The Butcher's Daughter and the Star
The Xavier's Fresh Meat stall at the alley entrance is the brightest memory of my childhood.
Father wielded the knife with strength, my mother's fingers flew as she kept the accounts, and the greasy apron always carried the fresh scent of raw meat.
When I was little, I didn't find that smell unpleasant; instead, it made me feel at home.
Later, when I started school, some classmates teased me as the "daughter of a pig butcher," and I would blush and argue back.
But the more I grew up, the more I realized there's no shame in earning a living with your own hands; within that meaty smell, there's the warmth of our family's everyday life.
Every holiday, I'd go to the meat stall to help out.
Handing out plastic bags, giving change, and sometimes helping my father lift half a pig onto the counter.
Most of the customers at the meat stall are regulars; they'd tease me with a smile, "Carrie, here to help your dad again?"
I always nodded along, keeping my hands moving without pause.
It must have been last summer when someone different came to the meat stall.
He was tall, dressed simply in a white T-shirt and jeans, but his presence was unmistakable.
Especially those eyeslarge and bright, with a gentle smile whenever they met yours.
Every time he comes, he doesn't buy mucheither a spare rib or a few ounces of lean meat.
When he pays, he softly says thank you. His voice is like a spring breeze, so comforting.
My mother would whisper to me, "This young man is really handsome; I wonder what he does for a living."
I can't quite explain it either, but he comes every weekend, as if there's an unspoken agreement between him and our family's meat stall.
I secretly memorized the name he occasionally mentioned while chatting with my motherYves Vincent.
This summer, I graduated from university and started working as an intern nurse at the city center hospital.
Wearing a white coat for the first time and standing in the ward corridor, I felt both nervous and excited.
The first patient my mentor assigned me was in a private room on the third floor of the inpatient ward.
I held my medical record book and walked over, then gently knocked on the door.
A voice from inside said, "Please come in," and it sounded somewhat familiar.
I pushed the door open and froze the moment I looked up.
The person sitting on the hospital bed was none other than Yves Vincent, the regular customer who often came to our stall to buy meat.
He wore a hospital gown, his face a little pale, and when he saw me, he clearly hesitated for a moment.
I walked over, trying to keep my voice professional: "Hello, Mr. Vincent. I'm Carrie Xavier. I'll be taking care of your daily nursing from now on."
Yves Vincent stared at me, his eyes shifting from confusion to panic.
He suddenly recoiled, instinctively clutching the blanket as if he'd seen something terrifying.
"You... what are you doing here?" His voice trembled slightly.
His reaction left me baffled. "I'm interning here, Mr. Vincent. Are you feeling unwell?"
But he shook his head, eyes darting away, not daring to meet my gaze. "Don't come over! I... I'm really not buying meat today!"
I stood frozen there, only snapping back to reality after a long moment.
Did he actually think I was just a meat seller and that I'd come all the way to the hospital to "push" meat on him?
I couldn't help but want to laugh, though I also felt a little helpless.
"Mr. Vincent, you've got it all wrong," I softened my tone gently. "I'm a nurse now, not a meat seller. I'm here to take care of you."
But Yves Vincent seemed not to hear me; his face went even paler. "Don't lie to me. Are you... are you thinking that last time's meat was short?"
"I'm telling you, I really only need that muchI can't eat that much by myself..."
The more he spoke, the more flustered he became, even starting to back away, nearly falling off the bed.
I hurried forward to help him, but he was so frightened he closed his eyes and shouted, "Don't come near me! I'm calling the police!"
I stopped in my tracks, both annoyed and amused.
What on earth is going on here?
I'm just an intern nursehow did I suddenly become a "pig butcher" that scares him so much?
I took a deep breath, trying to stay calm. "Mr. Vincent, please calm down and listen to me."
"My name is Carrie Xavier. I'm a nursing graduate from City Medical University. Here's my internship IDplease have a look."
