Song Rongquan didn’t answer.

Guiying let the silence sit for a second. "Go get the kids. Food’s coming."

Guiying knocked on the door across the hall.

It opened almost immediately.

She was in her mid-twenties, hair pulled back, a worn jacket over a plain shirt. Tattoos ran down both arms and up her neck, not the kind you get for decoration. A small one curved under her left ear. Another disappeared into her collar. Her eyes took him in before she spoke.

"You’re with the organisation?" she said.

"Arang?" Guiying asked.

"Yeah." She leaned on the doorframe, arms crossed. "He actually let you inside?"

"Eventually."

She glanced toward the apartment across the hall, then back at him. "How bad is it?"

"Bad enough," Guiying said. "Food’s on the way. I need someone on this floor until the social worker shows up. The kids know you..so can you.."

Arang was quiet for a beat, then pushed off the frame. "Fine. I’ve been feeding them when he can’t be bothered anyway. Which is most days."

Guiying nodded. "Thanks."

She shrugged, already turning back inside. "Don’t. I do it for them."

Forty minutes later the food arrived. The delivery rider glanced at the stairwell, said nothing, and handed the bags over at the door.

Arang was already waiting before Guiying could knock. She took two bags from him without a word and carried them across the hall with the ease of someone who had been feeding these children alone for years and was only now getting help.

Song Rongquan returned with the other three children. There was a six-year-old boy and two girls, aged four and two. The youngest was still half asleep, her face pressed against her father’s shoulder.

He set her down when they came inside, and she went straight to Yilin. Yilin took her hand without looking up, quiet and automatic, the way she did everything.

Guiying watched them for a moment.

He and Arang arranged the food on the counter and the small table.

The children ate with careful focus, the way children eat when they know a meal is not guaranteed.

They worked through every plate steadily. The youngest glanced up at Guiying between bites, her eyes wide and uncertain, and then returned to her food.

Song Rongquan sat in the corner and watched. He did not eat, and Guiying did not comment on it.

When the children finished, Arang began clearing the table.

She moved through the kitchen with the familiarity of someone who knew exactly where every dish belonged.

Guiying crouched down in front of Yilin.

She met his gaze, steady and careful.

"I have to go now.." he said. "But I will come back. I promise you that."

Yilin studied him for a long moment. Then she nodded once.

Guiying counted out some yuan, folded the bills, and pressed them into her small hand. "This is for you, your brother and sisters," he said. "It is not for anything else. Do you understand?"

"Yes," Yilin said quietly.

He stood and held out the remaining bills to Song Rongquan, who was still sitting in the corner. Song Rongquan looked at the money for a moment before taking it.

Guiying looked at the man in the ironed shirt, sitting in the dark apartment while his children ate properly for the first time in a long time.

"You chose to have these children.." Guiying said. "So now you must choose what comes next. You can take care of them, or you can let them go. But you cannot let them suffer any longer. If you love them, then show it. They are good children, Mr. Song. Every single one of them." His gaze moved to Yilin, to Lian, who was still eating slowly at the table, and to the two-year-old who had fallen asleep against Arang’s side without noticing. "They deserve better than this. And so do you."

Song Rongquan did not answer.

But the expression on his face had changed from that morning. It was quieter now, less certain. The smooth mask he had worn was cracked in places it had not been before.

Whether it would stay that way was up to him.

Guiying picked up his tote. "A social worker will contact you within forty-eight hours," he said. "Until then, Arang will stay with them."

"I have them covered," Arang said without looking up from the counter she was wiping. "Go on. You are going to be late."

Guiying glanced at her, then at Yilin one last time. The girl gave him a small wave, just the movement of her fingers at her side.

He nodded and left the apartment.

The stairwell was the same on the way down. It was damp and dim, with the broken bicycle still on the second-floor landing and the single child’s shoe still against the baseboard on the third. He passed them both without stopping and stepped out into the Bao’an morning. The district was loud and busy, indifferent to what had happened in apartment A1.

Haiyan was waiting for him at the curb.

Guiying got into the car and set his tote on the seat beside him. "To the shoot?" Haiyan asked.

"To the shoot," Guiying replied.

As they left Bao’an behind, the streets widened and the apartment buildings thinned out. Beijing opened up around them into something that felt less cramped.

Guiying thought about Yilin’s wave. It had been small, just the movement of her fingers, as if she had decided at the last second that it was safe to try.

He said nothing else. He looked out the window and let the city carry him toward the next thing.

"I’m sorry I took so much of your time. Things got heated. It must have been boring waiting for so long."

Haiyan shook his head, this was his job. He couldn’t complain and he honestly didn’t mind.

"Please don’t worry about it Master Xue. I had a pleasant time waiting for you.."

Guiying had no choice but to let it end there.

"Alright, let’s head to Shanghai then. I have my shoot there, hopefully we can make it on time. I can’t be late on the second day."