Nan Zhi was going to the innermost piece of gauze. The outer one was easy to remove, the inner one was stuck to the wound, couldn’t use anything hard.
She held a pair of tweezers in each of her two hands, one used to apply povidone-iodine, one holding the gauze. Between the wound and the gauze, because it was soaked with povidone-iodine, it washed away the adhesion, and she quickly separated it entirely.
Nan Zhi temporarily set aside that piece of gauze, signaled Song Qing to lift his leg.
The wound was lower down, at this angle she couldn’t see the surface.
Song Qing obediently raised it high, his pants were big, and even exposed a bit. Nan Zhi had already disinfected her hands, couldn’t touch anything temporarily, let him cover it himself with a pillow or quilt.
Song Qing did as told, only he grabbed an old piece of clothing that was tucked inside the pillow.
This old clothing was originally placed over the pillow, afraid of dirtying the new pillow and pillowcase. Later it was discovered by Nan Zhi, who felt it was unnecessary, so she washed it for him. Once, twice, all like that. Later, when he placed it again, he tucked it under the pillow cover. Nan Zhi couldn’t see it and thought he had changed, so didn’t keep minding it.
Song Qing, while pulling, kept his head down, didn’t dare look at Nan Zhi’s expression. He could pretty much imagine it—upon discovering he was still doing things his own way, her face would probably not look too good.
But he couldn’t bear to dirty the bedsheets and quilt cover. The povidone-iodine would flow downward, so he still used this, quickly wrapped it around his leg, continued lying down, escaped reality, didn’t glance at Nan Zhi’s expression the entire time.
Once lying down, he was rather open about it.
Thinking to himself, he was an injured person, could Nan Zhi even hit him?
Let her hit then.
He had a look of “a dead pig is not afraid of boiling water” \[Chinese idiom: utterly unbothered by consequences or scolding].
Nan Zhi looked at the whole process, couldn’t help but roll her eyes in her heart.
Obviously, he had the look of someone who did something wrong, somewhat guilty, ready to be scolded or hit—but for some reason, just wouldn’t change, and even thought up ways to muddle through.
Sometimes he was stubborn to a frightening degree.
But it wasn’t really a bad habit, just overprotectiveness of things. At first she didn’t know, only thought he disliked new stuff being unwashed before using. Later she saw how gently he used everything in the house.
Even when going to bed, he acted like he was afraid of disturbing the quilt. Later they changed it once, also new, but washed. He still acted the same. Slowly she came to understand—it was because he was afraid of dirtying the pillow and pillowcase. He even wore clothes to sleep, afraid of dirtying the bed.
But really, there was no need. If it gets dirty, just wash it.
Bedsheets and quilts are meant for people to use, to serve people. He was a bit like he was serving them instead. So Nan Zhi ordered him to change. On the surface he obeyed, but actually still did things his way.
It showed he had slowly begun to let go. Before, whatever she said was what went. Now, what he thought was right, he would insist on.
It wasn’t some bad habit like throwing trash around or the like. Actually, it didn’t really matter—just let him be.
Nan Zhi didn’t dwell on it anymore, just lowered her head and continued treating his wound.
The stitch removal was a bit late. The exposed threads were already somewhat dry and stiff. The area where the thread exited even tugged at healthy flesh, with a bit of redness and swelling. Some parts had already formed scabs.
Nan Zhi looked at the new wound, feeling some regret. Yesterday and the day before were too busy—with helping him deal with uncle and aunt’s matters, taking him to meet the teacher and such—she accidentally got too busy and forgot. Actually, they should’ve been removed back then.
Nan Zhi repented, now treated the wound even more carefully, applied povidone-iodine multiple times, soaked the exposed threads until soft before using a blade to cut them, then pulled them out one by one.
After that, she continued applying povidone-iodine and put on gauze. Because there was still a wound there—the amputation injury hadn’t completely healed, and along with the marks from the threads cutting in—one new wound after another, at least for a while it couldn’t be exposed.
After finishing this one, Nan Zhi prepared to remove the other. His other leg was a bit shorter, on the thigh area, so he needed to move a little more toward the bed’s edge.
He was obedient again, did as told. Nan Zhi saw that once he got to the edge, both legs were hanging in the air, most likely uncomfortable, so she lifted her knee up slightly, let his longer leg rest on top for support.
Song Qing probably didn’t notice at first. Once he felt it, that leg which had only lightly touched her leg earlier, gradually relaxed and completely pressed against her.
Nan Zhi noticed it, didn’t show it on her face, but in her heart couldn’t help but be a little moved—like small fireworks, constantly going off.
He was finally starting to not treat her as an outsider, starting to rely on her.
It’s good now.
This is exactly what she wanted.
Between people, it should be like this—supporting each other, helping each other.
Nan Zhi was thinking this while helping him remove stitches.
Raising someone really isn’t easy.
Raising someone who was seriously injured, who was somewhat wary of her, who would get all stiff and uneasy the moment she got close—when she wasn’t around, the scarf was knitted smoothly; the moment she stood beside him, his movements would immediately slow down and he would even make mistakes. A person who had the appearance of a lowered head and gentle eyes, like a traditional little daughter-in-law from ancient times—it was even harder to raise someone like that well.
Luckily, in the end, she still raised him well.
Now he was more and more at ease.
The number of times he resisted her was also fewer and fewer. Nan Zhi naturally wouldn’t think he was rebellious or hard to discipline or anything—she wasn’t raising a child, and even if it were a child, you couldn’t treat them like that. She called it true feelings.
Started revealing his true self—what is called the true self—his extremely genuine personality.
