novelTele Chapter 16 The Wind Rises
Chapter 16 The Wind Rises
The morning light cut through the gap in the curtains, a stark white.
In the second-floor bedroom, Qin Wei knelt beside the bed, her knees sinking into the mattress. Su Nian lay flat, her left knee swollen and shiny, the skin taut. Bandages were wrapped around her, pressing against the straight wooden board, the sound of the tape tearing particularly loud in the quiet second floor—the sound traveled down the cracks in the floor and along the grain of the staircase.
"Don't move," Qin Wei said softly, gently pinching Su Nian's ankle with her fingers to confirm the bone position.
Su Nian didn't answer. She clutched the strawberry candy in her left hand, the wrapper softened by her body heat and crumpled, clinging to her palm. She stared at the ceiling, her pupils reflecting the morning light.
The sound of tearing tape stopped.
Downstairs in the living room, Bai Mo sat on the floor against the wall, her left leg stretched out. She stopped when she heard the noise upstairs, and the speed at which she twirled the business card slowed. Her dark gray trench coat couldn't conceal the dark red edges of the bandages, and her silver-rimmed glasses had only the left lens remaining; the right frame was empty, wrapped with tape.
Very light footsteps came from the stairs. Lin Xiaotang came down carrying a rabbit plush toy, the plush surface rubbing against the handrail with a soft, rustling sound. She saw Bai Mo sitting on the floor, paused for a moment, put the plush toy in the corner, squatted down, and handed him a glass of warm water.
Bai Mo took the drink but didn't drink it; his gaze fell on Lin Xiaotang's drooping hair.
Silent for a long time.
"That time at Eagle's Beak Cliff," Bai Mo suddenly spoke, his voice low, as if he didn't want to disturb the sound of bandages being applied upstairs, "you were there too."
Lin Xiaotang's fingertips were still suspended in mid-air, stunned.
"Carrying a very heavy bag," Bai Mo took a sip of water, his Adam's apple bobbing, "a tripod, a fill light, a stabilizer. You said you were going to film a vlog for Xun Ge, free publicity."
Lin Xiaotang's ears burned instantly, her eyes darting away to reach for the roll of bandage on the ground—the end of the bandage Qin Wei had just used, lying scattered on the floor. She frantically coiled the untied bandage back around, her knuckles turning white, her movements echoing Qin Wei's from upstairs in a distant way.
"I...I don't remember." Her voice was barely audible.
Bai Mo didn't ask any further questions. He put the water glass on the ground and looked down at the business card: Building B-17, locust tree, waterproof bag.
Footsteps echoed down the stairs, this time heavier. Zhang Xun gripped the handrail as he descended, his knuckles turning white from the effort. He glanced at the living room, his eyes dark and swollen, but said nothing, heading straight into the first-floor storage room.
Qin Wei slowly descended the stairs, the steps creaking softly under her weight. As she passed the living room, she glanced at the scene: Bai Mo's business card had stopped turning, and Lin Xiaotang remained in the position she'd just been in after handing out water, her knees pressed against her chest. Qin Wei didn't say anything, simply rubbing her stiff neck, and followed her into the warehouse.
The warehouse was even dimmer. Zhang Xun sat on the ground, a canvas spread out in front of him. The quiver was empty, and five intact carbon fiber arrows were lined up on the cloth. The sixth arrow was salvaged by Su Nian from the corpse; its shaft had a fine crack, and the metal arrowhead was chipped, like a gnawed bone.
He removed the blunted arrowhead, wrapped the shaft with cloth to secure it, and used a file to hold the arrowhead in place, filing it bit by bit.
The file teeth bit into the rust, making a very faint rustling sound—similar to the sound of Lin Xiaotang's velvet surface rubbing against the armrest earlier, but sharper, like a mouse gnawing on wood.
His hand began to tremble, the file veered off course, leaving a crooked mark on the side of the arrowhead. Zhang Xun stopped, rested his forehead on his knees, and closed his eyes.
Upstairs, Su Nian creaked as she turned over, the wooden board rubbing against the bandages. Then came the soft sound of crumpled candy wrappers.
