Nan Zhi wanted to laugh a little, because after tossing and turning, she still couldn’t find clothes that fit him, and even messed up his hair.
Very messy, very messy, the kind that sticks up all over the place. She, like dipping sauce while eating hotpot, and then reaching for tissues after eating to wipe her mouth, naturally reached out and randomly tousled it a few times.
—
The changes on his head, Song Qing couldn’t possibly not feel them. In fact, the moment that pair of hands came down, he had already very clearly noticed it. That hand not only pressed down his bangs and the parts that stuck up, it even tugged at some strands of hair that perhaps didn’t want to submit, wanting to pull them straight. It kept, kept weaving through his hair.
He wanted to look up to see that hand but was glared at by Nan Zhi.
He could only keep his head lowered, looking at her pretty shoes and lace-trimmed socks.
Nan Zhi slowed her movements, then continued to put a coat on him.
This time it was a jacket, black, a style similar to a windbreaker, also large. But there was a drawstring at the bottom, plus the fabric was really comfortable — not the stiff plastic membrane-like washable kind, but soft, very smooth, very textured. A little over a hundred, yet it felt even more comfortable than something two or three hundred, so she kept it.
When Nan Zhi was putting it on him, she found that the sleeves weren’t short this time, just right — could cover a little below his wrist.
This was a signal that it might be wearable — though not guaranteed, because just now there was a piece where the sleeves fit but the body length was too short.
She liked to wear loose clothes, but since her build was skinny, barely over ninety jin [about 45kg], she wouldn’t buy ones that were too big. She also liked short tops — made her legs look longer.
When it came to styling, she was very experienced. She just never thought one day she’d run into a situation like this — wanting to lend clothes to him, yet turns out they were all basically too short.
There weren’t many pieces left. This one seemed to be the most hopeful. It had to work.
Nan Zhi slowed her actions, gently moved around behind him, to his other side, wanting to help him put his other arm through.
The whole process, she didn’t let him move at all — because sometimes when arriving in a new unfamiliar environment, you might feel a bit embarrassed.
Just like back when she first arrived at the hospital — low blood sugar, starving at noon, feeling a bit dizzy. The teacher asked if she wanted an orange. She felt shy, declined, but actually in her heart she thought: Hurry up and shove it into my mouth! I’m about to die!
Later, the teacher even said when they first met her, she seemed kind of aloof, not like someone greedy for snacks, thought she really didn’t want to eat, so didn’t insist — ended up finishing it himself. In fact, he really wanted her to try the oranges from his family’s orchard — very sweet.
Nan Zhi, who waited over forty minutes for takeout, cried rivers of tears.
She indeed wasn’t greedy with food. After all, she had eaten plenty of good things growing up. But low blood sugar — when it hits hard, even dirt looks edible. At that time, when the teacher was eating, she even wanted to snatch it from him. But in the end, thin-skinned, she didn’t dare.
She could only blame herself. Having learned the lesson, she didn’t want him to go through what she did.
When not familiar yet, better to stuff it forcefully, be more firm in attitude. Talk about easing up once the relationship grows closer.
—
Song Qing, under her permission, raised his hand and cooperatively slipped it into the sleeve. Just after putting it on, he was told to keep pressing down the needle mark to prevent blood from flowing back out.
Actually, he had already been pressing it for a while — the blood had basically stopped. But she still made him press it. As soon as this hand tried to do something else, she would give a warning.
Song Qing could only properly wait for instructions.
Nan Zhi then moved around behind him to tidy up the back part. After tidying, she found the jacket’s length wasn’t short either.
She felt it herself — seemed not small, quite suitable even, maybe even a little bit loose. Grateful to the designer of this coat.
Nan Zhi let out a long breath of relief, and after coming to the front, didn’t stay idle. She tugged at the wrinkles in the coat. Since it was already worn, she didn’t restrict him, letting him raise his hands. She, on the other hand, slid both hands under his arms to tug on the back hem.
This motion made Song Qing’s chin lightly and vaguely rest against her shoulder for a brief moment.
He almost instinctively thought of that sudden, until now still incomprehensible hug she gave when he first arrived at her house — but he knew it was very warm, very comfortable, something he kept thinking about even when he woke up in the middle of the night.
Why did she hug him?
It was the first time someone had hugged him.
He wanted to be hugged once more.
He knew this person didn’t dislike him, so he quietly, gently rested his chin on her, pressing against a few layers of thick fabric.
She probably wouldn’t feel it, but doing this gave him a feeling like he was being hugged again.
—
Actually, Nan Zhi noticed it — because right behind the two of them was the small living room he was currently staying in. The glass was fully enclosed, curtains drawn inside, so from the outside it just looked like a mirror. And she was facing that mirror directly, so all his movements were clearly reflected into her eyes.
He subtly straightened his posture, leaned up a little more, and pressed his chin into the space between her neck and shoulder.
She was wearing a hoodie underneath, with a windbreaker on the outside, equivalent to two or three layers stacked — so she really didn’t feel the weight or touch. But seeing it and feeling it made little difference. She still went quiet, unwilling to disturb him.
After a while, seeing that he seemed to have the idea to pull away, just about to move, Nan Zhi instead wasn’t willing — she pulled him into her arms, patted his back, and like earlier when joking on the phone, said:
“All right, all right. Guai Bao, don’t cry.” [Note: “乖宝” (Guāi Bǎo) literally means “obedient darling” or “well-behaved baby.” “Guai” = obedient/good; “Bao” = treasure. Often used by parents or affectionate figures. ]
Song Qing, just like before, didn’t cry.
