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Anan ended the call and handed the phone back to Cheng Yun. "They're on their way."
Cheng Yun said nothing. She looked at him like he was something she'd stepped on.
He turned toward the van. The fire was mostly out now, the body scorched black and twisted beyond saving. He looked at it a moment, then turned back. "Guide Zhang is going to be fine. Don't worry."
Still nothing.
He let the silence sit. After a while he dropped his gaze to the ground, and the cut on his forehead dripped. A dark spot appeared in the dirt. He wiped it with the back of his hand.
Cheng Yun turned away from him. She crossed her arms and stood in the wind, eyes on the black shape of the mountains.
He watched her profile. "You're okay."
She didn't turn. Just flicked her eyes sideways. "I'm fine. You just weren't paying close enough attention."
He opened his mouth, closed it. Then: "Do you want to hit me again?"
She finally looked at him. "What?"
His forehead was crusted with blood, but underneath it his brow had pulled together. "Do you want to hit me again?"
"Go to hell!" she snapped.
Headlights swept across the mountain road.
Two vehicles came up fast — a sedan and an ambulance — and pulled alongside the wrecked van. Cheng Yun was already moving. She pointed at Guide Zhang's door and spoke before the paramedic had both feet on the ground.
"The girl—"
"We see her. We've got it."
Cheng Yun watched the responders work. None of them looked like hospital staff. Then two men broke away from the sedan and jogged toward her.
"Miss Cheng." The one in front was mid-forties, black down jacket, carrying a little extra weight, hairline well into retreat. "Zhang Peng, County Public Security Bureau. My colleague." He stuck out his hand. "Sorry for the road conditions out here. This stretch has seen a few of these."
She shook his hand. "The bend is too tight. The other driver crossed the line. No room to correct."
Zhang Peng's eyes went to the burned van. His mouth tightened. Then he spotted Anan and pointed. "You. Come here."
Anan was already telling the ambulance crew about the baker on the other side of the wreck. He came over. Cheng Yun made the introduction flat and brief: "Our driver. The van driver is down there."
Zhang Peng took Anan through the sequence of events. Cheng Yun stood to the side and waited. When Zhang Peng finished, he and his colleague walked the scene and photographed it with the energy of men who had done this many times and were tired.
She felt eyes on her. She turned.
Anan was watching her. Saying nothing.
"What?"
He leaned slightly toward her, glanced left, glanced right, then dropped his voice. "Be nicer to the police."
Her eyes narrowed.
His face was painted in dried blood, which made his expression hard to read. "Just — be nicer. To the police."
"What exactly did I do?"
He genuinely didn't know. He stood there searching for it. Finally: "Just — nicer. To the police."
She turned her back on him and got in the car.
Both Guide Zhang and the baker were loaded into the ambulance. Somewhere on the road, the baker surfaced from unconsciousness and started shouting about his vehicle.
Zhang Peng finished his documentation and was heading back to the sedan when he noticed Anan still standing there. He nodded at the blood on his forehead. "Get in the ambulance. Get that cleaned up."
Anan thanked him and checked the car window first. Cheng Yun was in the back seat, face turned away. He got in the ambulance.
The ride to Rongjiang County People's Hospital was quiet after the first few exchanges. There wasn't much to say.
It was past midnight when they arrived.
The ambulance rear doors swung open and nurses were already there with a gurney. Cheng Yun stepped out and stopped. Guide Zhang was climbing down on her own.
She moved quickly. "Xiao Zhang."
"Sister Cheng." Zhang tried to wave and winced hard, her face scrunching. "Are you hurt? Where?"
"I'm fine." Cheng Yun fell into step beside her. "You're awake. How do you feel? Anything strange?"
Zhang was still shaking, her voice thin. "My shoulder..."
"Fracture, most likely," a nurse said. "Don't talk. Don't breathe deep. Keep that position. We're moving."
"Go," Cheng Yun told her.
The baker came out next — dirt from head to boot, Cheng Yun's shoe print still on his face. He had one hand pressed to his ribs and let himself be wheeled in without argument.
Anan got out last.
The gauze around his forehead was already seeping through. His clothes were wrecked — grime, ash, blood that hadn't fully dried. He looked like a prop from the cheapest war drama ever filmed, and he wore it with total indifference.
