When Nan Zhi was speaking, the takeout she ordered earlier because she noticed there was no fruit had arrived. She was wearing slippers, ran to the entrance door, telling the delivery person how to come up.
During the process, her eyes looked toward the dining table — the person in the wheelchair reached out his hand, wanting to clear the plates, and she pointed her finger, then he obediently retracted his hand and sat properly.
Nan Zhi just liked him being so obedient — full of a sense of accomplishment.
No wonder men all liked little-bird-depend-on-people type girls [小鸟依人: literally “a small bird leaning on someone”; refers to a delicate, dependent, gentle girl]. She also liked big-bird-depend-on-people type boys.
Nan Zhi waited at the door for a while. Her takeout was finally delivered to the door. Besides fruit, there were also two cups of milk tea. Because they were ordered together, and the distance was about the same, it seemed like they met up and were delivered by the same person.
Anyway, when Nan Zhi returned, she was carrying both fruit and milk tea.
The fruit was in a box, the already-cut kind — open and eatable. The milk tea, one cup for her and one for Song Qing.
Song Qing had just prepared to shake his head, but was pointed at again by her, so he had no choice but to obediently take it into his hands.
He followed along, and Nan Zhi was very happy, repeatedly emphasizing, “You have to listen to me. Be obedient, and when the time comes, I’ll take you to meet the good-hearted person.”
Song Qing held the warm milk tea in his hands, softly responded “mm,” but his thoughts were drifting.
Usually, eating an extra steamed bun would already get him scolded. Sometimes a bag of buns, after being used for several meals, wouldn’t have that many left — only a few remained. His uncle and aunt wouldn’t buy more, and would just deduct from his share.
Even eating buns, sometimes he wouldn’t be full. But today he ate a sandwich full of fillings, even with meat, until he was stuffed. She was even afraid he wasn’t full, asking repeatedly, telling him he must eat well, or else he would get stomach illness.
Maybe because her own stomach wasn’t good, she paid a lot of attention to him in this regard — asking how he ate in the morning, how it was at noon.
He didn’t have the nerve to say it — actually, he wasn’t full in the morning or noon. Takeout really wasn’t suitable for someone like him who eats a lot.
He was the type who even needed to soak two packs of instant noodles.
He’d seen others — most people were full with just one pack, so he really did eat a lot. This was also why, when his uncle and aunt said so, he never argued back.
While Song Qing was still lost in thoughts, a small transparent fork was placed into his hand. Nan Zhi pushed the box of fruit in front of him and told him to eat.
He looked at the colorful fruit platter with everything in it, hesitated.
He couldn’t forget, when there were guests at home, even though his uncle and aunt invited guests, he also had to be present. They would politely let him also taste the newly bought sweet fruit and stir-fried chestnuts. He really did eat — and afterward, they’d scold him again, saying he was so precious, couldn’t see that the two of them couldn’t bear to eat it themselves, and yet he actually took some — and even took the expensive ones.
Song Qing admitted, he wasn’t very emotionally intelligent. He really didn’t notice that his uncle and aunt hadn’t eaten at all — they couldn’t bear to.
Nor did he know which was expensive — what he took was sugar-roasted chestnuts.
“How come you’re not eating? If you don’t eat, I’ll feed you.”
Song Qing looked up, blankly stared at her.
Maybe because he still didn’t move, she directly poked a piece of Hami melon and brought it toward him. Song Qing saw that and quickly reached out himself, forked the nearest watermelon, and shoved it into his mouth.
Only then was she satisfied. “That’s more like it. Don’t be shy, just treat this place like home.”
As Song Qing chewed the fruit, he thought — this sentence, his uncle and aunt had also said before.
Clearly, many scenes and words were the same, but the ending result was worlds apart. His uncle and aunt didn’t want him to touch anything in their house — best if he relied on nature to live, drank dew to grow up. But she truly hoped he would eat and drink well.
The untouched cup of milk tea was also stabbed with a straw by her and she told him to drink. If he didn’t, she threatened she wouldn’t take him to meet the good-hearted person.
Song Qing had no choice but to obey.
This was his first time drinking milk tea, also the first time eating such fresh fruit — it really was tastier than the discounted, shriveled-up kind.
Milk tea, to him, was a luxury. A person whose weekly living expenses were just over twenty, there was no way to spend ten or so yuan to buy milk tea. Though sometimes classmates would order milk tea at noon and invite everyone to drink, usually this kind of thing came with social debts — he couldn’t afford to return the favor, so he consciously walked away.
Usually when he saw others sharing snacks and the like, he would also make an excuse to go to the bathroom, or find some reason to hide outside. If there was no time, he would just pretend to be asleep — others would feel embarrassed to call out to him.
If someone left it on his desk while he was pretending to sleep, he would return it afterward.
That time wasn’t like now. Back then, he didn’t need to care about what others thought. If he didn’t want, then he really didn’t want. But now, he had to always pay attention to her emotions, couldn’t make her angry, had to go along with her, do whatever made her happy.
