Chapter 38

Zhang Wanqiu waited outside. Jiang Shan was spending longer and longer in the toilet. What was so interesting in there?
Zhang Wanqiu had it wrong—it wasn’t what was in the toilet that drew Jiang Shan. It was what wasn’t.
In that small stall Jiang Shan sat with her head down. The tiles under her feet were impossibly clean. She guessed that even if the hospital had hidden cameras, they wouldn’t put one right by the toilet.
That was why she went to the toilet several times a day.
The hospital food was too healthy to explain any real need. And she felt better every day.
Jiang Shan rested her chin on her hand. Another thing she couldn’t figure out: she really did feel better. Her head hadn’t ached in a long time. No more nausea. If she had a mirror she would have checked if her face had colour, if she had even gained weight.
Jiang Shan had very low expectations of life—in today’s terms, easily satisfied, no inner turmoil.
Even if the sky fell the next second, as long as she had eaten well this second, she could still savour it.
If you were dealt the same hand as her from birth—orphanage and illness—you would lower your expectations too. Otherwise you couldn’t survive a single day.
The old, sickly Jiang Shan wouldn’t have dug deeper. Even if this were Arkham Asylum she wouldn’t have cared. But looking at the needle marks on her arms and her clearer and clearer mind, she felt this time was different.
Zhang Wanqiu’s voice came: “Are you all right? Do you need help?”
Jiang Shan had been “in there” too long. The hospital food wasn’t constipating. Had she fallen in?
Zhang Wanqiu couldn’t barge in. She kept a strained smile. “If you feel unwell, you must call me.”
Jiang Shan forced herself out of her thoughts. She sighed inwardly, grabbed the radio and stood. Her legs were numb from sitting so long. She had to lean on her waist and walk out slowly.
She really did look unwell.
Zhang Wanqiu came over at once. “What’s wrong?”
Jiang Shan couldn’t say her legs were numb from sitting. She leaned on her waist and frowned slightly. “Maybe… my period’s coming.”
Zhang Wanqiu was silent for a few seconds. Then without a word she helped Jiang Shan back to the ward.
Zhang Wanqiu had been recruited to Songshan not only for her medical background but for her natural warmth—patients liked her. “Above” had assigned her to Jiang Shan thinking it would be easy to get information out of a girl who seemed frail and lonely. Such people often depended on gentle caregivers.
The result was plain to see.
It wasn’t that Jiang Shan didn’t cooperate—she was the model patient, did what she was told, ate what she was given.
They had expected a fragile, controllable Jiang Shan. Instead they faced one whose emotions were steadier than a normal person’s, who answered almost everything with silence.
“There seems to be dust on your soles.”
Zhang Wanqiu stopped. She turned and looked at Jiang Shan.
Jiang Shan was wearing socks, not shoes. Only Zhang Wanqiu had slippers. The moment she heard “dust” Zhang Wanqiu’s face froze.
Dust on soles was normal—but the problem was Zhang Wanqiu’s reaction. Her face went as white as wax.
“D-dust?”
Zhang Wanqiu slowly looked down at her slippers. They were disposable ones from the health department, changed and destroyed every day. They looked ordinary. But—dust?
“It looks like black dust.” Jiang Shan said.
Zhang Wanqiu’s expression stayed frozen. Jiang Shan’s gaze was clear—she wasn’t lying. She had seen Zhang Wanqiu’s footsteps—on one step, the left sole had suddenly had a layer of dust.
Zhang Wanqiu seemed to force a smile. They had reached the ward door. She suddenly pushed it open and said to Jiang Shan: “Go rest in bed. If you need anything, press the call button.”
When Jiang Shan went in, Zhang Wanqiu smiled at her and closed the door.
The next moment Jiang Shan heard the sound of hurried footsteps—restrained but unmistakably panicked.