Nan Zhi actually didn’t leave, still behind the curtain upstairs, stealthily observing Song Qing downstairs.
He opened his water cup, habitually wanted to blow on the water, after realizing something, then didn’t.
Nan Zhi knew the reason, because now she would drink his water, during the day his teacup has brown sugar ginger tea.
Actually now too, because when being with her he didn’t finish drinking, still had some left, that cup is double-layered, the insulation effect is quite good, watching from when he opened it until now still continuously steaming, should still be scalding hot.
He held the cup, shook it a few times, paused for a while before directly drinking.
If looked at carefully, it didn’t touch the cup.
Ever since she drank water from his cup, he always does this.
Of course, when in front of her, she would ask if he disliked her, to prove he didn’t, he wouldn’t do that, but behind her back it’s still the same.
If it were before, if someone familiar did this, she would definitely think it was dislike, then secretly be sad for a long time alone, thinking he disliked her, she also disliked him.
After knowing him for a long time and understanding his temperament, plus having experience before, and carefully observing for a long time, only then confirmed, it wasn’t like that.
Still that same reason, the food she couldn’t finish, the milk tea she couldn’t drink up, the things she couldn’t use up, he could all calmly handle.
The things she left, after he took them and ate/drank them, if she wanted to take them again, this person would quickly finish it in two bites or sips, not wanting her to touch what he had touched.
Especially things that had mouth contact.
Blowing on boiling hot water and such, actually wouldn’t touch the cup, couldn’t get dirty, if he really disliked her, would still keep this habit.
Him changing the habit of not blowing, was afraid he would dirty the water.
To be honest, if it were a person with a dark heart, probably would wish to blow their own saliva in, anyway not minding themselves, letting others drink it, perverts would even feel satisfied.
Song Qing was exactly the opposite, same in front of people and behind people, secretly even more mindful of this.
If unopened, only then would he give it to her without hesitation, anything at all, money and important documents he also proactively gave to her, let alone other things.
Rather than saying he disliked her, might as well say he was afraid of being disliked by her.
Many small details, like his own clothes were always hand-washed, not put into the washing machine, only new and clean ones went in.
At first Nan Zhi didn’t know, only found out when she went into the laundry room to collect clothes, all his old clothes were still dripping water.
Machine-washed ones are wrung very dry.
When she’s there, or not there, clothes are always washed hers first, then his. Her clothes are properly placed into the laundry basket, his wherever there’s space he just puts it there.
Best, sunniest place hangs her clothes, his put in a small corner, trying not to take up space.
Her few pieces can take up a whole large area, his even if many still just a small corner.
The places he often stays like the corner of the sofa, would quietly occupy space, after frequently cleaning and tidying then only stop competing.
Nan Zhi’s towel if she doesn’t want anymore he can pick it back, but if Nan Zhi wants to use it again, he tells her to wait a bit, then hurries over, pushes her outside, himself busy inside for a long while then tells her it’s okay now.
When she goes back in, the towel although wrung very dry, still has dampness, originally already very clean, afterwards even seemed to fade, somewhat turned white.
In his heart seems to feel like he’s after her, or rather, he thinks himself dirty.
Clearly a clean and handsome boy, don’t know why he would have this kind of thought.
Nan Zhi was still pondering how to resolve this problem, when she saw the person downstairs gulp down two mouthfuls, then close the thermos cup, stood in place for a while before leaving, returned to the small living room and closed the door.
Nan Zhi also put down the curtain, withdrew and left, after collapsing onto the bed, she thought—
Tomorrow it’s time to wash hair.
—
Downstairs in the small living room, Song Qing still wasn’t asleep, wearing that soft and fluffy panda pajama set, sitting in front of the computer desk typing on the keyboard, same as usual, only after midnight around two or three, after applying hand cream, brushing teeth, and washing face, would he sleep.
Lying on the bed, didn’t know if it was his illusion, he smelled a scent that didn’t belong to him, and this scent he was also very familiar with—it was Nan Zhi’s scent.
In a daze he then remembered, during the day Nan Zhi had a hypoglycemia episode, collapsed onto his bed.
He had a habit after getting up, would tidy the bed, placing the quilt into the deepest part.
Hypoglycemia he had searched before—would get dizzy and lightheaded, so when lying down, the head needs to be higher than the body, can’t let blood gather at the top of the head, otherwise it only gets worse. With nowhere to prop her head, Nan Zhi could only use his pillow.
Although the episode this time came on slowly, the duration was long, and she laid there for quite a while, the scent on her body remained, got onto the pillow and the quilt, that’s why he could smell it.
