Dong Hongmei stayed alone in the luxury apartment, sitting by herself on the long sofa.
The television was on, its volume low. She watched it, yet she did not. Guoguo's bedroom door stood open. The quilt on his bed was still folded just as she had left it last time, and two little Lego models on the windowsill had gathered dust.
On the coffee table sat the warm water she had poured. It had gone completely cold, untouched.
"What's the point of having such a big home?"
She spoke to herself. No one answered.
The police had summoned her once before. When they asked whether Zhou Qiang's accusations were true, she said no. When they asked whether she knew what Li Lanxiang had done recently, she said she did not. She knew nothing. She was old and only wanted to spend time with her grandson. She knew nothing about anything else.
The police told her not to leave the city.
Every day, she wandered around the apartment. She cooked for one, ate alone, and washed one person's dishes. She could clearly hear the elevator arriving on this floor, but each time, it was the door across the hall that opened and closed. She knew the people Zhou Qiang had stationed there were still around. This was what Zhou Qiang should be like: patient, meticulous, never letting his guard down until the very end. Yet Lanxiang always underestimated him.
She wondered whether there might now also be police watching her.
She could not get out, and she had nowhere to go.
That evening, the elevator sounded again.
She waited a few seconds.
She did not hear the door across the hall open.
Someone knocked on her own door. Three times. Not loudly, but very evenly.
Dong Hongmei went over and opened