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After putting on his old sheets, Ming Zhifei realized he hadn’t even brought a blanket. Luckily it was summer, so he could use a duvet cover as a thin blanket. There was a broken-down air conditioner in the room, but the landlord said electricity was extra. In the past, he never knew how much the electric bill was, but now he knew that without a job, he couldn’t afford to run the AC all day.

He hadn’t eaten lunch and was starving now. Over the past few months at home, his ex-wife went to work, and he often skipped lunch. He wasn’t very active then, so he didn’t get hungry easily, and preparing food was hard with his left arm in a cast.

Since before the New Year, he had been stuck at home. At first, he was suspended to “lay low,” but after resigning, he couldn’t find a new job immediately. His medical license and certificates were held by his old hospital for the lawsuit. It is very hard to transfer a medical license while involved in a legal dispute. When his ex-wife’s parents asked why he wasn’t working, he didn’t explain; he just stayed silent.

Back then—and even now—he preferred to be misunderstood rather than find the energy to explain himself. Once you start talking, it leads to more questions: “Why?” “What now?” “Why don’t you…?” To him, these words only crushed his already failing will. He wanted to avoid everyone he knew. Except for lawyers and judges, he didn’t want to answer any more questions about how he was or what he was doing.

He knew his mental state was wrong. After “the incident,” he didn’t want to see anyone, not even his wife. He knew she tried to comfort him, but he just hid. He felt that telling her the details would only put more pressure on her. Even when he was injured, he went to the hospital and the police station alone—he knew she couldn’t handle the emotional weight or solve the practical problems. The bigger issue was that he couldn’t bring himself to depend on her; she had always depended on him, and she seemed so fragile.

It wasn’t until she asked for a divorce that he realized how much the loss of his income had hurt the family, despite his efforts not to be a burden. For years, he had transferred almost all his pay to her, but they didn’t have much savings. The last few months of mortgage payments and living costs had broken her. Because the loan was higher than the public fund limit, they had a commercial mortgage of over 10,000 yuan a month. When both worked, they could afford it, but with only her salary, they were drowning.

His case started as a civil lawsuit. For months, the court had been exchanging evidence and doing medical appraisals. The patient’s family tried to make it a criminal case, but the police didn’t file it. There had been two hearings, and the final one was at the end of the month. He didn’t know how much he would be ordered to pay. The family was asking for 2 million—even if he only had to pay a tenth of that, the money from selling his car wouldn’t be enough.

He turned on an old desk fan left by the landlord and lay on the bed with the door open. It was after 6:00 PM, but the sky was still bright after the rain. The door to the balcony was shut, and the curtains were drawn tight to block the light. Even though he was hungry, he didn’t want to get food. He felt like his brain and body were rusted, with no power to do anything.

He was tired and hungry, but he couldn’t sleep. The fan made a buzzing sound. He sat up and looked at it. It was a yellow Airmate fan, at least twenty years old. The blades were covered in dust. Even though it was spinning hard, the breeze barely reached the bed. He didn’t want to open the window because the heat and the evening sun would make it even hotter.

This fan is so tired, he thought. Doing so much useless work. So tired.

Ming Zhifei sat at the end of the bed in the dark room. He looked at the half-tiled walls and the peeling white paint. For months, he couldn’t stop thinking: What is the point?

The new becomes old, the gathered will scatter, what is gained will be lost, and the living will die. So what is the point of anything? What is the point of his existence?

His ex-wife told him he was depressed and wanted him to see a doctor, but he refused. So what if he was? Could that change anything?

He cooperated with the investigation, attended the hearings, and faced the family’s harassment. When he was beaten and injured, he even “forgave” them under police pressure and didn’t seek a formal injury report. He paid off the mortgage and left the marriage with nothing. He carried all the pressure and did everything society expected of a “good person.” So, what now?

The rumors online continued, and the “killer” narrative persisted. He had uninstalled all social media from his phone; he didn’t want to see any more of the stoked, guided discussions surrounding the incident. Because of the constant harassment calls, he had even changed his number and downgraded his mobile plan from 129 yuan to 29 yuan a month. In this rented room without Wi-Fi, he kept his mobile data turned off. Aside from his lawyer, he didn’t plan on having any contact with the outside world.

He was so hungry his head was spinning, and he realized he hadn’t prepared any food at all. The fridge was completely empty. The cabinets were bare, too. This was just an old, newly moved-in room.

