Chapter Two: Mai Minghe—Rescued from a Hallucination?

“You live alone,” the social worker said, unfolding a small brochure and showing it to her. “If you fall and nobody knows, it’s very dangerous. It’s best to have one you wear around your neck. It doesn’t get in the way. What do you think?”

That was many years ago.

Mai Minghe still remembered that promotional poster, its product name straightforward: “Life Alert Device.”

In the picture, an elderly woman with white hair lay on the ground, accompanied by two lines of small text: “Help me! I’ve fallen and can’t get up!”

Her cousin broke her pelvis in a fall when she was in her eighties and never got out of bed again; once confined to bed, one’s days are numbered.

What year did she pass away? Mai Minghe couldn’t recall.

The legs that once carried her up to the rooftop, running and playing, had in an instant become unreliable; now, even just getting out of bed required her to guard against betrayal from her own body.

The body that had accompanied her all her life gradually turned into a stranger; she felt like a stiff wheel, turning slower and slower with each rotation, powerless to change her fate.

“The emergency support system operates 24 hours a day, year-round,” the social worker explained, sensing she might not clearly see the text in the brochure. “No matter what emergency arises, you press the button, and someone will come… Let me see… It promises a response time no longer than half an hour, with participating hospitals nearby.”

Mai Minghe took the brochure and studied the images for a while.

She had scrimped and saved tightly all her life, but now money suddenly seemed weightless, mere curved symbols on paper.

“Then I’ll take this one,” she said, pointing to the third model, “It looks the best. Like a necklace pendant.”

The social worker chuckled. “Great, you’ll look lovely wearing it.”

Though it looked different, she wore it like a necklace for years. It was only the first time she pressed the life alert device when a thief broke into the living room to make a call.

The thief probably didn’t expect that the “necklace” on her chest was an alarm—young people and the elderly lived in nearly isolated worlds; unless one regularly interacted with the elderly, few would know what their lives were like or what objects they used daily.

Starting from letting the thief find the poems… she had tried everything, and over ten minutes had dragged by.

No one had arrived yet, and she felt herself about to give out.

For some reason, the cold tube stood upright on her chest as if unaffected by gravity, no one holding it. The machine hummed, the voice reading poetry growing more distant, and she slipped into waves of dizzy darkness, sinking deeper and deeper.

From the depths of the darkness, fragments of dreamlike illusions emerged.

Strangely, they say people see their life memories at the moment of death; but Mai Minghe saw only another self, connected to a tube on her chest, stepping toward the television, suddenly throwing herself against the screen.

She was startled by her own action, faintly hearing a murky sound from her chest.

Her eyes half-opened and half-closed, reality and illusion overlapped; the illusory self repeatedly collided with the old television in the corner, the screen cracking in spiderweb patterns each time.

The hallucination was finally shattered by a stern voice—a deep, unfamiliar voice shouted, “What are you doing? Who are you?”

Mai Minghe jolted awake slightly, opening her eyes.

In her blurred vision, a glossy black tube stood on her chest, as if more alive than she was, pressing heavily down on her bed.

The next moment, the tube suddenly vanished.

The thief clenched the tube behind his back, panicked but quick-witted, and challenged the two people who had just entered the bedroom: “Who are you? Why did you suddenly break into my grandmother’s house?”

Two people in blue and white uniforms strode over, switched on the lights, driving away the night. The room was starkly bright, revealing a bedroom filled with decay, the smell of medicine, cracks on the walls, and the steady whir of an oxygen machine.

They were caregivers.

“Your grandmother?”

The male caregiver looked at Mai Minghe, then suspiciously at the thief. “Her? Is she your grandmother?”

“I’m mixed race, two generations, it’s not obvious,” the thief replied quickly, aware of the difference in skin color and ethnicity. “See, I have black hair. Who are you?”

“We’re emergency support caregivers,” a female voice explained. “We came because of an alert signal. According to our records, she lives alone.”

The thief had completely composed himself.

“Yes,” he said gently, patting Mai Minghe’s arm as if to comfort her, then to the caregivers, “You responded quickly and arrived fast; thank you. But there’s been a misunderstanding. I’m here on a business trip in Blackmore City, temporarily staying at my grandmother’s. She’s old and forgetful, probably mistook me for a stranger and triggered the alert. She’s fine.”

The female caregiver approached the bedside, lifted Mai Minghe’s eyelids to check, and softly asked, “Are you okay, ma’am?”

Mai Minghe opened her mouth to say something, but only a faint breath escaped her lips. The female caregiver, experienced with such cases, was not surprised by her inability to speak and began listening to her heartbeat.

“Would you mind showing me some ID?” the male caregiver asked the thief hesitantly.

“No problem,” the thief said, and openly kicked the black device with the tube under Mai Minghe’s hospital bed, muttering, “Why is the vacuum cleaner here… Wait, I’ll get my wallet from the next room. My driver’s license is in there.”

She was now lying on a hospital care bed with four wheels, empty underneath—perfect for storing things.

