The Rider

The cool summer rains lashed the paved streets radiating from the ancient Drum Tower on the cusp of Xi’an’s Muslim Quarter. Throngs of tourists skipped between grimy puddles beneath a field of umbrellas, shielding t-shirts and summer dresses from the deluge. The murky sky, which cleaved the heavens and this ancient Chinese city, had loomed ominously all morning. Thirteen million smartphones, alive to the threat, had convulsed with yellow warnings for storms and heavy rain. Undeterred, the street vendors lined the alleyways, stationed behind counters as water beat down on the awning above. A smoky, char-grilled aroma hung in the damp air as wide noodles and lamb skewers sizzled, then passed into the sticky hands of hungry sightseers. T-shirts and summer dresses, heavy with rain and sweat, clung to the backs of men, women and children, in the hot, saturated air. Yet beneath the damp hairlines and glistening foreheads, eyes sparkled and mouths curved into smiles and soon laughter permeated the street. It had been the hottest day of the year in this part of Shaanxi Province and the cool shower had awakened the summer spirit.

The lively chorus of sales pitches and banter was punctuated with the honking of electric rickshaws which weaved unsteadily through the crowds. Then came a larger vehicle. A bright-yellow electric scooter carrying a fabric-covered box, spacious enough for several extra-large pizzas, dived between two bollards. It then accelerated into a gap before breaking sharply as it swerved an elderly lady backing away from a stall. Its engine emitted a high-pitched whir as it accelerated again, this time through a sliver of pavement between a dumpling stall and a family of three, posing for photographs. The rider manoeuvred expertly, but hadn’t counted on a loose paving stone which, under the weight of the scooter’s front tyre, tilted sharply, sending a jet of fetid rainwater toward the family. The father's bare muscular legs were splattered up to his shorts and his young daughter’s pink hanfu dress was stained brown. His face, already dripping with sweat, flushed bright red as he bared his teeth. He turned and yelled after the rider in his native Mandarin:

“What the f**k are you doing?”

The rider calmly applied the brake and halted the scooter, front wheel against curb. He remained seated, his gloved hands resting on the handlebars, his back to the family. He wore a bright yellow cycle helmet and his neck was covered by a black material which disappeared under the collar of his bright yellow coat. Both helmet and coat were emblazoned with a company logo which matched the logo on the box and the scooter itself. The rider was motionless except for the gentle rise of his shoulders with each breath.

"I said what the f**k are you doing?" the father yelled more forcibly. His wife gently squeezed his shoulder and whispered soothingly in his ear to quell the rising anger.

The rider dismounted, turned to face the family and took a step forward. The father edged back and his wife grabbed his arm with one hand, using the other to shield her daughter who stood closely behind. The rider slowly lifted off his helmet revealing a dusty black balaclava which he peeled away with his free hand. He could only have been 22 years old, his black hair, laced with sweat, was short and parted on one side. His face was lean and his skin grimy and somewhat weathered, yet his sculpted features lent him an air of nobility. His eyes were smaller than usual, but appeared friendly, though not penetrating.

"I'm completely at fault," he declared. "Please accept my sincerest apologies."

This wrong-footed the father who had seemed ready to strike the rider, but his wife tugged his arm and he relented. He waved a hand dismissively as he turned away from the rider, muttering audibly to himself:

"F**king delivery guys!"

The drama over, the rider remounted the scooter and accelerated away, once again weaving and ducking through the crowd. His destination was several streets away in the corporate zone, just beyond Xi'an's ancient city wall. He arrived at a six-storey concrete and glass building, retrieved a small bag from the large box, and dashed through the main entrance. Side-stepping the queues by the lifts, he bounded up three flights of stairs before reaching the reception area of a large office. The bright yellow blur which darted into the room startled the receptionist momentarily, before she rolled her eyes and snapped at the rider:

"Who's it for?"

"Er….," he mumbled, glancing down at the list of orders displayed on his phone. “It’s for…Xinlu.”

She rolled her eyes again, swivelled her creaking chair and bellowed the name through the open office door behind her. There was a few minutes’ wait as the rider impatiently scrolled his phone surveying the mounting orders. An air conditioning unit hummed as it wafted cool air across the rider's damp forehead. Then a voice called from the doorway:

"I believe you have a package for me?”

It was a female voice, one which was soft yet assertive. He raised his head to a smile which belonged to the face of a young woman, perhaps 23 or 24. Her face was rounded, but her cheeks well defined. Her skin was unblemished and her make-up, though delicately applied, accentuated her lips and her keen, intelligent eyes.

“Er…I think so,” he mumbled. “Biang Biang Noodles?”

“That’s right,” she replied, fixing her perceptive eyes on his. She then approached the rider, now rooted to the floor, and, maintaining eye contact, gently removed the package from his grip. Turning her back, she made for the office doorway leaving the fresh scent of a delicate perfume in her wake. Her shiny black hair was neatly styled and reached the shoulders of an immaculate white blouse. She wore a black knee-length skirt which hugged the gentle curves of her waist and thighs. As she passed through the doorway, she pirouetted on her polished black leather shoes and fixed her gaze on him once again:

“Thank you. Hope to see you again sometime.”

