Chapter 4: Bone-Deep Cold

Su Yutao didn’t know how long she had been walking.

Maybe minutes. Maybe hours.

She had lost all track of time. All she knew was the mechanical motion of her legs—one step, then another.

The rain continued to fall.

Not heavy, but that persistent, endless drizzle.

Her clothes were long since soaked through. The coarse fabric clung to her, heavy with water.

Her hair plastered to her face, rainwater dripping from the ends into her eyes—though it didn’t matter; she couldn’t see anyway.

Cold.

So cold.

A bone-deep chill that seeped from her very marrow.

Su Yutao’s legs began to give way.

Not from exhaustion—from hunger.

She realized then that this body hadn’t eaten in a long time.

Her stomach was empty, cramping in waves. She pressed a hand to her belly and forced herself to keep walking.

She couldn’t stop.

If she stopped, she might never get up again.

She didn’t know where she was going.

That person had said “head east,” but she had no idea which way that was.

She just walked in one direction, praying that this path would lead her to some sign of civilization—or at least to a police station, a school gate, anything.

Beneath her feet was the slick pavement, sometimes brick, sometimes asphalt.

Her shoes—if the ragged things on her feet could even be called shoes—were soaked through. With every step, she felt muddy water squeeze in through the holes, filling them completely.

She thought of her own sneakers.

White. She’d saved up from last year’s part-time job to buy them on sale for a hundred and twenty-nine yuan. She’d worn them for a whole year, the soles nearly worn flat, but she couldn’t bear to replace them.

Where were those shoes now?

And her backpack?

Her picture books?

Xiao Douzi was still waiting for her.

Su Yutao’s eyes stung, but that was all—this body didn’t seem able to cry, or maybe the ability to weep had been ruined along with her voice.

She blinked. Nothing came.

She could only keep walking.

Her shoulder began to ache.

Not an ordinary ache—a piercing, gut-wrenching pain from where she’d been kicked.

It hadn’t seemed bad at the time, but now, after walking so long, every step felt like her shoulder was being torn open.

She didn’t know how much longer she walked.

Maybe a very long time.

So long that her legs no longer felt like her own—just mechanical pistons moving on their own.

So long that she stopped feeling cold, her whole body numb, as if submerged in icy water.

Then she hit a wall.

No, not a wall.

Something hard and rough—like the exterior of a building.

Su Yutao reached out and touched it.

Cement.

Cold.

Wet.

With the uneven texture of peeling paint.

She felt along the wall and came across an indentation. Not big, but when she reached inside, it seemed hollow—a corner, probably a gap between two buildings, or a recessed doorway of a shop.

‘ [Commonly known as a dog hole, or a crack in the wall.] ‘

She squeezed inside.

It barely sheltered her from the rain.

Su Yutao leaned against the wall and slowly slid down to sit.

Her legs could finally rest.

She drew her knees up, wrapped her arms around them, and curled into a tiny ball.

This body was really small.

Curled up, even smaller.

The sound of rain filled her ears, pattering against the surfaces outside. Occasionally, a car passed in the distance, tires splashing through puddles.

And footsteps—someone running, probably a pedestrian caught in the downpour.

This was a city.

A city much like the world she had come from.

But she couldn’t see any of it.

She didn’t know where she was, what tomorrow would bring, or what to do next.

She only knew that she was cold, hungry, and exhausted.

Su Yutao buried her face in her knees and closed her eyes—though it made no difference whether they were open or shut.

She thought of her bed at the orphanage.

A hard wooden bed with a thin mattress, but she’d slept on it for over a decade and was long used to it.

Every time she returned, Xiao Douzi would squeeze into her bed, chattering about what happened that week—who got praised by the teacher, who wet the bed again.

She’d say, “Xiao Douzi, go back to your own bed.”

Xiao Douzi would say, “No, I want to sleep with Peach Sister.”

And then she’d fall asleep to Xiao Douzi’s endless prattle.

Now there was no Xiao Douzi.

No bed.

No sound—except the rain.

Nothing at all.

Su Yutao didn’t know when she fell asleep.

Probably she was too exhausted; her body couldn’t hold on any longer, and she simply passed out.

***

When she woke, the rain had stopped.

Su Yutao was jolted awake by the cold.

No, not just cold.

It was that feeling of burning all over while a chill seeped from her bones.

She moved her fingers and found them stiff, barely able to bend. But she touched her forehead—it was hot.

Very hot.

She had a fever.

Well, that was to be expected. Soaked in rain all day, wounded, starved—it would be strange if she didn’t get sick.

Su Yutao tried to push herself up, but her body felt like a wet rag. With all her strength, she managed to pry herself out of her curled position and lean against the wall.

She panted heavily.

Her forehead burned like fire, but her body shivered, teeth chattering.

She pulled her clothes tighter—but the coarse fabric was still damp, clinging coldly to her skin, not warming her but steadily stealing her body heat.

She didn’t know how long she had slept.

It was quiet around her.

No rain.

Only the occasional car in the distance, and birdsong—probably morning.

Su Yutao stirred, trying to stand.

Her legs wouldn’t obey. They were numb and weak as noodles.

She braced herself against the wall and slowly pushed up. The moment she was upright, her vision went black—not that it wasn’t black already, but the dizziness was real—and she collapsed again.

She hit the ground.

Her knee scraped against the cement, sending a jolt of pain that made her gasp—but the breath she drew in came out hot.

She lay there, panting.

Her head buzzed, like a swarm of bees.

She touched her shoulder—it was swollen. The side that had been kicked was noticeably higher than the other, and even the lightest touch sent agony through her.

She touched her knee—the skin was broken, wet and sticky with blood.

She lay there, wondering if she could get up again.

But she had to.

Otherwise, she would die here, waiting.

She would die in this unknown corner, undiscovered, unnoticed—like a stray cat dying by the roadside, unseen, or maybe chewed up by a big dog.

Su Yutao gritted her teeth, pressed her hands against the ground, and slowly crawled upward.

Up to the wall.

She held onto the wall and gradually stood.

This time, she stayed upright.

She leaned against the wall, breathing hard, black spots swimming before her eyes.

But she was standing.

She tried to take a step.

Her leg wobbled, but she steadied herself.

Another step.

She walked out.

She didn’t know where she was going. She only knew she couldn’t stay where she was.

If she stayed, by the time someone found her, she’d be a corpse.

She held the wall and walked forward, step by step.

Very slowly.

Each step required a long pause to catch her breath.

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