In her heart, she told herself she was being idle, but she still couldn’t help taking the chance while she was free to fill in color for those long legs, and add highlights.
In no time, the sense of three-dimensionality and flesh-toned skin appeared.
It became more and more like a real pair, a pair of legs really growing from his legs — after all, it was drawn based on his height, skin color, and body build.
Nan Zhi saved this drawing, set it aside, and first worked on the commercial draft.
An hour later, the draft in her hand had more or less reached the point it could be wrapped up, and her mind wandered again. She switched to Song Qing’s picture, stared at those long legs for a while, and drew him a pair of socks.
She didn’t know why, but seeing him wear worn-out shoes and pick up socks others didn’t want, getting humiliated for it, made her especially want to buy him new shoes and socks — but he no longer had legs, so this matter could only remain a regret.
But being a painter, well, it meant you could do whatever you wanted.
After finishing the drawing, Nan Zhi looked toward the person quietly reading and knitting a scarf beside her.
—-
Song Qing finished reading one page, temporarily set the more-than-half-knitted scarf aside, and freed up a hand to hold the book and turn the page. It was a new book — if you didn’t mind it, it would be turned back by the wind or by itself. In the past, he could only press it hard, leaving a crease.
Reading could only be done with the book on his lap or on the edge of the sofa. The edge of Nan Zhi’s sofa was square-shaped, so it could hold a book, but he had to twist his body to look, which was very inconvenient.
Nan Zhi might have noticed, and bought him a bookshelf — a floor-standing one, with wheels underneath, movable at any time, and the support stand was adjustable.
When he returned to the small living room, he could also bring it back and nest on the bed in the small living room, adjusting it to a suitable height to read. The panel could also be adjusted to various angles — forty-five degrees, ninety degrees — and even had clips for holding the book. Much more convenient than before.
He also really liked the color — it was white, clean and fresh, very refreshing.
Song Qing carefully clipped the page down with the clamp, and just after fixing it, felt something next to his leg lightly touching him. He lowered his head and looked — it was Nan Zhi, lightly brushing him under the thick blanket.
Song Qing looked up, confused, and turned to her.
Nan Zhi held up the tablet, signaling him to look.
The brightness of the tablet had been intentionally turned up, very bright, so the drawing on it was also very obvious. He recognized it at a glance — the person in the drawing was him sitting on the sofa, wearing the newly-washed, new hoodie from the day before. On his legs, same as now, was a floral-patterned, thick wool blanket.
What was different was — there were no clothes under the blanket. From Nan Zhi’s viewing angle, the blanket was loosely draped and only reached his knees, his calves and both feet exposed, and he was wearing a pair of socks.
A brand-new pair, with the tags still attached.
The tag was big, swaying glaringly off to the side. The price was clearly visible.
599 yuan.
He was wearing a pair of new socks that cost 599 yuan.
Nan Zhi swiped the screen, the drawing changed to the next one — a hand reached out and tore off the price tag, as if it meant this new, super expensive, 599-yuan pair of socks now belonged to him.
Nan Zhi swiped again. The next picture not only had those 599-yuan socks, but also 1900-yuan new shoes. The tags on the new shoes had also been torn off by someone, now fully and completely belonging to him.
Song Qing’s phone suddenly rang with a “ding-ling.” He opened the message and saw Nan Zhi had sent these drawings to him.
He stared at the “him” wearing new shoes and socks, unable to return to his senses for a long time.
So this was what it felt like — if he still had legs and feet — to wear new shoes and socks.
—-
At first, Nan Zhi just felt dissatisfied. Song Qing deserved better. He shouldn’t be wearing old things. If he had come to her earlier, she definitely would’ve bought him nice new shoes and socks — his whole body, top to bottom, would’ve been changed out.
Replaced with ones bought by her.
Maybe it was to vent her own discontent, or maybe to satisfy herself a little — she drew several pictures in a row.
After finishing the drawing, she saved it with satisfaction, preparing to continue refining the commercial draft. While refining, she suddenly thought — would he also have regrets?
She heard from his teacher that from childhood to now, he had always worn clothes and shoes others didn’t want, never bought new ones at all. Because for him, spending money on the blade’s edge— on studying, eating, and buying necessities — was more important.
Nan Zhi inevitably thought of other left-behind children from the same village when she was young. Most of them were also from poor families, or their parents were frugal and unwilling to buy new clothes for kids who grew so fast they’d need new ones every year — thinking it was a waste of money, so they wore hand-me-downs.
Some even believed in certain traditions, thinking that clothes worn by others were softer, etc., which led to those children growing up with lingering regrets, becoming particularly fixated on clothing.
After thinking it over, Nan Zhi still decided to show him. Even if it might make him recall the awful matter of losing his legs, she felt he could now face it calmly. When they returned before, at the elevator or delivery point, he no longer made her hide him — instead, he openly followed beside her. So she still felt it was better for him to take a look.
When showing him the first picture, she had already made up her mind — if he reacted strongly, then forget it, she wouldn’t show the others.
But unexpectedly, after seeing it, his originally somewhat loose posture straightened a little, his body even leaned in this direction, looking very seriously. So Nan Zhi showed him the rest, and in the end, gave them to him.
It really did seem like this was a regret of his.
Rarely having done something good, Nan Zhi felt a bit happy in her heart. With idle hands, she drew a few more pictures of socks and shoes in various colors for him. By the time she was done, she had been drawing for over three hours. Her hand had been exposed the whole time, and was getting a bit cold.
Nan Zhi couldn’t help but wrap herself more tightly, rubbing her hands while looking toward Song Qing. She had a quilt over her and was still cold — Song Qing only had a blanket, huh.
