After they left the hospital, Wen Ning could no longer hold back. He hurried forward and gently reached out to steady him.
"Sir, take it slowly. Let me help you sit down and rest."
Old Zhao startled when someone suddenly took his arm.
I've never seen him before. He lifted his clouded eyes.
He looked at Wen Ning, his gaze full of exhaustion and wariness, but he did not push him away.
He no longer had the strength to push Wen Ning away anyway. He could only nod weakly and let Wen Ning help him onto a bench by the road.
The bench still held the warmth of the midday sun. Once Old Zhao sat down, his body hunched slightly, and he began coughing uncontrollably. Every cough seemed as though it would tear his lungs out. Pain furrowed his brow, yet he deliberately muffled the sound, afraid of disturbing others and of letting more people see his wretched state.
Wen Ning said little. He simply handed him a bottle of warm water and watched Old Zhao finish it in small sips before speaking slowly.
"Mr. Zhao, I'm Wen Ning. I run a real estate agency in the urban village. I know about your situation, and I know you're unwell."
At those words, Old Zhao's hand abruptly froze around the water bottle. A flicker of panic crossed his eyes, and he instinctively tried to straighten up and hide his condition, but he simply had no strength left.
He only lowered his head. After a long silence, he let out a deep sigh that held half a lifetime of hardship and helplessness.
"So you know everything."
His voice was terribly hoarse, like sandpaper scraping his throat, without a trace of confidence.
"Do you think I'm utterly useless? I can't even take care