Nan Zhi stuffed the socks into her own pocket, didn’t let him see, and for the clothes, she one by one removed the cardboard inserts inside and placed them on the sofa, comparing them to the batch of T-shirts from yesterday.
She bought a lot, divided into two logistics shipments. One batch arrived early yesterday and had already been tried on — fit very well — so today there was no need to wear them again, just needed to compare the length and size.
Actually, they were all the same size, usually there wouldn’t be any mistakes, but still better to confirm, to avoid sending the wrong ones. If there was no error, then just cut off the tags directly.
Once she finished her side, over there Song Qing had also gone back and forth a few times, stuffing all the food on the floor into the fridge in sorted categories.
After freeing up, he pushed the wheelchair over this way.
He basically, when he’s not busy, most of the time would come close.
Strangely enough, Nan Zhi had seen quite a few people — including herself — who, when frequently going to take the initiative to approach another person, even if it was a friend, would feel embarrassed, would intentionally control the number of times. People around her also had this habit.
Even just chatting online would be like this.
Song Qing seemed to not have this concern. Basically, as long as she was there, he was there. When she went upstairs, only then would he enter the small living room to rest.
In short, as long as she was downstairs, no matter what she was doing, he wouldn’t go inside the room — would silently keep her company.
Late at night, curled up on the sofa, wrapped in a blanket, being lazy and not wanting to move, turning her head to the side, she’d see that this person was also sitting in the corner, holding a ball of yarn in his hands and knitting, covered with a fleece blanket, reading a book in front of him — quietly and peacefully — gave quite a sense of security.
At least way better than before, when after eating she’d sit on the sofa drawing or watching TV until very late, then suddenly lifting her head and realizing the surroundings were pitch black.
At that time, the small living room lights weren’t on, it was dark inside, same with the kitchen and the bathroom. Outside the glass of the balcony to the right, all was pitch-black. Don’t know why, but she would suddenly shiver from cold.
Then some ghost story would pop up in her head, always feeling like something in the dark was staring at her.
Wanting to go upstairs, but upstairs was even darker, so she’d be stuck in a dilemma, frozen in place, needing to mentally prepare for a long time before suddenly dashing upstairs, turning off the lights one by one, watching as the downstairs sank completely into darkness.
A giant black hole would sweep in, and she’d imagine some monster inside suddenly jumping out to bite her to death — wouldn’t even dare to turn her back to the darkness.
Now, there was no need to worry anymore. Because this person, even if she left, wouldn’t immediately enter the small living room. He’d wait until she was upstairs, and the lights in the room were turned on, before he’d switch off the living room lights. After going into the small living room, the lights inside were also on, and the person hadn’t gone to sleep.
She discovered this by accident — however late she stayed up, he would follow. If the lights weren’t off, he wouldn’t sleep. So now Nan Zhi would lie down very early, already in bed by eleven o’clock.
Before, in the middle of the night, she didn’t dare turn off the lights. At the very least, she would leave on one that wasn’t too bright, to see clearly inside the room — otherwise, she’d have no sense of security.
Now, thinking that there was someone downstairs, her heart really settled a lot. These days she sleeps with all the lights off.
Sleeping in complete darkness, the sleep quality is much better.
Nan Zhi saw that he came over to her side and told him: a few long sleeves, a few short sleeves, a few fleece-lined ones, and a few half-high collar ones — altogether she bought nearly a dozen pieces.
After showing him, so he’d know which ones were his, she carried them to the laundry room, and washed them together with the clothes she had taken off upstairs.
When pouring the laundry detergent, this person also followed behind, pushing the wheelchair.
Actually, not only when doing laundry would he follow — even going to the kitchen or the balcony, he would too.
Don’t know if it’s because he’s worried or what.
Is it possible that even just going to the kitchen or balcony, or doing laundry, something could happen to me?
But honestly, sometimes she really was careless, not very meticulous when working. So every time, even though Song Qing wouldn’t say anything on the surface, he would follow behind her when she did chores, then clean up the mess for her.
For example, after she finished cooking, she’d directly put the boiling hot pot into the vegetable-washing basin, pour water over it and soak — a thick cloud of smoke would instantly rise up, spreading everywhere. Song Qing, behind her, would turn on the range hood, and conveniently open the door leading to the laundry room and the window for ventilation.
Sometimes, the scissors she used — if she felt they weren’t dirty — she’d just hang them back on the rack. Song Qing would also, afterwards, when she wasn’t looking, take them down and rinse them, wiping them clean while he was at it.
