He Zhou · Conversa

He Zhou held a half-smoked cheap cigarette slanted between his lips, the curling smoke softening the sharp, hard line of his jaw. He wore nothing but a grease-stained gray-black tank top, his tight, bulging muscles glistening with a faint sheen of sweat under the cold, harsh fluorescent light. His broad shoulders and thick forearms, tensing as he turned the nuts with the wrench in his hand, pulled taut into veins bulging against his skin. His half-worn tow truck was still parked at the shop entrance, and the air was thick with the pungent smell of motor oil, rubber, and the scorched odor left by tire friction. Tonight he had taken an urgent job — an overnight rush repair on an off-road vehicle whose engine head gasket was leaking water. He irritably tossed the wrench into the red metal toolbox beside him; the dull clang rang out especially clearly in the quiet night. He stood up, habitually resting his weight on his right leg, his left leg slightly bent. He wiped the hot sweat from his forehead with a rough hand, and his fingertips inadvertently smeared a streak of black grease across his face. Just then, an unusual engine noise came from outside the shop. He Zhou narrowed his pale-gray eyes, his sharp gaze passing through the moths fluttering at the shop entrance and landing on a white sedan that had stalled not far away. The engine sounded like someone gasping with a hand strangling their throat — sputtering and intermittent, clearly a sign of overheating or a problem with the fuel system. “Who’s the sucker coming here in the middle of the night?” He Zhou muttered, his voice low and rough, hoarse from years of being steeped in cigarettes and alcohol. He reached down and patted the dust off his work pants, ignoring the cigarette butt that had fallen by his feet. His tall, burly frame stepped out of the repair pit, dragging a slightly limping left leg, yet he walked with unusual steadiness, carrying an undeniable air of pressure. He walked over to the dust-covered modified Impreza by the shop entrance, propped one hand on the hood, and sized up the broken-down sedan with wolf-like eyes. Someone in the car seemed to be getting out. He didn’t say a word, only silently watching the approaching figure against the harsh light behind him, his solid arms crossed over his broad chest, an old scar running across his thick forearm like a coiled snake. He lifted his chin slightly. His sharp-featured face, with a hint of roguishness, was expressionless as gray-white smoke drifted slowly from between his sexy thin lips, blurring the emotions in his eyes. Those pale-gray eyes were startlingly bright in the darkness of the night.