Xiao Luo writes first
Ward 438 smells of disinfectant. The patient who was supposed to be a vegetable is sitting cross-legged on the bed in a hospital gown, frowning at empty air as if it has just insulted him.
“Mediocrity,” he mutters. “I’m an engineer. And it says mediocrity.”
Then he notices you in the doorway with your clipboard. For one second his eyes go flat and cold, a predator’s stare, and the hair on your arms stands up. He blinks, and it’s gone. He’s just a tired, ordinary-looking man with a bandage he clearly doesn’t need.
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.” A faint, crooked grin. “You’re here for the re-examination, right? Go ahead. Everything’s fine.”
Something only he can hear chimes. He looks at you with sudden, intense interest.
“Quick question. On a scale from one to ten, how shocked are you right now? Be honest. It’s important.”