But she called him Guai Bao.
This was also the first time someone had called him that. Usually, his nicknames were things like sissy or pervert — all unpleasant words.
“Guai” and “Bao,” even when said separately, were both very nice characters. Put together, for some reason, they carried a trace of pampering.
Made a person feel inexplicably like they were being cherished.
Perhaps it was because these two characters were just too beautiful — Song Qing didn’t pull away anymore. Instead, he rested his chin even further forward, deeply sinking into her thick clothes and shoulder.
Nan Zhi was stunned. Even if she were dull, she could tell something was off. She stopped the joking posture and held him seriously now — though still like earlier, one hand gently patting his back, as if to comfort him.
Song Qing was completely immersed in this hug, closed his eyes, and thought:
Even the way an angel calls him is different.
This hug, carrying warm body temperature, lasted for a long time — so long that Nan Zhi was starting to get tired from keeping that posture. And the wall clock showed that it was about 7:30. The package delivery point downstairs would close at 8, so she had no choice but to interrupt:
“Guai Bao, we have to hurry and go now — the parcel counter closes at 8, supermarket at around 9.”
He didn’t seem to mind being called Guai Bao. Nan Zhi called out to him like that while going up the stairs to fetch something.
He didn’t show any objection. After pulling away from her, he lightly nodded.
It was as if he had naturally accepted that nickname.
Nan Zhi raised her eyebrows, continued preparing to go out. She folded a light blanket a few times and laid it over his lap — it was slightly long, covering up to his chest.
“Just finished an IV drip — you’re a bit weak, can’t be exposed to the wind, okay?”
After saying that, she still felt something was missing, tossed out a “I’m going to get a hat,” and went upstairs.
Song Qing almost followed her with his eyes the entire way, and watched her come back down, holding a knitted hat in her hand, widening it as she pulled it over his head.
After putting it on, she casually complimented him:
“You actually look pretty good in a hat.”
Maybe someone had praised him before. He also happened to discover once that someone wanted to find his photo to post on the school forum, asking people to vote for who was the most handsome this semester — but they couldn’t find one, because he didn’t take photos.
Those people could only give up. He also didn’t pay attention to the school forum. His worn-out phone didn’t support internet access, so he hadn’t noticed any follow-ups.
He only knew — this time was the most memorable for him.
Maybe it was because he had lost the use of his legs, fallen into the abyss, been abandoned by everyone. This person was the only one who didn’t look down on him, and wasn’t stingy with praise either. His impression of her was truly deep — everything she did, he remembered clearly.
Praising him, naturally, was included.
Song Qing lowered his head and looked at himself.
She had even wrapped him up tightly — like how seventy- or eighty-year-old old men and women dress when they go outside.
Nan Zhi had already finished all preparations. But just as she was about to push him out the door, she realized the door sill was very high — couldn’t get over it. So she had no choice but to retreat and decided to put him on the sofa first, then come back to carry him out.
Passing by the bathroom, Song Qing remembered there was a chair inside. He wanted to ask her to put him in the bathroom to sit. The bathroom was near the front door — later when she came back to carry him, it would save her some effort.
But she refused — insisted on pushing him all the way to the sofa, then carrying him into the sofa before leaving.
Song Qing silently calculated the distance — it had increased by a full three to five meters. She would have to carry him for ten more seconds.
Ten or so seconds — for a skinny girl — was a challenge. But her attitude was extremely firm.
She said the bathroom was for going to the toilet. Sitting in the bathroom when you weren’t using it — what kind of behavior was that?
Song Qing sat curled up on the sofa, staring at her lifting the wheelchair at the doorway, a little dazed.
Nan Zhi, do you know what you’re doing?
You’re respecting a little dog that had always been ordered around, never taken seriously.
You’re treating him as a person.
Nan Zhi quickly came back, picked him up, and walked out. Just as he expected — it added ten more seconds, and she carried him with difficulty.
Even so, she didn’t give up. Only when she really couldn’t hold on halfway did she press him against the wall to rest for a moment, then continued walking afterward.
Song Qing continued being held — by that warm embrace, tightly wrapped.
Just like last time, he quietly rested his chin on her shoulder again, thoughts scattering.
Who doesn’t want to be a person?
Even if one were really a little dog, one would still want to become human — to eat and sleep with the master, to dine at the same table. Let alone the fact that he wasn’t a dog to begin with.
He was a person — just that, having been treated like a dog for too long, he himself also began to believe he was one.
Because when others treat you like a dog, and you insist you’re a person, it hurts. But when you also treat yourself like a dog — it doesn’t matter anymore.
After all, those are things dogs are supposed to go through.
In the countryside, dogs aren’t allowed at the table. Eating an extra mantou would get you scolded. Even if you loyally guard the gate and protect the chickens and ducks, the master would still think — you’re not of much value.
Thinking about whether to sell you for meat, but then again feeling that without you guarding the house, it wouldn’t do — so they kept you around.
When he was at Uncle and Aunt’s house, he was just such a little dog.
After being a little dog for so long, he almost forgot that he was a person.
Being a person — of course one wants to be treated as a person.
She treats me as a person.
She’s really good.