Nan Zhi thought for a moment, came out from under the quilt, crawled over to Song Qing’s side, and asked him to stretch out his hand. Song Qing, though not knowing why, still obediently freed a hand and offered it to her. Nan Zhi touched it — it was warm.
But she wasn’t sure if it was because she was too cold, her hands too icy, making it feel warm in contrast — or what. If she asked him, even if he were cold, he’d probably say he wasn’t. So she had to verify it herself.
She reached out again and touched Song Qing’s forehead — still warm, couldn’t really tell. Nan Zhi simply reached her hand straight into his collar, placing it at his neck.
Scorching hot — this time it felt very real.
Song Qing was startled by the cold. “How come your hands are this cold?”
Nan Zhi pulled her hand back. “Cold, ah. Us girls mostly have cold constitutions.” \[体寒, “cold body” – a concept in Traditional Chinese Medicine, often used to explain why women feel cold more easily.]
Song Qing hesitated for a moment, put down the thing in his hand, lifted the blanket, sat in the wheelchair, and went into the small living room. After a while, he took out a hot water bag and a charger from the drawer by the computer desk. After coming to the living room, he asked, “Can this still be used?”
“Yes it can!” Nan Zhi’s eyes lit up. As he came over, she took the hot water bag and plugged it into the table at the edge of the sofa to charge.
While waiting for it to heat up, she thought.
She had originally wanted to see if Song Qing was cold, and if he was, to give him something to keep warm. But instead, it was Song Qing who gave her a hand.
Actually, she also knew there was a hot water bag over there, but she was lazy and didn’t want to get it. Song Qing was diligent — and he didn’t mind the trouble.
Whether it was cooking or doing anything, he always did it very meticulously, step by step. Nan Zhi, on the other hand, would feel certain steps weren’t needed and skip them — which led to her cooking or doing things always missing that final touch.
The hot water bag was ready. Since it was on Song Qing’s side, just as Nan Zhi was about to remind him to help her take it, he had already, on his own, unplugged the charger and handed the hot water bag to her.
Nan Zhi received it, placed her icy-cold paws on the hot water bag, and felt like she was saved.
Sure enough, having one more person was better — if she didn’t want to fetch something herself, someone else could do it for her.
If you’re alone and don’t want to get it, then you could only endure it and freeze. Of course, this was because Song Qing was good — change it to someone else, and they might just watch her freeze to death, even blame her for not getting them a hand-warmer and freeze themselves instead.
My little wife is really nice.
Nan Zhi rubbed her hands, still slightly cool, and with even more effort, continued drawing — earning money to get him a prosthetic. A good one.
Thinking this way, she was also very good — prosthetics were so expensive, and she was still willing to spend on them.
On the other side, from the moment Song Qing went to get her the hot water bag, he didn’t sit back down on the sofa. After the hot water bag was heated and given to her, the scarf in his hands had also reached the end. Only then did he start dealing with his own personal matter.
He wanted to go to the bathroom.
Song Qing pushed his wheelchair to the bathroom. Inside, there were no longer a few stools, because now the wheelchair could go in.
It was probably the day before yesterday — during a meal, he had gone to the bathroom. At the time, Nan Zhi had been watching the whole time, watching him struggle to get in, and then struggle to get out.
Afterwards, she removed the curtain at the doorway, so he’d have one less step when entering and exiting.
When she came back today, she had brought back two threshold ramp pads, placing them in front of the bathroom step.
She had specifically measured the dimensions, and fussed over it for a long time. That night she didn’t even draw, just played on her phone for a few hours — he had thought that was strange at the time.
Only when the pads were laid out today and she asked him to try it, did he connect the dots — she had spent a long time just solving that step issue.
The height aligned, and the slope was just right. With this, from now on he didn’t need to sit on a stool first and then shift over step by step to the toilet.
For bathing and other things, he could also directly go in with the wheelchair. Though to avoid getting wet, he still placed a plastic stool inside the shower. Just one stool was enough to wash.
The main entrance didn’t have any yet, because the two pads now were just for testing. Once they were proven useful, she bought two more. They would arrive in a couple of days.
Today, Song Qing was faster than usual — he exited the bathroom door smoothly and effortlessly, but still didn’t return to the sofa.
He still had one more thing to do — it was ten o’clock, time to make dinner for Nan Zhi.
Nan Zhi had low blood sugar, and a bad stomach. Before bed she had to eat a little something — otherwise she wouldn’t sleep well. Once the food in her stomach was digested, only stomach acid would remain. She said if she didn’t eat, it would cause bloating, chills, and coldness.
When she didn’t eat at night, she would often get up in the middle of the night to cook something for herself. Even though she was already very quiet, he still heard it and only found out after asking her.
So now, since he was idle anyway, he would cook two eggs for her before she went to bed, or make her a bowl of noodles. Not much — because she also didn’t want to eat too much at night and get fat.
Tonight, Song Qing was frying eggs — two sunny-side-up eggs. She liked them with runny yolks, so he controlled the temperature, cooking them with runny centers.
Over there, Nan Zhi probably also knew it was being made for her — wearing the blanket he had covered earlier, slippers on her feet, hair loose and messy, wobbling over like a ghost. “Wow, I just happened to be hungry.”
Song Qing increased the heat a little, and through the glass on the kitchen rack, looked at the person behind him.
Her footsteps were very light. She liked to wear white pajamas with lace. Her messy hair — really looked like a ghost from the Middle Ages.
In the middle of the night, she often wandered around downstairs. Afraid of disturbing him, she would tiptoe, sneaky like a ghost.
Nan Zhi often said that when she lived alone before, she was very afraid of those vague, illusory things.
Could it be… she herself was more like a ghost?
If a ghost really came, it’d probably be the one to get scared by her.