You walked me to the door. I said goodbye, you said take care. When I looked around again, the door was shut. It was very quiet in the corridor. I didn’t want to go back out into the daylight, where we would be torn apart again. Icy wind rattled the security gate, like someone sighing in the dark. Thoughts flared up, embers fanned into flame. I felt I knew why I’d come. Screwing up my courage, I pressed the doorbell again and asked you to come to the white mansion tonight.

Back here, I felt very calm. I got the DVD from the drawer and put it into the machine. Then I made some tea, pulled two chairs together, and waited for you. The light faded outside, and the man in the bed mumbled to himself for a while before sinking deeper into dreams. He was struggling to breathe. The foul air of his rotten lungs filled the house. Suddenly the light brightened and a gust of wind flung the window open. When I went to close it, I realized it was snowing. Would you still come? I waited anyway.

I somehow knew it would have to unfold this way. Soon it was completely dark, and the snowstorm was getting heavier. The road was no longer visible. I stared into the blurry whiteness until I felt I was going blind. Finally, a small black dot appeared, a sprouting seed breaking through the earth.

You didn’t ask me anything, just followed me up the stairs to this room. Seemingly unsurprised to find him lying in bed, you took a few steps forward and studied his face, as if you were weighing up his whole life. But maybe that was too complex a calculation to make. You seemed dazed, until I pulled a chair over and you sank into it.

As you can see, he’s about to die. My grandpa. I ought to call the hospital and have them send an ambulance over. They’d work through the night to save him, perhaps prolong his life by a few days, then prepare for the funeral—a grand send-off for Director Li Jisheng. There I’d stand, the only family member. Everyone would weep as they eulogized him, then slowly shuffle past his casket. People I didn’t know would tell me what a great man my grandfather had been, how noble, how wise, how widely respected. The provincial governor or city mayor would warmly take my hand and offer their condolences, a Steadicam following them like a loyal dog to capture the appreciation on my face. So well planned, I’d have nothing to do but make sure I had a sufficient supply of tears.