Ming Zhifei slowly changed into outdoor clothes and walked barefoot to the door. From the shoe rack, which held only a single pair of soaked leather shoes, he picked them up. Perhaps because they had reached the end of their life, the soles of the shoes actually snapped.

He needed to buy slippers, a pack of noodles, and a few eggs. He had to eat dinner. Even as he thought this, he lay back down on the living room sofa—which had lost its elasticity, the springs poking painfully into his backside—and let himself see stars. Cold sweat began to break out on his back, and his hands and feet wouldn’t stop shaking.

Those were symptoms of hypoglycemia. If I really just slip into a low-blood-sugar coma and die like this, that would be fine too, he thought. It’s just too uncomfortable. This way of dying is too painful; I’d prefer something gentler.

When he heard a knock on the door, it took him a long time to crawl up. Swaying unsteadily and fighting through nausea, dizziness, and cold sweat, he made it to the door. Because he was trembling and had no strength, he couldn’t even work the lock. He tried several times until finally, the lock gave a weak “click” and popped open.

He didn’t have time to see who was standing at the door before he crouched down and closed his eyes to fight the dizziness. He couldn’t even hold the crouch and ended up slumped on the floor.

“Hey, what’s wrong with you?” It was a young man’s voice, sounding a bit surprised and a little panicked. It was a very pleasant voice.

After asking the question and getting no answer, the person knelt down and stuffed something into his mouth. His tongue caught the object, and his dull sense of taste finally reacted—it was a piece of candy.

The man reached out, grabbed his arm, and said, “Hey, can you stand up?”

Ming Zhifei thought fuzzily: What is this guy talking about? It was obvious just by looking—how could he possibly stand up?

By the time Ming Zhifei was picked up by the waist, the candy had been chewed and swallowed. The feeling of weightlessness forced him to open his eyes, and he met the gaze of an incredibly handsome man with a shaved head and fresh gauze bandages wrapped around it.

“Ge, did you faint from hunger? Or are you diabetic and took your meds without eating?” The young man, whose head had clearly just been injured, saw him open his eyes and asked with a smile. The hint of panic in his voice had vanished; he spoke with a familiarity that made it seem like they weren’t strangers.

For a moment, Ming Zhifei, who had only recovered a tiny bit of strength, didn’t know what to say in this situation. The man placed him on the sofa and let him lie down.

“Just lie there. I’ll make something to eat. The kitchen here works, right?” Without waiting for an answer, the young man let himself into the kitchen and tested the gas. He let out a “wow” and said, “So your gas works! The gas on my side isn’t working yet. Got a pot? Ah, there’s one. Wow, it’s so dirty in here, Ge. How long has it been since you cooked?”

Already suffering from low blood sugar and a buzzing in his ears, Ming Zhifei found the non-stop talking even more uncomfortable. He lacked the energy to respond and simply kept his eyes closed. The candy was working; his shaking and cold sweat had stopped, but his limbs were still very weak.

If this person isn’t a good guy and is just here to rob the place and then give me a quick end, that would actually be okay, he thought. But being murdered isn’t very dignified.

What does dignity matter when you’re dead? While Ming Zhifei was thinking this, another piece of candy was placed in his mouth. It was stuffed in abruptly along with a finger. As the finger pulled out, it flicked against his lip. He heard the person say in a teasing tone: “Hey, Ge, hang in there. Don’t you go dying on me; I don’t have any money left to call you an ambulance.”

[1]Author’s Note:

(Note 1: The details regarding the seizure of the medical license are purely fictional for the plot and do not reflect reality.)

(Note 2: Legal details are not researched and are … Continue reading jQuery('#footnote_plugin_tooltip_2610872_1_1').tooltip({ tip: '#footnote_plugin_tooltip_text_2610872_1_1', tipClass: 'footnote_tooltip', effect: 'fade', predelay: 0, fadeInSpeed: 200, delay: 400, fadeOutSpeed: 200, position: 'top center', relative: true, offset: [-7, 0], });

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Author’s Note:

(Note 1: The details regarding the seizure of the medical license are purely fictional for the plot and do not reflect reality.)

(Note 2: Legal details are not researched and are fictional for the plot.)

(Note 3: Details regarding administrative law enforcement are fictional and have nothing to do with reality.)

Misplaced Waste chapter 3