Around 7:30 in the evening, Song Qing was carried to the sofa, one hand on an IV drip, one hand rubbing his stomach.
Ate until full.
That bowl of steamed egg custard was really too big, and there was also a plate of eggs. Before Nan Zhi gave him steamed egg custard and eggs, he had already eaten a bowl of rice, and some dishes. Nan Zhi insisted on splitting the pork ribs with him in half—otherwise, she wouldn’t eat.
All of it stuffed down one after another, full to the point of almost not being able to sit, needing to lie down and rest a bit.
Although he tried not to show it, slightly adjusting his posture himself, as soon as there was a bit of movement it was still seen through by Nan Zhi. She brought him a back pillow to lean on, and also covered him with a blanket.
Opposite the sofa was a TV, characters flashing back and forth inside, saying something. Nan Zhi sat to the side, holding a tablet, writing and drawing. The two cats leaned against the people, lazily nestled between the two of them. This scene was a bit like the one when he was young, the whole family sitting in the main room resting.
After dinner, the house was lit with a dim yellow light. Mom and Dad talking and laughing, chatting about what to do tomorrow. The TV was playing Journey to the West or cartoons. He was curled up in a bamboo long chair, wrapped in a quilt watching.
Song Qing observed the surroundings, and vaguely realized—Nan Zhi liked to play house, and he seemed to also somewhat like this feeling.
This might also be the reason why he easily agreed to the “wife” that Nan Zhi called him.
He himself didn’t care much about titles. After all, he’d been called sissy, pervert, etc., and didn’t feel much about it—let alone a non-derogatory “wife.”
If she liked it, that was fine. He didn’t mind.
On the contrary, if it could make her happy, he himself would also feel a bit delighted.
That was what he thought at the time. But thinking about it now, maybe he also had a bit of expectation for what she called “a family.”
He also wanted to be included in a normal family, to feel normal warmth.
Song Qing watched the TV while also staring at the IV bottle above his head.
Today’s IV drip was a bit less. Nan Zhi said that tomorrow he wouldn’t need it anymore. In a few more days they’d go remove the stitches. Today it was just one big bottle and one small bottle—just over an hour.
When the time came, the needle was removed. Usually at this time it would be wash up and sleep, but today Nan Zhi didn’t leave, and neither did he. He continued to curl up.
Nan Zhi, at the side, holding a capacitive pen, was coloring and adjusting, drawing things. Song Qing pressed a cotton ball down, and after confirming there was no more bleeding, pulled over his wheelchair and took out a yarn ball from the pouch underneath.
The yarn ball was given to him by that old granny, who told him to go back and practice more with his hands. Once a scarf is knitted out, the speed would be faster.
The yarn ball was also taken from a nearby small factory, and there were still many at her home. It didn’t delay anything—after he finished knitting he could just return it. The labor fee, she didn’t want it, just gave it to him.
Song Qing didn’t plan on asking for money for this either. Just as the old granny said, it was for practicing his hands. The money could be given to the old granny, to thank her for helping with the referral.
Yesterday, the old granny took him to that small factory. The boss didn’t mind that he was disabled—on the contrary, seemed somewhat satisfied. Later he heard from others that hiring disabled people came with tax reduction policies from the state.
In short, tomorrow he could go get the materials, and work at home himself, or work together with the grannies—it was all fine.
This scarf he was already halfway through. Nan Zhi saw he was knitting smoothly, leaned over curiously to take a look. Song Qing also saw the thing she was drawing.
It was a colored drawing similar to a manga. Nan Zhi said it was a commissioned piece. Anime characters—draw the two characters the client liked, who didn’t match at all, into a couple. Lifting up, kissing, hugging—as long as the client was satisfied, it was fine.
Personal commission, not for commercial use, so a bit cheaper. Commercial commissions were expensive, but the requirements were high. They would also simultaneously go find other people—drafting, discussing settings, etc. After finishing the draft, one sentence of “not satisfied” might mean no follow-up at all.
It was still this kind—with price and character info included—that was easier to draw, so she took it.
This client wanted to make a webcomic strip, which could keep her busy for several days. The offer was also reasonable. In short, Nan Zhi was quite happy, smiling as she said she was making money to support the family.
She had divided the “family” already—with “Dad and Mom” and two “children”—all within the range of those she claimed to support. Even him included.
She really did do that—food and drink, housing and clothing, all covered. Not just empty words, saying one thing and doing another.
Song Qing paused his movement, turned his eyes to the side, gave her an extra look. Nan Zhi was still rushing the commission, expression serious and focused, occasionally furrowing her brows, biting her pen, scratching her head—just like when facing a troublesome part.
Song Qing withdrew his gaze, wrapped the yarn around his finger, and lowered his head to keep working.
Each busy with their own thing, more like a family from when he was little—Mom sitting and shelling peanuts, Dad knitting a sweater.
Pretty much the same as now.
—
Nan Zhi only opened her Da Yanzai account after finishing dinner, hanging up his IV drip, and confirming there was nothing else to do.
Actually, she had already gone on Weibo during noon—not from the back-end, but using the front-end to look. The short webcomic she posted yesterday already had over a thousand comments. She didn’t dare to click in to see the details. When she checked again in the evening, it had over three thousand—she felt even more pressure, afraid people were scolding her. So she first picked the Xiaohongshu post with the least followers to look at.
