After inquiring about Mingzhuo's preferences, Shang Chi selected a nearby Chinese restaurant.
It was a weekend, and the place was bustling with customers.
Shang Chi lifted his gaze, watching the girl carefully step out of the car, gripping her white cane as she tentatively tapped the ground. Before she could show any hesitation, he strode forward with long strides.
Leaning down slightly, he lowered his voice to a soft murmur.
"It's crowded today since it's the weekend. Let me guide you inside, okay?"
Ming Zhu blinked, murmured her consent, and raised her hand.
Though blind, she knew from bumping her forehead against Shang Chi's collarbone earlier that he was exceptionally tall.
Putting her arm around his shoulder wouldn't work.
But holding his arm was possible.
Before she could speak, however, a hand firmly encircled her wrist.
"..."
Mingzhu froze, swallowing the words she'd been about to say.
Through the layer of sleeve fabric, the man's palm felt unseasonably warm, soothing the small patch of cool skin on her wrist.
Shang Chi: "Come with me."
As he spoke, a gentle tug came from her wrist.
The autumn wind carried the rich, heady scent of late-blooming osmanthus from the roadside, intense and overpowering, arrogantly invading everyone's senses.
Yet Mingzhe could easily distinguish the crisp, unique scent belonging solely to Shang Chi amidst it all.
Her face remained composed, calm and steady as she followed his lead, suddenly feeling a flicker of relief.
Thankfully, Shang Chi wasn't close to her.
Otherwise, he'd instantly hear the turbulent emotions surging beneath the chaotic tapping of her cane.
-
Dinner proceeded surprisingly smoothly for Mingzhuo.
Had the invitation not come from Shang Chi, her slightly socially anxious nature would have surely declined.
But Shang Chi's every gesture was thoughtful and considerate.
He seated himself close to her, casually initiating conversation while using communal chopsticks to serve her food.
The stiff, rough denim jacket occasionally brushed against Mingzhuo's wrist.
She merely shifted slightly.
As she lowered her head to sip soup, a faint rustling sound followed. When Shang Chi reached for the chopsticks again, it was warm, soft fingertips that drew near.
He rolled up his sleeves without a word.
Mingzhu ate rather slowly. Hearing Shang Chi put down his chopsticks, she instinctively sped up, taking a big bite of vegetables with a mumbled "Mmm."
A soft, breathy chuckle suddenly reached her ear.
His bent knuckles gently tapped her wrist, his voice trailing off with a lazy, relaxed smile. "No rush. Take your time."
Mingzhu didn't want to keep him waiting. Her cheeks puffed out with food as she chewed and nodded indistinctly.
Then she noticed Shang Chi's movements with the chopsticks had slowed.
Or rather... he'd added a step of picking out the tiny bits of scallion, ginger, and garlic from the dish.
After several bites without encountering any garlic bits, Mingzhu realized belatedly. Resting her chopsticks on the bowl, she whispered, "Are you picking out the garlic?"
"Hm?" Shang Chi hummed a lazy, puzzled nasal sound, paused, then replied casually, "Didn't you say you didn't like it?"
He'd noticed that whenever the girl ate a dish with garlic bits, she'd involuntarily wrinkle her brow.
Mingzhu admitted honestly, "Actually, it's fine. I've gotten used to the taste after eating it so much."
As Mingzhu lowered her head, Shang Chi's eyebrows twitched slightly. His long lashes lowered, his gaze settling on those clear, amber eyes that held no focus.
She couldn't see it, couldn't pick it out, so she could only get used to it.
"…"
Shang Chi's Adam's apple bobbed once before he spoke, a faint smile playing on his lips. "I don't really like the taste either. It was just something I did on impulse."
When Mingzhu finished eating and firmly pushed her bowl away, Shang Chi—who'd been feeding her with such enthusiasm—let out a regretful sigh.
Mingzhu's ears flushed slightly. "I'm really full."
Shang Chi withdrew his eager hand. "How about some ice cream for dessert?"
Mingzhu: "Huh?"
In the end, Mingzhu found herself holding a mint chocolate scoop in a cone, her wrist guided out the door by Shang Chi.
