Song Qing searched up quite a few possibilities, some said it was because liked it, some said it was fun, and some simply said it was purely because they loved to play “playing house”. Also, some people said, whatever one lacks, one urgently desires.
He felt that Nan Zhi should be the last two kinds, the “loves to play house” one. Before Nan Zhi called him mommy, she asked him what members a family should have. The last one, even though they hadn’t interacted long, he could still see—she really liked warm, small spaces, everywhere in the home was like that.
She also often talked about harmonious past times, about the small days with Grandma back in the hometown—many were enough to make him recall his own past with his mom and dad.
He could often, through her descriptions, see his younger self—those hopes, that cherishing, that beauty.
Just like how he wished to return to the time when mom and dad still loved him, he felt that Nan Zhi also hoped to recreate that warmth.
Even if it’s like playing house—piecemealing together a “family.”
When Song Qing was cleaning the room, he nearly stepped into every corner of the first floor. Behind the sofa in the large living room, on the wall, most of the photos were of her and her grandma—only one was of her and her family.
It was a family portrait. The older sister and younger brother were sitting in front, mom and dad sat in the back, and she stood next to them, like an extra, someone unable to blend in.
Nan Zhi said she was brought up by Grandma, and only she was raised by Grandma.
Why was it that they just didn’t love her?
Clearly, she was so kind, so good.
If they had loved her, maybe she wouldn’t be like this—caring so much about a “family” being harmonious, playing it like a game, and even playing it so seriously, happily, and devotedly.
Song Qing closed that webpage and searched again. This time he typed—
[Jobs suitable for working from home]
[How to find work if both legs are disabled]
[What kind of handwork is available near Puxin Road]
He created a sticky note, copied everything he thought was useful, then pasted them onto the note, waiting for whenever they might be useful.
But he still felt—he should go downstairs to that small alley to take a look.
Song Qing hesitated for a moment, but in the end, still contacted Nan Zhi on his phone and told her his thoughts.
—
Nan Zhi had just returned to the hospital and had just changed into her uniform when she received the message. She opened it and saw—Song Qing said he wanted to go take a look at the small alley across from where he got the parcel last time. He wouldn’t do anything yet, just wanted to scope it out in advance. If he could find something suitable for him, he’d feel a bit more at ease.
This kind of feeling—Nan Zhi could somewhat understand. When she had just graduated, she was also constantly worried about how to get an internship. Even though the school would arrange it, she could also find one herself—but before things were settled, there was always some anxiety, couldn’t help running around everywhere asking.
Very much like how he is now.
Nan Zhi hesitated for a moment and replied to him.
[I also want to sniff Hakimi: Then take care and rest well when you’re tired.]
Whether he could be stopped or not, this person was only well-behaved in front of her. As soon as she left, he returned to his usual self. She told him not to do anything and rest properly, but he immediately turned around and washed her clothes, watered the flowers on the balcony, and when she came back, even caught him wiping the oven and fireplace.
The way he got caught and tried to clean up the scene like destroying evidence was too funny—Nan Zhi just hadn’t called him out on it.
He just had a sickness, was being lazy and couldn’t muster energy for chores, but it didn’t mean he was careless to the point of seeing nothing—actually, all the changes in the home, he noticed clearly.
A person who loves to draw, of course, is most obsessed with details—every tiny thing that changed, she was fully aware.
Even now that he was staying in the small living room, she knew that the placement of every book had changed. Things became neat, arranged alphabetically—she noticed it all.
Wanting to hide it from her was impossible.
Speaking of it, how come he likes doing chores so much, so unable to stay idle? Clearly already told him he can rest well and doesn’t need to do anything.
If it were an ordinary person, probably would just obediently lie flat and enjoy peacefully, only he is the exception—injured yet still runs back and forth.
But just the fact that he could so obediently report his whereabouts, Nan Zhi still felt very gratified and gave him some encouragement.
