, in pairs, like kicking the box.

Sheng Min estimated that if he didn’t say anything, Zhang Zhihua would keep clicking, so he quietly said, “I heard you.”

“Alright, I’m leaving. Taking care of you every day is exhausting…” Zhang Zhihua slapped the interview script one more time, turned, and left without closing the door.

Finally, it was over, Sheng Min thought, still not having spoken. He hadn’t expressed his thoughts in a long time.

Big ones, small ones, good ones, bad ones—all kept silent. Even when he was alone, he wouldn’t even whisper.

His voice was only called upon to say the things that should be said, those grandiose words that could create value.

For example, the answers that were already written on the interview script.

Sheng Min glanced at the interview script, wanting to tear it up, but in the end, he only tore off a small corner.

But he didn’t feel any relief from that; after all, it had been a long time since he had felt any kind of relief.

He sat on the sofa for a while, adopting a posture where he wrapped his hands around his calves. It was said that this position could give people a sense of security—he forgot who said it; his memory hadn’t been very good lately.

In any case, it was either Lu Xun or Shakespeare. If you can’t find the source, you can always attribute it to them. They wouldn’t send you a lawyer’s letter, at most they might visit you in a dream… Sheng Min chuckled silently, but he didn’t succeed; he couldn’t lift the corners of his mouth.

He could usually laugh, at least in front of the camera; he always managed to look good when he smiled.

But forget it. There was no camera now.

Outside the window, the sound of an accordion came in.

It was that kid living downstairs, who started playing at exactly nine o’clock every night. For the first half hour, it was the sound of the accordion, and for the next half hour, it was mixed with his mother’s scolding him—both sounds were equally torturous.

The music and the scolding always ended in crying. Sheng Min stood up and walked into the bathroom. Just before he reached the door, he paused, turned around, and went back to the kitchen to grab a watermelon knife.

In the bathroom, there was a large bathtub that he had installed himself after moving in. The tub was now filled with water—cold water; the hot water heater was broken, but it was only early autumn, so it was still bearable.

Sheng Min lay back in the tub fully clothed, water spilling out and gurgling down the drain under the sink. He shifted slightly and felt something poking his waist; only then did he realize he had brought his phone in with him.

Fortunately, when he pulled it out, it was still working.

The endorsement products he took on after becoming popular were all of good quality, much better than the WeChat face mask he endorsed a few years ago.

Someone had ruined their face using that mask and had even appeared on a consumer rights program, becoming an important point of attack for his rival’s fans.

Sheng Min secretly sent some money to the person whose face had been ruined, but in reality, he didn’t even remember when he signed that endorsement contract, and the endorsement fee wasn’t in his hands.

He pressed his lips together, shook off the water from his good-quality phone, and found Yang Xu’s number to dial.

“Hey, Ge!” Yang Xu’s voice was always cheerful.

“Tomorrow you’re coming to pick me up, right?”

“Yes! What do you want for breakfast? The new wonton shop downstairs is pretty good; do you want to…”

“You don’t need to come over.” Sheng Min interrupted him and said softly, “Just go directly to the venue.”

“Huh?” Yang Xu sounded a little confused.

Sheng Min looked at the white tiles across from him: “Have Zhang Zhihua come. You call him at six-thirty tomorrow morning, just say I need to see him and ask him to pick me up.”

“Okay!”

This was Yang Xu’s good point—his heart was bigger than the Pacific Ocean; he never asked why and just did as he was told.

“Do you still remember the password for the bank card I left at your place last time?” Sheng Min asked.

“Of course.” Yang Xu replied somewhat proudly, “It’s the last six digits of your ID card. If you need money, I can bring it to you tomorrow.”

“Just remember it; I don’t need it. Leave it at your place.”

“Well, I’ll give it to you when you need it.” Yang Xu cheerfully replied, never having considered why Sheng Min needed to use his ID to open a card and keep it at his place. “You still haven’t told me what you want for breakfast tomorrow! I’ll send it for you.”

“I don’t want to eat.”

