Song Qing looked at her retreating figure, completely unable to understand.
Why didn’t she mind his dirtiness at all?
He had been working all day, climbing up and down, and these hands had even touched the bathroom trash bin.
Song Qing hadn’t figured it out yet when she returned again, reaching out her hands once more to carry him.
Song Qing looked at her determined gaze and movements, sighed, and compromised — actively raising his arms to make it easier for her.
Nan Zhi, as usual, carried him into her arms. But where he couldn’t see, her eyes lit up slightly.
Just now, that movement of his — it was like he was asking to be hugged.
Nan Zhi’s mood improved even more, feeling like her “little wife” had gotten familiar with her, already willing to be hugged and even cooperating with her.
Nan Zhi placed him back into the wheelchair. As soon as Song Qing sat down, he immediately adjusted the direction to head toward the kitchen and check the oven.
Nan Zhi followed behind him and keenly noticed that the bandage wrapped around his leg was slightly messy, with a bit of sweat — the stitched area hadn’t fully healed yet. Sweat getting into the wound would sting. Nan Zhi stopped him: “You go rest, let me handle the rest.”
She didn’t know why, but when she was alone, she was too lazy to do this stuff. But when someone else tried to help her, she suddenly became energized and wanted to do it herself.
Nan Zhi grabbed the wheelchair and pulled it back. Song Qing was sitting in it, so the strength wasn’t even — unlike her, who now had more strength. The wheelchair got stuck and rolled back immediately.
Song Qing was now locked outside the kitchen door. The door was made of glass — the transparent kind — so he could see clearly through it, watching the person busy inside.
Song Qing paused slightly, and faintly recalled a time from childhood, before he was taken in by his uncle and aunt — when he lived with his mother in a rundown brick house. Though the brick house was shabby, it was tidied up very neatly. His dad was away driving long-distance trucks, and his mom worked in the fields. He stayed home cooking meals to bring to her.
At night, after finishing cooking and waiting for his mom — if he was slow with his hands and feet — by the time his mom came home, she would take over the task from his hands, kick him out of the kitchen, and tell him to sit and wait for food.
When his dad returned from long-distance trips, he did the same.
Ever since his parents were gone, no one had ever taken something from his hands mid-task again. Even if he was sick or had a fever, he still had to finish his chores before he could rest. And he’d still get scolded through the door for being lazy.
Was he lazy?
He didn’t know. But he knew that his uncle and aunt’s kids never did chores, yet still barked orders, asking for this and that. Kids his age — most of them had hands that never touched even spring water, couldn’t even tell the difference between garlic shoots and wheat sprouts.
He had already been involved in cooking, washing dishes, and doing housework for more than ten years — when he was young, he helped out at home; a bit older, he worked at his uncle and aunt’s house; now, it had just changed to her house, that’s all.
All in all, her place was the easiest.
Because she had a dishwasher, a vegetable washer, a robot vacuum, and a washing machine.
All the regular chores were basically handled by machines. All he had to do was put things in, take things out, wipe down tables and chairs, and unpack that pile of delivery boxes she had.
Even with that, she still showed gratitude and surprise. She even took over some of his work, saying it looked tiring.
Song Qing waited by the doorway, watching her clumsily take the toasted soft bread slices out from the oven, place them on the cutting board, then one by one add the pan-fried meat slices, tomato slices, lettuce leaves, egg, spread ketchup and mayonnaise, and finally wrap them in cling film.
The first one she wrapped — she didn’t eat herself. Instead, she brought it over and handed it to him.
Song Qing looked at the loosely wrapped sandwich in his hand, with some sauce squeezed out from inside. It was obvious — she wasn’t used to cooking, not good at tidying up, and not great at taking care of herself.
But she was a good person.
You treat me well, I’ll also treat you well.
If possible, and if she didn’t kick him out, then from now on, he’d take care of her daily life.
After all, being idle was being idle.
The second one was hers — she placed it on a plate. After that, came the third and fourth. She could only eat one since the fillings were many. The rest were his.
He had toasted that much bread — probably overestimated her appetite, thinking they’d each have two. But in fact, she couldn’t eat that much. Although she gave him one of the meat and egg portions, there were still two or three fewer than planned.
