Song Qing never told her that, sometimes at night, he would be startled by her.
Especially in the middle of the night, in the half-dream, half-awake state, hearing faint, slow footsteps.
The small living room was basically sealed with glass, behind the sofa bed was also glass. He got up, looked through the gap in the curtain, and could see a figure with disheveled hair and dressed in all white standing in the living room, sometimes standing still, sometimes walking, and sometimes simply staying frozen in place.
With her back to him, very much like a female ghost in TV dramas, as if at any time she’d twist her head around and reveal a ferocious face.
Fortunately, after getting along for some time, he still quite understood Nan Zhi. Just from a glance at that pajama style and the somewhat frizzy hair, he knew it was her.
At first, he thought she was sleepwalking. Going out to check, he found out it was simply because she was too hungry to fall asleep.
Standing still was because she had forgotten what she came down to do.
Before coming down, her intention was to eat something first then drink something, but after coming down she couldn’t recall what she had originally decided to eat, and even felt as if she forgot something else.
So she stood there hesitating, trying hard to recall.
Afraid of waking him, she didn’t turn on the light, only a little bit of light from upstairs spilled down, alone standing in the living room—someone timid would really be scared.
But thinking carefully, her coming downstairs alone in the middle of the night must have taken a lot of courage too.
And she still didn’t turn on the light, worrying about disturbing him.
While Song Qing was thinking, he scooped two fried eggs into a bowl. Just then, he saw Nan Zhi wrapped in a blanket, tightly covered, going to fetch chopsticks. When she returned, she was holding two pairs, intending to give him one pair.
Song Qing actually wasn’t hungry, but Nan Zhi had always had this mindset of “sharing fortune and hardship together.” If there’s food, it must be shared together.
If he didn’t take them, she would place the chopsticks on the edge of the bowl, then only eat one, leaving one for him, as a form of protest that he didn’t make food for her.
Song Qing thought it over for a moment, and in the end still compromised, fried two more eggs. Nan Zhi saw this, chewing on the soft-centered egg, first stunned for a moment, then quickly leaned over and said: “Fry one more, three eggs, we each split one and a half.”
She chattered on beside him: “Two eggs feels a bit not enough to eat, but three seems too much. Two and a half is just right.”
Song Qing didn’t refute, fried one more egg. Three eggs, two came out first, one a bit slower. After placing it on the counter, Nan Zhi told him to cut it open with the spatula.
He followed her instructions. The spatula got stuck a few times, splitting a fried egg apart, with some runny yolk flowing onto the other eggs. Nan Zhi treated it like dipping sauce, spreading it over the egg white and eating it.
Her other hand still held out a pair of chopsticks to him.
Song Qing turned off the stove, slightly adjusted the direction of his wheelchair, moved to her side, as if joining her, took the chopsticks, and shared a few fried eggs with her.
The person next to him seemed to not expect he would respond this time, was slightly stunned, then soon stomped her feet and exhaled white breath with a smiling face: “So good, so good.”
Song Qing also picked up a piece to try.
The eggs had no seasoning added at all. Just frying them like that, the flavor was already rich and fragrant. Altogether five, very quickly eaten up by the two of them.
The bowls and chopsticks were placed into the dishwasher, to be cleaned tomorrow, because there weren’t enough used utensils today—it wasn’t worth washing them right away.
Nan Zhi, after being full, also took two bags of milk from the fridge and heated them in the microwave. After heating, she bit onto one bag herself, gave the other to him.
After drinking and eating, stomachs full, they returned to the living room, curled up in the sofa and blankets, letting out satisfied sighs.
Song Qing was still in the kitchen. After wiping down the counter, he went to the laundry room, took out the dozen or so freshly washed clothes and hung them up.
A dozen or so pieces—some were newly changed ones from Nan Zhi, the rest all his.
Nan Zhi bought them for him.
He tilted his head, looking at the clothes rack hanging high from the ceiling, and the clothes hanging on it—at least a dozen of them were also his.
There were inner layers of varying lengths, and outerwear ranging from thin to thick, including even underwear from top to bottom.
He still had some in his room. After drying, they were hung on the clothes rack. Nan Zhi said she had earned money, so she bought him summer clothes, spring and autumn ones, and winter ones, pajamas, coats, and cotton-padded jackets too.
There were still many that hadn’t arrived yet.
Looking at those variously colored, all-new clothes, Song Qing felt a bit emotional.
In the past, he didn’t even have proper clothes to wear, had to wear school uniforms all year round. When tutoring or doing part-time jobs, that set of clothes made people feel he looked too young and unreliable—some simply rejected him outright.
He never thought that clothes could even be divided into pajamas, daily wear, and home clothes.
Nan Zhi said home clothes were for wearing at home, pajamas were for wearing in bed, and daily wear was for going out.
And she bought all of them for him.
In a moment of trance, Song Qing felt like someone still at the stage of “being able to eat enough is good enough,” who suddenly had so many things that to him were once luxuries.
He couldn’t clearly explain what he was feeling. He just put each piece on hangers and hung them up, thinking as he went.
Wearing old clothes for too long, he did actually have a bit of an obsession with new clothes.
But he just thought—wait until after repaying uncle and aunt’s money, then he’d buy some for himself. Later, it became: wait until after repaying uncle, aunt, and the medical expenses, then buy.
He hadn’t gotten around to saving up, and already someone had bought them for him.
That person even drew him a pair of legs and feet, and then bought all kinds of socks and shoes—satisfying his regret of never having had time to wear new shoes and socks before he no longer had legs or feet.
After Song Qing finished hanging the clothes, he still didn’t go back to the living room. After closing the kitchen door, he took out the kettle and filled it with water, heading to the balcony.