At first, he was restraining it, cautious and careful. Now he had shown the stubborn side of himself.
Nan Zhi forced a smile, but when she thought about it, it was much better than before, and she was happy for him.
The cat-hedgehog she picked up, after patrolling and probing a few times, discovered she was harmless, had already treated her as family, and regarded this place as home.
Thoughts kept popping up in her mind, but her hands weren’t idle either. After placing some gauze under his leg, she copied the method and treated this leg as well.
As soon as the gauze was wrapped, this person already sat up, full of energy again. He wiped off the povidone-iodine that had overflowed on his leg by himself, cleaned up the dirtied gauze, and then moved back, took the pants he had just taken off, intending to put them back on.
Nan Zhi, on the other side, had also just packed up the medicine box, closed the lid, and was about to leave, but after a while turned back and gestured, “Why aren’t you wearing home clothes?”
Knowing he now had his own opinions, if he didn’t want to listen, he wouldn’t. She didn’t hold back her words anymore either—if she wanted to add oil and vinegar [添油加醋, lit. to add oil and vinegar—meaning to exaggerate or add flair], she would add oil and vinegar.
Nan Zhi had already taken off her gloves—one hand carrying the medicine box, one hand pulling out the fluffy and thick coral fleece homewear she bought earlier, and told him to change into this.
This wasn’t something worth resisting. Song Qing obediently took it. As soon as she walked away, through the glass door and a layer of thin gauze, she caught a glimpse of Song Qing starting to change into this set.
Nan Zhi withdrew her gaze, returned the medicine box to its original place, and quietly waited.
Not long after, Song Qing’s voice came from the room, “I’m done changing.”
The implied meaning—he could now be carried out.
Nan Zhi walked over while glancing at the wheelchair still by the dining table, marveling at her own cleverness.
When she told him to change clothes, he had tried to wheel himself in. But Nan Zhi pulled him back, then carried him from inside and placed him on the small couch in the living room.
He didn’t have the wheelchair’s assistance—if he wanted to come out, he could only call for her.
Nan Zhi walked briskly over, and as she passed, she nearly tripped over the small tea table beside the sofa, almost fell, but luckily stabilized herself in time.
Nan Zhi supported herself on the tea table and stood up, continued heading that way. As she entered the small living room, she was stunned for a moment by Song Qing, who was wearing a dark-navy-colored fluffy homewear set.
This color was very good for the complexion, and he wasn’t ugly, so being fair made his eyes darker and brighter, lips red and teeth white.
His mental state was also excellent—just a single glance, and he looked like a cat that had always been leaping across rooftops and walking on walls, standing high on the wall like a little tiger. After healing from his injuries, he had begun to climb up and down, showing his presence and revealing his own youthful, spirited, vigorous side.
Even though he had suffered a serious injury and was no longer as glorious as before, a bit imperfect, it still couldn’t stop him from shining.
Actually, even if he was down and out, he had already started to shine long ago, revealing some of his outstanding qualities—for example, very strong desire to survive, mentally resilient, experienced such a huge change and yet recovered this quickly.
If it were Nan Zhi, she might have been knocked down, collapsed and couldn’t get back up, things would only get worse and worse. Even if someone brought her back and took good care of her, she would still blame the world and others, and her psychological state would only worsen.
He didn’t, and instead got better and better.
Every day, patient and careful, did things thoroughly, paid attention, had a sense of boundaries, and took care of the house’s cats and her very well in turn.
A person who—even when disobedient—still made people feel he was cute and surprising, how could he not be considered successful?
Even the cats clung to him more, knowing he had stable emotions. Nan Zhi only had patience when she was in a good mood—if she was in a bad mood and the cats caused trouble, she would just break down.
Now it was Song Qing who cleaned up the mess, tolerated her, and helped her deal with the disasters.
So, meeting Song Qing was her own good fortune too.
Nan Zhi opened the glass door completely. Just as it clicked into place in the corner, she saw him sitting on the edge of the bed, reaching out his hand, like a three-year-old child, showing a pose that asked for a hug.
The wild-hearted cat had healed—actually, he could walk already—but he didn’t, stayed behind instead, and even placed something very important of his here, entrusted it to her.
Nan Zhi stepped forward and pulled him into her arms.
Wearing the fluffy indoor homewear, soft and warm, he was getting more and more huggable.
Nan Zhi carried him to the living room sofa in her arms, still didn’t put him back in the wheelchair, so wherever Song Qing wanted to go next, he’d still have to call her.
He seemed to have gotten used to it too, face calm as usual, only picked up the yarn ball and knitting needles that Nan Zhi had set down for him earlier while she had a free hand, and just like always, began knitting the scarf while watching TV.
The two cats had always been closer to him. Normally, he took care of them more, and stayed at home longer than Nan Zhi by far. So once the two little ones jumped onto the sofa, they nestled against him. Now that he was wearing fluffy clothing, craving comfort and softness, the clingy cats were even clingier.
Song Qing, same as always, played the villain, drove the cats away. The cats looked at him resentfully once, then headed toward Nan Zhi.
Nan Zhi, seeing she was chosen second after being rejected, felt a strange little sulkiness rise in her heart. She thought: if you don’t cuddle with me, then I won’t cuddle with you either—I’ll go cuddle Song Qing, the one you actually want to snuggle.
She sat down next to him, leaned against him side by side. Song Qing, knowing she usually had the habit of holding a pillow, handed her the one he had been pressing under his arm.
Nan Zhi leaned against him, looked toward the two little cats, and thought smugly—
You don’t cuddle me, but the Song Qing you want to cuddle is cuddling me.