The mushroom slippery chicken rice was done.
Song Qing had just opened the lid of the clay pot, hadn’t even called out to Nan Zhi in the living room to come recover her energy, when she came over on her own initiative to help him out.
When she was still able to move around, she wouldn’t just sit and watch him work—she had to come help, to let him relax a bit. Sometimes when it was simple, she’d even drive him away and take over herself.
The mushroom slippery chicken rice was already done. Next was to pour a bit of soy sauce over it to let it soak in, then stir the rice a bit and it’d be ready.
This part Nan Zhi could handle, so he let her wait at the dining table in the living room. She mixed it herself and brought over the bowls and chopsticks.
Carrying stuff like this was actually not very convenient for him, since his hands still had to push the wheelchair. He either had to switch between carrying things or put them on his legs, and when it came to food, putting it on his legs always felt inappropriate, so for now he just sat quietly.
In the end, Nan Zhi brought the whole clay pot over, along with a bottle of salted egg yolk sauce. Nan Zhi said this was super delicious, mixing it into rice gave it a sandy texture, it was a major delicacy.
She scooped a spoonful for herself, and gave him a big spoonful too. Thinking that the two of them were eating good food, and not giving any to the cats was really not kind, Nan Zhi went and opened canned food for the two cats, then gave them some rinsed chicken meat chunks. Once everything was ready, they started eating, eating to their hearts’ content.
Nan Zhi didn’t let him wash the dishes either. She cleaned up herself, saying that since he already worked hard to cook, making him wash dishes too was unfair to him.
There’s no such thing as fairness or unfairness—he was totally willing. Being able to do more work here was like building his own home; he felt joy in it.
Since Nan Zhi snatched that task, he went to do other ones—wiped down the table, tied up the trash bag and placed it at the entrance. Otherwise, the two cats would dig through the trash bin.
Once everything that needed doing was done, the two of them, as usual, either stood or sat in the living room, enjoying this rare moment of meeting in the daytime, basking in and being wrapped by the sunlight in the afternoon.
In the evening, Song Qing cooked. Besides the food for the two of them, he also made an extra roasted meat mixed rice to bring to her at the hospital.
She had to work until 1 a.m., and she’d definitely get hungry in between. As for fruit, he also steamed two apples, and then made her a cup of roasted milk tea that she liked to drink.
She actually liked drinking milk tea, but milk tea wasn’t healthy, so she bought tools online and planned to follow along with those kinds of livestreamers to make roasted milk for herself.
She couldn’t figure it out, so Song Qing roasted it for her and packed it in a thermal cup.
The thermal cup locked in heat—it wouldn’t go cold even by the time she got off work, so no need to worry. The lunchbox could be reheated, because with her job, sometimes she couldn’t eat on time. Nan Zhi also liked to drag out her meals, like eating a bit and then doing something else, eating some more and then doing something else again.
Sometimes she got tired of eating and had to take a break. By the time she finished, the food would already be cold. She herself knew this problem, so she bought one that could be reheated.
Too lazy to mess with it? That’s okay too. Their hospital had a microwave. Song Qing rolled up some disposable cling film for her—just cover it and heat it up.
Fruits could be done that way too, much better than eating cold ones.
According to his usual habits, and Nan Zhi’s daily routine, Song Qing would ordinarily slip fruit and tea into Nan Zhi’s pockets, so she could easily take it out to eat or drink anytime. This time, he hesitated for a moment and didn’t do that—instead, he put everything directly into the bag she usually carried.
Upstairs, Nan Zhi had just changed into her outerwear. As she came out of the room, it just so happened—she saw his movement.
She pretended not to notice, went tap-tap-tap to the entryway to say goodbye to the members of the house.
The moment she spread out her hand, she saw Song Qing, who was by the shoe cabinet, slightly move his hand that rested on the armrest—it looked like he was about to lift it up, but when he saw her go around him and head to the living room instead, the hand dropped back down and tightly gripped the wheelchair’s armrest.
Nan Zhi walked slowly, and clearly saw every bit of his movement.
As she passed by him, in that moment when he couldn’t see her, her lips finally couldn’t help curving into a big smile. She even had to forcefully hold back a laugh and go hug the cats on the sofa.
Ever since the two cats were manhandled yesterday, they no longer ran to the door to see her off. Nan Zhi had to spend time going to the living room specifically to say goodbye to the two of them.
The white cat was well-behaved today. Seeing her approach, it jumped onto the table beside the sofa and completed the farewell ceremony.
The black cat had run off to the nook under the sofa. She squatted down and stretched her hand out with difficulty, holding the little paw the kitten raised, and told it that she was going out hunting and would bring back something tasty for it.
After nagging on and on, she felt quite a bit of time had passed, and only got up when she was almost going to be late for work. She patted off the dust stuck to her clothes, and hugged Song Qing who had been following behind her the whole time.
“I’m going to work now.”
Just one hug, then she pulled away and left, went to the coat-hanging area at the entryway, shouldered the bag that she had stuffed full with many heavy things, opened the door, and stepped outside.
It was an outward-opening door. When closing it, one had to face the interior of the house, so it was very easy for her to see through the half-closed gap that Song Qing’s expression didn’t look too good—there was vaguely a trace of grievance toward her.
Nan Zhi shut the door, leaned back against it, afraid that Song Qing would hear, suppressed her voice and let her expression go free, laughing heartily.
She could understand Song Qing. After last time, when time wasn’t enough, he had learned the lesson and didn’t waste time on the road this time. So he deliberately stuffed everything she needed to eat and drink directly into her bag.
It had taken a lot of effort to carve out a bit of free time, just so that she wouldn’t end up not having time to hug him again. But in the end, she used up all that time on other things, and was only left with just a sliver—barely enough to give him a quick, light hug.
Just listening to that already made herself sound like such a jerk.
But even though she understood the reasoning, she just couldn’t help wanting to act naughty.
Totally couldn’t control herself.
Nan Zhi looked back at the front door of the house.
Didn’t expect he liked hugging this much, secretly made so many preparations.
Nan Zhi straightened her expression. In the end, afraid that she’d really be late for work, she tightened her backpack straps, stopped overthinking, and hurried off.
—
Inside the house, at the entryway, after seeing Nan Zhi off, Song Qing pushed his wheelchair into the kitchen to clean up the counter. He cleaned the faucet and the surrounding area that had gotten splashed with water. The spots where rice crumbs had fallen, he wiped till they were spotless. As he wiped, he couldn’t help thinking of just now.
In the end, resentment still outweighed rationality. He threw down the rag and angrily thought:
Hugging the cats for so long, even spent time reaching under the sofa to get them. Hugging him was so perfunctory.
Was it even a full second?
—
Late autumn turning to winter—time passed just like this: through sourness, friction, warmth. Ordinary, yet like winter’s frozen ground thawing, seeds buried deep in the mud sprouting, breaking through obstacles, producing a bit of green and a crossing of hope. In the blink of an eye, more than a month had passed.
Cold Clothing Festival—Nan Zhi remembered very clearly. Today was Song Qing’s birthday. She had bought a cake and gift early on, had even applied for leave in advance—worked one more night shift and got off work late just to get the approval.
Today was very precious.
Not just because it was hard to get leave approved, but because Song Qing was turning eighteen.
Eighteen years old—it really is a good age.