Although done behind her back, Nan Zhi had the habit of observing Song Qing, so she still found out.
When there were drops of water on the table, Nan Zhi felt she’d let them dry on their own — it was fine — but he would still wipe them off with a cloth.
Every time he cooked, the stovetop was clean and tidy. When Nan Zhi finished cooking, the pots and pans looked like a disaster.
Song Qing disliked how badly she did things, so usually didn’t let her touch these tasks. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner — he took all of it on.
Nan Zhi could only do laundry — this didn’t need too much attention — but ever since the time she didn’t check inside the drum and threw the clothes in directly and almost spun the sleeping kitten inside, now Song Qing watched her even more closely.
Nan Zhi also had another bad habit — she didn’t like checking the pockets before washing clothes. Because she herself didn’t often stuff things in them — she had a bag, after all — but occasionally she’d get hit by it, like finding tissue in the pockets.
After seeing Song Qing once sitting beside the living room trash can, picking off tissue bits one by one from the surface, she finally changed.
Now she checks the drum, and also checks the pockets of clothes — it could be considered no small improvement.
After Nan Zhi finished doing laundry and returned to the living room, following the usual routine, she tossed the throw pillow onto the sofa, propped up the tablet stand, and then went to get the blanket.
Blankets had to be folded up after sleeping, or else the kittens would burrow into them. If it were just for sleeping, it was fine, but if their poop wasn’t scooped in time, or if some need was overlooked, they’d throw a tantrum and poop on the blanket.
Just the day before yesterday, a duvet cover got ruined — she even touched a lump — and it drove her mad.
In that instant, she didn’t want to raise them anymore. While washing her hands in the bathroom, breaking down emotionally, when she came out, Song Qing had already cleaned up the poop, taken off the duvet cover, and placed it on the washboard in the laundry room to wash it clean. When she went over, he was wringing water out of it.
In the end, Nan Zhi washed it together with him. Her emotions were also affected by him — calmed down a lot. Then the two of them searched together for reasons why kittens poop on blankets. Later, they found out that maybe something had been neglected, or maybe because they were originally stray cats, they didn’t have the habit of using litter boxes.
The cats were still small — just around two months old. If they were older cats, their poop would smell more, so they’d have the habit of burying it. Kittens didn’t have that yet.
Maybe they hadn’t even been taught before being brought back.
After that, the small living room’s door was no longer allowed to be opened for them. If they pooped randomly, they’d be caught, pressed down at the poop spot and beaten, then locked on the balcony. Only after they changed would they be let out again.
Stray cats really weren’t easy to raise. They even had the habit of rummaging through trash cans. If one wasn’t paying attention, the kitchen trash would get overturned, and the living room would also be a mess. It took a lot, a lot of patience to correct them.
If it weren’t for Song Qing, Nan Zhi really couldn’t imagine, if she faced all this alone, just how badly her emotions would collapse. Not only would it not heal her — it might even make her depression worse.
So actually, what healed her wasn’t the kittens — it was Song Qing.
On both sides of the living room TV, there was a row of cabinets. Ever since she started liking to do things on the downstairs sofa, Nan Zhi had brought down two quilts from the upstairs wardrobe. One — because the weather was getting colder, without them it’d be too freezing. Second — as a spare for Song Qing, in case he didn’t have enough.
The quilts were thrown onto the sofa. When she was about to lie down and saw the lace-edged duvet cover, she suddenly remembered — she hadn’t prepared a bedding set for him.
He was someone who loved cleanliness so much, took a shower every day. To be honest, even Nan Zhi couldn’t do that — she could only try for once a day, sometimes if she was tired, then forget it.
But Song Qing, no matter how late or tired, would always shower before bed. If he showered and didn’t change the four-piece bedding set, it didn’t seem reasonable. So she went upstairs again and brought down two sets.
After she came back home, she spent most of her time lazing on the bed every day, so she had a lot of four-piece sets, and quite a few of them were new — part of the dowry her grandma had prepared for her.
Dowries are generally bedding items — quilts, bed sheets, duvet covers, and so on. Grandma treated her very well and was generous — the four-piece bedding sets were all several hundred to over a thousand each. But her taste wasn’t great: if not bright red, then garishly colorful.
Nan Zhi couldn’t bring herself to love those colors, so she bought small fresh-colored ones herself.
She herself had high standards for this, but Song Qing didn’t, so what she gave to Song Qing were all taken from her dowry.
