Nan Zhi, when she couldn’t figure out her drawing, encountered obstacles, or got annoyed, liked to fiddle with her hair. It was a habit she developed since she was very little—because she knew grandma would comb it back for her.
The two of them often did this too. One sat a little higher, the other a little lower. No matter how messy she made her hair, grandma would comb it nicely.
Even when she was already quite grown up, she still wasn’t very good at combing her hair, because grandma always woke up earlier than her, and after eating breakfast would, in passing, tie it up nicely for her, then send her off to school.
Maybe it’s because she hadn’t really done it herself much, so every morning she’d get a bit irritable, end up tugging and hurting herself. This was already something she hadn’t experienced in a long, long time—hadn’t been tugged and hurt.
Nan Zhi instinctively immersed herself in the past, unconsciously leaned back, wanting to be like before, nestling against grandma’s legs, leaning her body backward. She bumped into Song Qing’s loose pant leg—and also hit his wound. The person behind her sharply inhaled from the pain, and only then did she suddenly come to her senses.
It wasn’t grandma combing her hair.
It was Song Qing.
Nan Zhi immediately pulled away, turned back to look. Song Qing told her to turn back again, continued to comb her hair.
Her head did turn back properly, but her eyes still stayed focused behind, and one hand also reached backward a bit, placed below his knee, just a little above the amputation point.
“Does it hurt?”
Before the accident happened—before the cat knocked over the flowerpot—Song Qing had been lying on the bed, so he wasn’t wearing cargo pants, just an ordinary pair of five-point sports shorts, not even able to fully cover that slightly longer amputated leg. When her hand, carrying body warmth, came over, it made his fingertips tremble.
“Doesn’t hurt anymore.”
Although he said that, Nan Zhi’s hand still didn’t move away from his leg. Instead, she lifted up the pant leg, looked at his knee, and the calf wrapped in gauze.
Her fingers also curled, lightly pinching just above the gauze. “Rub it and it won’t hurt anymore.”
Actually, it didn’t hurt as long as it wasn’t moved. Just now it was bumped.
But he didn’t say that, ignored that bit of oddness, and continued combing Nan Zhi’s hair. Nan Zhi, on the other hand, massaged his leg.
Her strength was gentle, with just the right amount of warmth, making that exposed leg and skin of his heat up a little. It truly felt much more comfortable.
Song Qing held the comb, while combing he thought—
She really didn’t mind at all the difference between men and women, also didn’t care, didn’t dislike him for being dirty, having a smell, etc. Every time she touched him, it was always extremely natural.
Maybe that was also why he combed her hair—because he knew she didn’t mind him.
In front of her, there was no need to deliberately avoid. Especially after exercising, he’d deliberately stay far from others, to avoid being told he smelled of sweat, or that the scent of soap wafted out, etc.
He cooked food, reeked of oil smoke, went into the bathroom to empty the trash can, worked all day, his body a bit sweaty—she didn’t care at all.
She would still stay very, very close to him, be affectionate with him, hug him.
In front of her, he could do whatever he wanted, very freely.
Actually, he often felt—
Nan Zhi was treating him like coaxing a child.
“Rub it and it won’t hurt anymore”—that’s something you’d say to a kid going to kindergarten, right?
A lot of the things she did—once, when he was young—his parents had also done to him.
His parents would also say things like “earn money to support the family and raise the baby” before leaving.
That proud and pleased tone, as if raising and educating him well was something especially joyful and worth showing off—not treating him as a burden, not calculating every single cent spent on him. On the contrary, it was as if he was very important, and they put a lot of heart into him.
His parents would also repeatedly remind him: “You’re still young, no need to do so much, you should enjoy things that should be enjoyed,” and so on.
Only they would say things like that.
—
Nan Zhi was still massaging his leg. While pressing, she was a bit dissatisfied that he wasn’t properly wearing the clothes she bought for him and still put on those old torn pants.
I specially “hunted” and brought those back, okay.
But speaking of it, she really did forget to buy sleepwear-type things. He seemed to only have those to wear for sleeping. I’ll add a few sets of loungewear later.
These next few days should all be his deliveries—at least a dozen or so. If lucky, every time after work I can “hunt down prey” and bring it back.
Speaking of it—would he think I’m awesome? I go out “hunting” every day and can always bring him back food—clothes.
Nan Zhi’s hands didn’t idle. She also turned her head to look at him.
Stared too long. The person behind asked, “What is it?”
“Nothing.” Nan Zhi continued pressing his leg, circling around the wound, sometimes squeezing, sometimes rubbing, like massaging.
Actually, pressing it often is beneficial. The more you press, the softer the flesh becomes, so it’ll be easier to wrap bandages and attach a prosthetic in the future.
