I Handed My Phone to the Nurse. <br><br> <br>The nurse, somewhat impatient, stepped out of the less-than-five-square-meter area, pulling the curtain closed behind her. <br><br> <br>I took off my shoes and climbed onto Xiahe’s hospital bed. I lifted the blanket and lay down beside her, resting my head gently against hers. Reaching out, I held her hand. Her hand was cold and stiff. <br><br> <br>I said to her, “Xiahe, do you remember? The first time you called me Old Chuan was on the hospital bed. We were both only seven years old at the time. We lay there all night, watching my IV bottle, counting the drops as they fell.” <br><br> <br>I turned to look at her, lightly kissing her icy forehead. The furrowed brows on her face gradually relaxed. “Xiahe, don’t be afraid. I’m here. You once told me you were a Tibetan Cosmos stolen from The Hidden Paradise. Now, everything’s clean. I’ll take you home. Don’t be afraid, I’m here.” <br><br> <br>In the room, aside from the rhythmic beeping of the machines, I seemed to hear the sound of her soul leaving. <br><br> <br>Beep— <br><br> <br>The monitor emitted a continuous alarm, like a flatline that traced across, signaling the abrupt end to all the struggles and noise of life. <br><br> <br>The nurse swiftly pulled back the curtain, checking the instrument's data. She turned her head and said to me, “She shows no signs of life.” She called for a doctor, and together, they finished the final routine procedures. Silently, they removed all the instruments attached to her body. Before leaving, the nurse softly said, “Are you alright? Please get up and handle the paperwork quickly. The doctor has already issued her death certificate. You’ll need to call the funeral home yourself to have her taken away. We won’t transport her to the mortuary, which would only cost you more. Visiting hours start at 3 PM, in half an hour. Many relatives will come in by then, so please move her quickly to avoid upsetting others.” <br><br> <br>I said, “Alright, thank you.” She was truly gone. Silent tears streamed down my face. <br><br> <br>In a world where even the dead are hurried away, perhaps this is already considered courteous treatment for the living? Other than humbly taking you away as quickly as I can, what else can I do? Holding my breath, I forced my tears back. Lying on the hospital bed staring at the ceiling, I recalled a lesson from elementary school. The teacher mentioned a proverb: "If the sky falls, taller people will hold it up." Back then, I thought, the sky wouldn’t collapse, but if the ceiling fell, I would crouch down; that way, everyone else would be taller than me, and they would hold up the ceiling, and I’d survive unscathed. <br><br> <br>But now, I suddenly realized, my ceiling really had collapsed, falling entirely. I crouched as planned, but unfortunately, everyone else was lying flat. That made me the tallest, and I was hit hard, left dazed and stunned. How foolish I’d been. <br><br> <br>I laughed out loud at my own naive thoughts, a sound starkly out of place in the ICU. Tears fell as I laughed and asked, “Why does the ceiling always crash down on me, regardless of whether I crouch or lie down?” <br><br> <br>I stood, pulling back the blanket to remove Xiahe’s only remaining, cut-up clothing. Her flawless body lay there, her pale skin exuding a coldness, her hairless form reminiscent of a girl. <br><br> <br>Xiahe, I will take you home. <br><br> <br>Following Tibetan customs, I curled her entire body into a fetal position. Thankfully, her body was not too stiff yet. Without a Khata scarf, I used my long white linen scarf to secure her curled form, wrapping her like an unborn child. Then, I removed my Sky Blue Jacket and enclosed her in it. <br><br> <br>“Xiahe, we are going home. I’ll make you clean and neat again. Don’t worry; I’m here.” While dressing her, I murmured softly to myself, tears falling silently. <br><br> <br>After getting everything in order, I returned to the reception room. The male doctor sat there, an elderly man beside him sighing into his hands. On the table lay stacks of cash: three bundles of hundred-yuan notes and several smaller denominations. <br><br> <br>The old man said, “Doctor, is there still hope for him? It’s over 8,000 yuan a day. My son hasn’t returned home in over twenty years. He was born blind, unable to do any farm work. By the time he was sixteen, he left home on his own. I heard he’s been making a living telling fortunes by the roadside, revealing too much about fate—his karma, his punishment. Our whole family depends on me. I haven’t seen him for two decades, only letters and occasional calls, and always saying he didn’t want to drag us down. Now, he calls me here, and just like that, he’s gone. He said he wouldn’t burden his family! I sold our house, borrowed wherever I could. I have no money left. I don’t know how much longer he can live. I’ll sell the land when I return, try to keep him alive for one more day. After all, he’s my flesh and blood.” <br><br> <br>The elderly man removed his jacket, rolling up his sleeves to reveal deep scars on his arms. “Look, even in my old age, I still work tough jobs. Ten years ago, a scaffold fell on me, snapping my tendons. I’m weak and powerless now. In the end, he’s my only child. I was counting on him to care for me in my old age. Now, it’s all finished.” The man broke down, his despair revealing the full darkness of his and his son’s life. <br><br> <br>Hearing the word "scaffold," a sharp pain shot through my heart. It was as if Jinzhao whispered in my ear, “Faulty scaffolds are human errors. We must make the safest scaffold connectors. A worker’s life is still a life!”