[I also want to sniff Hakimi: Jiayou, you can do it!] [Note: “加油” (jiā yóu) is a common Chinese expression meaning “go for it!” or “you got this!”]
On the other side, after receiving the message, Song Qing quietly let out a breath of relief in his heart.
Actually, having grasped Nan Zhi’s routine of going to and from work, he could have totally gone by himself without telling her. But he didn’t know why—he didn’t want to hide it from her.
He didn’t want her to accidentally find out afterward and get angry, be disappointed in him, then stop smiling at him with squinting eyes, stop talking to him about all sorts of things while eating, stop playing house game, and stop including him in her plan of being “a family.”
He still liked it the way it is now.
After getting permission, Song Qing pushed the wheelchair toward the doorway. Just as he was getting close to the entryway, he received a message.
[I also want to sniff Hakimi: Wind is strong today, wear proper clothes, and put on your hat.]
Song Qing was properly dressed, but hadn’t worn the hat. That hat felt a bit hot to wear inside the house, and it was new. He always felt reluctant to wear it, wanting to save it for an important moment. But since Nan Zhi had especially emphasized it, he still obediently went back and put the hat on before setting off.
When opening the door, he inevitably encountered one problem—the threshold was high, to the degree that he couldn’t get out while sitting in the wheelchair.
That threshold, he had thought about it before—it trapped him. But it also gave him a reason, an excuse to shamelessly stay inside and say he couldn’t go out. If he crossed it, he could no longer use that excuse.
But Song Qing still crossed it—just like going to the bathroom: stool, move onto the stool, pull the wheelchair over, put the stool back, not rushing to close the door.
He opened it.
Nan Zhi didn’t lie to him, and didn’t try to fool him either. This door—he could freely open and close it, and the person could freely go up and down.
Song Qing tried two or three times in total, and each time the lock responded. Only then did he close the door and go to take the elevator.
The elevator also required fingerprint press. Back then, Nan Zhi specially brought in property management personnel to input his information. When he just entered, he didn’t press the button for the first floor—he tried it first. There was a response; the button for the current floor lit up.
The closed door also opened, but since no one came in for a long time, it closed again.
Only then did Song Qing feel assured, boldly pressing the button for the first floor, and after going out, he headed toward the back gate Nan Zhi had taken him to last time.
He hadn’t input his fingerprint for the back gate either. Song Qing tried it too—and sure enough, it didn’t open. But there was a security booth. Going out didn’t seem to require any verification. The other party directly opened the door for him and let him leave.
Song Qing waited in place for a bit, and only when there were fewer cars did he cross that small road to the other side.
He sat in a wheelchair; even before he reached the place, he had already attracted the gaze of everyone on the opposite side. But this person—he had a characteristic: when unrelated people looked at him more, paid attention to him—he didn’t care.
Only Nan Zhi was the exception. It was because Nan Zhi helped him at his most helpless, most needing moment. Nan Zhi was his life-saving straw. Whatever Nan Zhi did was acceptable.
Every move Nan Zhi made would tug at his nerves, make him unlike himself.
Aside from Nan Zhi, he really hadn’t changed. He remained indifferent to other people’s strange looks. Once he arrived, he stopped, and under the wall full of countless advertisement posters inside the small alley, he lifted his head to look—actually, he was paying attention to those few elderly people doing handwork.
They had all kinds of tasks in their hands—some were weaving things, some were packing items, and some were processing small objects.
With his current condition, he wasn’t suited for jobs involving lots of items—it was inconvenient to transport them. What he needed was something like cross-stitch embroidery or knitting scarves—something that could be done for a long time, not heavy, and easy to pick up.
While Song Qing was still observing, the few warmhearted old folks beside him greeted first and asked, “Young man, looking for work?”
Song Qing nodded and took the opportunity to ask what kind of jobs were available nearby. As they chatted, he silently parked his wheelchair beside an old granny and watched her knit a scarf.
Cross-stitch required skill; knitting a scarf was a bit simpler.