Unaccustomed to gratitude, the rider simply nodded. The girl smiled and disappeared into the office. His leg muscles tremored and his heart rate quickened as he descended the staircase. His phone, tucked into the pocket of his khaki trousers, vibrated with updates, presaging the long shift ahead.

***

The delivery riders in this part of Xi’an often gathered in the parking area round the back of the shopping centre and it was here the rider confided in two friends, Jun and Haoran. Jun was a few months younger than the rider and sucked milk tea through a straw as he spoke:

“Yeah, I know the kind of girl you mean. Over-educated rich bitches with those powdery white faces.” He paused momentarily as a tapioca pearl passed through the straw into his mouth. “Still, I have to admit some of them are hot. Locked in those offices on sweaty days they get frisky, you know.”

“It’s air conditioned,” replied the rider cooly.

Jun laughed, sucked the last drops of his milk tea and lobbed the plastic cup toward a nearby bin. It fell short by about a foot and rolled into a gutter.

“Well anyway, I’d show a girl like that a nice time,” he added with a wink.

“Ha,” interjected Haoran, speaking in husky tones though the cigarette wedged between his teeth. “You’re having a laugh!”

Haoran was around 40 and had ridden the Xi'an streets for a decade since he left his village.

“Even you,” he continued, taking the cigarette between his fingers and gesturing at the rider. “You’re all right for a country boy, but girls like that want...”

“Foreign husbands,” Jun interjected. “They talk English on their phones. Think it’s English, anyway. You speak any English?”

“No,” conceded the rider.

“Nah, it’s not foreigners they want,” added Haoran. “Take those Chinese guys who work in that building. I mean they look like K-pop flower boys, but they’re smart guys, university smart I mean. They speak English, they’re suited and booted, and make a shit tonne of money. That’s what your girl’s looking for. Not country boys like us.”

***

The rains had ceased by late afternoon and there was little respite from the heat as the rider completed several more orders. The rank smell of sweat and bacteria from the inner lining of his bright yellow jacket agitated his nostrils. Even the cool breeze which accompanied each press of the accelerator, only coated his skin more thickly with grime from the dusty streets. He passed a group of office girls by a metro station entrance drinking milk tea from straws protruding from plastic cups. Their free hands supported umbrellas to protect the impeccable white skin of their faces and ankles from the sun beating down through the hazy sky. Milk tea shops were abundant in this part of Xi’an and the rider regularly took orders from them. Glancing over at the girls a sudden stillness came over him before his eyes widened and and his eyebrows lifted. With a look of purpose in his eyes, he continued another half mile along the street when he firmly applied the hand brake and the scooter came to rest outside one of the more popular tea shops. He stepped off the scooter and disappeared through the front entrance.

***

The fingers of the largest clock on the wall of the cool office reception room pointed to 10 minutes past 4, Beijing time. Clocks for New York, London and Tokyo ticked in unison and mingled with the muffled sound of a viral TikTok video. The receptionist remained seated at her desk, her eyes glued to the screen of a smartphone. The blur of a figure in yellow then filled her peripheral vision and she glanced upwards. The phone disappeared beneath the desk and the TikTok tune halted.

"Who's it for?" she inquired of the yellow figure.

"It’s for Xinlu," replied the rider a little awkwardly.

The receptionist rolled her eyes then paused for a moment before slowly rising from her seat, wheezing a little as she did so. She stepped languidly through the office door behind her and out of sight. As the rider cast his eyes around the room, he spotted a man lounging on the sofa in the waiting area. He was a few years older than the rider, well groomed with clear skin and immaculately styled hair. The high-quality fabrics of a tailor-made suit covered his slender body and a fresh, citrus fragrance lingered in the air.

After a minute another figure emerged through the doorway which the rider instantly identified as Xinlu. She now wore a single-breasted grey blazer over her white blouse which fitted snugly over her shoulders and hugged her slender figure. The air of professionalism it lent her both enticed and intimidated the rider who stood holding a yellow paper bag by his side.

“Er…hi,” he began. “This is for you.” He lifted the yellow bag by its straps and proffered it to the girl with an outstretched hand.

“What’s that?” she replied, irritated. “I didn’t order anything.” The rider detected in her voice a harshness that he hadn’t noticed before. A furrow appeared in her brow.

“Oh,” he replied. “I know you didn’t order it. It’s a present. From me.” He smiled awkwardly at the girl. The man lounging in the waiting area shifted his weight on the sofa. The rider sensed he was being watched.

“I was wondering,” the rider continued, “if you’d like to…”

“I’m sorry,” she interjected. “I’ve no idea who you are. You need to leave. Now.”

