By nine in the morning, the infusion room at Dongfang Road Children's Medical Center was already full.
Chen Jianye sat on a plastic stool beside the infusion chair. His daughter's arm had an IV catheter taped into it, and her little face was flushed bright red from the fever—39.2 degrees. Her eyes were closed, her dry lips peeling, one hand tightly clutching his finger.
A child was crying in the hallway. The air conditioning wasn't cool enough, and the air was thick with the strange mixed smell of disinfectant and sweat.
The fluid level in the IV bottle dropped, one drip at a time.
A nurse came over to replace the IV bag. His daughter woke briefly, called out, "Daddy," then drifted back to sleep in a daze. He touched her forehead. It was still burning.
At noon, they returned home. His daughter took her medicine and went back to sleep.
His wife was heating porridge in the kitchen. She poked her head out and asked, "Are you going to the office this afternoon?"
"I already took leave. I'll stay home and rest for the day."
His wife said nothing. She brought out the porridge, and he ate a few casual bites before sitting down on the living room sofa.
That afternoon, his daughter was still feverish. She slumped listlessly against the sofa watching cartoons. After a while, she started fussing—she wanted water, but wouldn't drink it once it cooled; she wanted to be held, but once he picked her up, she wanted down again. He took her temperature twice more. It was 38.5 degrees, a little better than that morning, but the fever still hadn't fully broken.
During a moment when she was quietly staring at the screen, he took out his phone and opened a recruiting app. None