The place that buys scrap was a bit far. It wasn’t easy for him to go alone. Usually, when he went to read books, he would bring a small portion with him and sell it on the way. It would at least take several trips to finish transporting all of it.
Later, Nan Zhi noticed that the waste cardboard boxes in the warehouse were gone. They had agreed that once it was full, he would take it to sell.
Besides the boxes left over from buying deliveries, there were also ones he picked up outside. Sometimes when buying groceries at the supermarket, if he saw boxes beside trash bins or somewhere else that still looked relatively clean, he would bring them back.
Every month, a huge pile could be accumulated. Even if these things were tidied up and bundled well, they were still garbage, still dirty. But Nan Zhi was still willing to use her car to haul his scrap.
Sometimes, when she got off work early, she would even go pick with him. She wasn’t afraid of getting dirty at all and even bought a garbage-picking set — gloves and tongs — that could pick up aluminum cans and plastic bottles, saving the trouble of bending over and making it easier to take from trash bins.
When Song Qing was still bundling cardboard boxes, Nan Zhi had already woken up. He heard the sound of a window opening above his head.
Not long after, Nan Zhi came down from the building, already washed up and dressed, and still remembered their agreement. She first carried out the already-bundled scrap he had prepared, then pushed him out, and the two of them grandly headed out the door.
Usually, when selling scrap, the two didn’t eat at home because Nan Zhi said, cleaning up those things was too exhausting, they should treat themselves a bit.
So they would use the money earned from selling scrap to eat outside.
Along the route on Puxin Road, driving was very fast — it took less than three minutes to arrive. Nan Zhi first carried Song Qing down, then took the scrap to the old man inside to weigh and exchange for money.
After selling several times, she had a rough idea — each time could fetch thirty to forty yuan.
This bit of money, Song Qing never took — he gave it all to her. Then she would use this bit of money to take him out to eat and drink, even buying one milk tea each for the two of them, spending his half-a-month’s worth of blood and sweat. This guy still held his milk tea in his hands, thinking she was really good.
He didn’t say anything, but the meaning was all written on his face. After knowing him for so long, she could tell at a glance.
The money was all spent on herself anyway, and was up to her to command — she could spend it however she wanted. So she quite liked taking him to sell scrap.
After eating and drinking their fill, they’d go pick up scrap together.
To be honest, her mental pressure was very heavy, very heavy. Both her jobs required constant, nonstop dealing with people.
In this world, the most tiring job is communicating with people. So, occasionally, when she didn’t have to think about anything, just walking around with Song Qing picking up trash, it was really decompressing for her.
Sometimes they’d even pick up things from the trash can — like one time, they found flowers that were still intact. The two of them removed the wrapping, dried the flowers in the sun, and put them in the porcelain vase next to the TV. It actually felt quite meaningful.
Sometimes, doing things that looked like a waste of time could actually make you happy — things that felt meaningful in their own way.
Today the two of them were the same as usual: sold scrap, ate a meal, drank milk tea, and even picked up some trash before returning happily to their little nest.
After getting home, Song Qing went to cook — for that family — and Nan Zhi helped at the side, washing the vegetables for him and grabbing bowls and dishes from places a bit too far for him to reach. She also took the chance to observe how he cooked, trying to secretly learn a move or two.
This guy was now getting more and more skilled. Whether it was handling ingredients, preparing dishes, or stir-frying, everything carried a sense of seasoned experience.
Although he originally knew how to cook, the variety wasn’t as much. He kept learning, kept practicing. Now, if you casually named a dish, he didn’t even need to look at a recipe — he could directly cook it.
Very impressive. Also, very delicious.
Speaking of this, Nan Zhi remembered something.
At the beginning, when he proposed to cook for the family, the employer was actually unwilling.
The employer said their child was picky about food. They had hired several aunties to cook before, but the child barely ate, so hungry they were skinny and small, completely unlike someone of their age. So this time they had high standards for the cooking auntie.
After being rejected, Song Qing didn’t force it. He just treated it as a hobby. Every day he took photos of the meals the two of them ate and posted them on his friend circle.
He never used to post at all, but now he posted both in the morning and at noon, and earnestly studied cooking.
His greatest strength was that he didn’t mind trouble. As long as it caught his eye — food from all over the country, or things she saw and sent to him saying they looked tasty — he would follow the recipes online and make them.
Domestic, foreign, and snacks from other places — he made them all. The daily meals were very abundant. That period was extremely nourishing.
He made those two young married folks crave so much, in the end, they gave in.
At first, it was just to try it out. Later, they were conquered by the food. After all, there were many snacks that couldn’t even be tasted locally, and other aunties didn’t really want to learn. Hiring him meant not only being able to eat them, but if they happened to see some delicious food and sent it to him, he would also be willing to make it.
So they felt he was really not bad and were afraid he’d think the pay was too little and wouldn’t want to continue. Now it had already increased to 3,600 yuan per month.
The employer said to keep working, and later it would rise again — even painted a big pie, saying that after three months it’d be four to five thousand, and after a year five to six thousand, and so on.
As for that sum of money, it went without saying — it was all transferred to her.
Currently, in her account, there was rent money, standardized training fees, drawing money, plus Song Qing’s, so all together this and that — it was already a moderately well-off life.
Nan Zhi was quite satisfied, but once there was money, a bit of a problem started — she was becoming more and more unhappy at work, always wanting to resign. She felt that the few dozen yuan left after deducting the five insurances and one housing fund \[五险一金: the Chinese social security deduction system] wasn’t worth her suffering — plus getting scolded.
Yes, yesterday she got scolded again. When inserting a feeding tube into a semi-comatose elderly patient, the elder struggled a bit while half-conscious, and she was scolded by the family members.
