On the other side of the broken town, Xing Yu stood by the side of the road, growing increasingly desperate.
The old man—stooped, grey-bearded, and stubborn as a rusted nail—refused to move an inch.
He wouldn't get into the car. He wouldn't walk away. He wouldn't even lean on Xing Yu's arm for support.
Xing Yu had tried reasoning first. Then he'd tried healing him—his palms glowing faintly as he reached out to soothe the old man's swollen knee—but the human had swatted his hand away like it was fire. The rejection had stunned him into stillness.
How could someone so fragile… be so stubborn?
He tried again, crouching lower, his tone gentle. "Please, sir… you can't stay here. It's not safe."
The old man adjusted the frayed blanket on his lap, unmoved. "I've been here sixty-eight years. I'll die here too."
"But the buildings are falling apart. You need shelter. I have food… medicine. Money—"
