The Noisy Family of Three

The woman's wailing immediately drew everyone's attention.

She sat by the fire, holding a boy, the flames illuminating her terrified face. The boy in her arms wouldn't wake no matter how she called him. His father stood nearby, helpless and flustered, before rushing outside to do who knows what.

"Is there a doctor? Can anyone save my boy?!"

The people around had grown indifferent after days of hardship, but with a life on the line, a few still stepped forward to check.

Manager Zhao, who had just been complaining to Wang Jie, sprang up at the news and hurried over to examine the boy.

She was hard-hearted in words but soft in nature, truly—otherwise, she wouldn't have stuck to her post under such harsh circumstances.

Song Weishi pulled her quilt tighter and stared intently at the boy. He seemed only eight or nine, his young face flushed bright red.

It had to be a fever. In this freezing weather, people's immunity dropped, and getting sick was unavoidable.

But in this environment, falling ill was a death sentence—there was simply no way to get medical help.

Manager Zhao stepped forward to check on the boy, while the others sat at a distance, observing the situation.

"Miss Liu, did you give the child the fever reducer earlier?"

Liu Tong clutched the boy tightly and nodded. "I did. The fever went down. Xiao Qi fell asleep, and I was just about to wake him for dinner when he wouldn't budge. I realized he'd gotten a fever again. Manager Zhao, what do I do? I can't even get the medicine down his throat!"

Xiao Qi had said he felt unwell when he woke up that morning. Liu Tong figured he might have caught a chill while sleeping over the past few days. She'd asked the hotel for some medication, and after taking it, he'd seemed better.

But just two hours later, the child was burning and unconscious. Half an hour ago, she'd felt his forehead, and he hadn't had a fever then.

From Liu Tong's explanation, the people around gradually pieced together what had happened—then shrank back again, huddling into themselves.

When the power outage had made the air conditioning useless, the hotel had gathered everyone downstairs to warm up in the kitchen. When they'd taken a headcount, they'd asked if anyone was a doctor. There wasn't. Manager Zhao looked troubled, and could only press an ice pack to Xiao Qi's forehead.

Liu Tong tried prying the child's mouth open to slip in a pill and pour water down his throat, but it seemed he'd lost the ability to swallow—the water just dribbled back out the corner of his mouth.

Liu Tong broke down sobbing. Everyone who could help moved in, and no one dared complain about the noise. After all, a child's life was at stake, and they all gave the mother their full sympathy.

Manager Zhao fumbled through various attempts. The hotel's medicine was all basic stuff, and the fever wouldn't come down. And with a child that young, there was no proper way to handle it, so she could only stand by in a panic, while trying to comfort Liu Tong.

The father who'd rushed out earlier came back in. He was carrying a bucket of snow he'd scooped up from outside, his whole body shaking with cold, unable to stop himself from sneezing twice.

He set the bucket down by the fire, then took the child from Liu Tong's arms. His hands were so numb they'd nearly lost all feeling; he could only stiffly hold the boy, and spoke urgently: "Xiao Tong, let's try cooling him with snow. My hands are too stiff to move."

The two of them scrambled to unbutton the boy's thick clothes, and a few more warm-hearted people came over to help.

Song Weishi stared at the boy's face, red as a boiled shrimp, and felt a strange unease. Intuition told her to stay far away.

If this were the normal real world, anything could happen—the child might die, or he might pull through. But this was a novel, and there was no telling what bizarre things might occur.

Song Weishi didn't dare gamble against her instincts. Staying clear of this unknown danger was what mattered most.

She pulled Wang Jie up and said, "I need to use the bathroom. What about you?"

The two of them hadn't gone since morning. Wang Jie glanced at Xiao Li, still lying on the ground, and nodded.

"Sure. Xiao Li, are you coming?"

Xiao Li had been lying there for nearly two hours and had finally recovered. Manager Zhao had even given him a set of the hotel's winter staff uniform, which was quite thick—far warmer than his layered short sleeves.

Xiao Li scrambled to his feet and said, "Yeah."

Song Weishi, wrapped in her quilt, walked over to Manager Zhao. "Sister Zhao, we'd like to go to the bathroom. Could you show us the way?"

Earlier, Manager Zhao had been about to explain where each area was when they'd gotten sidetracked. Now, with plenty of people helping out, she watched for another moment, saw no one needed her, and headed out with them.

The general manager hadn't come to check on the child at all—aside from her, the hotel didn't really have any actual staff left.

The four walked out together into the wide corridor. Outside the kitchen lay a long row of food carts, and further along, a single path led to the lobby. The bathroom was beside the lobby, a fair distance from the kitchen.

