Gu Hao was the kind of person people relied on
and forgot about.
He wasn't poor, but he lived carefully.
He wasn't brilliant, but he studied diligently.
He wasn't weak, but he never pushed to the front.
In business school, professors liked him because he asked sensible questions.
Classmates liked him because he shared notes.
Strangers liked him because he listened.
And that was the problem.
It was raining that night. A slow, soaking rain that blurred the city into soft lights and reflections. Gu Hao stood under the shelter of a closed shop, holding his bag close to his chest, waiting for the signal to change.
Across the street, a man collapsed.
Not dramatically.
No loud sound.
Just knees buckling, body folding inward, like something finally giving up.
People slowed.
Some stepped aside.
No one approached.
"Maybe he's drunk," someone muttered.
"Could be a scam."
"Don't touch him. Police trouble."
Gu Hao hesitated.
He always hesitated.
That half-second was the space where fear lived. Where excuses grew. Where most people decided to keep walking.
Then he stepped forward.
"Sir?" Gu Hao knelt beside the man. "Can you hear me?"
The man's skin was cold. His breathing shallow and uneven. Gu Hao fumbled for his phone, calling emergency services, placing his jacket under the man's head like he'd seen in training videos.
"Help is coming," he said softly, though he wasn't sure it was true.
Minutes passed.
Cars drove by.
Umbrellas tilted away.
A woman stopped briefly, then shook her head. "Better not get involved."
Gu Hao's arms began to ache. The man convulsed once, then went still.
"Please," Gu Hao called out. "I need help. Someone—"
No one answered.
The emergency operator kept asking questions.
Gu Hao kept giving them.
By the time the ambulance arrived, the rain had soaked through his clothes.
The paramedics checked once.
Then again.
Then one of them looked at Gu Hao with something like apology.
"He's gone."
Gu Hao sat there long after they covered the body.
Someone handed him his bag. Another person patted his shoulder, awkwardly.
"You did what you could."
Did he?
As police lights flashed and questions were asked, Gu Hao felt something settle in his chest. Not anger.
Understanding.
People weren't cruel.
They were careful.
And kindness, he realized too late, was something you paid for alone.
He collapsed later that night in a small police room, chest burning, breath shallow. Stress. Exposure. They said it clinically.
No one stayed with him.
No one wanted complications.
As consciousness slipped away, Gu Hao thought of the man on the street.
Of all the people who had walked past.
Of how reasonable it had seemed.
His last thought was not regret.
It was clarity.
If everyone waits for someone else to act,
nothing ever changes.
Darkness closed in.