"Come on, Mom's calling us to eat."
Those were the words that woke Wang Xiaoliang.
Before he could fully open his eyes, Fan Qishan had already shut the door and left. His footsteps headed down the stairs, brisk and decisive, exactly like the man himself. No wasted words, no waiting around.
Wang Xiaoliang sat up and stared blankly for a few seconds.
His body ached, but not with yesterday's falling-apart soreness. He could move. He could raise his arms and straighten his back. Much better than yesterday.
He got out of bed, steadied himself, and went to the bathroom.
While washing his face, he glanced at himself in the mirror. His complexion was still poor, but his eyes had some life in them. They no longer had that sickly emptiness. He looked a little more alive.
He brushed his teeth, washed his face, and wiped it a couple of times with a towel.
Then he went downstairs.
Fan Qishan and Hermit Yimu were already up in the living room. Neither hurried him. When they saw him come out, they got moving and headed for the door.
Wang Xiaoliang took two steps. His legs felt weak.
It wasn't that he couldn't walk, but that he couldn't muster any strength. His knees felt shaky, and even with his soles on the ground, his footing never felt quite solid.
The two men ahead clearly slowed down.
With his hands behind his back, Fan Qishan dawdled along step by step, as though taking a stroll. Hermit Yimu was in no hurry either, his sleeves swinging as though he were wandering around a Daoist temple.
Neither looked back at him or asked, "Can you manage?"
But that pace was deliberate.
Wang Xiaoliang knew it. He said nothing and followed slowly behind.
He squinted up at