Swallow it

The sound technician did not even look up. "Jiang Xun. His fever's so high he's delirious. The road to town has washed out, and we've got no medicine. We're worried sick."

He hurried back to the corridor carrying an enamel basin, white steam rising from the towel soaking in the hot water. The director took the towel, wrung it out, and laid it on Jiang Xun's forehead.

The cartoon bear cooling patch had long since lost its coolness to the heat and lay curled and crumpled beside his pillow.

Duan Qizhao crouched beside him and tugged the military overcoat higher, covering the half of Jiang Xun's shoulder that lay exposed.

"This damned weather," Duan Qizhao said through gritted teeth. "If we were in Capital City, one phone call would have the family doctor here in ten minutes."

"Then make the call." Even delirious with fever, Jiang Xun managed to talk back.

Duan Qizhao nearly choked on those words.

He's burning up like this and still remembers to snap back. Is that mouth of his made of titanium alloy?

But when he saw Jiang Xun's lashes trembling as his eyes opened halfway, he quickly leaned closer. "You're awake? How do you feel? Do you know who I am? Hold up one finger for me-"

Jiang Xun rolled his eyes weakly and closed them again.

The director crouched down and felt his forehead, her brow tightly furrowed.

Time ticked by. The director called the town clinic again, only to receive the same answer: the road was cut off, and the ambulance could not get through.

Forty minutes later, the director finally reached the main station. They agreed to dispatch an off-road vehicle with medicine on an emergency basis, but it would take several hours at the earliest.

The director stared at the dirt road beyond the courtyard gate, battered beyond recognition by the downpour, her lips pressed into a thin line.

Duan Qizhao could no longer bear to stay crouched there.

"Director," he said, lowering his voice, "it's been so long. Why haven't the people from the station-"

"The road's cut off. Even an off-road vehicle can't get through. The people in town said daybreak at the earliest."

"Daybreak? What time is it now?"

No one answered him.

The crew exchanged glances. No one dared to speak first.

Just then, someone pushed the back door open from outside.

Wind and rain swept in with him. A soaking-wet figure stood in the doorway, water streaming off him and quickly forming a small puddle mixed with yellow mud at his feet.

It was Shen Wangjing.

He took something tightly wrapped in a plastic bag out from inside his clothes.

Several strips of tape were wound around the plastic bag. Once it was opened, there was another plastic bag inside. Layer after layer was unwrapped, until finally-

Inside were two boxes of fever medicine, untouched by a single drop of water.

The room fell silent for three full seconds.

The director's gaze landed first on the medicine boxes, then slowly shifted to Shen Wangjing's still-dripping trouser legs.

The drenched young man stood in the doorway. A large patch of fabric had been scraped away at the knee of his trousers. Blood seeped from beneath it, diluted by the rain into a faint red streak.

The director's eyes flew wide.

The only clinic in town was nearly fifteen kilometers of mountain roads away from Shiban Village. The torrential rain had washed out several village roads. Even off-road vehicles could not get through.

But from the moment Shen Wangjing disappeared down the corridor until now, not even a full hour had passed.

How had he done it?

With the mountain roads cut off, which route had he taken?

Images flashed through the director's mind: the dirt road at the village entrance destroyed by a mudslide, the narrow, winding path halfway up the mountain, with a sheer cliff on one side and a deep ravine on the other.

In rain like this, loose rocks on the mountain had been dislodged by the water. Every few minutes, the rumble of another landslide could be heard in the distance.

The production crew had already spent nearly half a month in Shiban Village before filming began and had become fairly familiar with the surrounding terrain.

She had taken people to scout the mountains west of the village twice. They were all scree slopes, difficult to climb even in normal weather.

There were two dry flood channels halfway up the mountain, which the locals called "water chutes." Without rain, they were simply two deep gullies. Once it rained, mountain torrents poured down them. If someone fell in, not even a sound would be heard.

For a young man who had grown up in the mountains, familiarity with the terrain was etched into his bones.

He knew which flood channel had not yet filled, which scree slope had cracks in the rock beneath it where he could find footing, and how many peaks he needed to cross to get around the landslide on the main road.

But knowing was one thing. Making it across alive in weather like this was another.

A chill shot up the director's back.

In his haze, Jiang Xun felt someone put something in his mouth. Bitterness dissolved at the root of his tongue. He scrunched up his face and tried to spit it out, but a rough palm held the back of his head steady.

"Swallow it."

The voice was low and brooked no argument.

Jiang Xun did not even have the strength to lift his eyelids. His throat bobbed, and he swallowed the pill.

He had a very long dream.

In the dream, he was still at the orphanage. There was no heating in winter, and he huddled with a group of children on a shared sleeping platform to keep warm.

The director of the orphanage called from the corridor for them to get up and work. He opened his eyes and found that every child beside him had vanished. He was the only one left in the entire room.

He ran out barefoot. The corridor grew longer and longer as he ran, and the doors on either side shut one after another. No one opened a door. No one called him back.

The scene shifted. He sat at the dining table in the Jiang family's villa, the table laden with dishes. Jiang Changping sat at the head, Jiang Huaixiao sat opposite him looking at his phone, and Jiang Yanchu was putting food into Jiang Yu's bowl.

Liu Wanying came out of the kitchen carrying soup, smiling as she called for everyone to have some while it was hot.

No one looked at him. No one spoke to him. The bowl in front of him was empty, and he did not even have a pair of chopsticks.

Jiang Xun stood silently where he was. He had long known he should expect nothing from life.

From childhood to adulthood, he had never managed to keep a single thing he wanted.

He had treasured the little red flower awarded to him as an outstanding child at the orphanage and hidden it under his pillow. The next day, the child in the next bed tore it up and threw it into the toilet.

His middle school homeroom teacher had said that if he placed in the top three, they would apply for financial aid for him. He studied day and night for a long time and came first, only to have his eligibility revoked after another child from the orphanage falsely accused him of cheating.

Once, the orphanage organized a spring outing. He scrubbed his only pair of shoes clean a week in advance, but on the morning of departure, he was locked in a toilet stall and drenched with a bucket of ice-cold water. Through the window, he heard the bus engine start.

No one noticed his absence.

Later, he learned not to expect anything, not to hope for anything, not even to spare a second glance at anything that did not belong to him.

When fate slapped a piece of candy down in front of him, he would never rush to taste it.

Because he knew that candy was either laced with something or would be snatched back the moment he turned around.

He had long known he should not hope, yet when he first stepped through the Jiang family's front door and saw those three people related to him by blood standing in the living room, he still could not help thinking-

Maybe this time would be different. Maybe someone would truly treat me as family.

He wanted to say that he loved eating most of all, that he had learned to cook quite a few dishes in the orphanage kitchen and could make them for everyone sometime.

He wanted to say that he knew he had a bad temper, but he could change. If someone truly would love him, he would become very well-behaved too.

He wanted to say that he really wished he could ask them why they had never come looking for him back then, leaving him to wait all alone for seventeen whole years.

But his voice caught in his throat, and he could not get a single word out.

Because he knew that even in a dream, no one would listen.