Cheng Yun walked past him into the hospital.
The building was nearly empty. One corridor lit up, the emergency room at the end of it. The doctor took Guide Zhang and the baker first. Zhang Peng asked Cheng Yun if she needed to be checked. She said no. He asked Anan. Same answer.
"Wait here. I need to call the bureau."
He left them standing in the corridor. The plastic stools along the wall looked cold enough to hurt. Neither of them sat.
Cheng Yun pulled out a cigarette and lit it.
"I don't think you can smoke in here," Anan said.
She turned her head and blew the first drag directly at him.
"Call security then."
He hooked his thumbs in his waistband and said nothing for a moment. Then: "Say whatever you want to me. Just be decent to the police."
"Are they your family?"
He walked straight to her, took her by the wrist, and pulled her toward the exit.
"Let go—!" She twisted against his grip. He didn't stop. "Let go of me, Zhou Dongnan!"
He got her through the doors and into the parking area. She fought the whole way — wrist against his hand, all bone and resistance, her coat hissing against his jacket in the dark.
"I paid for your medical bills!" she snapped. "This is how you treat me?"
He turned and put her back against the ambulance. The whole vehicle shuddered. Her breath came out hard.
She pushed up to her feet. He put a hand on her shoulder and held her there.
"You paid for my bills." His voice had an edge she hadn't heard before. "I saved your life. Does that cancel out?"
She looked up at him. His face was unreadable. But the night had no moon and his eyes were bright and she could see everything in them.
"You saved me?" Her mouth curved, not warmly. "That's generous. Calling what you did saving me."
"You know what it was." He didn't blink. "When the police come back in, don't talk. Let me handle it."
"Why."
"Just — don't. Let me find who's responsible first."
She shook off his arm and started back toward the doors. His hand caught her wrist again and brought her back.
"Zhou Dongnan!" She turned on him with real anger now. "He's a hundred percent at fault. What are you doing?"
"He caused the crash, yes." He kept his voice low. "But the van. Why did you burn his van?"
The fight went out of her face. A slow, quiet smile replaced it. She stopped pulling. "You saw that."
"Why did you burn it?"
"I burn what I want."
He stared at her. Trying to find the line between truth and performance in her face.
She tilted her head. "What. Scared?"
"..."
"If I hadn't moved when I did, all three of us go off that mountain. We'd be dead. I burned one car. I think that's proportionate."
He was quiet for a long moment. Then he let go.
He said something under his breath. She didn't catch it and didn't ask. She crossed her arms and looked away, jaw set.
The yard had no lights. They could barely see each other.
Then he spoke.
"I reacted too."
She looked at him.
"I saw it coming. I moved." He held her gaze. "I saved you."
"Are we really doing this right now? Splitting credit?"
He looked at the ground. "No. I'm just saying it happened."
"Great." Her voice went flat. "What do you want for it — medical bills covered, car repairs, and what, a hazard bonus? Emotional distress pay?"
He raised his eyes to hers and she stopped.
There was something there that didn't perform. Something so direct it jammed the signal between her brain and her mouth.
"We both know." His voice was quiet. Level. He took one step toward her, then another. "We both know why you treat me the way you do."
She didn't move back. Her spine straightened and her jaw locked and she held the ground.
He stopped close. Almost face to face. The words came out soft.
"You're punishing me." He searched her eyes. "Because I turned you down."
The night held the sentence up between them.
Then he stepped back and walked toward the hospital.
The wind came through the yard and lifted dust from the ground.
"What about you."
Five steps. He stopped.
"What about you." Her voice was clear and she didn't rush it. "You won't take money. You won't take anything. So why did you throw yourself in front of that car? Why do you keep pushing the fact that you saved me — out loud, to my face, repeatedly?"
He didn't turn around. He didn't have an answer yet.
"Are you building a debt? Is that what this is?"
Her heels hit the pavement behind him. Closer. Closer. She stopped just behind his shoulder.
"I am punishing you. I'm angry and you're in the way — fine, I'll say it. I admit it." Her voice dropped. "Now you. Do you have the nerve?"
Silence.
A short, quiet sound — not quite a laugh. Her footsteps moved past him.
She left one sentence in the air beside his ear as she went.
"Forget it."