After Song Qing responded, upstairs instead became quiet.
His hand clenched tighter, pulling the bedsheet into wrinkles.
Seriously suspected that Nan Zhi calling him was completely for no reason, just evil interest to tease him.
This wasn’t her first time either, sometimes she would hug him more, clearly when pushing the wheelchair he could get onto the bed or sit on the sofa by himself, she didn’t, just liked to hug him, then stay a bit longer, watching him be shy.
The more he acted normal, the less interesting it was to her; when he acted awkward, her eyes would shine even brighter.
Those few drawings she drew, just now he also glanced at them, it was a little boy becoming the size of a palm, held in the palm of a girl’s hand, using a normally sized comb to comb hair, and also using a small handkerchief as clothes to put on the little person — that kind of picture.
The little boy was a bit shy, covering his own collar not letting the clothes be changed, the girl was very overbearing, used two fingers to pull the clothes, the little boy’s strength was small, couldn’t win against the girl, was forced to change into a new set.
After changing, the little person lay on the ground, tears streaming down the face.
So evil-taste.
He had always known that the girls in class liked this kind of small comics, often discussing, saying how cute, how cute, didn’t expect the source to be here.
The person who drew these comics sat upright seriously while drawing, thought they were doing something proper…
Song Qing closed his eyes, after resting for a bit then continued the work in his hands.
This scarf of his was already more than halfway knitted, reading a book, his hands didn’t idle, by the time he realized, the yarn ball had already reached the bottom, the thread passed through his fingertips, couldn’t hook it anymore — only then did he realize, he had gone too far, didn’t leave thread for finishing the end.
Song Qing unraveled a section, tied off the end, left a tassel, then opened it to inspect, to see if there were any problems.
Knitting a scarf for him was still very simple, because when he was little, his mom and dad also often did handicrafts, crocheting shoes, making cloth shoes, knitting sweaters, etc. — other than not knowing embroidery, the rest he could help with a little.
He originally had some basic skill, grew up and forgot, but picking it back up again was also easy, flipped and checked all around, no problem, could take it to hand over.
Song Qing packed up the scarf, glanced at the time, eleven o’clock, still early, could still read for another two hours.
Song Qing flipped through the book, remembered something, took the phone from the head of the bed and opened WeChat, hesitated for a moment, brought the class group chat out from the folded section, turned off “Do Not Disturb,” and when entering the group again, saw a lot, a lot of messages — some discussing what to do after graduation, also some about him.
Actually when he had just gotten into the car accident, classmates had come together to see him, he once opened the class group, it’s just that inside, the discussion content was all “so pitiful,” “car accident,” “legs broken” and such things.
Every single word, for him at that time who had just suffered a heavy blow, was stimulating his sensitive nerves. He didn’t dare to look, hurriedly closed it, and never opened it again.
This time the content was still about the same, most saying that they went to see him today, didn’t find him, but heard he was picked up by someone, now living not bad — although lost the legs, his condition is still okay.
Each and every word still didn’t leave the topic of legs, but he didn’t care anymore.
Song Qing opened the chat box to type words.
【Green Grass: I’m doing well, thank you everyone for your concern.】
Was it concern? He wasn’t sure, but saying so wasn’t wrong.
【Green Grass: I know about everyone donating money to me, I’ll pay it back in the future when I have money, thank you.】
He sent a bowing emoji, then closed the group, didn’t go to see others’ reactions.
He still couldn’t forget when he was called sissy, the mocking faces all around, also couldn’t forget when he packed food, everyone heckled and laughed at him together.
Maybe it’s just because he grew one year older again, became more mature, regretted things he had done before — or maybe it’s because he’s too pitiful, and bullying him again makes oneself look shameless. Of course, there are also sincere ones, only the voices of normal people have always been the smallest, suppressed, if they don’t shout loudly, ordinary people won’t hear them.
Maybe after his accident, those normal voices got a little louder, stirred others, so they gathered money to help him.
He couldn’t distinguish the reason, just kept scrolling down, contacted the teacher, thanked the teacher.
Only the teacher always believed him from beginning to end, helped him. If it weren’t for the teacher, he couldn’t have graduated so smoothly.
The teacher was probably busy, didn’t reply.
Song Qing put down the phone, picked up the book and continued reading.
He owed too much, couldn’t afford to slack off.
Besides, upstairs Nan Zhi still hadn’t rested — she still had to go to work tomorrow, working so hard, he had even less reason to relax.