Song Qing’s movement paused. A moment later he got up, turned on the bedside lamp, and looked all over inside and out. This set of four-piece bedding he had only used for two days, and had even padded old clothes inside. The old clothes would be taken out at night and placed over the pillowcase.
They had just been stuffed in during the day, well protected, so it wasn’t dirty.
Song Qing felt reassured, was just about to sleep again, but unexpectedly found a strand of hair next to the pillow.
He picked it up and looked. Very long, very long, the hair tip carried a faint golden hue, not his—it was Nan Zhi’s.
Song Qing looked at this long hair, and recalled Nan Zhi’s fluffy black hair with natural waves.
He had never told Nan Zhi, though her hair was a bit dry, it looked very nice, like how others would intentionally perm it.
Hers was natural. Since ancient times, what’s natural has always been the best.
Song Qing hesitated for a moment, then wrapped that strand of long hair around his fingertip, coiled it again and again, after fully gathering it, cut a piece of yarn, tied a bow on the bundle of black hair, after tidying it up, tucked it into a book in the nightstand, and after putting the book back to its place, only then lay back down to sleep.
The next morning, again woke around a bit past seven, but because Nan Zhi had a late shift today, he continued sleeping, as usual got up around ten.
When tidying the quilt, he hesitated for a moment. Yesterday, it was because he had folded the quilt that Nan Zhi had no place to support her head, could only lie at the edge of the bed in a slanted position, legs crossed, the posture looked very uncomfortable.
Also, the place he had slept in…
Song Qing paused in place for a second or two, but still folded the quilt—except he didn’t put it into the depths of the bed, instead placed it in the middle. This way, if Nan Zhi wanted to lie flat next time, she could lie flat, if she wanted to keep using his pillow, she could too. He had changed the four-piece bedding set and even carefully tidied it up.
After Song Qing finished, he went to prepare the food, then returned to the small living room to continue researching computer science.
—
Nan Zhi got up a little earlier today than the previous day, woke at twelve o’clock. This time she didn’t clamor about wanting to cook, afraid that it would be like yesterday, not enough energy to start up, and she’d collapse straight away.
She didn’t really want to eat the small bread either, she wanted to eat the shiitake mushroom silky chicken rice Song Qing made.
She had told Song Qing yesterday, so when she went down today, she saw Song Qing heading toward the kitchen.
Nan Zhi followed in to take a look—it was indeed the mushroom chicken rice, so she contentedly entered the bathroom, planning to wash her hair.
Usually she would wash it upstairs. There’s a hairdryer upstairs. Later, after Song Qing came, she also bought one downstairs. The two of them always used their own respectively. Downstairs had been divided and given to him by her, but today she was going to break the rule—step into his territory.
Nan Zhi looked around his sink countertop—there was nothing. The towel she gave him had been washed by him, hanging in the laundry room. Here, there was only a toothbrush that had frayed bristles yet he still couldn’t bear to throw away, and a cracked plastic cup, and his original, somewhat old towel.
Although the appearance was a bit miserable, whether it was the toothbrush, the cup, or the towel, all were washed clean and spotless by him, not a speck of filth could be found.
Placement was also tidy—this person was very fond of cleanliness.
Nan Zhi considered herself a fully functioning person, but she wasn’t even as diligent as him, couldn’t do it like him.
After patrolling the sink countertop, Nan Zhi found that piece of black bamboo charcoal soap placed inside the soap dish.
She grabbed the soap and ran toward the kitchen—she hadn’t arrived yet, but her voice came first: “I’m going to use your soap to wash my hair, okay?”
Song Qing was cooking. Hearing that, he turned his head, giving the person who had just arrived at the door a strange look.
Nan Zhi’s hair was a bit dry. For this, she had tried many methods to fix it. Just during this period, Song Qing had seen her buy shampoo, conditioner, and also shampoo powder several times.
In other areas she would consider saving money, only for this—what she bought were all hundreds of yuan, how could she use a few yuan soap?
Would probably ruin her hair.
“This soap can be used to wash hair, take a bath, and wash hands all at once, right?”
Nan Zhi had heard about it a long time ago, quite curious about a soap that could be used for hair, body, laundry, and hands. After all, Song Qing used this piece of soap to wash his old clothes—they turned pale and clean, and his body also smelled nice, his hair black and shiny, only occasionally with a few strands of white hair.
She couldn’t help going online to search it up. She successfully found the exact same one. Looking at the reviews—it was quite good. All said that even after using shampoo worth hundreds, it was not as good as this.
So she planned to try it too.
Song Qing nodded.
“Then I’ll use it?” Nan Zhi asked him once more.
Song Qing thought for a bit, then said: “You wash it once first, then use it—I used it to wash my hands.”
