Old Liu took a cigarette from his apron pocket and lit it.
"You think he just got sick? He worked himself into the ground."
Old Liu flicked off the ash, then took another deep drag.
"He's sick himself, too. Something wrong with his liver. The doctor told him to get admitted months ago, but he refused.
"He said a hospital stay would cost money, and his wife still needed it for her treatment. He couldn't afford it. When the pain got unbearable, he took painkillers. If one didn't work, he took two. If two didn't work, he took a handful.
"Later, even the painkillers stopped working, so he just gritted his teeth and endured it. His face turned blue and his lips went white, but he kept enduring it."
Wen Ning said nothing. He just listened.
"We neighbors couldn't bear to watch. We wanted to pool some money to help him out, but he flat-out refused."
Old Liu stubbed his cigarette out against the wall.
"He said he could still move, still earn money. He didn't need anyone's help.
"His wife's lying in the hospital, and he runs back and forth every day, either looking after her or doing odd jobs. He just keeps forcing himself to carry on.
"A few days ago, I went to the hospital to visit a relative and ran into him in the corridor. He was squatting outside the ward, gnawing on a cold steamed bun. After a couple of bites, he went back inside. He had a smile on his face when he went in, and told his wife he'd already eaten. Braised pork, he said. Delicious.
"His wife probably knew he was lying, but she didn't call him out. The two of them just keep getting through life, lying to each other like