“Oh, the phone,” the thief said, turning back just a few steps later, smiling at the female caregiver still examining Mai Minghe. “I almost forgot. Sometimes my grandmother gets scared for no reason. I have to play poetry and music for her to calm her down.”

The female caregiver glanced over Mai Minghe and briefly at the phone screen, relaxing visibly.

Mai Minghe thought to herself, a thief who breaks in to kill, yet plays poetry for the owner—who would believe that? He looked more like a devoted grandson.

Since she wasn’t dead yet, the thief hadn’t succeeded in taking whatever was inside her body.

Right; otherwise, he wouldn’t still be pretending to be the grandson here.

But if the caregivers had come just a few minutes later, he would have succeeded.

No one knew that Death had just been sitting beside her, leaning over, gazing at her; she had never been this close to death before, nor experienced a near-death hallucination…

Ah, the television!

Even Mai Minghe herself hadn’t expected it; recalling the earlier illusion, a sudden impulse arose from nowhere, urging her to roll off the bed and touch the television.

She had to get there, had to hurry and see…

Driven by waves of urgency, Mai Minghe nearly cried out.

The dark television screen was the only solid thing in the world at that moment, heavy and pressing in her vision, drawing her toward it; the room, the caregivers, and the thief seemed as insubstantial as paper, almost floating away.

Mai Minghe stretched out her hand toward the television.

“Ma’am, what’s the matter? What do you want?” the female caregiver followed her raised hand with her eyes, turning to ask, “Do you want to watch TV?”

The door to the storage room next door opened and closed as if the thief had really gone to fetch something. As the female caregiver spoke, he returned, handing his ID to the male caregiver; after examining it, the latter’s tone and demeanor relaxed.

Mai Minghe made a negative sound through her nose, still pointing at the television.

“I’ll turn it on for you,” the female caregiver said kindly, not waiting for Mai Minghe’s answer, and switched on the television.

The screen replayed a daytime news commentary. The host was repeatedly discussing the sudden death yesterday of Blackmore City tycoon Wexley, recounting his business miracles and charitable deeds.

“No… no,” Mai Minghe finally spoke again, quietly relieved—at least she could still talk, and her strength seemed to be returning.

The thief quickly glanced at her.

He then turned back to the male caregiver, continuing his prior explanation, “My grandmother is old and her mind is muddled. The older she gets, the more stubborn she becomes. She has no family in Blackmore City to care for her…”

Such a young age, and already telling lies one after another.

Even if they were told he wasn’t her grandson, it probably wouldn’t help. Most thieves don’t stick around to negotiate; from the caregivers’ perspective, it seemed less a matter of theft and more like dementia.

Forget it—now, the television was more important, more urgent than him.

“Help… help me over there,” Mai Minghe said quietly to the female caregiver, pointing at the television. “Please.”

The thief glanced at her again, then looked at the television.

Before he could speak, the male caregiver’s question drew his attention: “When we arrived, you were bent over with a tube in your hand. What were you doing?”

“You don’t necessarily have to go over there; you can watch TV from here,” the female caregiver said, a little hesitant.

The thief was explaining, “My grandmother called out in the middle of the night. I woke up and came to check, found the vacuum cleaner tube had fallen onto the bed.”

“Please,” Mai Minghe tightly grabbed the female caregiver’s hand, staring into her brown eyes, pleading, “Help me over there, please. I… I want to sit over there.”

She was acting even more like a confused old woman.

“All right, I’ll help you,” the female caregiver surrendered. “Can you get up?”

“Yes, yes.”

The thief looked at Mai Minghe with concern, then stepped forward to support her, thereby easing the male caregiver’s questioning. “Grandma, why do you want to go over there? Just look, then come back to bed, okay?”

Mai Minghe ignored him. The boy seemed fine, but what was he up to?

With the two of them supporting her, she staggered to the television. Her pale, ghostlike reflection briefly appeared on the screen, then vanished as the image switched to the Wexley estate.

She understood now.

Mai Minghe thought, the hallucination had a reason after all.

No wonder she had been so desperate to get over here. She should have realized sooner—at her age, her mind wasn’t what it used to be.

“I’ll get a chair,” the female caregiver said, releasing Mai Minghe’s hand.

Only the thief remained holding her. He loosely grasped her withered arm, seeming afraid to apply too much force.

“If there’s nothing wrong, then we’ll be going,” the male caregiver said at the door, asking the thief, “Can you help her back to bed later?”

The thief exhaled in relief and nodded repeatedly. “Of course. Thanks for your trouble…”

While he was speaking, Mai Minghe suddenly withdrew her arm and fell backward, crashing into the television screen.

She should have thought of it earlier—the hallucination was telling her how to save herself.

Falling onto the screen in front of the caregivers would force them to take her to the hospital, regardless of the thief’s claimed identity. In the hospital, with many people watching, she would be safe.

The thief abruptly turned his head toward her peripheral movement but was too slow.

Mai Minghe heard the heavy thud of her skull hitting the television, followed by cries and footsteps filling the room.

The female social worker seemed to shout from a distant place, but Mai Minghe didn’t catch the words—

“Where is she?”