He was devastated. For days after her death, he continued going to the hospital like one possessed, clinging to the momentary illusion, as if she were still there, waiting for him.

His family became so worried. With the end of the first week after her death drawing near, they suggested that he observe the seven-seven ritual with a special meal dedicated to her. Preparing her favorite dishes would keep him too busy, they hoped, to dwell on her memories. He went to the market, shopping like crazy, but on the seventh morning, he went out to the hospital like before.

To him, the walk to the hospital in the morning was a ritual far more meaningful. But that morning, he happened to see the night caregiver surnamed Peng leaving the hospital. She was wearing a yellowish mask, but he recognized her.

About two weeks before Shen’s death, he had had an argument with Peng, who had stopped taking care of Shen properly because of his failure to pay the fee in time. With the soaring medical expenses, he was running out of money. Peng was not to blame. She had to take care of five or six patients at night. It made sense for her to be more attentive to those paying her promptly. But it was so painful to see Shen writhing in pain, unattended, he recalled.

At that moment, all of a sudden, the scene of Peng leaving the hospital pushed him over the edge. He started following her in the direction of the Bund. Initially, it was no more than an impulsive reaction, but with Peng moving closer to the bridge, he was seized with an unbreathable panic about her disappearing into the crowds. He hastened to pick up a heavy brick from a construction site, rushed up, and knocked at her head from behind. One single blow and she fell without any struggle. Bending over to pull the yellowish mask off her face, he found her already unconscious.

It was at that moment that he was galvanized with a sense of doing something really meaningful in Shen’s memory. Much more than a special meal in observation of the seven-seven ritual.

At that moment, he also knew in a flash what he was going to do for the following six weeks. Something like a list of things and people responsible for Shen’s early death came up in a ghastly smog in his mind. The catastrophic air pollution at the top, because of the governmental GDP-oriented policy; the skyrocketing housing prices, for which she had worked so hard for years; the Party propaganda about the clean air and the blue sky; the terrible attitude from the caregiver at the hospital …

All of a sudden, he felt he could breathe freely for the first time since Shen’s death, gazing at the yellowish mask on the ground.

It was quite a providence that he too had several yellowish masks gathered at home. He calculated in his mind – enough for his purpose.