Keep Her Safe - Chapter 3

When I woke again, I was floating in the air.

But another me still lay on the bed. Her eyes were closed. She slept without a sound, without a movement.

Bloody froth clung to the corner of her mouth. Blood stained the pillow.

I stared at her, confused, then looked down at my own translucent body.

It took me a while to understand.

I was dead.

The thing floating here was a soul—the kind I had read about in books, the kind that belonged to the dead.

I heard Grandma on the phone.

“The little one’s perfectly all right. She’s had breakfast… only she keeps lying in bed. Won’t answer no matter how often I call her.”

Only then did I notice the bowl beside my bed. A few grains of rice and scraps of greens were all that remained.

Beyond the wide-open window, a cat sat on the sill, happily gnawing a meaty bone.

Mom sighed with relief on the other end of the line.

“As long as she’s eating. She’s never been away from us before. It’s her first time being sent off, so she’s bound to sulk a bit. Just keep an eye on her. If she says she’s feeling unwell, call us.”

Grandma agreed.

A moment later, something seemed to puzzle her. She lifted the bowl close to her eyes to see it better.

“Only… how did she eat the bones as well as the ribs? I can’t see where she’s put them…”

But there was a burst of noise at the other end. Mom didn’t hear the rest.

Her voice grew muffled and hurried.

“All right, Mom. We’re counting on you to look after Zhi for these few days. I have to go. Wen Shi’s ready. I’m putting my shoes on to take him to the exam center.”

The call ended.

Grandma got up, looking vaguely at me on the bed, and sighed.

“Back to bed as soon as she’s eaten. Doesn’t she feel stuffed? Oh, well. I’ll look in again later.”

My nose stung.

She was old now. Neither her eyes nor her mind worked very well. How long would it take her to realize I was dead?

The village was remote, the houses far apart. She was used to living here and refused every offer to move to the city with my parents.

I couldn’t stop worrying that when she finally discovered what had happened, the shock would be too much for her.

There was nothing I could do.

All I could hope was that my parents and brother would come soon. But when I imagined how they would react to finding me dead, fear tightened inside me again.

My thoughts were tangled with grief.

Then, in the blink of an eye, my soul really did drift all the way home.

Mom was leaving with my brother, reminding him over and over of everything he needed to bring. Dad waited in the car outside our old apartment complex.

It was a cheap secondhand car.

During our hardest days, when we couldn’t cover my transfusions, Dad had considered selling it for five thousand yuan. But Mom had gone to our relatives and humbled herself to borrow the last bit of money we needed. She refused to let the car go.

I was frail, she said. Sometimes I became ill without warning in the middle of the night. Having our own car meant we could get me to the hospital quickly. It gave her some peace of mind.

When it came to caring for me, my parents and brother never begrudged a single yuan.

Mom opened the car door and got in. My brother stayed outside, frowning, his expression troubled.

An unfamiliar bird called from a tree nearby.

He stood motionless for a long time, staring toward the sound. Then the corners of his eyes suddenly reddened. He turned back toward the apartment.

“Something doesn’t feel right. I’m going to check on Zhi. I knocked this morning, and she didn’t answer. Two days ago, she promised she’d see me off.”

My heart clenched.

Somehow, I knew he had sensed something.

We had always spent more time with each other than with anyone else. Mom and Dad were forever busy—earning money, finding enough to keep me alive. My brother was with me more than they were.

He was often the first to notice when I wasn’t well.

Mom hurried out of the car to stop him.

“She’s still asleep. Go and take your exams first.”

But he seemed unable to hear anyone. He dropped his schoolbag and raced back into the building, fumbling for his keys. He rushed inside and pushed open my bedroom door.

My quilt still lay spread across the bed. I had felt too ill to fold it before leaving the night before.

He hurried over and patted it.

“Didn’t you promise to see me off? Wen Zhi, you’re being lazy again. You promised.”

At his touch, the slight rise in the quilt sank flat.

His face went still.

For a moment, he stared. Then he snapped back to himself and tore the covers away.

The bed was empty. Silent.

He swayed, bracing a hand against the edge, disbelief filling his eyes. Then he turned on Mom, looking almost frantic.

“Where’s Wen Zhi? Mom, where is she?”

Mom clenched her hands helplessly. At last, she had to tell him.

“I took her to your grandma’s.”

His face tightened. His troubled, questioning gaze stayed fixed on her.

“Why would you suddenly take her there? And why lie to me? Why say she was sleeping here?”

He was losing control. For the first time, accusation entered his voice when he spoke to her.

“When I got home last night, she looked ill. She looked like… like she does when her anemia gets bad enough to need blood. Mom, did you really take her for a transfusion?

“Are you hiding something from me?”