Nan Zhi turned on the stove and fried more herself. Simple things like frying eggs and making light meals — she could still manage those. Although she didn’t usually stir-fry or cook full meals, she actually enjoyed messing around in the kitchen. Never mind the rest of the furniture and appliances — there were plenty in her kitchen.
She used to say: If the food doesn’t turn out well, it’s the tools’ fault.
Then she’d buy new ones.
After buying, she had to accept reality: the problem was her own cooking.
Nan Zhi fried a few thick slices of fatty beef, cracked more eggs, so that the sandwiches would be fuller and more flavorful.
Both for herself and for Song Qing — once they were done, she placed them all on plates, then brought them to the dining table. Just as she was setting them down, she thought it felt like something was missing — fruit. She went to the kitchen fridge to check, didn’t see any fruit, but instead noticed the inside of the fridge was sparkling clean. All the foam packaging and tape seals had been removed.
He even cleaned the fridge for her.
When Nan Zhi came back, the way she looked at him — it wasn’t just precious, it was like a treasure trove.
The person in question didn’t know it, still lowering his head and biting into the sandwich.
Song Qing’s appetite had always been big. He’d been scolded for it many times by his uncle and aunt, called a rice bucket [饭桶 – an insult implying someone who only eats and is useless]. But not eating would leave him hungry. So he thought he’d better toast a few more slices of bread, and only gave the meat, lettuce, and eggs to her. But in the end, the one cooking was her.
She was generous with the ingredients — meat and eggs stuffed full, even added pork floss. Ketchup and mayo were squeezed in like they cost nothing. One sandwich easily had the volume of two or three regular ones.
He originally thought he’d need to eat at least two, maybe still not feel full — and worried she might dislike his big appetite, so actually made fewer on purpose. But now, he felt one was enough.
After eating, Song Qing moved his wheelchair, planning to go into the kitchen and clean up the mess. Just as he reached for the utensils, she called out:
“Leave it. I’ll clean it up in a bit.”
Nan Zhi wouldn’t let him move. “Come over and eat.”
Song Qing paused for a moment — and for a second, didn’t know whether or not he should obey.
Because in his uncle and aunt’s house, he wasn’t allowed to sit at the table. They didn’t want him taking up a spot, or eating food they wanted.
He usually scooped his food, dipped it in sauce, then went back to his room, shut the door, and ate alone. After eating, he’d come out to wash the dishes and clean up.
At the dinner table, his uncle and aunt often talked about what they had and didn’t have — how much they’d spent raising him, how much they paid for his schooling, etc. So honestly, he didn’t enjoy eating with them. That was fine by him.
She looked like someone glamorous and refined — she definitely should be more particular than countryside folks. Song Qing instinctively felt that she probably didn’t want him sitting at the table either.
But then Song Qing heard footsteps. Nan Zhi was walking toward him while speaking: “You promised me you’d listen to me. Breaking your word this fast?”
Before she could say anything else, and before she reached him, Song Qing actively turned his wheelchair and moved toward her.
Nan Zhi showed a satisfied expression. “That’s more like it.”
She sat back down at the table and pushed the plate of sandwiches toward him, emphasizing, “I can only eat one. You have to finish the rest.”
While talking, Nan Zhi pulled out a “nursing adverse event” report from her bag and lowered her head to write.
The sandwich was still a bit hot. Her stomach wasn’t good — she couldn’t eat things that were too hot — so she wanted to wait a while before eating.
She looked up, and seeing him pause, said: “I’ll do it.”
Song Qing replied, “I’ll do it.”
Nan Zhi didn’t agree. “You’ve already worked so hard today. I’ll do it myself.”
He had truly given her too many surprises today. Nan Zhi was in a great mood. Usually, she hated writing reports like this, but today it didn’t feel like a bother at all. In fact, she was writing very quickly.
Halfway through writing, she noticed he still hadn’t moved. She looked up at him.
Song Qing understood her gaze, thought for a second, then reached out and took another sandwich.
He saw in the corner of the plate a meat slice that had been overcooked and wanted to take that one. But Nan Zhi lightly tapped his hand with her pen, and pushed the better one toward him:
“You eat this. The burnt one is mine. I was the one who overcooked it.”