I took the internship ID out of my pocket and handed it over to him.
Yves Vincent hesitated for a moment, then opened one eye and quickly glanced at the internship ID.
Seeing the photo and details, the panic on his face slowly faded, replaced by a shy embarrassment.
"Sorry about that, Nurse Xavier," he scratched his head awkwardly, "I didn't recognize you at first. I thought... I thought you were chasing me down to drum up business."
I couldn't help but laugh out loud, "Mr. Vincent, your imagination really is amazing. I'm just helping out at my family's stall during the holidays; now, I'm a nurse, taking care of you."
Yves' face flushed even redder, as if he wished he could just disappear into the ground.
"I'm really sorry, truly sorry," he kept apologizing. "I've been feeling a bit off these past few days, and my mind's been foggy. I made such a big fool of myself."
"It's okay," I waved my hand. "Maybe it's because I helped out at the meat stall beforethat must have left a strong impression on you."
The atmosphere finally eased up, and I began my routine care for him.
Taking his temperature and measuring his blood pressure, he was very cooperative, though he would occasionally sneak a glance at me, his eyes still holding a hint of shyness.
After finishing the care, I was about to leave the ward.
As I reached the door, Yves Vincent suddenly called out to me, "Nurse Xavier."
I turned around and said, "Mr. Vincent, is there something else?"
He looked at me, hesitated for a moment, then said, "Well... your family's meat is really quite fresh."
I was momentarily stunned, then couldn't help but smile. "Thank you for the compliment, Mr. Vincent. If you ever want to buy meat again, you can have your family visit our stall and give my namewe'll give you a discount."
Yves Vincent smiled too, his eyes curving into crescent moons. "Alright, definitely."
I stepped out of the ward, still smiling at how flustered he'd looked moments ago.
Yves Vincent, that big-eyed handsome guy, was actually quite adorable.
I never expected that would just be the start of the misunderstandings between us.
The next day, I went to the ward to care for Yves Vincent as usual.
The moment I entered, I saw him sitting on the bed, pale, with a cautious look in his eyes.
I felt a bit confused. "Mr. Vincent, how are you feeling today?"
He didn't answer my question. Instead, he stared at me and asked, "Nurse Xavier, have you... been following me all this time?"
I froze. "Following you? What do you mean?"
"I went home after being discharged yesterday and kept feeling like someone was tailing me," he frowned, his tone serious. "This morning when I came to the hospital, I also felt someone right behind me. Before you came in just now, I saw you lingering by the ward door for quite a while. Was that you?"
I was completely baffled. "Mr. Vincent, are you sure you haven't misunderstood?"
"I just got to the hospital this morning. I checked in at the nurse station first, then came straight to your ward. I wasn't following you at all."
"Not you?" He looked a little doubtful. "But other than you, I haven't upset anyone else."
"Are you... are you my stalker fan? You found out I was in the hospital and pretended to be a nurse just to get close to me?"
"Stalker fan?" I was both amused and speechless. "Mr. Vincent, I don't even know what you do for a living. How could I possibly be your stalker fan?"
"I'm just an ordinary intern nurse."
"You don't know what I do?" Yves Vincent froze, as if he'd just heard something unbelievable.
"Haven't you watched TV? Haven't you browsed short videos?"
I shook my head. "I'm usually busy with studying and my internship, so I hardly watch those."
Yves Vincent looked at me, his eyes darkening with suspicion. "Cut the act. Are stalker fans really this good at pretending these days? Acting like you don't know me, then showing up at the hospital as a nursewhat exactly are you after?"
His words made me both frustrated and helpless. "Mr. Vincent, I really am not a stalker fan."
"If you don't believe me, you can ask my mentor at the nurse station or check my internship records. I'm officially hired as an intern nurse."
He was silent for a moment, as if he was wondering whether what I said was true.
After a while, he suddenly smiled, his tone much lighter. "Alright, I believe you're not a stalker fan."
