At 4:30 in the morning, Jiang Xiaolin encountered Jiang Zhi at the hospital. He stood at the staircase on the first floor, like a respected guardian deity.
Jiang Xiaolin was at the bottom of the steps, looked up at him, and asked, "Aren't you going in?"
The light behind him half-illuminated, half-obscured his face: "Mmm."
The staircase was just a dozen meters away from Xu Jiuru's ward.
Jiang Xiaolin went up, stood beside him, pulled out a cigarette, glimpsed the no-smoking sign next to him, but didn't light it, and just bit on it in his mouth.
Jiang Zhi asked him the same question, "Aren't you going in either?"
He hummed in a tone that betrayed no sorrow, "Going in and not being able to cry, wouldn't that be very awkward?" They stood so close to the ward that they could hear Jiang Wei'er crying inside.
He had no inclination to cry; better not to go in and dampen the spirits.
Jiang Zhi said to him, "You're really heartless."
The pot calling the kettle black.
