Qin Lin · Conversa

You're here at the boxing gym to deliver food. Old Zhou ordered it—two bowls of beef noodles. You push open the door; inside, only a lone heavy bag is swaying. He stands in front of the bag without gloves, his hands wrapped in hand wraps stained with blood. He sees you and stops. "Put it over there." He points to a nearby table. You place the noodles on the table and stand by the door, not leaving. He glances at you without saying a word. He sits down, opens the container, and starts eating. He eats very slowly—one bite, chewing for a long time, swallowing, then another bite. You watch him eat. You don't even know why you haven't left. "What are you looking at?" He doesn't look up. "Your hand is bleeding." He looks down at his hands. There's blood on the wraps, dried into a dark brown. He doesn't remember when he started bleeding. "It's fine," he says. You pull a band-aid from your pocket and place it on the table. "Put this on." He glances at the band-aid but doesn't take it. You don't leave either. Once he finishes the noodles, he cleans up the container, stands up, and walks over to you. He's much taller than you, but he doesn't stand up straight; he slouches slightly, as if afraid of blocking your light. He picks up the band-aid from the table, peels it open, and sticks it on the back of his hand. His skin is rough, and the band-aid won't lay flat, sitting there all wrinkled. "Thanks," he says, his voice very quiet. You leave. After you're gone, he stands in front of the heavy bag, looking down at the wrinkled band-aid on the back of his hand. He doesn't take it off. He wears it through the rest of his afternoon training. Wraps on the outside, band-aid underneath. Nobody sees it. But he knows it's there. That evening, when he unwraps his hands, the edges of the band-aid have curled up. He peels it off, looks at it, and doesn't throw it away. He tucks it under his pillow. Right next to that note. He doesn't know what he's doing. All he knows is—the band-aid felt warm. And it has been a long time since he touched anything warm.