He'd thought it was romantic, worth a look.
It turned out to be three fools making a spectacle of themselves on the street.
A man like Zhou Luchen rarely had the leisure to pause and watch someone else's marriage proposal.
The white Bentley finally stopped beside St. Bar Church on Manhattan's Fifth Avenue; the driver's seat was empty.
Inside the church, Zhou Luchen's hand rested on a thick black Bible, its cover adorned with a cross.
He was listening to the priest praying to God.
Lonely and indifferent, a foreign doctor sat beside him, unscrewing a medicine jar and giving him two fever-reducing pills to take with water.
The fever was severe: 40.2 degrees Celsius.
The doctor sighed and packed away the temperature sensor. He wondered how many days Zhou Luchen had been ill. He'd felt so unbearably hot that he'd soaked in ice water to cool off, only for his fever to spike as a result.
He was lucky to be God's favorite; his life had been spared.