Just as he opened the door, two cats darted over.
They had made trouble again today, so Nan Zhi locked them out on the balcony.
Nan Zhi’s idea was to give them a bit of a lesson, otherwise they wouldn’t know they were wrong.
But she herself couldn’t bear it—mostly she was just scaring them a little, then made a show of locking them up for a day. Tomorrow she’d probably let them out.
Song Qing didn’t let them out either. He just took the kettle and passed through the balcony to go water the flowers and plants on the balcony near the study.
He tried to move as quickly as possible, to avoid Nan Zhi discovering and thinking he was doing chores again, then intercepting him.
Nan Zhi didn’t like him doing chores too often. In her view, doing just enough was enough—no need to be that diligent. If he stayed in a place out of her sight for too long, she would come out, grab him and the wheelchair, and drag him back.
Song Qing turned the wheelchair a bit faster, still holding on to a sliver of hope, thinking that since the living room curtains were drawn, Nan Zhi probably wouldn’t see him.
Just then, the glass door and curtains of the living room were suddenly opened together. Nan Zhi rushed out from inside, afraid the cats would escape, and quickly shut the door again.
Caught off guard, Song Qing was blocked by her halfway, and the kettle on his lap almost fell from the fright.
Fortunately, Nan Zhi saw the kettle and didn’t stop him. The “let me see what you’re up to again” expression on her face faded, and she quietly followed behind him, watching him water the flowers.
Because of the noise from her suddenly opening the door, one of the cats came out from the laundry room, and the other stretched lazily from the cat nest, then affectionately rubbed against her.
After a few days of being together, the cats had grown a bit close to her too.
Nan Zhi, after hugging the cat and roughly rubbing it a few times, continued following behind him, watching him water the flowers.
From time to time, she stomped her feet, exhaled white breath—cold.
She tried to stick her hands into the cat’s fur to warm up. Cats are warmth-loving creatures—after being chilled by her, it struggled desperately and escaped from her arms.
Nan Zhi had no choice but to rub her hands together herself.
She wasn’t wrapped in a blanket, only wore a set of soft pajamas with fuzzy lining. Not too thin, but also not really thick.
Song Qing thought for a moment, lifted his hoodie up a bit, exposing the back of his neck. “Put your hands here to warm them.”
Earlier tonight, she had touched his forehead and neck, wasn’t repulsed, so he dared to boldly say this now.
Nan Zhi blinked and didn’t react for a long time.
What did he just say?
Stick her hands into the back of his neck to warm them?
He was slightly lowering his head now, revealing that spot that was particularly clean, pale, like smooth jade—the intention very clear.
Nan Zhi took quite a while to process it, then, under the gradually uncertain look in his eyes, reached out and placed her hand on the back of his neck.
Her hands were too cold—just got chilled by the cat—so they were cold to him, too.
Nan Zhi heard him hiss a little “ts—”, but the cat had already run off—he didn’t.
He only instinctively jerked forward a little, then came back, actively letting her palm press against every inch of his skin, transferring warmth to her hands.
Because of this action, Nan Zhi got much bolder too, began warming both the front and back of her hands alternately.
When one spot couldn’t get warm, she’d move her hand and change to another spot.
Everywhere she touched was smooth and soft, no bumps or roughness. From her angle, through the gap propped open by both hands in his hoodie, she could see his beautiful butterfly bones, and when he lowered his head, the slightly visible neck bones, and the pale, clean hollow of the nape.
As a painter, she was always particularly obsessed with beautiful things. In pursuit of beauty, Nan Zhi had once searched through countless real human images, striving to uncover what beauty was.
At the time, she thought she had basically seen all the world’s scenery and wonders—but now, she still felt it couldn’t compare to that sliver of spring scene revealed between his hoodie.
Song Qing was still watering the flowers, only now not as focused as he had been at the start, because the hands behind him were moving along the outlines of his bones.
He didn’t know why, just hung his head and let that hand stroke along his spine and scapula.
He felt like something was off—but if asked what exactly was off, he couldn’t say.
Thinking carefully, she was just a girl—what bad intentions could she have? So, no need to mind it.
Song Qing continued watering the flowers.
This side of the balcony was full of flowers—basically all raised by her. But she raised them for removing formaldehyde \[a common Chinese practice post-renovation]. After the formaldehyde was cleared, they mostly wilted and drooped. She didn’t want them to actually die, so she put them on the balcony to recover.
Her state was sometimes very strange—normally seemed cheerful and loved to smile, but would often get randomly depressed by a very, very small thing, sometimes even cry. Song Qing had looked it up and felt she might have depression. She couldn’t even take care of herself, let alone raise flowers.
The flowers were the same as her—neither in great shape. So he took extra care of them, and lately there had already been signs of revival. There were fewer withered leaves, and some in-season flower stems had even formed buds.
After Song Qing finished watering everything in one round, he checked under the leaves just in case—no black spots, no insect eggs—then pushed his wheelchair to the very edge, to the newly placed pot of flowers.
This pot of flowers was the one Nan Zhi brought back from the hospital—the same one that had been on the windowsill of his hospital bed.
It was also the one he took care of the most diligently, the one he paid the most attention to.
It was getting greener and greener, with lush leaves and even growing new roots. Only, he had cut them off, because he felt that as long as the main stem grew well, the side branches would only steal nutrients.
Without the side branches, the main stem would grow better and better.
Song Qing saw that another small side branch had grown at the bottom. He took a pair of scissors and cut it off, also inspecting the undersides of each leaf one by one.
While he was busy, Nan Zhi was watching. Watching and watching, she couldn’t help but walk around to the front of him, ruffling his hair a little, then straightening his messy collar.