Zhang Xun suddenly opened his eyes. Qin Wei's fingers tightened around the bandage, Bai Mo turned to look at the roller shutter door, and Lin Xiaotang held her breath.
Outside the window, a long roar came from the end of the street, trembled in the morning light, and then stopped.
No one spoke. Zhang Xun picked up the steel file again, this time gripping it tighter and moving more slowly. A bead of blood seeped from the pad of his index finger; he wiped it away with his thumb, leaving a dark red streak on his trouser leg.
"The hard drive in B-17," Bai Mo's voice came from the stairwell, her voice extremely low as she leaned against the wall with one leg. "Shall we pick it up this afternoon?"
Zhang Xun didn't look up; his forehead was still pressed against the horizontal bar, and his breathing was heavy.
"Given your current situation," Bai Mo said, "the chances of you coming back after driving out are less than ten percent."
"Your hands are shaking like this," Qin Wei walked in, squatted down next to Zhang Xun, and took the steel file from his hand. Her fingertips touched the cold sweat and bloodstains on his palm. "How dare I let you hold the steering wheel? Go to sleep first."
Zhang Xun's fingers dug into the edge of the shelf, his knuckles cracking. He seemed to want to say something, his lips parted, then closed again.
Lin Xiaotang walked over, squatted down on his other side, and handed him a glass of warm water. Her fingerprints and the warmth of Bai Mo's hand remained on the plastic cup.
Zhang Xun looked down and slowly finished his drink.
Upstairs, the creaking sound of the wooden planks and bandages rubbing together as Su Nian turned over came from upstairs. Bai Mo looked down at the walkie-talkie in his hand; the red light was off. Qin Wei leaned against the wall, her fingers still unconsciously rubbing her knuckles, just like Zhang Xun had done earlier.
No one spoke.
Six arrows lay on the canvas, their shadows stretched long by the candlelight, reaching all the way to Zhang Xun's feet. Upstairs, the soft sound of crumpled candy wrappers arose again, as if someone had turned over in the darkness.
---
3:17 PM on April 19th.
Zhang Xun pressed his right eye against the peephole, the plastic ring digging into his brow bone. The back alley was dimly lit, with high walls on both sides creating a narrow strip of sky, the ground reflecting the light from broken bricks and puddles. The two men huddled in the shadows: the taller one sat against the wall, his right arm hanging between his knees, blood dripping from his fingertips onto the ground, seeping into the cracks between the bricks; the shorter one stood gripping a steel pipe, his head turned towards the alley entrance, the muscles in the back of his neck taut.
Tap. Tap. Knuckles tapped on the iron gate, so lightly that they were afraid of disturbing the echo inside the wall.
Zhang Xun took a half step back, his heel scraping the ground, and raised his crossbow. He pulled back the bolt with his left hand; the bolt slid in its groove, and a blast of cold air rushed in, carrying the stench of the alley. Zhang Xun didn't move aside; he braced his shoulder against the door, the crossbow protruding from the crack, the arrow pointing downwards, about three inches in front of the short man's toes.
The taller one took half a step forward, as if to speak, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down.
"Don't come any closer," Zhang Xun said. "Right here."
Gao stopped, saw the crossbow, and pressed his lips tightly together. Blood dripped from his sleeve onto the rim of the plastic bucket, *plop*.
Qin Wei squeezed out from under Zhang Xun's arm, her knees braced against the threshold, the rough cement scraping against her overalls. She crouched down outside the threshold, her center of gravity extremely low, and with her right hand, she used scissors to cut open Chen's sleeve. The rustling sound of the fabric fibers tearing echoed softly between the high walls on either side.
"How did you get hurt?" Qin Wei asked in a breathy voice. She pressed her fingers against the edge of the wound, and blood stained her fingertips.
Chen took a breath and clenched his teeth. "The door. It was blown open."
Zhang Xun didn't move. He moved his index finger to the trigger. The light from the crack in the door cut a white line across the back of his hand.
"Three days ago," Jiang said, leaning against the wall, turning the steel pipe in his palm, the metal scraping against the wall. "Wang Tie. Detonators. Armory."
