X-shaped Trajectory

Wang Cuifen's legs had always been straight.

Two perfectly straight legs, supporting her frame – neither tall nor short, a standard 1.68 meters according to "Mr. Gao" – had carried her along the concrete roads of the small city for over twenty years. They weren't beautiful, nor could they be called ugly; like the silent trunks of the plane trees lining the street, they were ordinary to the point of being overlooked. She herself had never thought anything was wrong with her legs, until she met that "Mr. Gao."

She encountered Mr. Gao at the newly opened "Health Consultation Center" on the street corner. The storefront was modest, its glass wiped gleamingly clean. Inside sat several people in white coats, their expressions solemn, as if they held the ultimate secrets of life. Mr. Gao didn't wear a white coat. He was dressed in a well-pressed suit, his hair impeccably combed. He spoke gently and refinedly, carrying an air of unquestionable authority.

"Ms. Wang," he said, scrutinizing Cuifen, his gaze like a scalpel lightly tracing her legs. "Your height is excellent. A pity... a pity about these legs."

Cuifen's heart skipped a beat, as if pricked by a needle. "My legs... what's wrong with them?"

"It's not an illness," Mr. Gao shook his head, his tone tinged with regret. "It's the shape. Too straight, lacking curvature, not in line with modern aesthetics. Look," he produced a brochure from somewhere, filled with photos of models, each twisting their waists, their leg lines curved just so. "This slight X-shape, this is the currently popular 'artistic leg.' It makes one look more delicate, more feminine. When you walk, you'll sway gracefully."

Cuifen looked at the legs on those glossy pages, then back at her own. Suddenly, her own legs felt indeed too "stiff," like two wooden sticks. Mr. Gao's voice was like warm water, slowly seeping through her defenses: "We have the latest 'shape optimization' technology here. Minimally invasive, safe. Just a slight adjustment to the bone angle, and you achieve the perfect effect. Think about it, Ms. Wang, with the same height, a change in leg shape elevates your entire persona significantly. Whether it's finding a job, or... well, personal matters, things will go much more smoothly."

"Adjusting the bone angle?" Cuifen was a bit dazed; it sounded rather frightening.

"Ah, it sounds scary, but it's really just a minor procedure, using physical principles for correction." Mr. Gao downplayed it, as if discussing pruning bonsai. "We have many successful cases, customers are very satisfied. This is an investment, an investment in your future."

Cuifen hesitated. She looked at her ordinary legs, then thought about the "graceful sway" Mr. Gao described. The faint dissatisfaction with her current situation grew wildly inside her, like weeds. Life in the small city was as flat as water; she yearned for something different, a bit of "improvement." The "future" Mr. Gao spoke of was like a sugar-coated stone, heavy and tempting.

Finally, swayed by a stack of colorful brochures and Mr. Gao's "satisfaction guaranteed" assurance, Cuifen paid the hefty "optimization fee." She didn't even tell her family. This felt like her own secret, a secret passage to a "better future."

Lying on the narrow operating table in the back room of the "Consultation Center," smelling the strange mixture of disinfectant and cheap aromatherapy, Cuifen felt both fear and anticipation. Mr. Gao entered with another person in a white coat, expressionless. There was no anesthesia. Mr. Gao said, "A little pain. Worth it, for beauty."

Then, she heard the sickening "crack" of her own bones being forcibly twisted by some instrument. Excruciating pain shot through her body like an electric current; she nearly fainted. Mr. Gao's voice echoed vaguely in her ears: "There, a small sacrifice, it'll be fine soon, beautiful soon..."

The following days were spent in plaster and pain. Cuifen lay on her small bed at home. The sunlight outside the window was bright, but to her, everything seemed grey and hazy. She dared not think about that terrible sound, only replaying Mr. Gao's promise of a "graceful sway" over and over.

Months later, the plaster came off.

Cuifen leaned on the wall, stood up shakily, and walked to the mirror.

The person in the mirror was still her. Height 1.68 meters, no more, no less. But her legs... they were no longer straight. Her knees bent inward, forming a distinct "X" shape. When she walked, it was no longer her familiar steady gait, but a strange, waddling posture. She tried to "sway" gracefully, but nearly fell.

This was completely different from the "artistic legs" in the brochure. It was a pathological curve, an obvious deformity.

She went looking for the "Health Consultation Center." The place was empty, deserted. A "Prime Shop for Rent" notice was pasted on the glass door, like a mocking grimace. Mr. Gao, that gentle and refined Mr. Gao, along with his "artistic leg" theory, had vanished without a trace.

Cuifen returned to the concrete roads of the small city. Her legs were now truly "different." People no longer overlooked her. They would look at her, with gazes mixed with curiosity, pity, and even a trace of imperceptible mockery. She walked very slowly, each step accompanied by slight pain and the grating sound of bone on bone. That X-shaped trajectory was imprinted on the ground, and branded onto her heart.

She sometimes remembered her once straight, ordinary legs. They were so common, so unremarkable that she had never paid them any attention. And now, she had lost that ordinariness, exchanging it for a conspicuous, permanent defect. She couldn't understand why something perfectly fine had to be called flawed by others; why a non-existent "beauty" had to be bought with real bone.

The sun still shone on the small city, and the plane trees by the road remained silent. Wang Cuifen dragged her X-shaped legs, hobbling along like a living, grotesque specimen, bearing witness to an absurd tragedy that defied clear explanation. Her future, it seemed, had also veered along with her legs onto a crooked path from which there was no return. The surrounding noise of life went on, life itself moved forward, but her steps could no longer leave straight marks.