The bedroom door closed, Doctor Gao and my uncle looked at the bloodied empty wine bottle, avoiding direct contact, using paper to take it to the kitchen for cleaning, ensuring no traces were left before throwing it in the trash.
"Looks like your dad really drank too much, cutting his own hand." My uncle blatantly lied with eyes wide open, and Doctor Gao didn't argue, both in silent agreement not to disturb my father further: "Check the other rooms, if nothing is missing, there's no need to call the police."
"Uncle's right." Doctor Gao busy until past four, barely lying in bed to rest, eyes closed for a brief moment when a "bang" sounded from outside.
A wine bottle smashed against the wall, shards scattered everywhere, and before the sun even rose, grandfather's screams echoed.
Pushing the bedroom door open, Doctor Gao clutching a blanket and my uncle rushing to grandfather's bedside.
A seventy-year-old man cradling his head, rolling off bed, writhing in pain.