Qin Wei poured out the iodine. The liquid washed away the blood clots, Chen's shoulder twitched, and his knee slammed against the bucket, the plastic making a dull thud.
"There are guns inside." Jiang's voice was choked with sarcasm as his gaze swept over Zhang Xun's crossbow before shifting away. "Shotgun shells. Two. Rifles. Several."
"This morning. Smoke from Gaotai. Following the tire tracks."
Qin Wei wrapped bandages around her neck. The strips of cloth tightened around and around, rubbing against her skin. Her fingers trembled, but she didn't stop moving.
Jiang turned his head to the street corner, then back, his Adam's apple bobbing. "There's another one. A woman. Looking for someone."
"From the western suburbs," Chen added breathily, his forehead resting on his knees. "Wears glasses. A female spy."
Qin Wei paused, her knuckles turning white, as she continued to tighten the knot.
Zhang Xun raised his crossbow an inch. The arrowhead rose from the ground to Jiang's chest height.
"You guys." Zhang Xun's voice squeezed out from under the door, tinged with a metallic edge. "You've been followed?"
Jiang nodded, his shoulder brushing against the wall. "Shake it off. Not sure."
Qin Wei cut the bandage. The metal blade tore through the fabric with a snap. She stood up, her knee cracking slightly, took two antibiotic pills from her pocket, opened her palm, and handed them to Chen.
"Twice a day."
Chen took the pill, rolled it in his palm, and stuffed it into the inner pocket of his vest.
Zhang Xun withdrew his crossbow and closed the door. The door slammed shut, cutting off the airflow.
The latch clicked.
Both inside and outside the door froze.
Blood dripped from the tip of Qin Wei's blade, about to fall. The roar from the alley entrance crashed against the wall, shattering into an echo that slowly faded into the distance.
Blood droplets fell.
despair.
---
It's 5:43 PM. The light is retreating from the window, slowly swallowing up the outline of the room.
Zhang Xun sat on a wooden box by the window, leaning against the wall, holding a pair of binoculars in his hand, peering at the street outside. His expression was solemn, his brows were furrowed, and his knuckles were bluish-white from the force of his grip.
Sizzle—Sizzle—
The walkie-talkie beside him suddenly rang. It was Lao Liu's, channel three. The static, like sandpaper scraping, was particularly jarring in the quiet shop. He picked up the walkie-talkie, stared at the number for a long time, rubbing his fingertip halfway around the frosted plastic, leaving a sweaty stain.
Zhang Xun's thumb hovered above the call button. He glanced at Qin Wei, who was leaning against the door frame, the hem of her clothes stained with a yellow iodine stain, like a piece of rust that could not be washed off.
"Boss Zhang." Old Six's voice squeezed out from the walkie-talkie, crackling and buzzing with static, carrying a murky, bubbly quality. "Medicine. A few pills. Grain exchange."
Zhang Xun pressed the call button. His Adam's apple bobbed, and he said in a low voice, "Only two pieces."
stab-
A sharp crack suddenly broke through the noise. *Click*.
Zhang Xun's gaze swept downstairs. At the street corner, a tiny spark flickered. The Zippo lighter, like a single eye, blinked in the twilight.
*Snap*—click.
Three sounds. Metallic, crisp, like some delicate musical instrument being tuned, or like bones being gently straightened. The sound was amplified through the walkie-talkie, creeping up along with the crackling of electricity, carrying an uncomfortably intimate feeling.
"Boss Zhang is easily embarrassed," a new voice said, a woman's voice, smiling, as she switched to the channel. The voice had a grainy, electrical quality, like a wet tongue brushing against the eardrum. "She's clutching two pills tightly in her hand. I've got a few new little toys, exquisite ones; you'll be envious if you see them."
Zhang Xun didn't reply. He heard a slight cracking sound from his knuckles.
Suddenly, Lao Liu's low, breathy voice pierced the background noise, as if leaking from the edge of the microphone, deliberately muffled: "Boss Zhang... that national highway, it's so dusty, white cars... it's hard to wash, isn't it?"
Zhang Xun's back muscles tensed instantly.
But before Lao Liu could finish speaking, the woman's voice immediately cut in, her pace unchanged, still tinged with laughter: "Lao Liu, don't be so talkative."
