"He's right," said Bingwen. "This panic is only making things worse."
"I'll stay with him," said Father. "Bingwen, get your mother home."
"We're staying together," said Mother.
"Only person who's staying is me," says Grandfather. "Am I not to be respected?"
"Not this time," said Father.
"Then leave me with Bingwen," said Grandfather. He pointed at Father. "If I go with you, I'll never hear the end of your complaints. All the way home, it'll be how I should be more careful, how it's my fault I fell, how I'm a burden."
"You should be more careful," said Father.
"You're no burden, Father," said Mother.
"Leave me with the boy," said Grandfather.
"You can't even walk," said Father. "Bingwen can't carry you."
Grandfather pushed himself up, wincing, but he got to his feet this time. "I don't need carrying. We'll be right behind you. Go. Before someone ransacks our home and takes what little food we have."
Mother and Father exchanged nervous glances.
"What," said Grandfather, "you think these people will suddenly be civilized when they go home? They're stirred up like hornets. If they fear there's a fight ahead, they'll think only of themselves and stockpile whatever they get their hands on."
Father looked back toward the retreating crowd. Mother covered her mouth with a hand, afraid. Bingwen almost told them then. Don't worry. I have supplies. I know you told me not to, Father, but I buried some tools and cans and rice sacks up at the top of the hill above the village. We'll be fine. For a little while at least.
But before Bingwen could muster the courage to admit that he had defied Father, the moment was past and Father was pulling Mother by the hand back toward the stairs.
"Get home as fast as you can, Bingwen," Father called back over his shoulder. Then he shouldered his way into the crowd, hurrying down the stairs, pulling Mother along. In seconds, Bingwen lost sight of them completely. He turned back to Grandfather, who had seated himself on the ground again, resting.
Hopper was still with the little girl. But now Meilin, Bingwen's cousin, was with him also. The little girl clung to Meilin's shirt, her eyes wet and wild with fear.
A young woman broke through the crowd, running back up the stairs. The little girl saw her, tore away from Meilin, and ran into the woman's arms. The woman embraced the child and lifted her up, crying, terrified, relieved.
"How could you run off without your own child?" Hopper scolded.
Meilin rounded on him, eyes wide with shock. Bingwen was surprised as well. It was unthinkable to address an adult like that.
The woman was shaking her head, ashamed, clinging to her daughter. She mumbled her thanks and ran back the way she had come, the girl in her arms.
"You see?" Grandfather said to Bingwen. "No respect for one's elders."
When the woman was gone, Meilin poked Hopper hard in the chest. "You had no right to say that to her."
"She had no right to abandon a two-year-old," said Hopper.
"She might not have abandoned her. Maybe she thought her husband had her. Maybe she was helping someone."
"She should have taken the child with her."
"Oh you know so much about parenting."
"Enough," said Grandfather. "Both of you. A sack of rice knows more about rearing children than either of you two. And where are your parents, hmm? Would you scorn your own mother so, boy?"
Hopper hung his head, ashamed. "No, Ye Ye Danwen," he said, addressing Grandfather with the proper respect.
"I should think not," said Grandfather. He motioned for Bingwen. "Help me up."