Qiao Fen was at the laundry landing. The shutter had come down across her leg. Two laundry workers were trying to raise it with a bench. Above them, someone was beating on the gallery door.
“The guard went for help,” she said. She held out the key. “The other one’s still inside. He can’t stand up.”
Pei Jing put his shoulder under the shutter and lifted. The cut on his arm began to drip again. The workers pulled Qiao Fen clear. She tried to follow him upstairs, then stopped when her ankle turned under her. He helped her onto the bench.
At the gallery door, the brass around the lock was too hot to touch. A red thread still ran across the lower hinge. He remembered the boy Qiao Fen had described. He put the blade through the gap and waited until the heat came up the iron. When the thread went dark, he turned the key.
The girl with two bowls was standing just inside. She had tied a towel round her younger brother’s ribs to help him sit up. He was breathing. Another child lay under an overturned table and didn’t move when she called to him.
Pei Jing knelt by the table. He could lift it, but the stone under the child’s head had started to split. He called one of the laundry workers up and asked her to hold the boy’s neck steady. The girl pushed the towel under the boy’s shoulders. Pei Jing raised the…