The Zippo beeped again. Click.
"Your younger sister looks so young," the woman continued, her laughter, tinged with a static, creeping in with the twilight, "Come with me. Mr. Wang's. There's hot water for a bath."
Zhang Xun's knuckles tightened even more, the plastic casing groaning faintly as it deformed slightly in his palm. He looked at Qin Wei, whose body, leaning against the doorframe, was taut. Her right hand slowly moved towards the hilt of the knife at her waist, her fingers encircling the metal, her knuckles taut and turning blue.
She didn't look at Zhang Xun, but stared at the walkie-talkie as if she were looking at a corpse.
"There are two pills." Zhang Xun's voice was even lower, but each word sounded like it was being ground out from between his teeth, carrying a metallic taste. "People have pride."
Sizzle—Zzzzz—
The Zippo beeped again. Click.
The small fire downstairs flickered and then went out. Dusk settled in once more.
Silence. Five seconds. Eight seconds. Enough for a person to fall from hope to despair, or from fear to anger.
A woman's soft chuckle came from the walkie-talkie, a breathy, snake-like sound, mingled with the static of electricity: "Three days. Think it over."
Then it stopped. A busy tone. A monotonous, long tone, like a snapped thread, buzzing in the room.
Zhang Xun slowly put down the walkie-talkie and placed it on the wooden box. The plastic casing hit the edge of the aluminum foil with a muffled thud.
He looked at Qin Wei. Her brows weren't furrowed, but the corners of her mouth were slightly tighter than usual, and her lower eyelids twitched slightly.
"Damn it," Zhang Xun said. His voice was soft, but it sounded like a nail being hammered into wood.
Qin Wei didn't speak. Her fingers loosened from the hilt of the knife, hanging at her sides, her knuckles still stiff.
Zhang Xun sat on the wooden box for forty minutes.
The busy tone on the walkie-talkie had long since stopped, replaced by a faint hissing sound. His right thumb and forefinger unconsciously rubbed the frosted plastic edge of the walkie-talkie, faster and faster, until the plastic casing went from icy cold to warm, then scalding hot. He looked down at his hand—his knuckles were still trembling, not the violent tremor from before, but a fine, viscous tremor seeping from his very bones. He clenched his fist tightly, his nails digging into the file-cut gash in his palm, the pain excruciating, before he could barely stop.
Very light footsteps came from downstairs. Zhang Xun didn't look up, knowing it was Lin Xiaotang. The girl, holding a rabbit doll, stopped halfway up the stairs, not coming up. The light stretched her shadow long, all the way to Zhang Xun's feet. She clutched half a compressed biscuit in her hand, her knuckles white, crumbs leaking from between her fingers and landing on the steps.
Zhang Xun stuffed the walkie-talkie into his pocket, the metal buckle digging into his thigh. He reached for the quiver on the canvas at his feet, his fingertips brushing against the chipped arrow—the burrs on the arrowhead had been filed down, gleaming coldly in the dim light. He pulled the shaft out, his fingertips brushing against the cool carbon fiber, then put it back in. The fletching made a soft sound as it hit the canvas.
He didn't touch anything else.
Lin Xiaotang's footsteps stopped downstairs. Zhang Xun heard a rustling sound; it was her turning over a can. She knew he was listening, and he knew she was looking for something to do, just like how he repeatedly counted the six arrows, not daring to miss a single one.
The sky outside the window darkened inch by inch, changing from gray-blue to leaden gray, and then to iron black. As the last ray of light slipped through the gap in the curtains, Zhang Xun finally stood up from the wooden box, his knees making a stiff, cracking sound. He put the six arrows into his quiver, placing the chipped arrow alone on the outermost side—the fine crack on the shaft looked like a scar in the dim light.
He walked down the stairs and, passing the folding bed, saw Lin Xiaotang curled up in a corner, a rabbit doll covering her knees. She was still clutching the half-eaten cookie in her hand, not eating it, just holding it. Zhang Xun didn't speak. He walked to the back door, leaned the crossbow against the wall, and checked the bolt. The bolt slid in its groove, making a dull thud. After confirming it was locked, he slid down against the wall, crossed his arms, and closed his eyes.