“You should eat! Not eating is bad for your energy—noodles, vermicelli, tofu pudding…”

Sheng Min pinched his nose bridge. Yang Xu was quite persistent about food; if he didn’t give an answer, he could keep listing things: “Wontons then. The wontons you just mentioned.”

“Great! That wonton shop is really delicious. I can eat two large portions by myself.”

“Well, I’ll give you my portion too.” Sheng Min smiled faintly, “Alright, hang up now. Get some rest early.”

“See you tomorrow!” Yang Xu said obediently, and a series of beeping sounds followed.

They wouldn’t see each other again.

No, he wouldn’t see him again, but Yang Xu still would. At the hospital or the funeral home; hopefully, he wouldn’t be scared.

Sheng Min stared blankly at the phone screen for a while, opened WeChat, and scrolled until he saw his mother’s name. He transferred a hundred thousand over, and it was received immediately, without a word in reply.

The message interface was full of similar transactions: transfer and receive, transfer and receive…

Giving money in advance didn’t come with questions; giving too much didn’t come with questions; only when the time came and no money was given did they ask. Once, on his birthday, someone stormed into the company to demand it, slapped him a few times, and it even made the trending topics…

Sheng Min turned off his phone and tossed it onto the sink, picking up the watermelon knife—of course, a manual razor could work too, but this knife hadn’t been used since he bought it; he wanted to make a start.

The watermelon knife was long, and holding it felt a bit like holding a sword, reminding him of a costume drama he once filmed. He played a swordsman, looking pretty cool, but the wire work was somewhat painful. Sheng Min mimicked the movements from his memory, swishing the knife a few times before finally resting it on his wrist.

He couldn’t remember when the thought of death had started, but it had been a long time; he had gotten that bank card for Yang Xu back then.

At first, he was afraid of the pain, but after thinking about it too much, he wasn’t afraid anymore. So why had he waited so long? Sheng Min frowned, unsure.

What he did know was that this thought was particularly strong today. He didn’t have work in the afternoon and sat on the sofa until dark, unable to chase the thought out of his mind.

There was no special reason; perhaps the time had come.

Then let it be today, Sheng Min thought, glancing at the watch he had already taken off. It was almost midnight.

The day’s tasks should be completed. Tomorrow… There was no tomorrow for him.

He pressed the knife down, pulled hard to the right, and blood spurted out violently.

Sheng Min bit his lip and couldn’t help but hiss in pain, then he made another cut; that should be enough. If it still wasn’t, he could just slip into the water and drown if he ran out of strength.

He thought he had considered everything thoroughly, but as his hand relaxed, the knife fell.

The white tiles across from him were splattered with red. So this is what real blood looked like; it seemed the special effects blood packs from the crew needed improvement. He thought of the words Zhang Zhihua had said to him when he left, calling him a corpse with a dead man’s face every day.

Zhang Zhihua must have never seen a real dead man’s face, especially one bloated from being in water.

Sheng Min’s last thought before he died was that Zhang Zhihua would look a bit dejected. He didn’t actually want Zhang Zhihua to come and felt quite apologetic. But Yang Xu was really too timid; he didn’t even dare watch horror films. If he saw a dead person, he wouldn’t sleep well for a year. He had no other choice.

So what should he think about? Didn’t people say that just before death, one would see a reel of their life? Perhaps he didn’t have many happy days, and the light had short-circuited.

So what should he think about?

Sheng Min could hardly feel his breath anymore, and a man floated into his mind.

He was young, probably around his age, in his early twenties. He rode a black mountain bike, gripping the handlebars with one hand while holding a cigarette with the other.

Sheng Min couldn’t quite remember what this person looked like; he seemed to have met him last month. He had crossed the street after coming back from a convenience store wearing a mask, and this unknown person had ridden past him. The bike was going too fast, creating the illusion of four wheels, and he couldn’t see the face; he only remembered a corner of a shirt that resembled a sail ready to set sail…

It was quite nice. Sheng Min smiled and closed his eyes. He didn’t know whether this sail would take him to heaven or hell, but it didn’t matter; anywhere would be fine, as long as it was the next life.