The restaurant used generous portions; the cool mint flavor shot straight to her head, sharpening her thoughts while making the heat on her cheeks and ears feel even more intense.
Shang Chi said he'd go get the car and asked her to wait under the restaurant's eaves.
Mingzhu murmured her agreement, listening to his footsteps descend the steps. She quietly raised her hand and pinched her own burning earlobe.
It all felt strangely unsettling, in a way she couldn't quite put her finger on.
Suddenly, the curtain rustled as several footsteps shuffled away. Whether they had spotted her standing nearby or not, a whiny child's voice piped up, "Mommy, I want ice cream too."
After being refused, the child immediately began whimpering.
"I want it! I'm having it!"
The adults nearby quickly chimed in: "It's just one ice cream! Grandpa will buy it for you!"
"Sweetie hasn't had ice cream in ages because she was sick. Now she's better—one won't hurt."
"Exactly! She's crying! You parents better comfort her!"
Amidst the elders' chattering, the parents finally gave in with a sigh and went back inside to buy a chocolate chip ice cream scoop.
The child's tears turned to laughter as she crunched away at the cone.
The family walked off cheerfully together.
Mingzhu stood rooted to the spot: "..."
She finally realized what felt off.
Had Shang Chi treated her like a child to placate her?
Could it be because he'd bumped her forehead red in the piano room with his stiff frame, and now bought ice cream as compensation?
-
Late autumn brought cool weather, and the ice cream melted slowly.
More than half remained when they got into the car.
Fearing she'd stain the seat, Mingzhuo ate even more carefully, keeping it from touching her lips.
Yet after finishing, she still felt a lingering stickiness between her fingers.
Mingzhuo reached into her small crossbody bag to search, but didn't feel the familiar edges. She paused, then remembered—she'd given that pack of wipes to Shang Chi that afternoon.
Fortunately, there was still a pack of regular tissues inside.
Just as she was thinking this, Shang Chi murmured from the driver's seat beside her, "Looking for something?"
He must have glanced over and noticed Mingzhe's hand raised slightly. Understanding, he asked, "Looking for wet wipes to clean your hands?"
Mingzhe hummed in acknowledgment.
Just as they stopped at a red light, a rustling sound came from Shang Chi's side, and soon a cool, damp wipe landed in her hand.
Shang Chi chuckled hoarsely, "Sorry I didn't return the wipes to you sooner."
"It's fine, I have more in my bag."
Ming Zhe wiped her hands clean with the damp wipe.
Evening streetlights cast their glow through the front window, revealing slender, pale fingers glistening with a thin sheen of moisture. Her neatly trimmed nails, rounded and pink, caught the light.
Shang Chi tilted his head, watching her with a hint of unabashed curiosity. When Mingzhe paused slightly, he reached out naturally, as if his entire focus had been solely on taking the wipe.
"Here, I'll take it. There's a trash bin in the car."
The icy-cold wipe had warmed slightly against her skin.
His fingertips brushed her warm fingertips like a dragonfly skimming water.
Shang Chi tossed it aside casually. Noticing the red light turn green, he shifted his gaze back, loosely gripping the steering wheel with his left hand while returning the packet of wipes—which he'd stuffed into his pocket—with his right.
His tone was casual and brief: "Wipes. Yours back."
Mingzhu gasped, realizing what was happening. Blinking her dazed almond-shaped eyes, she tentatively reached out to take them.
She didn't catch the wipes.
Instead, she caught a long, broad palm.
Its heat starkly contrasted with her own cool skin. Defined knuckles pressed against her soft palm, veins on the back pulsing with vigorous blood flow.
"..."
The car fell silent for a moment.
Mingzhu hastily withdrew her hand, carefully peeling the plastic packaging she'd touched from his fingers. She lowered her head, her dark hair falling over her ears to partially hide her flushed cheeks.
"I... I got it."
"...Mm."
Shang Chi withdrew his hand a beat too late, resting it back on the steering wheel.
His gaze drifted absently to the road ahead, then shifted imperceptibly downward to examine his own hand.
After a long moment, the corners of his lips lifted into a lazy curve.