He could hear his own heartbeat, and soon it felt as if someone was knocking incessantly inside his chest.
Those were aftershocks left by the woman.
At 6:40, Qin Wei came downstairs carrying a first-aid kit. She glanced at Zhang Xun in the corner, then at Lin Xiaotang by the bed, asked nothing, and simply walked over, placed the first-aid kit on the wooden box, and clicked open the clasp.
"Eat first," she said, her voice hoarse. "After you eat, take care of Su Nian's knee."
Zhang Xun opened his eyes. The candle was lit, its flame flickering in the airflow. He then realized that it was already completely dark.
---
7:15.
The candle burned on the wooden box, its flame tip tilted by the airflow seeping in through the window cracks, and the shadows on the wall swayed.
Qin Wei knelt beside Su Nian's bed, the first-aid kit spread out at her feet. She unwrapped the bandages, the last roll of tape making a soft crack as it was torn away. The wick popped open, sparks flying onto the wooden box, releasing the acrid smell of burnt cotton.
Her knee was exposed, swollen and shiny, and alarmingly hot. Qin Wei pressed the back of her hand against it; the skin beneath felt like it was filled with hot water, the thin layer of skin taut. She bit the flashlight, the beam penetrating her skin and illuminating a dark red patch deep within the joint.
Su Nian clutched the strawberry candy in her left hand; the candy wrapper, softened by her body heat, crumpled into a damp ball. Her knuckles were white, her breathing steady, and she remained silent.
Qin Wei pulled a syringe from the bottom of the box. The needle flashed in the candlelight as it pierced the swollen skin. Su Nian's thighs tensed abruptly, her heels crumpling the sheets, causing the bed to creak very softly. Dark red liquid climbed up the syringe, like a small snake awakening, coiling inside the glass tube until it reached the fifteen-milliliter mark.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Lin Xiaotang kneeling in front of the street map at the other end of the room, a rabbit doll lying on the edge of the map, its pink ears drooping. The girl was holding a pebble representing an intersection, and the sound of fluid being drawn could be heard. Her fingers tightened, pressing the edge of the pebble into the lines of her palm.
The sound of dragging footsteps came from outside the window, the soles of shoes scraping against the asphalt road, making a rustling sound like sandpaper sanding wood.
Qin Wei pulled out the needle and pressed a cotton ball over the puncture site. She held the syringe up to the candlelight and watched the liquid slosh around in the glass tube before placing it into the metal dish with a crisp sound.
"Hematoma in the joint cavity, inflammation. Six weeks of immobilization, with absolute bed rest for the first two weeks." Her voice was calm and quick. "Fluid will be drained every three days."
She pulled out the antibiotic foil slab, counted it twice by candlelight, the foil rustling softly between her fingers. "Eight left. One tonight, seven days. After seven days, there will be no more medicine, and the infection will reach the bone marrow."
At the doorway, Zhang Xun stood leaning against the wall, his arms crossed, his shadow stretching to the edge of the map. His chin rested on his chest, his voice squeezed out between clenched teeth, heavy with a metallic edge: "I'm going to the community hospital tomorrow, three hours."
Qin Wei zipped the first-aid kit all the way up and fastened the clasp with a click. "I'll go with you." This wasn't a question, it was an announcement.
Zhang Xun straightened up, his gaze sweeping across the room: Su Nian's stiff legs, Bai Mo's outstretched left foot by the window, and Lin Xiaotang staring at the map on the floor. He shook his head, his knuckles rubbing against the seam of his trousers, creating a very slight friction.
"You stay," he said, his voice strained from deep within his chest. "The stronghold is empty; they're just flesh and blood."
Qin Wei paused in her action of breaking the pills. She turned to look at him, the candlelight flickering in her pupils. She opened her mouth but didn't make a sound, her gaze returning to the pills. She forcefully broke off a piece, the aluminum foil making a crisp snapping sound.
"Two hours," she said, folding the pills into foil. "If it's been more than two hours, I'll come find you."
"good."