A prosthetic will definitely have to be worn—it’ll be more convenient, and look no different from a normal person. It’ll also lessen the number of strange looks received.
Actually, she felt Song Qing was mentally strong—he basically didn’t care about those things. Even when she called him “wife,” he didn’t mind.
When he truly minded something, his eyes and expression would be different. She was the kind of person who loved to nitpick details, especially liked to observe people’s expressions. After all, she was pretty into drawing small web comics, and needed rich expressions. After seeing enough, she naturally could tell the difference.
Anyway, when she called Song Qing “mommy” or “little wife,” this guy never had a strange expression. He just carried some curiosity and confusion, like he couldn’t figure out why she was calling him that.
A normal person should’ve been embarrassed and shy.
He’s so weird. (T/N: You’re the weird one 😭)
—
Around 12:30 at night, the tangled-up hair was finally all undone, smoothly and neatly laid out.
Nan Zhi saw it from the glass door, reached out to touch—extremely smooth, and not even once did it pull and hurt her.
Only when grandma combed her hair did it feel like this. When she was in kindergarten, if a teacher helped her tie up loosened braids, it hurt like hell.
Her hair belonged to the dry type, not very easy to comb to begin with, and very prone to tangling. In recent years, probably due to too much worry, she’s been losing hair, and the ends have become even more dry and yellowed.
Nan Zhi touched the ends of her hair, handed the hair tie in her hand to the Song Qing behind her, “Help me tie my hair while you’re at it, don’t tie it too tight, I want to sleep well, tomorrow I’ll just go to work like this.”
She sleeps very well-behaved, doesn’t fuss. The hair tied at night would still be the same the next morning.
Song Qing received that black, stretchy hair tie but didn’t move. “I’ll tie it for you tomorrow morning.”
Nan Zhi recalled this morning—he seemed to have gotten up much earlier than her, and while she was still sleeping, he had already prepared everything she needed ahead of time.
If she got up a minute or two earlier to comb her hair, it wouldn’t be too much trouble.
But there was one thing she needed to confirm. “Song Qing.”
She turned her head to look at him, her tone serious. “Are you doing this willingly?”
Song Qing was slightly stunned, then nodded after a moment. “I’m doing it willingly.”
“Do you like doing these things?” Nan Zhi asked again.
Song Qing paused.
He didn’t like doing these things—who wouldn’t want to lie down comfortably, if the conditions allowed—but he liked doing them inside this house.
Back when he was at uncle and aunt’s place, he had a very clear awareness: he was doing it for them. Now, he also clearly understood: he was doing it for himself.
Because she treated him as family, as someone who belonged here. Keeping his own territory clean and tidy made him feel good, and it looked nice too.
Everyone would like decorating their own room, right?
When he was still living at his uncle and aunt’s, he often thought: if that junk room he stayed in didn’t have clutter, how would he arrange the few belongings he had?
The wall hadn’t been painted, dirt flaked off. He stuck a newspaper up there. His uncle and aunt saw it and laughed at him, saying, “Is this your home? Wasting effort on these things?”
Even if he decorated something, if his uncle and aunt didn’t like it, they could tear it down anytime—destroy it.
But now, they wouldn’t. He hung all his clothes on hangers. Not only did she not destroy it, she even brought down several extra hangers from upstairs for him to use.
He placed his cup on the table by the bed. After a while, when he didn’t notice, she’d wrapped it with a super cute yarn sleeve. She said it was for insulation.
There was even a woven coaster placed underneath.
That cup was super tacky—it was given out for scanning a QR code. That QR code thing, most people didn’t dare scan, afraid of getting scammed. But he didn’t care. He had no money anyway, nothing to worry about.
If he saw one by the roadside, he’d scan it. Occasionally, he’d get a small snack or a little trinket.
A cup so tacky it could make the earth crack open, the kind even old grandpas would look down on—after being wrapped in those cute little decorations, it actually looked a bit delicate.
“If you don’t like it, you can refuse.” That pause he made—really said a lot. “You have the right to refuse, no need to force yourself.”
Song Qing nodded. “I won’t force myself.”
Nan Zhi also nodded, watched him slide the hair tie onto his wrist.
That meant he agreed to it.
“Then, see you tomorrow.” It was really late. She’d wrap things up and go to bed.
There was still a little bit of color left to fill in on one drawing.
Nan Zhi stood up. Before leaving, she didn’t forget to stretch out her arms—to ask her little wife for a hug.
“Wife, good night ya.”
That hug lasted only a moment. After hugging, Nan Zhi acted like she had succeeded in her scheme, moved the little stool and placed it under the stairs, then pat-pat-pat ran up the stairs herself.
Song Qing watched her leave. When she reached the partition and wouldn’t be able to hear, he quietly replied, “Good night.”