He could tell — when he was obedient, when he ate and drank, she would smile happily, genuinely happy. So he held the milk tea, drank honestly and properly, from time to time poked a piece of fruit with the fork. If he didn’t eat, she would feed him.
Sometimes, while he was still drinking, a piece of fruit would be stuffed into his mouth — he hadn’t even reacted yet, his lips touched the fork, and just as he was about to remind her, he saw her fork another piece and send it into her own mouth.
She didn’t mind at all that he had touched the fork.
Song Qing looked at her — and still couldn’t understand.
Why didn’t she mind at all?
—
Fruit is of cold nature, so Nan Zhi couldn’t eat much, so most of it she quietly stuffed to him, taking advantage of when he wasn’t paying attention to sneak-feed him, wanting to fatten him up a little.
He was too thin right now. Since she carried him often, others couldn’t see it, but she was the clearest about it — his body was all bones, not a few taels of flesh on him, bony and uncomfortable to hold.
A bit fatter would be better.
His face also needed to grow some flesh, it was so thin he was almost out of shape. At his age, having a bit of baby fat, cheeks puffed up, would look better.
And those hands of his — originally should be holding a pen, long and beautiful — but because he often did manual labor, the skin on the back of his hands was dry and rough, not that delicate.
His palms also had calluses, the creases at the knuckles faintly had broken skin — not very good-looking anymore.
Just like a treasure had been ruined a bit. Don’t know how his uncle and aunt could even bear to do it.
If those people who liked him, who had secret crushes on him, knew — wouldn’t they feel heartbroken?
Someone who is like white moonlight in my eyes, was being trampled by others.
Have to treat him well, raise him to be white and plump, let this Tianshan snow lotus growing out of the slums bloom more vigorously, blossom even better. [Tianshan snow lotus: a rare, precious flower that grows in extreme environments — metaphor for someone beautiful yet suffering in hardship.]
Nan Zhi practically watched him drink up the milk tea and finish the fruit — not allowed to stop midway, not allowed to go do anything else. He, like a grievance-bearer, obediently finished eating and drinking.
Before Nan Zhi brought him back, she had always been worried that he was two-faced — that once someone took him in, he’d become lazy, show his true colors, leech off others, or be the kind to curse and fight, extremely difficult to handle.
But now it seems, this person was very consistent inside and out — no, even better than what others had said. He was diligent, his eyes spotted things to do, the type to fight over chores. You had to warn him before he’d stop.
His nature was indeed exposed — just like a little wife, looked so easy to bully. You hit him, cursed him, he wouldn’t talk back or fight back — grievance-bearer type.
This wasn’t good. It really made her want to bully him.
Nan Zhi nearly had to forcibly suppress the desire to bully him. She was afraid that if she let her guard down for a moment, he’d wash all the bowls and dishes himself. So she took the initiative to carry the dishes to the kitchen, and threw the knives, cutting board, pots, and so on all into the dishwasher.
When she came back, he had already cleaned up all the leftover trash on the table, wiped the table very clean, and had crawled under the table to tie up the trash bag.
After just one meal, the trash bin was full. Knowing that it was hard for him to turn his wheelchair with one hand while holding the trash, Nan Zhi grabbed it and set it down by the entrance. “When I go downstairs later to get my package, I’ll throw it away on the way.”
Because she was in such a rush to come back and see him, Nan Zhi hadn’t picked up her package today.
She also bought a few more bowls. She really was… quite scary. Clearly in an emotional slump, not wanting to move at all, but still couldn’t stop herself from buying and buying.
Nan Zhi placed the trash properly, glanced around — everything was done. After eating and drinking, it was time to give him his medicine. The medicine she brought back yesterday had enough for two to three days’ use. It was kept in the cabinet of the large living room on the first floor. Nan Zhi took it out along with the medical kit.
As soon as she set up this arrangement, Song Qing knew it was time for his medication. He turned his wheelchair over to her side, waiting for her to instruct him.
Nan Zhi told him to go wait by the sofa. She herself took out a clothes hanger, used it to hang the IV bag, mixed the medicine, released the air, rolled up his sleeve, and grabbed his hand to give him the injection.
Up close, this hand looked even more beautiful. It should have been well taken care of, not made rough from heavy household chores.
Just yesterday she had given him an injection — the pinhole was still very obvious. Nan Zhi found the vein above it, smoothly pierced straight through, and connected the drip.
A small bottle of IV drip would take at least half an hour. Nan Zhi was afraid he’d get bored, so she turned on the TV for him, and played on her own phone — because she was nearsighted and couldn’t see the TV from that far.
She originally wanted to test whether he could see, and ended up noticing that when he read the subtitles, he didn’t squint at all.
Alright, he wasn’t nearsighted at all.
While playing, Nan Zhi suddenly remembered — she hadn’t added his contact information during the day, so she tilted her head and asked him, “What’s your phone number?”
Song Qing gave a number. After Nan Zhi added it, worried that she got it wrong, she called it once. Hearing the ringtone, she saved the contact.