She bent down and slipped the wrapped medicine under Su Nian's pillow. As she straightened up, her right hand hovered above Su Nian's head, fingers spread, the candlelight casting a shadow of her fingers on Su Nian's forehead—a leaf about to fall. She paused for a second, then withdrew her hand.
Bai Mo sat by the window, her left leg stretched out, a dark gray trench coat covering her leg. She twirled the business card in her hand, the paper cutting through the air with a soft rustling sound.
"My feet," she suddenly spoke, her voice rough, as if she hadn't spoken in a long time, "can walk in three days." She looked at her toes, not seeking sympathy, but to confirm whether she still had any value.
Qin Wei turned her head, her gaze shifting from Bai Mo's ankles to her face, the tweezers in her hand tapping against the water basin: "You're a week younger than her."
She squatted down to tidy up, throwing the scissors, empty syringe, and bloodstained cotton balls into the metal tray one by one. Lifting the basin, she saw dark red streaks of blood spreading out in the water, forming thin, swirling lines.
As I walked past Zhang Xun, the rim of the basin brushed against his elbow, and the coolness seeped into his sleeve.
Qin Wei didn't stop, carrying the basin of water towards the stairs. One step, two steps, the water rippled, the stairs groaned under her feet. She glanced back: in the candlelit room, the wounded lay on the bed, a child and a rabbit doll sat beside the map, a figure twirled a business card by the window, and the man at the door was about to walk alone into danger tomorrow.
The basin of water was held in a precarious balance in his hands, the blood vessels still swirling. Tomorrow, when the sun rises, this place will either be filled with medicine or empty.
---
Zhang Xun went downstairs. The first floor was dark, with only a sliver of cool air from the back alley seeping in through the crack in the door. He found the sleeping bag at the watchman's post by memory, bent down to pick it up, his movements slow, like a weary beast tidying its den in the darkness. The zipper was stuck; he bent down and bit the edge of the fabric with his teeth, pulling on the zipper pull, the sound of the metal teeth scraping amplified in the silence. Finally, the zipper closed, and he squeezed himself inside, his back pressed against the cool bed.
"I'll keep watch for the first half of the night," he said, his voice muffled as it came from the collar of his sleeping bag.
No one answered. He turned to the side, placing the crossbow within easy reach, his fingers resting on the quiver, counting the carbon steel rods one by one, as if counting his own ribs.
Sleepiness came heavily and dulled. He thought of the siege on the national highway, and of Hu Jiu'er's "three days," and his fingers unconsciously fiddled with the seam of his sleeping bag. The thread came loose, and he tugged at it, revealing a bit of white cotton stuffing inside the sleeping bag.
Upstairs, there was the creaking sound of Su Nian turning over, followed by the soft crumpling of candy wrappers. Zhang Xun's fingers stopped. His eyes were open, but all he could see was darkness; the veins on the inside of his eyelids throbbed like a blurry net.
He didn't know how much time had passed when he sensed someone approaching. The footsteps were extremely light; he should have woken up immediately, but his body was too heavy. A very small hand touched his shoulder; through the fabric of his sleeping bag, he could feel the coolness of the fingertips.
"Brother Xun," Lin Xiaotang's voice was as soft as breathing, "It's my turn."
Zhang Xun wanted to say no, but his throat was too dry to make a sound. He forced his eyelids open and could only see the outline of the girl squatting in the darkness, with a rabbit doll in her arms. The doll's pink ears brushed against the back of his hand—that touch of the velvety surface was more real than the sight itself.
He nodded, in a very small gesture.
Lin Xiaotang didn't leave immediately. She remained crouched, watching him in the darkness, her lips moving as if she wanted to say something. In the end, she simply placed the rabbit plush toy next to his sleeping bag, its plastic eyes touching his wrist, feeling its coldness.
"Rabbit," she said again, her voice even softer than before.
Zhang Xun understood. He closed his eyes, his fingers unconsciously touching the rabbit's ears. He had sewn them many years ago, the stitches crooked and uneven.
Then he finally sank into darkness.
It was 11:17. Zhang Xun turned over in his sleeping bag, his breathing becoming long and heavy.
Lin Xiaotang hugged her rabbit doll and sat down in the folding chair by the window. The chair made a very soft groan as she pressed it down with her weight.
