"While I was squatting at the door of the flower shop watering the hydrangea, the number above Uncle Zhang's head suddenly jumped from '143' to '3'.
He was rushing towards the zebra crossing with vegetables, and the sound of the horn of a large truck behind him pierced the noise of the morning market.
I picked up the watering can and rushed over, pouring cold water on the back of his neck: 'Uncle Zhang!
Your granddaughter just sent me a WeChat message this morning, saying she wanted to eat your steamed candy triangles after school!
'
The old man paused suddenly, and the large truck whizzed past, brushing against his clothes.
He covered his racing heart and called me a 'crazy girl'. I stared at the number above his head that had grown back to '141', lowered my head and hid the muddy watering can behind my back - this was the thirtieth neighbor I had saved with my 'Lifespan Eye'.
Until that day in the hospital, I bumped into a man in a white coat.
He was leaning against the fire escape, his hair under the surgical cap was wet, his knuckles pressed against his forehead, and the numbers on his head were falling at a speed visible to the naked eye.
'723…722…721…'
I pinched the sunflower I gave to a hospitalized child, and the stems made red marks on my palm.
Three days ago, the operation he performed failed, and his family members called him "executioner" in the corridor; when his mother died of a heart attack three years ago, every second the red light was on in the emergency room was spent cutting out flesh from his fate.