That was true. None of the sandwiches Song Qing made were burnt. The egg on hers was a bit black, and the meat was dry and lacked moisture — but thankfully, only one was like that. It had gone in the pan late, and she had turned up the heat, then rushed away and came back — and by then, it was already burned.
Nan Zhi looked at his cooking, then looked at hers — deeply suspicious.
Do I really have no talent in this area?
When he made the toast earlier, he even went to the bathroom, spent a long time inside — and nothing burned. Yet she went in hurriedly and came out even faster, and the entire oven was scorched black.
How was there such a difference in treatment?
Under her gaze, Song Qing finally accepted the better one and ate while thinking.
Back at his uncle and aunt’s house, if something wasn’t broken, he never got to eat it.
His uncle and aunt’s financial condition was average — even worse than his original family’s. Back then, his family could still afford to eat meat occasionally. But after moving in with his uncle and aunt, he realized they only had meat during holidays, or if one of the kids had a birthday — that’s when they’d buy cake and pork ribs.
When he reached junior high and signed the agreement, the two younger ones also started school. He had to take care of them, pick them up and drop them off. Only then could his aunt go out and work, and life slightly improved. Before that, she could only take on odd jobs here and there, because the kids were too small to be left alone.
The two of them were naturally frugal. Usually, if the family bought something nice to eat, it would first go to their daughter and son. Then themselves. He was always last.
Maybe because they were too poor, they were extra strict about food. Eat one more mantou and they’d lecture him. His aunt even counted how many bowls of rice and mantou he ate per day.
As for fruit — only when it started to rot would they let him have some. He’d eaten pomegranates with worms in them — one half was still good. He’d eaten apples with rotten cores, wilted vegetables turned into cold dishes, and so on.
These good things — even the aunt and uncle’s kids had never eaten them, probably.
He’d seen the thick slices of fatty beef — one box only a few slices — priced at 69.8 yuan. Even the uncle and aunt’s children couldn’t afford to eat that.
Song Qing sat in the wheelchair and finished one sandwich. She handed him another.
The whole box had only about ten slices — how was she willing to give him six pieces in one go?
He had basically eaten over half the box of fatty beef, yet she still looked worried he hadn’t had enough, smiling at him with her eyes curved like crescents.
That look in her eyes — it was like when Auntie wanted him to help tutor so-and-so, or copy homework — that same mix of benevolence and slyness.
Like she was plotting something against him.
But what was there about him to plot? He didn’t have a cent to his name.
Nan Zhi felt she was underpaying him. After all, hiring a housekeeper would cost at least seventy or eighty yuan per hour, and getting someone to cook — that was even more expensive. Add it all up, and in one day, it’d be two or three hundred gone.
He was doing it all alone. That meant he was saving her two to three hundred a day — and she had a feeling this was going to be long-term.
This one had to be well kept, couldn’t let him run off.
Nan Zhi also admitted — when she came home and saw the house had been cleaned up neatly, food was being cooked in the kitchen, he was still doing housework, and he had even remembered to hang up the laundry she’d forgotten — in that moment, the feeling of missing her grandmother reached a peak.
She decided to be muddle-headed just once — to treat him as a temporary emotional anchor. Like back when she lived with Grandma in a tiny, backwater city — eating dinner while complaining about all the unfair things that had happened to her.
“You know, today some idiot scalded themselves with boiling water, and that has to count as a nursing adverse event. I even got criticized for it. Totally ridiculous.”
Could Grandma have borrowed a body to reincarnate into this young man?
“I’m really unlucky. I always get scolded over this kind of thing.”
While speaking, Nan Zhi kept her gaze fixed tightly on the young man across from her. He, as usual, lowered his brows and eyes, obedient and quiet. Though he didn’t reply, he listened silently, occasionally nodding slightly.
Nan Zhi opened up even more.
“Today I even got kicked out — but the teacher was with me, so I wasn’t alone. That, I can handle.”
Just like when she was at Grandma’s place in the countryside — she would talk, and Grandma would listen.
Nan Zhi couldn’t help but sigh.
Not only did he act like Grandma, even his aura was the same — the best kind of person to talk to.