---
Midnight.
Moonlight filtered through the gaps in the curtains, casting a bluish-white glow on the floor.
Lin Xiaotang sat at her night watch post, knees pressed against her chest, her rabbit doll clutched tightly in her arms. She gazed out the window, where moonlight fell silently onto the glass, spreading a soft, gentle glow.
The soft rustling of Zhang Xun's sleeping bag scraping against the floor as he turned over came from downstairs. The sound was faint, but amplified in the silence. This man was leaving in a few hours.
Her gaze never left the window. A dark figure darted out from behind a trash can at the alley entrance, crouching low and moving along the wall. A stick clutched in its hand scraped against the wall, making a rustling sound, like sandpaper grinding bones.
Lin Xiaotang's breathing stopped. Her fingers tightened around the rabbit's ears. The dark figure moved quickly and disappeared into the alley.
She counted her heartbeats to sixty. Her heart pounded so hard it hurt her ribs. After confirming the shadowy figure wouldn't return, she put down the rabbit doll, stepped barefoot onto the floor, avoided the third plank, and walked to the metal bucket in the corner.
The bucket contained mortar, intended for sealing cracks in the walls, but it was covered with a hard crust. She found a rag, poked a hole in the crust, and soaked it in the mortar. The rag became heavy after absorbing the wet mortar.
She didn't wake Zhang Xun, nor did she push Qin Wei. She simply held the bucket in her arms, its weight pressing against her chest, and groped her way to the stairs in the dark.
The ninth step of the stairs creaked. She stepped over that step and went straight to the tenth, her body momentarily suspended in mid-air. The mortar in the bucket sloshed and gurgled. She froze. Zhang Xun's breathing remained unchanged downstairs.
The iron bolt on the back door was rusted. She used her fingers, wrapped around her sleeve, to pull it, the rough, metallic friction seeping through the fabric. The door opened a crack, letting in the night wind, carrying the rotten, sweet stench of the back alley's drain.
She squeezed through sideways, her back brushing against the doorframe. She moved close to the wall, her shoulders rubbing against the rough plaster, stopping every three steps to listen for the footsteps of infected people.
The charcoal markings were clear in the moonlight. The black circles and lines looked like scars on the gray wall. She pressed the rag against it, covered it with mortar, and the charcoal ash stuck to the wet mortar, making a slight hissing sound.
Her hands trembled. The rag rubbed crooked marks on the wall. Her breath came in short gasps, forming a small puff of white mist on the wall. She didn't stop until the black mark had completely turned into a blurry gray.
Then she ran with the bucket to the abandoned building next door. The door to that building was boarded up, and the dragging footsteps of infected people could be heard from inside. She scooped more plaster from the rim of the bucket, smeared it on the wall, and drew the same circle with her finger, three horizontal lines pointing towards the boarded door. The plaster was half-dry, leaving grayish-white bumps on the wall like fresh scabs.
On her way back, she kicked an empty can. The metal can was about to roll, and she lunged to hold it down with her hand, her palm being cut by the rim, stinging painfully. She remained kneeling on the ground, listening to see if she had alerted anything. A long, drawn-out roar came from afar.
She finally returned, closing the door behind her. The metal bucket sat by the door with a muffled thud. The grime on her fingers was half-dry, forming a hard crust.
She hugged her rabbit plush toy, covered herself with the blanket, and sat back down in her watchman's seat. The moonlight began to fade, and a pale blue-green band of light crept up the edge of the chair. The cut on her palm throbbed with pain, and scabs clung to the rabbit's pink ears, forming a dark red crust. She pulled her frozen feet back under the blanket and continued to stare toward the window.
On the wall, the plaster she had applied was slowly drying, its color changing from dark brown to light gray, blending seamlessly with the surrounding paint. Morning was still far off, but she knew that when that man stepped out of the building, the morning light would illuminate everything clearly—including the fresh mud stain pointing to the abandoned area.
She simply sat and waited. Waiting for the man to wake up, waiting for him to never know that a certain mark had been erased and rewritten tonight, and that behind a sealed door, someone was waiting to receive this unexpected gift.
[End of Chapter]