On a lawn a few hundred yards away, Wang Yuzhen, a 75-year-old farmer with slippers and a small pipe, sat on a knoll in front of a handmade sign with his granddaughter's name written in red ink. The family is from Maliuwan, where two hills fell into each other, killing dozens, and the girl, a fifth-grader, was missing.
"Help me find my relative Yin Yuhuo" read another plea on a sheet of plywood.
Zhang Yunwan, 52, searched for hours for his sister- and brother-in-law without any luck. He decided to try the stadium after he found their house destroyed.
"I'm hugely disappointed," he said. "I heard there were lots of people here but didn't expect this many. It's impossible to find them even if they are here."
Huddled families sought shade where they could as the harsh Sichuan sun returned after several days of rain.
China was struggling to provide the basics for this hard-hit area north of Chengdu, let alone address the sorrow and doubt. Sometimes the reactions of others appeared harsh.
One man who had gone to the stadium to look for his daughter leaned against a tree, a cellphone to his ear, sobbing alone. As his cries intensified, a crowd gathered. "She was only 16," he cried, gasping for breath. "They found her body at her school. My daughter, my daughter."
A stranger leaned down and patted him on the back. Others in the crowd offered condolences. A few at the edge laughed, possibly out of nervousness. "Stop crying, calm down," said one. "Many others have died too," said another. "There's nothing you can do about it," said a third.
Inside, on a blanket on the stadium floor, Li Mingkun, 59, sat crying with her grown daughter in her arms. Beside them was an 8-month-old baby, her grandchild.
Li said that shortly before the quake, she took the baby from her son and daughter-in-law, so they could go shopping for a few minutes. When the quake hit, the shopping area was buried under debris.
"I'm so afraid they're dead," Li sobbed. "Look at this tiny baby. How can he live without his parents?"
Occasionally, however, there were happy endings that buoyed hopes.
Liu Zhiming, a teacher at Leigu Middle School, spent several hours immediately after the quake helping others before realizing that he hadn't heard from his own daughter.
In a panic, he rushed to her school and shouted her name. After several minutes, he caught the sound of her voice from beneath the rubble. For the next six hours he dug furiously by hand, using every bit of energy he could muster until about midnight he managed to free her.
"We can't tell you how relieved we all were," said Chen Yong, 38, a colleague. "It's a rare good story."
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mark.magnier@latimes.com
chingching.ni@latimes.com
Times staff writer Barbara Demick in Beijing contributed to this report.