The family felt she was stupid, clumsy, and rough. Even when her teacher — a nurse of seven years — took over, there was still struggling, because this thing in itself just doesn’t feel good.
Later, the head nurse came over. When she did it, the elder’s struggling was a bit less. Only then did Nan Zhi vaguely perceive her own inadequacy.
Although her teacher said the head nurse had done this for decades, and of course had some skills, and that the two of them were just at the normal level — still average.
But she still felt she wasn’t good enough, so she bought a feeding tube to try and see how to avoid causing pain to the patient.
Song Qing had already finished cooking and delivered the food over. Now he was in the small living room editing videos.
That family was afraid he might do things uncleanly or carelessly, so they asked him to record each meal and send the video to them.
Those videos were long and took up phone space. He originally wanted to delete them, but later suddenly thought — if he could use those food streamers to practice cooking, then could he also, like the bloggers, post videos online, and when he accumulated enough followers, earn money from ads?
Even if he couldn’t earn money, he noticed that manufacturers would send products to bloggers, asking them to use them — and those products weren’t cheap.
He already had a Douyin account. After posting there, he also posted on Xiaohongshu and other platforms, and even studied how to make money from it.
There was a kind of traffic-based income method — for example, videos placed on the platform, and based on view count, the platform would convert it into money and pay him.
At first, on a few platforms, no one really clicked. But later, after continuously posting, once a certain number of videos accumulated, the official platform started pushing traffic to him. In nearly a month’s time, he had already earned a few hundred yuan.
He even got an air fryer ad. The merchant sent the product over and asked him to make one video. After it was released, based on the views, he was paid a few hundred yuan.
They didn’t take the product back either. He was still using it now — it worked quite well. He got the product and also got the money.
While editing the video, Song Qing also checked the stats of all the major accounts. Feeling like it was almost enough to round off a whole amount, he withdrew it all and transferred it to Nan Zhi.
He had no use for money himself — giving it to Nan Zhi made him feel more secure.
Just after transferring it, as he continued adjusting the video’s speed, he was suddenly caught off guard by the sound of vomiting.
He pressed pause and listened carefully. It wasn’t his imagination — there really was the sound of dry heaving.
Song Qing came out from the small living room and saw Nan Zhi leaning over the sink.
In the mirror, she was holding a tube, bent over rinsing her mouth.
Song Qing stopped his wheelchair and asked her, “What are you doing?”
Nan Zhi shook off the water on her hands by the sink, “Practicing nasogastric tube.”
This thing was really very uncomfortable — she hadn’t managed to insert it even once.
“Got complained again yesterday, want to try and see how to insert it without hurting.”
From the mirror, Song Qing saw Nan Zhi’s reddened eye rims. After a moment of silence, he said, “Then try it on me, you can’t test on yourself.”
This kind of thing is like cutting yourself with a small knife — you just can’t bring yourself to do it. If she could, she would’ve sent it in long ago, considering how long she’d held it in her mouth.
Nan Zhi furrowed her brows, looked at the nasogastric tube, then looked at him again. She knew it was uncomfortable, so she couldn’t make up her mind for a long while.
Instead, it was Song Qing who rolled his wheelchair in, squeezed inside, rolled up his sleeves, and cupped water to clean himself. While washing, he said, “You go wait for me in the small living room, I’ll be done soon.”
Nan Zhi paused, then got pushed outside by him. She hesitated for a moment but still followed his words and went to the small living room. However, she packed away the tube in her hands and replaced it with a new one.
She didn’t plan to get it right all in one go, so she bought several.
It wasn’t that standard when doing it on herself, but when it was for Song Qing, she used gloves.
On the other side, Song Qing finished preparing and entered the small living room.
He knew that in Nan Zhi’s department, people who needed nasogastric tubes were either in special conditions or critically ill, and had to lie in bed. So in order to better simulate the same scenario, he climbed up onto the bed on his own initiative and lay down in a spot Nan Zhi could reach.
Just after pulling the blanket over himself, Nan Zhi also finished putting on gloves. She used a special towel to wipe the tube, then stood beside the bed, fingers trembling lightly, somewhat unable to bring herself to act.
Song Qing tugged her sleeve himself, signaling her to proceed.
Nan Zhi did some mental preparation for a while. In the end, she still grasped the end of the tube, bent down, and inserted it for him.
At first, it didn’t go smoothly — after all, he was a living person, not like the hospital’s dummy equipment. No matter how many times you practice on those, it’s fine, but a real person would reflexively resist when uncomfortable. Seeing the other person suffering, she couldn’t help but pause, wanting to wait for him to recover.
But this thing — well, better short pain than long pain. When foreign matter enters, one can’t help but gag or vomit. If it keeps going like that, it might even cause reflux or acid backflow. It’s best to insert it all at once.
Nan Zhi kept thinking while inserting. Song Qing was someone who could endure a lot — he didn’t throw a fit like some patients. He didn’t say a word and let her operate, which gradually calmed her down. Without the fear of being scolded for making a mistake, before long, she actually managed to get it in.
Song Qing closed his eyes in discomfort. His long lashes were slightly damp. A few reflexive tears slid from the corners of his eyes.
Once the tube reached the deepest part, Nan Zhi let out a breath of relief. After confirming it reached the stomach, she followed routine procedure, injected some warm water, completed the “feeding” process, then withdrew the tube.
After packing away the medical tools, over on the bed, Song Qing had one hand covering his neck. His Adam’s apple kept bobbing between his fingers as he swallowed repeatedly. His eyes were still closed. When he opened them again, they were filled with moisture.
Nan Zhi waited for him to recover a bit before asking, “How did it feel?”
Song Qing’s brows knitted slightly. “Very uncomfortable. A bit slow at the front, a bit fast at the back.”
Nan Zhi nodded and wrote this down.