EWH 1

“Xiao Yang, are you busy?” Dr. Wang took off his mask, looking exhausted.

“Not really. What’s up?” The young man beside him was dressed in a white coat, his face clean and neat, hair neatly combed. The light blue shirt under the coat made him look fresh and energetic.

“Can you help massage the patient in Room 250?” Dr. Wang tugged his sleeve and pointed toward a side door. “No family ever comes to visit him. It’s always burly men showing up, completely useless. From now on, you’ll give him full-body skin massages and joint movement therapy twice a day, each session lasting two hours.”

“Oh…” Yang Moshou nodded as he watched Dr. Wang’s departing figure. His hand, hidden in his pocket, clenched tightly around something bulky. It wasn’t until the doctor had walked far enough away that he dared to take it out.

In his hand was a yellow-fleshed sweet potato. He had originally planned to eat it for breakfast, but he hadn’t had a moment to spare since arriving. Now, it had gone completely cold.

Yang Moshou sighed, found a sterile bag to wrap the sweet potato in, stuffed it back into his pocket, and then turned to enter Room 250.

Room 250 was a private ward. Aside from the room number, which wasn’t fancy, the facilities inside were top-notch in the entire hospital. Everything from TV to internet was available. The only downside was that the patient inside was in a vegetative state, making all that equipment essentially useless.

The room wasn’t particularly spacious. Two men were sitting beside the bed, and the moment someone entered, they reflexively stood up.

The sudden movement startled Yang Moshou enough to make him take two steps back, bumping against the door.

“Fuck, it’s a doctor. I thought it was someone else…”

“I was about to fall asleep, then you jumped up. Scared the shit outta me. Thought Tang-ge was here or something…”

Yang Moshou composed himself and looked closely at the two men in front of him.

They did not appear very old, both dressed in black suits. One had his sleeves rolled up, revealing a large tattoo. The other wore a tank top underneath his suit jacket.

Their sense of style was absolutely awful.

Yang Moshou stepped forward and spoke politely. “Excuse me, I need to give the patient a massage.”

The two men quickly stepped aside. One of them answered a phone call and walked out of the room. The other took the chance to slip outside for a smoke.

Yang Moshou lowered his gaze and looked over the man lying on the bed.

He had a broad brow, well-defined features, and his lips were tightly shut, yet slightly upturned.

Even in a vegetative state, he looked like someone who refused to give in.

But strangely, Yang Moshou found him rather pleasant to look at.

He lifted the thin blanket covering the bed and began massaging the patient.

Because vegetative patients are bedridden for long periods, they often suffer from severe muscle atrophy and joint stiffness. Their muscle tone and joint mobility are badly affected, so regular massage and repositioning are essential.

Yang Moshou carefully pressed along the patient’s arm, doing his best to avoid the needle and the feeding tube on one side.

The body beneath his hands was lean and well-shaped. Broad shoulders, long legs. The only problem was how thin he was. And he was dark, like a stick of firewood that had been overburnt.

Yang Moshou felt that calling him an overburnt stick of firewood was an oddly perfect description. The man’s body temperature was unusually high.

His hand paused for a moment, and a jolt of concern ran through him. Was the patient running a fever?

Yang Moshou quickly stepped out to grab a thermometer, tucked it under the man’s armpit, then resumed massaging.

The sweet potato in his pocket kept swinging around, getting in the way.

An idea popped into his head. He took out the sweet potato and tucked it under the patient’s other armpit to warm it up.

Then, worried it might end up smelling odd, he moved it and placed it between the patient’s legs instead.

Once everything was settled, Yang Moshou was finally able to focus on giving the patient a proper massage.

He figured that by the time he finished, the sweet potato would probably be warm enough too.

A cleaner came in carrying a bucket of water. When she saw Yang Moshou, she paused for a moment.

“Xiao Yang? What brings you here?”

Yang Moshou let out a couple of chuckles.

“Dr. Wang asked me to come. Said this patient has no family, so I should drop by regularly to give him massages.”

The cleaning lady set the mop aside and walked over to open the window.

“Of course he doesn’t. This guy’s been lying here for two years and I’ve never seen a single woman visit him. It’s always groups of grown-ass men, dressed like they’re going to a funeral. Nothing but black and white. Faces long as mules, and whenever they open their mouths, it’s just filth flying everywhere.”

Yang Moshou glanced at the sweet potato tucked between the patient’s legs and quickly pulled the blanket over it.

“Auntie, don’t open the window. I think he might have a fever. I’m checking his temperature.”

The cleaner acted as if she didn’t hear him and went on to open the other window.

“It’s fine. This guy naturally runs hot. All the staff who’ve been to this room know that. One time I was changing his bedding and thought he had a fever too, but later Dr. Wang said it’s just how he is. His body temperature is naturally high. Nothing to worry about.”

Hearing that, Yang Moshou pulled out the thermometer.

It read about 37.6 degrees. A vague kind of reading. Could be considered a low-grade fever, or simply the upper limit of a normal adult temperature.

The breeze from the window drifted into the room, causing Yang Moshou’s white coat to flutter slightly. Then, out of nowhere, a strong gust blew in and lifted part of his coat, which landed right on the patient’s face.

Yang Moshou, bent over at the foot of the bed massaging the patient’s calves, didn’t notice anything at all until the cleaner auntie reminded him to take his coat off the patient’s face.

For some reason, after that little incident, Yang Moshou couldn’t shake the feeling that the patient’s expression looked slightly different.

His brows were slightly furrowed, as if he was a little annoyed.

Once that thought crossed his mind, Yang Moshou even felt like the man’s face looked a bit ashen.

The cleaner started mopping the floor.

“Xiao Yang, do you have a partner? Auntie could introduce someone to you. A few new nurses just joined the hospital, and one of them seems quite nice…”

Yang Moshou thought to himself that no matter how nice she might be, it wouldn’t help. Compared to those delicate young girls, he seemed to prefer tall and well-built men.

But out loud, he said slowly, “No need, really. Thank you. I’m planning to take a certification exam soon, need to study and prepare… I don’t have time for romance.”

The cleaner finished mopping the floor.
“That’s all right, you’re still young. Waiting another couple of years won’t hurt.”

Then, she carried the mop and bucket out of the room.

Over an hour later, Yang Moshou finally finished massaging the patient.

The two men still hadn’t come back. Since he had nothing else to do, he decided to stay a bit longer in the room.

The sweet potato had warmed through by now. It wasn’t too hot or too cold, just the right temperature.

Yang Moshou turned and sat on the edge of the bed. He placed the disinfectant bag that had held the sweet potato beside the patient’s pillow, then peeled the sweet potato over it.

Sunlight streamed in through the window, landing on Yang Moshou’s exposed ankle. The skin was so pale it looked almost translucent.

The face of the man on the bed was growing darker by the minute, but Yang Moshou didn’t notice at all. While munching on his sweet potato, his mind drifted back to the thoughts he hadn’t finished earlier.

Honestly, his standards for men weren’t that high. They didn’t have to be especially handsome, or rich. As long as they were tall and strong, that was enough. Even if they were tall and chubby, that would be fine. Skinny and dark also fine.

He swallowed a bite and spaced out for a bit, then turned his head to glance at the dark and skinny guy behind him.

Lying there alone in bed, his complexion looked awful.

Yang Moshou let out a sigh without realizing it.

“You really are pitiful. Other vegetative patients have family. You don’t have anyone.”

Maybe it was because of the shadow he was casting, but the patient’s face looked even darker than before.