I was a bit surprised. "Why did you suddenly believe that?"
"Because if you were a stalker fan, you'd definitely find ways to ask me for an autograph or a photo," he said, a teasing glint in his eyes. "But from yesterday until now, you haven't brought any of that upjust nursing care, and you don't even know who I am."
I was a bit speechless. "So you were testing me just now?"
"I suppose," he said with a smile. "I've been rattled by stalker fans lately, so I have to be extra cautious. Nurse Xavier, I'm truly sorry for misunderstanding you again."
Looking into his eyes, shining with a smile, the anger inside me melted away.
"It's alright," I said with a sigh. "I hope this is the last time we have a misunderstanding."
"It will be," he promised, then couldn't help but ask, "Nurse Xavier, do you really have no idea what I do for a living?"
I honestly shook my head. "No, what is it? Are you famous?"
He looked at me as if I were an alien, opened his mouth, but in the end said nothing, just smiled softly, "It's nothing. Maybe you'll find out someday."
I didn't press further and turned to leave.
As I reached the door, I heard him say again, "Nurse Xavier, thank you."
I glanced back and smiled at him, "You're welcome, it's my job."
Walking out of the ward, I murmured to myself, 'This Yves Vincent really is a mystery.'
Ever since the misunderstanding was cleared up, the atmosphere between Yves Vincent and me has warmed considerably.
Every day when I come to care for him, he always chats with me.
Sometimes we talk about the weather, sometimes about the hospital food, and occasionally about my family's meat stall.
He would ask me if my father's knife skills were still as good, or if my mother's memory was still as sharp as ever.
I would ask him how his recovery was going, and whether he was taking his medicine on time.
After spending time with him, I realized Yves Vincent was actually pretty funny, often telling jokes that made me laugh.
But I still had no idea exactly what he did for a living.
One day, while I was taking his blood pressure in the ward, my phone rang.
It was a message from my mother, asking if I'd be coming home for dinner.
After I replied to my mother, just as I was about to slip my phone back into my pocket, Yves suddenly asked, "Nurse Xavier, is that a voting page on your phone screen?"
I was a bit stunned, then glanced down at my phone.
Just now, while replying to my mother, I accidentally opened a voting app I had downloaded earlier, and the screen happened to show the voting page.
I felt a little embarrassed and quickly turned off my phone. "It's nothing, just a regular app."
But Yves Vincent kept staring at my phone, his eyes filled with curiosity. "I think I just saw my name and photo on there."
My heart suddenly tightened.
This voting app had been recommended by my roommate, saying you could vote for your favorite celebrities.
Since I had some free time, I downloaded it and even casually followed a few attractive celebrities.
I saw Yves Vincent's name and photo on that app.
So he's a celebrity?
I had no idea until now.
Seeing Yves' curious gaze, I opened my mouth but didn't know how to explain.
Just then, the TV mounted on the ward wall suddenly lit up.
It was Yves' assistant, coming over to play a variety show he had appeared on before.
On the screen, Yves was dressed sharply, singing and dancing on stage, with a crowd of fans screaming in the audience.
At the bottom of the TV screen, comments scrolled by continuously.
"Yves is so handsome!"
"Yves has to get better soon!"
"Is there anyone at the hospital who can help take care of Yves?"
I looked at Yves Vincent on the TV, then glanced at him lying in the hospital bed, finally understanding why he thought I was a stalker fan.
So he's really that famous a celebrity.
Yves looked at me, a knowing look in his eyes: "Now you know what I do?"
I nodded, my face flushing a little. "I'm sorry, Mr. Vincent, I really didn't know you were a celebrity before."
"That's alright," he smiled, "a lot of people don't know me either."
Even though he said that, I could tell from the number and enthusiasm of the comments streaming across the screen that he definitely had a lot of fans.
I glanced at the comments on the TV, then looked over at Yves Vincent, and suddenly an idea struck me.
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