Probably it had fallen from the head of the bed—because the floor was carpeted, there was no sound. And at that time, both their attention couldn’t possibly have been on anything else, so neither of them noticed.
When Nan Zhi bent down to pick it up, Song Qing was putting on the leg sleeve, lifting his pants to reveal the missing limb, then slipping the sleeve over it.
It was winter, and they were wearing a lot—so movements were inevitably a bit slower. In the past it was always him waiting for her, but today, Nan Zhi patiently waited for him.
—
The leg sleeve was a gift from Nan Zhi, a present for the Winter Solstice. Back then, he had a hunch that Nan Zhi’s gift would definitely suit him—he hadn’t expected it to be so perfect, exactly what he needed.
Maybe because he always liked to wear pants with tightened cuffs, each time he would pull the drawstrings on the leg tight. Nan Zhi had noticed this and bought the leg sleeves for him.
Once put on, the wind no longer blew up the legs at all—much warmer. No need to wear another pair of pants.
There were also two sleeves. One was easy to put on; the other had to be put on after pulling down the pants. Normally, he would avoid Nan Zhi for that part—but after last night, it seemed like his whole body had pretty much already been seen. There wasn’t much point in avoiding anymore.
Song Qing still hadn’t decided whether or not to dodge, when Nan Zhi had already walked over, picked him up onto the bed, pulled down one side of his pants, and personally picked up his leg sleeve to put it on him.
Song Qing: “……”
—
While Nan Zhi was putting the sleeve on, she saw, on the skin exposed at his waist, the marks she had left last night.
Yesterday felt like all the right time, place, and people were there—things just flowed naturally. For the two of them, it was a big step forward. She thought it was no big deal, and it seemed Song Qing also had easily accepted it—didn’t show any strange reaction.
It was like they had always been supposed to be this way.
Indeed, such daily interactions did often happen before—just without kissing, that’s all.
Nan Zhi’s hands were moving, but her mind wasn’t idle.
If she had known stepping forward would lead to this kind of scene, she would’ve taken the step earlier.
To have the first time be this good—it was the kind of situation where her past self would envy her present self.
The body under Song Qing’s clothes couldn’t be described with “beautiful”—it was a garden full of blossoming branches, a spring scene everywhere.
Nan Zhi helped him put on the sleeve, pulled his clothes back down, then held him and sat him into the wheelchair—just about to push him out when Song Qing stopped her, deliberately digging out a pack of Jinsangzi lozenges from his bag, pried one out for her.
The water in the thermos cup was still warm now. He opened it directly and handed it to her.
Before going to the concert, Song Qing had worried that being in a wheelchair would be inconvenient, so he had searched up a lot of notes. Among them, one was that in that kind of environment, basically everyone would start yelling like crazy—and the result was, the next day, everyone’s throat would be dry and hoarse.
Since Nan Zhi got up in the morning until now, she has not said a single sentence; even when he asked, she only gave an “en” or directly grabbed the task herself—she must have suffered for it.
Holding the throat-lozenge and the thermos cup, Nan Zhi was somewhat surprised, yet thinking that he is always this careful usually, she was relieved.
After drinking water and holding the lozenge in her mouth, her throat indeed felt a bit better; she could open her mouth to speak, yet her voice was still raw-hoarse and rather uncomfortable, like it had been pulled; if Nan Zhi could avoid talking, she would not talk.
Luckily five in the morning is too early; there was basically no one, only her and Song Qing. Between her and Song Qing even without speaking they could communicate—she pointed once and Song Qing understood.
Sometimes without pointing or indicating Song Qing also knew, acting before she spoke: for example, he was nearer the elevator buttons; Nan Zhi did not say a word, he had already consciously pressed the hotel-canteen floor.
Precisely the place she wanted to go.
After being together for long, they began to have a tacit understanding, one point and it was through.
The canteen had not started serving; the two could only go downstairs, step on the thick snow outside to look for a place to eat.
On the way they passed a stretch of snow that no one had trodden; naturally they rudely went over to play a round, even built a snowman.
Close to six o’clock they found a canteen; the moment they entered, steam spread from the display window through the whole room—like straying into an immortal realm, white mist everywhere.
Song Qing, controlling the wheelchair, went to the window, asked for her whether the things she liked to eat were ready; when they were ready the two then sat, ate soup-burst buns, sweet-potato congee, and one steamed rice cake, then left. Before leaving that room was still shrouded in white vapor, hazy and misty—this kind of scene was what the lazy Nan Zhi usually did not see.
It was also her first time discovering that a misty-Jade-Pool-like sight had long been at her side, only she had not noticed.
