The sky outside the window had sunk to deep night. The maid dress was already fastened, the lace edges of the apron smoothed between my fingers, every crease pressed flat.
Dianzi stood beside me, holding a tray. The runny yolk of the fried egg was still quivering faintly.
The edges of the egg white had been fried into a ring of golden-brown thin crust. The steam from the coffee cup rose in a straight column, twisting once in the cold hallway air before dispersing.
We stood at the door of Yuan Yewei's apartment with the late-night snack tray.
Coffee, fried eggs, toast, a small dish of fruit. Everything was arranged with neat precision.
The fruit pieces were cut to identical sizes. The toast was sliced diagonally into triangles. The butter was spread to the edges.
When Yuan Yewei opened the door, he froze. His gaze moved from the tray to my face, then to Dianzi's. His hand was still resting on the door handle.
I dipped my head slightly. The white lace of my apron brushed past my knee. "Master, your late-night snack is ready."
Dianzi carried the tray into the kitchen. The tray made a soft sound against the countertop. "Just sit. You don't need to do anything."
Yuan Yewei sat down, picked up the coffee cup, and took a sip. His fingers adjusted their position on the handle twice before he held it steady.
His phone screen lit up and dimmed. He glanced at it. He didn't reach for it.
I picked up his phone. The call log showed a missed call from a former subordinate, half an hour ago.
"Was that call before answered by you?" He looked up at me.
"Yes. I told him you were resting and to call back another day."
He was silent for a moment, then looked down at his own fingers. His thumb rubbed back and forth against the knuckle of his index finger.
"I used to take those calls myself. After taking them, I'd spend the whole day thinking about how to respond. Sometimes after the first reply, the other person would come back with a second question. The whole afternoon was wasted in conversation."
"From now on, you won't have to think about it. We'll answer the calls. We'll collect the deliveries. We'll pay the bills. You don't need to think about anything."
He pulled his hands back from the tabletop and set them on his knees. I picked up his phone from the table, flipped through it, and set it back down, screen facing down.
"Master, you were thinking too much before. That's why you were suffering. Depending on others is how you enjoy life. What you need to do now is empty your head and hand everything over to us."
He looked up at me. He bit into a piece of toast. Breadcrumbs fell onto the plate. He picked them up with his fingers and put them in his mouth. "You're serious."
Dianzi brought the fried egg out from the kitchen. The sash of her apron was tied into a bow behind her waist, swaying lightly with each step.
"The egg is fried—runny yolk. This girl fried the yolk to the exact point where it can be poked through with chopsticks. Too cooked or too raw won't do."
Yuan Yewei chewed at a pace several times slower than usual. He ate the entire late-night snack. The empty plate's edge held a small trace of butter.
When he handed the plate back, it slipped out. "More."
He paused, looked down at his own outstretched hand, his fingertips curling slightly inward.
I took the plate. "Yes, Master. Coming right up."
Dianzi was already standing beside him with the second portion. The runny yolk was softer than before. The yellow center wobbled once.
——A person who stops answering calls isn't being lazy. They're turning off the switch called coping.
Yuan Yewei finished the second late-night snack and leaned back against the sofa. The cushion sank inward. His whole body settled back a little deeper.
His shoulders were no longer braced. I cleared the plates into the kitchen. The sound of the faucet covered the silence in the living room.
The hot water hit the plates, lifting a small cloud of white steam.
Dianzi pulled the curtains halfway open. The night outside cut a sharp line of light and shadow across the floor. The lit half was spread with moonlight. The dark half melted into the baseboard.
Yuan Yewei stared at that line for a long time. Then he closed his eyes. His voice was lower than before, as if talking to himself.
"Before, the first thing I did every morning was check my phone. This morning, the first thing I did was smell coffee. Before, every time my phone buzzed, my stomach hurt. Today, after you took my phone away, I ate two servings of the late-night snack. Two."
I leaned against the kitchen doorframe, wiping my hands on the apron. The hem of the apron was already dotted with several water stains. The fabric where my fingers had rubbed was slightly wrinkled.
"Tomorrow it'll be three."
Pulling the door shut behind us, the hallway was quiet enough to hear the hum of the elevator.
I leaned against the wall of the car. The chill of the metal seeped through the thin fabric of the maid dress and reached my shoulder blades.
The elevator descended. The floor numbers ticked down one by one. Each tick emitted a short electronic tone.
Dianzi slipped her hand into the crook of my arm. Her fingers were cool. Her nail scraped lightly against my forearm, leaving a faint white line.
"He's quieter than Zhao Dayong. Zhao Dayong was led by us. This one sat down on his own and just didn't want to move."
"That's because he isn't hungry. He's tired. Hungry people need to be fed. Tired people just need to be told: you can stop walking now."
The elevator doors opened. The draft from the lobby poured in.
As we passed through the revolving door, the glass reflected our two silhouettes—one ink-black, one light pink—walking in perfect synchronization.
The white aprons of the maid dresses stood out against the dark marble backdrop like two small flags, lifted at one corner by the wind before falling back.
The night outside the door had sunk to its deepest point. The streetlamp across the road was on—a single lonely light. The circle of light cast a perfect ring on the ground.