Fortunately, since the follower count was low, the comments were few. A few people came looking to commission her. She saw the characters were from an anime she had watched, and immediately confirmed the job—they transferred 3,000 yuan; about five or six drawings.
It was still pretty easy, could finish in two days. In between, she could even take on a few smaller orders worth a few hundred.
As Nan Zhi was drawing, she ran off to browse Taobao—to buy him T-shirts. Three each of long-sleeve and short-sleeve. According to her logic, laundry clothes must be at least three sets—two for rotation, one backup in case the washed ones aren’t dry.
Men’s T-shirts were also cheap, just over 20 yuan a piece, and pretty decent quality. She’d bought them herself before, as inner layers—worn inside hoodies or under work uniforms. You couldn’t even tell men’s or women’s. As long as it was comfortable, it was fine.
She’d already tested them herself, so she felt at ease and placed the order directly.
Nan Zhi yanked six in one go, and it was just a bit over a hundred yuan. She couldn’t help but grab two more—four full sets for rotation.
Thin and thick outerwear too—naturally had to be included. She picked two more outfits for him. Mainly, now that she was making money—if not to spend on her wife, then who?
A wife like Song Qing—even holding a lantern you might not be able to find one with bride price and the three golds. If she didn’t treat him well and he ran off, then what?
[three gold items: ring, necklace, bracelet, traditional betrothal gifts]
My wife, I’ll dote on him myself!
Nan Zhi even bought him over ten pairs of underwear—for convenience with changing and washing.
Later, he still had to get prosthetics installed. Couldn’t be too extravagant and wasteful. The rest of the money—save it to get him prosthetics, let him stand up again.
After fussing over the clothes, Nan Zhi continued drawing.
As she drew, she couldn’t help but glance at Song Qing.
She had this habit—maybe it was because she just got a wife, and still felt the novelty—she always couldn’t help wanting to call out to him.
“Wife, where are you going~?”
She saw Song Qing getting up and sitting into the wheelchair, and quickly seized the opportunity to call out that word.
The rest of the sentence didn’t matter—the important part was that first word.
Now that she had a wife, of course she had to call it often.
Song Qing had just sat steady, and while pushing the wheelchair, replied: “I’m going to get a book to read.”
“Oh.”
Wife responded to her.
Nan Zhi, full of motivation, lowered her head and continued drawing lines.
Song Qing brought the book back, spread it open on his legs. Nan Zhi also couldn’t help but call out to him.
“Wife, what book are you reading?”
Song Qing truthfully told her: “C language programming.”
“C language programming ah, wife.” — Even if there was no place to insert it, she still had to add the title. “This one is very boring, wife.”
Just that—to her, it was very boring, because she saw Song Qing reading with relish.
This book was one she saw while scrolling Douyin—about how hackers were all cool and awesome, battling with foreign netizens online, bringing glory to the country and whatnot. In admiration of strength, she couldn’t help but buy it, fantasizing about how she too would become some badass outlaw on the internet.
But one book on C language programming directly blocked her hacker dream.
Better to just honestly stick to her own studies.
“Not bad.” Song Qing’s hands were busy, his eyes also not idle, reading from the place he marked last time.
It wasn’t his first time flipping through it. Yesterday when he had nothing to do, he’d already read part of it. Now he was already one-third of the way through.
Nan Zhi saw this, clicked her tongue, and sighed that such a boring book, he actually had read that much of it.
Nan Zhi remembered when she bought it, there was even a video teaching how to write programs—all made of various letters and numbers. She herself flipped through a bit and already felt dizzy. Really couldn’t continue. If he was interested, that was perfect—saved it from being wasted.
Nan Zhi put down her work, went to the small living room, opened the computer to find the related files for him, placed them right in front, and told him that he could take a look when he had free time.
While confirming details with a client, she also bought a few more related books online.
Hobbies need to be supported.
After Nan Zhi finished setting things up, because drawing on a tablet had its limitations, she had no choice but to go upstairs to use professional tools. The only thing that didn’t change was— even with a whole floor between them, she still couldn’t help but call out to him.
“Wife~”
Once Nan Zhi left, Song Qing also returned to the small living room, sitting on the bed, knitting the scarf while reading the book.
Hearing her voice, he looked upward through a layer of semi-transparent glass.
Nan Zhi didn’t hear his reply, and continued to call out.
“Wife~”
Song Qing lowered his brows and eyes, and his fingers unconsciously clenched the bed sheet beneath him.
He wasn’t deliberately not replying—it was just that, before, whenever Nan Zhi called out to him, there would always be something after it. And he, like covering something up, would always only respond to the latter part. For example, if she asked, “Wife, what time is it?”, he’d say “Ten o’clock,” answering the second part, not the first.
Now, she didn’t add anything after—just that bare “Wife” on its own. He found it hard to answer.
“Wife wife wife wife~”
He didn’t answer, so she just kept calling—completely with a “won’t stop until he responds, even if it takes forever” kind of momentum.
In the end, Song Qing still said, “I’m here.”
After replying, he rubbed his forehead.
Clearly he had already prepared himself—so long as she liked it, it didn’t matter how she called him. If it could make her happy, he would also be happy along with her. But for some reason, just that standalone word—“Wife”—without anything before or after, made it so that even dodging by replying only to the rest didn’t work anymore. He could only openly admit that he was her wife.
A boy, being someone else’s wife—even if it was just playing house—still made a bit of bashfulness sprout in his heart.