Actually, it was too cheap. He felt it would ruin her hair, didn’t really want to let her use it, but he had already refused her many times in other things. Each time he would feel like he was a white-eyed wolf. \[Note: “白眼狼” (bái yǎn láng) is a metaphor for someone ungrateful or cold-hearted.]
Like Nan Zhi had generously given him something, but once it was in his hands, he didn’t want to give it back to her—his things, he didn’t want her to use either.
If it wasn’t for Nan Zhi having a big heart, if it were someone else, they would definitely misunderstand.
Even with someone like Nan Zhi who was open-hearted, he could still feel that—she minded a little. So he didn’t want to refuse anymore. Whatever she wanted to use, let her use.
As long as she didn’t put a knife to his neck, Nan Zhi could do anything—none of it would be wrong.
She hadn’t blamed him once even after he rejected her so many times. She still believed in him, tolerated him, got close to him—how could she be wrong?
Impossible.
After Nan Zhi nodded, she left with the soap. First time using soap to wash her hair, she felt a bit curious, a bit intrigued, dawdled for a long time before coming out.
After washing and blow-drying her hair, she touched it. It seemed to be a little smoother—but not sure if it was because she used conditioner last night.
Nan Zhi, with her still somewhat frizzy hair, sat on the sofa waiting for Song Qing to finish cooking. Having moved around on an empty stomach for so long, her head felt a bit dizzy. Just sitting there couldn’t get rid of that bothersome feeling—so Nan Zhi lay down.
After a while, she propped herself up again, went to the edge of the sofa, and pa—collapsed right there.
One hand rested on the table next to the sofa, the spot closest to the small bread.
Ever since she started resting and working night shifts, getting up late during the day and not eating, hypoglycemia kept acting up. So Song Qing had found a few boxes—one placed by the edge of the sofa, one on the dining table, and one in his room—for emergency use.
Nan Zhi had her hand inside the box, pinching a small bread, didn’t really want to eat it. This kind of snack is easy to get tired of—she still preferred eating rice.
Waiting for Song Qing’s mushroom silky chicken rice.
Thinking for a bit, she pulled over the blanket he often used, the one neatly folded and placed in the corner, and wrapped it around her neck.
The weather was thickly clothed, not easy to move around in. So when washing her hair, she had taken off a layer of outerwear—now the clothes on her were thin, a bit cold, needed warmth.
—
Although Song Qing was in the kitchen, he was constantly paying attention to her movements. When she had a hypoglycemia episode again and collapsed, he saw it clearly. Because there were small breads nearby, he didn’t go over—just sped up the movements in his hands to finish cooking as soon as possible.
The kitchen door was transparent. He had to turn back from time to time to check her condition.
Nan Zhi was lazily lying down, covered with a blanket, one leg hanging outside, her shoe had fallen off but she didn’t care. Mouth weakly, in a spoiled tone, urged, “Is the rice done yet? I’m so hungry.”
Song Qing glanced at the counter—the mushroom chicken rice still needed a while. But he had already guessed early on that Nan Zhi wouldn’t be able to hold on long, so he boiled some shrimp for her. Now, he was peeling shrimp shells.
Song Qing moved even faster, after peeling all the shrimp, only then carried the plate and dipping sauce over to Nan Zhi.
On the way, some thoughts were inevitable.
She didn’t lie on his bed today.
Maybe it was because there were more places to choose from.
Yesterday, only the side of his bed had small bread. Today, the sofa, beside the dining room, everywhere had some, so there was no need to go into the small living room anymore.
Song Qing placed the things on the table, originally planning to go back to the kitchen to handle the iced water on the counter—but didn’t make it in time. He was already pulled by Nan Zhi. After eating two bites, she handed the chopsticks to him, “Your turn.”
One hand still held onto his wheelchair, as if if he didn’t eat, she wouldn’t let him off.
Song Qing couldn’t resist her. After eating one bite, it still wasn’t enough—had to eat two bites, only then would she smilingly take back the chopsticks, ate two more shrimp, then once again passed the chopsticks back to him, letting him pick up more. That one plate of shrimp, the two of them nearly split it half and half—only then did Nan Zhi let go of the wheelchair and let him leave.
After Song Qing entered the kitchen, while tidying up the counter, he was thinking.
He had grown up this much, and never seen someone like Nan Zhi before—what she eats or drinks, she must share it with him.
If it was something he made—like today’s shrimp—because it was both cooked and peeled by him, he had to eat more than Nan Zhi, only then would Nan Zhi feel it was fair.
Actually, all the ingredients were bought by her. Everything he had right now was also all given by her. There was fundamentally no such thing as fairness or not, but Nan Zhi still had such a strange notion.