He also wanted to see how long Nan Zhi was going to stay up this time.
She was a very typical night owl, listless during the day, only energetic at night.
Maybe she thought he was asleep, didn’t call “wife” again.
At night, the two had no words, upstairs there was only the rustling sound of pen strokes on screen, downstairs there was only the sound of flipping pages.
Song Qing had only brought back one ball of yarn, now his hands were empty, still not quite used to it.
Didn’t know how long had passed in this kind of silence, when suddenly from the big living room next to him came a loud crash — seemed like something had fallen and shattered.
Song Qing heard it, lifted the blanket and went to sit in the wheelchair. Upstairs, Nan Zhi also noticed the noise, pattered down the stairs.
The two quickly met in the big living room, saw the scene of the incident — the cat, out of curiosity, had climbed onto the table, knocked down a small flowerpot and shattered it.
Water and porcelain shards scattered all over the floor. Nan Zhi had a comb in her hand, while combing her hair, she went to get cleaning tools.
She had a bad habit when drawing — liked to scratch her hair. When she came back, worried about bacteria, she washed her hair. It was originally smooth, but after drawing downstairs for several hours, her hair was like a Golden Retriever Lion King, all fluffy and frizzy.
Going back upstairs she must’ve scratched it again — even messier, even more tangled. When she combed it once, she cried out “ah” in pain; combed again, and again cried out “ah” in pain.
She brought the tools back, but the hair wasn’t combed well, the comb instead got stuck in the hair like it was welded in, firmly wedged between the strands.
She didn’t care either, one hand holding a broom, one hand a dustpan, cleaning up the shards — just when Song Qing brought over the mop.
He had just arrived and the tool got snatched by her. After mopping, she shoved it back under the hallway, handled the floor, didn’t rush to leave — while yawning, she stood in front of the glass door using the reflection to feel around and continued combing her hair. Maybe she saw the two cats in the corner, not only did she not get angry, she even comforted them.
“What a small thing, getting so scared.”
She said this while bending down, gently calling the two cats.
Just made a mistake, the two cats curled up in the corner, no matter what wouldn’t come out.
Nan Zhi didn’t force them either, stood back up, used the glass to comb her hair, while combing looked inside at him, “You go sleep too, it’s nothing.”
Song Qing was speechless.
A flowerpot was shattered, water and shards all over the floor — she squatted down and picked it up, even wiped the blanket that got splashed — yet in her eyes it was just a tiny little thing.
He still remembered when he had merely knocked off a fruit and got fiercely scolded — obviously, that fruit just needed to be rinsed again and it would’ve been fine.
Nan Zhi saw that he didn’t move, thought she might have disturbed him down here. She pulled the hair ends out from between the comb, was about to go upstairs, but before she could step up, she was called.
“Nan Zhi.”
Song Qing called her.
Nan Zhi was slightly stunned, because it seemed like this was the first time he had ever called her.
“What’s wrong?” she turned her head and asked.
Song Qing raised his hand slightly, seemed like he wanted her to come over, or perhaps wanted to take the comb in her hand.
Didn’t speak, but the intention was obvious.
Nan Zhi took back the foot she had already stepped onto the stairs with, walked a few steps over to stand in front of Song Qing, wanting to see exactly what he was trying to do.
Song Qing raised his hand higher — the direction really was toward the comb in her hand.
Nan Zhi hesitated, handed the comb over. After Song Qing took it, he adjusted the wheelchair, moved a bit more forward, raised both hands, one holding her hair ends, the other holding the comb — intending to help her comb her hair.
Nan Zhi blinked, “Wait a moment.”
She was too tall in this position, and he was sitting — it wasn’t convenient. Nan Zhi pattered downstairs and brought back a small stool, placed the small stool in front of Song Qing’s wheelchair, and herself sat down firmly, back facing Song Qing, gathered all the messy hair behind her head, letting him help comb.
Around midnight, the big light in the living room was on. Warm light shone down. Beside the sofa, a man and a woman, one tall one short — one patiently combing, one patiently waiting.
Nan Zhi cupped her cheeks with both hands, looking at the reflection of the two people in the glass door.
Behind her, Song Qing’s eyes didn’t stray, head lowered, combing her hair. Each time before moving his hands, he would always first grasp the roots of her hair with one hand, to avoid tugging her.
Half was already combed smooth, half still not done. Earlier, Nan Zhi had moved around a few times, hurt herself to death — but strangely, even though Song Qing had been combing for so long, not once did he tug and hurt her.