It was almost ten when I came out of Dengshikou subway station. I had been walking for about five minutes when a voice stopped me: "Young man, do you know how to get to Neiwubu Street?"
I looked up and saw a woman in her fifties or sixties. I told her I was not local and did not know the way.
She looked anxious and asked me to check Baidu Maps for her. I took out my phone, found Neiwubu Street, and told her to head in the direction behind her.
She did not quite believe me. "A security guard just told me to go this way," she said. "I've already walked back and forth several times."
I said the map marked it that way, but I was not local either, so perhaps she should ask someone who was. By then there were fewer people on the street, though a few pedestrians still passed by. She approached a young man; he did not know. Another young man walked past; he did not know where Neiwubu Street was either.
With some despair, she turned to me and said, "All right, just point me the way."
I did not think much of it. Her destination happened to be in the direction I was going.
We had barely taken two steps when she extended her left hand, holding something, and said, "Help me carry this." I took it. It was heavy. Under the dim streetlight, it looked like two bottles of olive oil.
On the way, I asked why she was still out so late. She said she had come to Beijing for study, would be going back in a few days, and had gone out that day to buy some local specialties.
We walked another seven or eight minutes. The streets grew emptier. A thought suddenly flashed through my mind: Is she going to extort me? If she pretends to fall now, what should I do? I am still carrying her things. I wished the walk would end sooner.
I led her past Shijia Hutong and pointed ahead. "The next intersection is Neiwubu Street. You can walk over yourself. I won't go any further—this is already far from where I'm staying."
She took her things gratefully and thanked me again and again. I hurried back to the hotel. Sitting on the bed, I felt a belated scare: if she had been a scammer, I would have missed my flight the next morning. When she asked for directions, I had not thought much. I simply saw an old person anxiously looking for the way late at night and felt sorry for her, so I did a small favor. It had not occurred to me that such a small thing could carry such risk.
Over the years, I have seen too many news stories about elderly people faking falls to extort people who helped them, and I have felt indignant on behalf of those who did good. In my senior year of high school, my homeroom teacher repeatedly warned us: "If someone falls on the road, stay away. If you go over to help, you'll be the one who knocked them down. If a bicycle is lying by the road, don't go pick it up for no reason—if you didn't knock it over, why touch it?" It was the first time I had received such a realistic education. It clashed with the usual lessons about truth, kindness, and beauty; I felt uncomfortable, but I knew the teacher meant well.
In the news, there are too many cases of people helping elderly strangers and then being accused without being able to explain themselves. The cases that can be explained often depend on roadside cameras. If there is no witness, you can only accept your bad luck. Sigh—really, better one thing less than one thing more.
Why spend so many words on such a small incident? Only to remind myself that doing a good deed requires thinking twice.