Chapter 5: Bread, Blood, and Betrayal

The next day’s meal suddenly had meat.

The guard brought white bread, steamed veggies, a roast chicken leg, and a cup of sweet tea.

I was surprised for a second, then pounced and wolfed it down. With the chicken leg in my mouth, reason finally returned.

Wait, this must be his meal.

The guard outside was a new face, staring at me dumbly, tears falling at once.

"Sir, I’m useless, I couldn’t even save your meal."

He sobbed, snot running, wailing miserably.

I hesitated, glanced at the chicken leg, but couldn’t put it down, deciding to be rude today.

So I bit the chicken leg and mumbled an apology: "Sorry, I was starving... this is your boss? He looks like he doesn’t want to live, you should try to talk to him."

The guy knelt and cried, begged, knocked his head outside the cell for a long time, but couldn’t get a word from his boss.

This man, since being thrown in yesterday, hadn’t moved an inch, like a quiet corpse.

The real guard in the shadows urged: "Guard Niles, time to go. Don’t make it hard for me—the warden’s coming. If I get caught, I’m toast."

Niles left, looking back at every step, suddenly ran back to me, and bowed his head three times, hard.

"Miss, you look kind, must be a really good person. Please take care of my boss, feed him some food and water, I’m begging you."

"He has to live."

Niles wiped his tears hard, hurried off with the guard.

Wow, what a big responsibility.

I was curious about his identity, but couldn’t ask. Former governor, new administration—was it political infighting or a total shake-up?

Even if I asked, he wouldn’t answer me anyway.

As the saying goes, if someone trusts you, you do your best. I was full and happy, and with something new to do, I went to help my cellmate up, putting him in a sitting position.

But I felt his body shaking under my palm.

"What’s wrong? Don’t be scared, I’m a good person."

He still shook, cheekbones clenched tight. After a long time, he finally let out a breath.

I realized late: "Did I touch your wounds?"

He didn’t answer, so I touched his back through the torn jumpsuit, felt fresh blood. No light, couldn’t see how bad it was.

"Sigh, no way to prevent infection here. Let’s hope your immune system is tough."

I put the tray in front of him.

"Alright, time to eat. So, what do you want first?"

"Bread’s a bit cold, want to eat chicken first?" I wiped my drool, hesitated. "But eating greasy food when you’re badly hurt isn’t good for healing, right?"

"I swear I’m not eyeing the rest of the chicken."

"Drink some tea before eating, I’ll help you with that."

I scooped a bit of tea, slowly brought it to his mouth.

He leaned against the wall, wouldn’t open his mouth, eyes closed, jaw clamped tight.

I fake cried: "Hey, don’t die today, please. I’ve been alone for forty-nine days, talking to myself till I’m almost nuts—keep me company for a while."

"Before you came, I almost couldn’t hold on. I was gonna carve ten tally marks, then bash my head against the wall."

"But you showed up—what is that, if not fate?"

"They say saving a life is better than building a church. Hey, what’s a pagoda anyway?"

"I’ve read a lot—why don’t I know this word? Guess I never really paid attention."

Taking advantage of his guard down, I pinched his cheeks and shoved a spoonful of tea into his mouth.

"Cough cough cough."

He choked for a long time, probably pulling at his wounds, shaking in pain again.

When the second spoon came, he finally closed his eyes and drank.

I laughed: "First time in my life taking care of someone, not very good at it—bear with me."

I brought bread to his mouth.

He hung his head, face ashen.

I used the same trick, pinched his cheeks and forced a bite in.

His lips barely parted, and for a second, I worried he’d bite me. But he just swallowed, eyes still closed, like he’d given up arguing with the world.

"Man, you gotta eat. The guard said it’s only July, we won’t be executed until after autumn. In history, ‘after autumn’ means late September—we’ve got three more months."

"Eat and drink, maybe something will change in three months."

I nagged like an old lady, talking to myself, making myself laugh.

I must be losing it—suddenly seeing a living person made me so happy.

But watching him eat bite by bite, it was more interesting than braiding straw.

It was weirdly comforting, like feeding a stray dog that keeps showing up on your back porch—except the dog was a grown man and the porch was a concrete cell in hell. I found myself humming between bites, half-remembered pop tunes from old radio stations, wishing for something as simple as a breeze or sunlight.