He kept his hands visible. "Mr. Song. I’m Tang XiaoYu. We’re here because of a report about your kids. We’re not here to hurt you. Can we talk?"

Guiying didn’t speak immediately. He let Song Rongquan finish his assessment of the three of them, watching the way the man’s eyes moved quickly from Bai Feng to Liang Xueyi to him, measuring and categorizing without pause.

"You’re from the organisation," Song Rongquan said, his voice carrying the smooth, practiced warmth of someone who had rehearsed this exact moment.

"Please come in. I apologize for the delay. I was just putting a few things in order."

He stepped aside to hold the door open, and the apartment took them in with air that felt heavy and stale.

The curtains were drawn tight against the morning light, so it took a moment for the room to resolve into detail.

In the corner, a mattress lay on the floor with Lian curled on it, asleep in clothes that were too large and too thin for the weather.

The kitchen counter held only a single pot, and the floor had the dull, ingrained grime that accumulates when weeks pass without cleaning and the people living there are too small to manage it.

Song Rongquan gestured toward the two chairs against the wall. "Please make yourselves comfortable."

Bai Feng and Liang Xueyi sat down, but Guiying remained standing, his attention moving across the room.

In the corner, a duffel bag held fresh clothes, all sized for a man. On the counter sat a phone that looked newer than anything else in the apartment.

And the bin, a discarded takeaway container was from a restaurant on the other side of the city.

Guiying brought his gaze back to Song Rongquan. "Where are the other children? Yilin said three of them are staying with friends."

"They’re visiting for a short while.." Song Rongquan replied without hesitation, his smile steady. "They’ll return later."

Liang Xueyi asked, "And their ages?"

"Six, four, and two."

Guiying noted the answer and said quietly, "So the two-year-old is out visiting as well..."

"That’s right," Song Rongquan said, unruffled by the observation.

Guiying didn’t pursue it further at that moment.

Instead, he studied the man standing before him, well-rested and clean-shaven, wearing an ironed shirt, in an apartment where a five-year-old had opened the door alone with a rehearsed explanation about money.

Song Rongquan turned his attention to Bai Feng and shifted into the reason he had let them in. "I’m glad you came. It’s been difficult managing five children on my own. I’ve been doing what I can, but I was hoping the organisation might be able to help with the overdue rent and the children’s basic needs."

Bai Feng asked directly, "What exactly do you need from us?"

"Financial support would help most.." Song Rongquan said, and a note of hope entered his voice. "The rent is behind, and the children need regular meals."

Liang Xueyi’s eyes moved to Yilin, who had moved to stand in the doorway of the inner room and was watching them with a careful, guarded expression.

"When did the children last have a proper meal?"

Song Rongquan paused for a brief moment before answering. "This morning. I made sure they ate before I left."

Guiying kept his eyes on Song Rongquan as he asked, "Yilin, when did you last eat?"

The girl glanced at her father first, then at Guiying, and answered softly, "Yesterday. Uncle brought biscuits."

After that, no one spoke for a while, and the answer settled over the room without needing further explanation.

Guiying shifted his gaze back to Song Rongquan.

By now he had enough to see the shape of things. The man was well-fed, his shirt freshly pressed, the phone on the counter newer than anything else in the room, and the takeaway container in the bin had come from a district miles away. Meanwhile the children hadn’t eaten since yesterday. He didn’t need more facts to understand the gap between them.

But he wasn’t ready to let Song Rongquan see that yet.

"Mr. Song," Guiying said evenly, "before we talk about assistance, I’d like to ask a few questions. Just so we have a clearer picture of your situation."

Song Rongquan spread his hands in a gesture of openness. "Of course. Anything."

"What do you do for work?"

"I’m between jobs at the moment," Song Rongquan replied smoothly. "The market’s been difficult lately, and with five children it’s hard to commit to anything full time, even if I wanted to."

Guiying nodded slowly. "And the children’s fathers? Are any of them involved, contributing in any way?"

For a fraction of a second something moved across Song Rongquan’s face. "No," he said. "They all left. It’s just me."

"I see." Guiying glanced toward the doorway where Yilin still stood watching. "Do you love your children, Mr. Song?"

The answer came quickly, both indignant and warm. "Of course I do. They’re everything to me. That’s why I reached out to your organisation. I want better for them."

"Of course," Guiying said pleasantly. "One last thing." He looked back at Song Rongquan. "Their birthdays. Could you tell me each of their birthdays?"

The pause was small, but it was there.

Song Rongquan gave a light laugh. "You know how it is with five kids. Sometimes the dates blur together."

"Take your time," Guiying said.

He folded his hands in front of him, his expression open and patient on the surface, and completely still underneath.

Guiying’s expression hardened.

He cut Song Rongquan off before the man could fumble through another birthday he clearly didn’t know.

"Mr. Song," he said, and the warmth was gone from his voice. "If you love these children the way you say you do, then explain why they’ve gone hungry while you ate. Explain why you look like this." His eyes moved over the pressed shirt, the combed hair, the new phone on the counter. "Why is your daughter opening the door in clothes two sizes too big, telling strangers that her father will pay them back soon?"

He let the question hang.

"The money you’re asking us for—will it actually reach these kids? You couldn’t even use what little you had on them. You can’t even remember their birthdays." His voice stayed level, with no rise and no performance. "Don’t you feel any shame?"