‘Home’ still needs to be a bit lively. With one person gone, it instantly felt much colder and quieter.
Before, Song Qing actually didn’t like communal living very much. He always wanted to break away and live alone, but now he realized—it’s better with more people.
Of course, this couldn’t be separated from having Nan Zhi as a roommate. If it were someone else, he might not have this kind of comfortable feeling.
The other person might think that helping him meant he wasn’t doing enough, would probably ask him to do more—cover all the bases, handle everything, only then would it feel fair.
Nan Zhi always told him to rest. As long as she was there, whenever she saw him working, she would rush over to take over.
She was completely different from other people.
—
Upstairs, Nan Zhi put on her gloves, held the pen, and continued coloring on the digital screen. She had started drawing a long time ago. At that time, all the tools were already complete. As her years of drawing increased, the tools also kept getting updated.
Graphics tablet, pen display, tablet, big-screen computer—she had them all.
The computer downstairs was one that got brought over after moving, and was a birthday gift from relatives.
This one was the one that had followed her for a long time.
Nan Zhi was already just one step away from finishing. When she zoomed out to check for comparison, she found that two of the images had pretty much the same pose.
She had once been called out for copying her own early works, and she minded that a lot, so she couldn’t help but tinker and revise it.
As she edited, she grumbled to herself—though she was young in those early days, she was like a newborn calf unafraid of the tiger. Her color use and ideas were bolder and more imaginative, full of inspiration.
That was something her later, more mature art style didn’t have.
So what if she copied a bit?
Of course, she only dared to think that in her head. In reality, she obediently edited it out.
After the last bit of color was filled in, Nan Zhi suddenly realized her vision was a bit blurry.
She had low blood sugar, and already had tons of experience in dealing with it. A thought popped into her head almost immediately—
She was hungry.
If she didn’t eat when she was hungry, she would get dizzy.
Nan Zhi opened the drawer and, like she knew the place well, reached inside to grab a bagged mini bread. After a few grabs, she didn’t feel anything. She looked down—
Crap. The bread had unknowingly been finished at some point.
She hadn’t noticed, and hadn’t restocked in time either.
Nan Zhi immediately stood up. Before that wave of weakness climbed onto her body, she was already pat-pat-pat running downstairs, heading to the kitchen to search for food.
Tonight’s dinner was made in a large quantity, and there was even a mid-meal snack added in, so the leftovers were also a lot. However, when she opened the fridge—
The rice was dry and hard, the cauliflower had five-spice pork belly added in, and after being frozen, a whole layer of white appeared at the bottom—it was fat.
The pork ribs and tofu were already eaten, there was nothing else left.
Nan Zhi’s eyes swept around the entire fridge, and very quickly, she saw a can in the corner.
There were three bottles of that canned drink. Two weren’t urgent to drink, so they were placed in the fridge, and one more was in the cupboard.
Nan Zhi closed the fridge and went to get the one from the cupboard—it hadn’t been frozen, so it was less likely to cause diarrhea.
Just as she got the can in her hand, that wave of weakness had already come over her body, making her feel, in that instant, extremely, extremely unwell—her head heavy, feet light, about to fall over.
Nan Zhi used some strength to twist the can open, but the weakness had already reached her hands. She didn’t have much strength left—it wouldn’t open.
Nan Zhi felt dizzy, her vision spinning. Half leaning on the counter, she grabbed a knife to pry it open—hacking at the top of the can.
If a hole could be made, and the vacuum seal broken, it’d be easier to open.
Too weak—her hands were trembling badly. She couldn’t split it open. Only a small edge was pried up.
When she was just about to not be able to hold on anymore, suddenly she heard a voice coming from the small living room.
“What’s wrong?”
Song Qing hadn’t fallen asleep the whole time. He wanted to see how late she would stay up. By the time it was nearly 1:30, her light was still on.
He heard footsteps upstairs and thought she was going to bed. He had just taken off his clothes and lay down when he heard the sound of her hurriedly rushing downstairs.
Song Qing immediately sat up, put his clothes back on. While zipping up, he asked, “Are you hungry?”
She had entered the kitchen, and there was even the sound of the fridge opening—very obvious.
Just as Song Qing finished asking, he heard the sound of hurried footsteps coming in his direction. Very quickly, the glass door was opened, and Nan Zhi—with her hair disheveled, wearing a full white set of pajamas, like a female ghost coming to attack at midnight—smack! collapsed onto his bed. One of her hands stubbornly stretched forward, holding up a can, and she urgently said: “Quick! Save me!”
Because the owner didn’t have much strength, her hand only lifted a little bit before, unsurprisingly, it flopped down into the blanket.
The can also rolled and rolled until it stopped right beside Song Qing’s hand.