The two cats didn’t have as many thoughts as humans. Noticing the two humans were sticking together, they were happy to see it succeed, saving themselves the trouble of standing in the middle not knowing which side to run to, and whom to snuggle against—it was a hard choice. Now it was unified, just go to one side.
One black, one white, two tuanzi \[lit. “dumpling,” slang for “small, round thing” or “ball”], not carelessly curled up in the position between the two people.
Even fought fiercely over the position that was closest to the two people.
The humans actually didn’t intend to fuss over things with the cats, just suddenly felt a sourness in the heart—both cats liked Song Qing and not her—so she wanted to annoy them a bit. After that impulse passed, it was fine. Now patiently separated the two cats and rubbed each one.
The weather was getting colder and colder, the four sticking together, mutually absorbing the heat radiating from each other’s bodies.
In this kind of cold weather, it was indeed warmer to stick together.
Nan Zhi used one hand to rub the little cat’s head, and the other hand to take out her own tablet—if she had inspiration, she would draw; if not, she’d continue rubbing the cat’s head. Over there, Song Qing was also quietly knitting a scarf while reading a book.
After a while, sitting in the corner, leaning against the side, Song Qing watched Nan Zhi draw for a while, began to slack off, knew she was about to get up and walk around to stretch her legs, so he tugged on her sleeve and softly said, “Nan Zhi, I want to go to the toilet.”
Nan Zhi understood and nodded, put down the tablet, got up and picked him up.
Not long after, Song Qing flipped to the end of his book and called to Nan Zhi, who was standing to the side massaging her legs: “Nan Zhi, I finished the book, I want to get another one.”
Nan Zhi carefully brought him to the small living room. Song Qing, being carried by her, searched the bookshelf for a while before finding the one he wanted to read. After getting the book, he was carried back to the sofa by her.
After a while again, Song Qing said he was a bit hungry and wanted to cook. Nan Zhi, while helping him into the wheelchair, looked at him with some suspicion.
Song Qing knew clearly in his heart—she was suspicious. Because usually, she liked to just directly place him on the sofa, not bother pushing the wheelchair. But today he had called her two or three times.
Song Qing pretended not to notice, openly pushed his own wheelchair, went to the kitchen to cook.
During dinner today, she had said the boiled mushrooms tasted good. Happened that there were still some left—if not eaten soon they’d spoil—so Song Qing took them all out from the fridge, cleaned them, and placed them in water to boil.
As for himself, while adjusting the seasoning, he cut up millet chili, and thought to himself.
That missing hug from earlier in the day—took several hugs to make up for it.
Song Qing hadn’t had time to think more about it, when Nan Zhi already came over wrapped in a small blanket, told him no need to prepare two bowls of dipping sauce, the two of them could share one, saved some trouble.
Song Qing had no opinion. He seriously made one bowl. The two of them shared one bowl. After finishing the boiled mushrooms, she felt the taste was a bit bland in the mouth, so the two of them went on to cook one packet of fatty beef and one packet of mutton rolls—eating till full late at night.
At 10:30, still had a bit of time left, the two of them continued curling up on the sofa, each busy with their own things.
Around 11 o’clock, just as Song Qing was about to remind her that it was bedtime, his shoulder suddenly sank—Nan Zhi leaned against him and fell asleep.
The tablet in her hand couldn’t be held up anymore, slipped downward—Song Qing reached out to catch it. When he took it, his thumb accidentally pressed something, and the screen changed from the Xiaohongshu interface for room decor, to a list of all the apps she had opened.
Next to Xiaohongshu was a chat window, a QQ group for illustrators.
As everyone knows, when others talk it shows on the left side, when you talk it shows on the right side. That message in the middle happened to show only the right half—the frame for the message on the right side.
A user with the nickname ‘Zhizhi’ and a cute little kid avatar asked:
【Anyone recently has commercial commissions they can’t finish? Share one with me, 20-80 split.】
20-80 split most likely means: since they helped introduce the job, they’d take 20%, and the person doing the drawing would take 80%.
Two lines below the message were blank, likely meaning someone had replied.
The user ‘Zhizhi’ explained:【Not bankrupt, just have a very very good friend, want to get him a prosthetic. Prosthetics are too expensive, so I came out to earn money. If you have a job, contact me.】
The general meaning was just this. Song Qing only accidentally clicked, and didn’t have the intention to snoop, so he didn’t see any other details—just this alone was enough to let him roughly understand the situation.
The reason Nan Zhi had been rushing to finish art commissions until very late recently was because she wanted to earn money to get him a prosthetic.
He himself had searched before—cheap prosthetics cost ten thousand or so, expensive ones go up to a hundred thousand or more—and that’s only the price for one limb, so he only skimmed it, felt he couldn’t afford it, and didn’t continue looking.
He hadn’t placed any hope on this. He himself hadn’t even bothered to worry about this for himself, yet Nan Zhi was making plans for him.
Song Qing lowered his eyes slightly and looked at the person on his shoulder.
Nan Zhi’s hair was naturally a bit dry, the ends yellowed. She often worked very hard, came back every day with a face full of exhaustion, but still forced a smile and picked some less tiring topics to talk about.
Nan Zhi was a nurse. He had inevitably searched online before. Almost no one had anything good to say about this profession—saying all kinds of things could happen, and every day they dealt with unpleasant things—but she never said any of that, at most just shared a bit of gossip.
When she was wronged at the hospital, she didn’t say much either—just came back looking a little emotionally down, with red corners of her eyes like she had cried.
Already this tired, and still staying up late at night to rush art, making herself even more exhausted, with no energy in the daytime, and her hair getting worse.
All just because she wanted to save money to install a prosthetic for him.
Song Qing didn’t know what to say. He only tugged the blanket and wrapped her more securely. He even stretched hard to pull the comforter over and cover her body with it.
Nan Zhi was afraid of the cold.
As for himself, he leaned slightly, so Nan Zhi could lean more comfortably.
At the same time, the book in his hand flipped more frequently, and the scarf knitting sped up too.