The utility rooms they passed had been converted into storage, stuffed with pillows, bedding, and other supplies, while more was kept in another room. Food was piled in the open—the cold made it like a natural freezer, so there was no worry of it spoiling.

Song Weishi followed quietly behind the others. Wang Jie and Manager Zhao walked up front, discussing the family of three.

Apparently, they hadn't originally booked this hotel. The child had been bored with the Garden of a Hundred Herbs and wanted to go to the food street to eat, but the street hadn't opened during the day. They'd wandered into this hotel by chance, gotten trapped by the snowstorm, and ended up staying.

The parents hadn't paid for a room—they'd just sat in the lobby waiting for the snow to stop. But as the weather got colder, they'd remained stuck at the hotel. It was Manager Zhao who'd taken pity and given them two quilts.

And then, it had come to this.

Manager Zhao said the child had been noisy from the very start, utterly spoiled by his parents. In the kitchen, he'd kept everyone awake with his racket, constantly demanding to play, running around and messing with other people's things. When anyone tried to complain, his parents would cut them off, lecturing them with a sour face—"Why are you getting upset over a child?"

It wasn't until the fever hit that he finally quieted down.

Wang Jie nodded knowingly and remarked, "No wonder no one rushed to help when the mother was crying. There's a history there."

Song Weishi shook her head. Actually, those people were better off staying away—she'd been sitting there watching and hadn't felt like helping either.

The mother's first instinct was to cry, and the father stormed out without a word. When people did step up, they didn't even get a thank-you; the couple just waited around to take the help.

But Song Weishi had no intention of warning them. Few people would believe her anyway, and saying too much would just get her treated like a lunatic. Besides, those people couldn't tell good from bad—they were harsh on someone as kind as Manager Zhao, yet rushed to help a child who'd tormented them all. It was honestly exasperating.

After hearing Manager Zhao's account, Song Weishi felt even less inclined to offer any warning.

The three of them hurried into the bathroom. The smell wasn't pleasant, but given the freezing temperatures, it was bearable. The hotel had set up a dry toilet with a large barrel, which was a clever solution and did a decent job of sealing off the odor.

Wang Jie and Manager Zhao quickly finished their business and waited for Song Weishi. She stood in her stall, holding her breath, and called out—not to come out immediately, but to let them go on ahead.

She planned to return a bit later and swipe a few quilts from the storage room she'd passed on the way.

"Miss Song, I'll leave the lamp on the sink for you."

"Okay."

The reply came from outside, followed by Manager Zhao's voice. Song Weishi made sure she remembered the route before the footsteps gradually faded away.

She pushed open the stall door, picked up the small lamp Manager Zhao had left her, and estimated based on the earlier pace that Wang Jie and Manager Zhao would be chatting by the door for a while. She trailed behind them at a distance until she reached the storage room Manager Zhao had mentioned.

The door was unlocked, making it easy for anyone to grab warm supplies.

Song Weishi carefully turned the knob, slipped into the dark room, and found quilts stacked one by one on shelves. She compared their thickness and tucked two into her space. She even spotted a brand-new mattress nearby, but she didn't have much room left.

Manager Zhao had said these supplies were free to take, so Song Weishi didn't hold back. She cleared out some useless junk from her space to make room, then slipped back out.

When she returned, the three were still standing by the door, deep in hushed conversation—Wang Jie seemed to have really hit it off with Manager Zhao. Xiao Li was doing some exercises nearby, and he waved when he saw Song Weishi.

Song Weishi nodded, ignored the gossip, and crept closer to the kitchen door. It wasn't shut tight, so the voices inside came through clearly.

"It's going down, it's going down—honey, Xiao Qi's temperature's dropping, right? He doesn't feel as hot anymore."

Song Weishi peered through the crack. The boy in the man's arms had gone from bright red to a more normal complexion. The people who'd been helping rubbed their hands together and returned to their seats, too worn out to say anything about the couple's lack of gratitude. They just kept a wary eye on them from a distance.

Liu Tong's hands were numb with cold, and a damp patch had soaked through beneath her. It was uncomfortable, clinging to her skin.

But she still managed a smile, hurriedly patting the child's face. "Xiao Qi, wake up—wake up. How are you feeling, Xiao Qi?"

The boy in her arms didn't stir. Liu Tong's smile slowly froze. She touched the child's hand as it turned cold, and an uncontrollable dread rose in her chest.

The father noticed something wrong too. The two exchanged terrified glances. Liu Tong shrieked and frantically rubbed Xiao Qi's face, which had gone pale and ashen.

The people around sensed the trouble and crowded in to look. But Song Weishi, standing outside, saw the child's body gradually swell in the man's arms, a thick slime seeping through the pale, bloodless skin.

The crowd surged forward toward the boy. Only Song Weishi took a step back—and ran.