Chapter 220: Stay Here

Zhiyi turned toward the screen beside the bed and selected the exterior view.

The controls were within reach, so she could see the showroom without moving from the pillows Hanchuan had left behind her.

An older woman stood just inside a narrow doorway in the side wall. She wore loose trousers and a shirt with one sleeve rolled above her elbow. Something rested against her hip, partly hidden by the younger man holding her wrist.

He pulled her backward, but she caught the doorframe with her free hand.

"He needs help," the woman called toward the mobile base. "Please, there’s someone here who needs help."

"Stay in the doorway," Jingwei told her through the speaker. "You can talk to us from there. What happened?"

The woman looked down at the object she was carrying. As she turned it toward the light, Zhiyi recognized a framed photograph.

The younger man reached for it, and the woman twisted away so sharply that they nearly stumbled over the threshold.

"Put that down," he said, catching her arm again. "They can’t do anything for him."

"You said he’d come back," the woman replied, clutching the frame against her chest.

Zhiyi raised herself a little against the pillows. On the screen, the younger man looked toward the mobile base, his grip still closed around his mother’s wrist.

"She’s confused," he called. "We’re fine. Sorry we disturbed you."

The woman shook her head hard enough to loosen her hair from its clip.

"He took his water," she said, pointing behind her son into the dark showroom. "He said there wasn’t enough for both of us."

Qinghe moved closer to the microphone.

"Who’s inside with you?" he asked. "Is someone hurt?"

The woman tried to answer, but her son pulled her backward. Her shoulder struck the frame, and the photograph fell faceup onto the pavement as the door began to close.

Zhiyi could see a smiling man behind the glass. Before the door shut, the woman pushed her foot into the gap.

"Leave it open," Qinghe said. "You’re hurting her arm."

The younger man stopped pulling. He looked down at his mother’s wrist before releasing it, then reached around her for the photograph.

She bent at the same time, but he got there first.

"Come inside," he told her, holding the frame against his thigh. "You can have it back when you sit down."

"I want to see him," she replied. "You keep telling me to sit down."

Zhiyi heard Hanchuan enter the living compartment before he appeared beside the bed. He glanced at her screen, then at the pillow she had shifted.

"Did you hear all of that?" he asked.

"Yes," Zhiyi replied, looking up at him. "She’s asking to see someone. He hasn’t answered her."

Hanchuan sat beside her, leaving the screen visible. When she offered her hand, he took it without checking anything else first.

Outside, Qinghe asked the younger man who his mother was trying to see.

"My father," the man answered. He rubbed his mouth with the back of his hand. "He was ill before any of this started. She thinks you can make him better because you’ve got lights and air-conditioning."

"Where is he now?" Qinghe asked.

The man glanced behind him. "At the back."

His mother caught his sleeve. "In the storeroom," she said. "He put him in there yesterday."

"I moved him somewhere quiet," her son replied, turning toward her. "You said he couldn’t sleep with people walking past."

"You locked it," she told him.

From the front compartment came the faint scrape of a chair. Hanchuan’s fingers moved against Zhiyi’s, but he stayed beside her.

The younger man looked toward the mobile base again.

"He kept trying to get up," he explained. "He couldn’t stand properly. I couldn’t stay with him every minute, and she couldn’t lift him if he fell."

"Is the door still locked?" Qinghe asked.

The man didn’t answer immediately. He shifted the photograph beneath his arm and reached into his pocket, then stopped with his hand still inside it.

Zhiyi watched his mother notice the movement.

"You told me you couldn’t find the key," the woman said.

"I was going to look after you’d eaten," he replied.

"I haven’t eaten." She let go of his sleeve. "I was waiting for you to bring his bowl back."

The younger man closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, he looked exhausted. Dust lay in the creases beside his mouth, and his collar had rubbed a raw patch beneath his jaw.

"I can’t keep doing everything," he said. "Neither of you can go anywhere. I spend half the day looking for water, and when I come back, it’s already gone."

Zhiyi felt Hanchuan’s hand tighten. She turned hers beneath it until their palms rested together.

"That doesn’t tell us how your father is," Qinghe replied. "When did you last speak to him?"

"This morning," the man said.

His mother looked up quickly. "What did he say?"

"He asked for something to drink." The man’s voice grew louder as she continued staring at him. "What do you think he said? It’s all either of you asks me for."

The woman reached toward the photograph. This time, he let her take it.

She held it with both hands, looking at the face behind the glass.

"You told me he was asleep," she said.

Nobody inside the mobile base spoke.

Zhiyi could hear the cooling system and Hanchuan’s breathing beside her. He had been afraid to sleep because she might need him. Across the forecourt, the woman was learning that her husband had been awake and asking for water while she waited.

"Open the storeroom," Qinghe told the man. "Let your mother speak to him."

The man looked past her toward the vehicle.

"Are you coming in?" he asked. "If I open it, are you going to help?"

"We’re staying inside," Hanchuan called toward the front, his voice carrying to the microphone. "You can unlock a door without us being there."

The man’s expression hardened, but his mother stepped closer before he could answer.

"Give me the key," she said, holding out her hand.

He took it from his pocket. For a moment, he kept it closed in his fist.

"If you go in there, don’t start telling him we’ve found help," he warned her. "You heard them. They’re staying in their truck."

The woman held her hand steady until he dropped the key into it. She tucked the photograph beneath her arm and turned toward the dark showroom.

Her son moved as though to follow, but she stopped him with a hand against his chest.

"Stay here," she told him. "I want to hear what he says when you aren’t beside me."