Dumbstruck, the rider glanced over at the man, now perched on the edge of the sofa, who peered back at him sternly. The receptionist had reappeared in the doorway, her nose wrinkled and her lower lip prodruded as she eyed the rider with disgust. The rider’s own gaze returned to Xinlu, who now studied the floor.

“I’m very sorry,” the rider mumbled. “I’ll go now.”

The man on the sofa nodded his approval as the rider sheepishly withdrew from the room, the yellow paper bag still in his hand. His leg muscles tremored once more as he descended the staircase, this time with a hole in his heart. Out in the street, he tossed the yellow paper bag into a nearby bin where it upturned with a slosh and premium milk tea with foam topping cascaded between banana skins, crisp packets and cigarette ends, garnishing them with mint leaves and kiwi slices. The rider returned to his scooter as the orders mounted on his phone once again.

***

The temperature remained in the mid-thirties throughout the early evening. Another four orders completed and the rider headed past the drum tower near the Muslim Quarter for a collection at a fast-food place. Stopping at a traffic light, he rested one foot on the curb while his eyes wandered the street before resting on the American coffee place on the corner. Through the window, a fashionable young couple were perched on two stools either side of a small table which supported two frothy cappuccinos. The girl’s elbows rested on the table while her hands cupped her petite white face. Her bright red lips smiled at her boyfriend who sat cross-legged and rested one elbow on the table while the hand caressed his girlfriend’s dyed blonde hair. The hand then moved down to one of the cappuccinos and a finger scooped up a blob of foam which was then deposited on the girl’s nose. She let out an excited scream, wiped her nose clean before counter-attacking with a flurry of playful slaps as they both giggled. The rider recoiled in disgust as the traffic light turned green and he hit the accelerator.

As he waited at the next traffic light, he cupped his own face with one hand. The skin was coarse and a layer of grease had formed during the day. With two fingers, he traced the course of several lines which emerged like a delta from the corner of his left eye. The hot and grimy Xi’an streets had weathered this young man’s skin in as little as two years. He thought of the blonde girl’s red lips and her soft white face and the nodding head of the well-groomed gentleman in the office reception area. The look of disgust on the receptionist’s face came to mind followed by the splattered leg of the angry father in the Muslim Quarter and his words muttered through bared teeth:

"F**king delivery guys!"

Then he thought of Xinlu and his heart fluttered a little before sinking. Those first words she spoke to him in her soft, vibrant voice still echoed in his mind. Her smile had aroused in him a feeling of hope for a future in which the lives of a delivery rider from the country and a rich, educated city girl mysteriously intertwined and formed a beautiful whole. Then she had spoken again and each word pierced his dream like a dagger:

“I’ve no idea who you are. You need to leave. Now.”

***

By 11pm the temperature had dropped below 30, but the air was still heavy with vapour. A fresh sweat formed on the rider’s brow as he descended the escalator into Xi’an’s metro system, his scooter parked for the night at a nearby rental station. His stiff legs carried his weary body onto the near-empty platform in time for the day’s last train to the suburbs, three minutes to spare. As he mopped his brow with a crumpled tissue extracted from his back pocket, brisk footsteps echoed behind him on the platform’s polished tiles. He swivelled round and there she stood.

“I thought it was you,” she uttered softly. “I’m so sorry about before.”

Xinlu, released from the climate-controlled chamber of her office, now stood before him, exposed to the Xi’an heat. Her forehead was damp and her shiny black hair matted at the hairline. Her cheeks had reddened and her lips appeared fuller as they formed an anxious smile around her pristine teeth. Damp patches had begun to form on her white blouse, the grey jacket now folded under an arm.

“I’m marrying him next week,” she continued. “We’re moving to Shanghai. It’s all been arranged. I can’t back out now.”

The rider, open-mouthed, peered at her as he listened.

“I’ve noticed you before. You delivered to our office a few times. I was lucky today when you came with my order. There’s something about you. I don’t know what it is. Something genuine, something we’re all losing.”

She fell silent and lowered her gaze. There was a stillness between them for a few moments before a low rumbling emerged from the tunnel. The rumbling transformed into a roar as the last metro train burst into the station. It slowed to halt and the doors slid open.

“I’m sorry I hurt you today,” she added. She stepped toward him and thrust her arms around his shoulders. She withdrew slightly before cupping his face in her soft hands and planting a warm kiss on his lips. Her fingers coursed the rough skin of his face which she accepted with a smile.

“Quick, get on,” she said, gesturing at the open train door and tugging at the rider’s sleeve. “I’m heading in the other direction.”

The rider scrambled through the doors which instantly shut behind him. The train accelerated smoothly and the waving figure of Xinlu in the window receded into the distance. The windows blackened with a sudden whoosh as the train entered the tunnel. The rider collapsed onto an empty row of seats and peered through the darkened window at his reflection. The shoulders of the reflection rose gently as it breathed and then it smiled back at the rider. Finally, two tears appeared in the inner corners of its eyes.