A knock came at the door. On the monitor, Zhang Yi recognized Uncle You and, behind him, a woman bundled in layers with a child tucked inside her arms—Xie Limei. He didn't trust the woman; something about her had always felt off, and he kept his guard up.
He didn't open the door immediately. "Uncle You?" he called. Xie Limei cut in with a tearful plea: "Our daughter has a high fever—please help!"
Zhang Yi slid a box of acetaminophen suspension and a packet of cold medicine through the door slot. "Hurry up—don't underestimate illness now," he said.
Uncle You gratefully retrieved the meds. Xie Limei then tried another angle: "Could my daughter stay with you? Your place is warm—she needs it. I'm afraid she'll get worse out there." Uncle You looked embarrassed—this hadn't been mentioned—but Zhang Yi smiled thinly.
"Ms. Xie, I'd agree in normal times, but things are different now. Everyone wants in when they see warmth and food. I'm not risking strangers in my home. My coal's limited; it won't last long either." He knew that letting a sick child in would let Xie Limei—and her schemes—inside as well.
Xie Limei tugged at his conscience. "You let Zhou Ke'er stay!" she protested.
Zhang Yi scoffed. "She's my partner—no problem." Uncle You, embarrassed, stepped in and urged Xie Limei to leave. "Let's go. Don't bother him—he's done enough." He knew Zhang Yi's generosity had limits.
After they left, Zhang Yi lingered by the monitor, thinking. Xie Limei was trouble; she coveted warm homes and full pantries. He would keep an eye on her. In a world reduced to survival calculus, trust had a price—and he wasn't inclined to pay it for anyone he didn't choose himself.