The previous set was, too. Nan Zhi hugged the new four-piece set and came downstairs, entered Song Qing’s small living room, and when she put it on the bed, was momentarily dazzled by the bright red “dragon and phoenix bringing prosperity” pillowcases, duvet cover, and bedsheet. \[“Dragon and phoenix bringing prosperity (龙凤呈祥)” is a traditional Chinese symbol used in weddings, representing auspicious union and marital bliss.]
With this festive color — if you said she wasn’t marrying Song Qing, who’d believe it?
Anyway, even the gauze on his leg was mine from start to finish.
Nan Zhi thought overbearingly in her heart.
She returned to the living room, casually told Song Qing, and then crawled into the blanket, curling up comfortably to draw.
Song Qing also sat next to her. He no longer needed IV drips, had no complications at all — his body and condition were getting better and better, healthy and well, even his face was growing flesh, looking more and more radiant.
Looked very pleasing.
Nan Zhi draped the blanket over herself, afraid of cold, wrapped up tightly. Beside her, Song Qing wasn’t afraid — his fleece blanket only covered to his waist.
Maybe it was because she had settled down on this side and wouldn’t run back and forth anymore, so over there he also fixed the wheelchair in place, first put the blanket on the sofa, then pulled himself up, sat in the fixed little corner, picked the blanket back up and covered his knees with it again.
Then came the yarn ball — the shelf beside him was also pulled over, with a book placed on top to read.
The two each did their own thing.
Nan Zhi had more and more commissions lately — vaguely a trend of not being able to finish them. She had also hung up the previous works on Xianyu and shop windows specialized in buying and selling art. \[Xianyu (咸鱼) is China’s version of a secondhand goods platform, like Craigslist or Facebook Marketplace, often used to sell miscellaneous personal items.]
With her skill level and reasonable pricing, basically she could sell three to five pieces a day — and that was with her being busy with work and occasionally missing replies.
These past two days she even mustered the courage to read the comments — sure enough, lots of people were criticizing her. Saying things like: playing the rich lady persona, and now selling paintings and taking commissions everywhere — went bankrupt?
Some even said she was money-crazed — that it was disgraceful for a big-name artist to be selling paintings like this.
As her new works came out, old gossip about her copying her own early works also resurfaced, and then the comment section was in chaos.
Nan Zhi was unexpectedly calm in her heart. Maybe it was because, when she was reading it, Song Qing beside her was also like now — quietly doing things and reading, the rustling sound of turning pages made her calm down too, and she could even find joy in bitterness, thinking:
Yo, turns out in the eyes of haters I’m already a big-name artist, not bad.
They even thought I used to be a rich lady.
Her mindset changed — looking at those didn’t matter anymore. But Weibo still had too many people, too noisy — she didn’t like it, shut it off and never looked at it again. Xiaohongshu’s \[“Little Red Book,” a Chinese lifestyle social platform] hundred to two hundred thousand followers were just right — not too many, not too few. Orders came flooding in — no need to use other apps anymore.
Maybe for other artists, the more popular the better. But she really was just a salted fish \[咸鱼 – slang for someone who wants to lie flat and not strive for fame or success]. Making money was also just to buy a prosthetic for Song Qing — so this was good enough.
Speaking of which, prosthetics were really expensive. She checked — the better ones cost a hundred thousand or even two hundred thousand.
She needed to work hard for a while.
While drawing commissions, Nan Zhi also didn’t forget to slack off a bit — started sketching a new piece. She didn’t know if it was because those socks had triggered some memories, or because her heart still couldn’t let go — but for some reason, her mind was filled with images of the Song Qing from before, lingering and refusing to leave.
He, who was even a few years younger than others, in the photo — when surrounded by people — wasn’t shorter than others, vaguely even a bit taller. The youth’s height and posture were both quite outstanding.
Although part of it was blocked, one could still faintly see the outline of the legs that couldn’t be hidden even under the loose pants — long and straight. After the shoes and socks were taken off, the thin, pale-white feet were held down, constantly struggling and pulling. The part that had always been wrapped tightly was now exposed, and someone even teased him, saying he must be feeling a bit uncomfortable — so the toes would sometimes curl and sometimes stretch.
Nan Zhi’s hand drew faster and faster. Not long after, a picture took shape — it was Song Qing.
The current Song Qing, but what was different was…
She had drawn a pair of legs for Song Qing. And also a pair of feet.
Nan Zhi: “….”
Even she couldn’t help covering her face, complaining at herself: You really have way too much free time.