After the meal the two strolled to digest; just nearby there was a little square. A bit past six, not really early, already some people were exercising round the square; they also joined in.
Morning fog was still heavy; at first entering the circle she thought only herself was there. Occasionally moving faster, she would see ahead a vertical unclear thing like a walking corpse; catching up she discovered they were all living humans.
Such a sight Nan Zhi normally could not see, but Song Qing said it was very common.
Sure enough every person’s world has deviations because of time difference and all kinds of reasons.
Nan Zhi had a feeling she was peeping into the heaven-and-earth that Song Qing saw.
A little after seven, the two, tired from wandering, returned, took a big sleep; in the evening they went out again, played a bit, ate some delicacies, bought the tickets to go back that very day. Next day at dawn they got up, packed up, reached the first floor and did not leave immediately.
After asking the front desk—sure enough there were long since no rooms; as many people came as left; at peaks like national holidays, summer vacation, and exhibitions, people were extremely many. Their room was easy to hand over: when someone came they stopped the person, one hand gave money, one hand gave the room card.
Just nicely both parties were on the first floor; they could go to the front desk to confirm remaining balance and days, and after changing the registered guest the deal went through very smoothly: they earned more than five thousand, because the two of them had only stayed six days, of which one day was a before-dawn room.
[before-dawn room means: check in at five in the morning, may stay until one p.m. of the next day, yet it is counted as only one day’s fee.]
So only five days were left—earnings were five thousand three hundred yuan.
This trip really did not lose out.
And it let Nan Zhi discover one thing: if the mind is quick, money-making ways are many, are fast.
Song Qing truly is a little money-making expert, and moreover does not care about noble or humble, high or low.
He says himself: only by putting down one’s airs can one earn money.
He himself simply does not much care how money comes—as long as it is money, as long as it is a proper channel, that is fine.
His “three views” [worldview-values-outlook] are more upright than hers; on this point she can be at ease—Nan Zhi only needs to take the money.
Unknowingly, the balance on her card had already reached a height that made her a bit panicky, and it was still continuing to rise on a large scale—ten-thousand to a couple-thousand yuan a day, never stopping.
Song Qing said that swear-word–blocking software has already begun to appear in pirated versions on the market; some prices are lower than his, yet the functions are not as good as his, nor as meticulous, and the database of swear words is far from as comprehensive as his. The dividend can probably be maintained for a bit more than one month.
After a little more than one month, when the capitalists step in, this software will not be able to protect itself; at most it will keep running, and profits will probably fall to around a thousand yuan a day—after all it already possesses a share of users.
Even if a portion are pulled away, there will still be a portion who feel it is good, who are nostalgic and don’t want to switch. Those on monthly subscriptions—next month the old users still have to pay again.
He has already begun his third idea; before long, the third piece of software will advertise and go online on top of the old software.
Money flows like running water; the two people who have just achieved financial freedom, holding a big pile of money, feel more or less uneasy. So they discussed it and plan to put the money into real estate—buy a house.
Or pay off the mortgage on the unit in their hands now, add his name as well, and conveniently renovate it: divide it into an upstairs and downstairs, two small apartments, rent them to two different people.
Then the two of them withdraw to the “second line”, go back to her hometown and live in that three-story little house.
Just right—both of them are self-employed.
Song Qing has absolutely no opinion; he’ll just see how she arranges it. In the end she decides to pay off the mortgage on the place they’re living in now, and—using that portion of money in his name—add his name to the deed.
In this period of being together he has held nothing back; Nan Zhi cannot let him lose out. What ought to be his, she will not appropriate.
That way, if they separate later, as long as he files a lawsuit, he can get back the part of the money he put in.
Even if he doesn’t sue, that’s fine; she isn’t so shameless as to seize it.
The reason to pay off the mortgage first is the fear that one day something unexpected happens: after buying a new house, if they have no cash on hand, and her parents’ side also can’t help, then this ten-plus-thousand-yuan monthly mortgage would be impossible for two young people alone to cover.
All in all, only with no burden in hand can they develop other things. Then, according to what they had fixed before—once there are no worries—one goes to zhijiao [volunteer teaching in poor rural areas], one goes to do charity.
Nan Zhi herself has also earned not little; after all, with a juan-wang [slang: an ultra-hard-working “grind king” who drives everyone to compete] beside her, she too began to work hard. Money comes by various channels; in short the two are one step closer to their goal.
Like the morning sun: already able to pierce the clouds and see a bit of sunlight. Sunlight represents hope.
A life with hope and a life without hope are completely different.