Nan Zhi walked over, leaned closer, and hugged him. He responded by lifting his hand — his palms and backs of his hands were uninjured.
Was it… somewhere else on his body?
Was it bumped, or how did it get injured? How could there be so much blood?
Nan Zhi leaned her body, got closer to him, and gave him a gentle hug, but her attention was all focused on his knees and neck area.
All the exposed areas had been checked — no injuries. So it had to be under the clothes.
She couldn’t see, but she did notice the two cats snuggling on his legs, shoulders, and crawling all over his chest. They even stood behind his back. That much blood couldn’t be painless, so it probably wasn’t on the upper body.
Then where exactly was it?
Nan Zhi sat with him at the dining table. She had no appetite to eat — her whole focus was on him.
She picked at the food, several times wanting to say something but stopping. She didn’t even know what she was hesitating over — in the end, she never asked.
On the other side, Song Qing also had something he wanted to tell her. He waited for a long time for the right moment. When only scraps were left on the table, he finally spoke: “I saw what you posted on your alt account.”
“When it’s time to practice, do it on me. I’m already prepared.”
Nan Zhi was slightly stunned. Her first instinct was to recall what she had posted on that alt account. The only thing related to practice was a patient who needed a urinary catheter.
Nan Zhi paused. For a moment, it was like she had found the source of the injury — and then like she hadn’t.
She stood there in a daze for a while, then collected the bowls and chopsticks into the dishwasher, wiped the table, and after finishing everything she could do, picked up the medicine box and asked Song Qing to follow.
Song Qing obediently followed her into the small living room. As soon as she placed the medicine box on the table, he, just like last time, knowingly climbed up onto the bed.
He was definitely injured — he wasn’t as agile as last time. He cautiously avoided the vulnerable spots and lay on the bed, face up.
Last time, he used a blanket to cover his chest. This time, just as Nan Zhi was about to unfold the blanket, he lifted his shirt on his own, exposing his abdomen. He also tugged his pants down a bit, but not all the way — still left some covered.
Nan Zhi was medical staff. In medicine, there are no men or women — but he was still the opposite sex, and she couldn’t fully let go.
Even though he hadn’t pulled everything off completely, it was enough for Nan Zhi to make a judgment — she had found the source of the blood.
So that’s where it was.
Compared to the location of the injury, what shocked Nan Zhi more was his behavior.
Her two accounts had the same profile picture, nearly identical usernames — even she would mistake them at a glance, or wouldn’t bother paying attention to those details. So she never really hid anything from him, used both accounts interchangeably, and didn’t expect that he even noticed that.
He even looked at the things she posted.
When she was venting and trying to comfort herself, he, on the other side, had made a decision within just a few minutes.
He wasn’t the passionate and impulsive type — quite the opposite. Like the meticulous officials of ancient times, he took such matters seriously. For him, this decision must have been somewhat embarrassing, but he still made it, and even accidentally hurt himself in the process.
Nan Zhi suddenly didn’t know what to say.
She just vaguely felt like — someone cared about her more than she had imagined.
More than her grandma, even more than her mom, dad, older sister, and younger brother.
One shouldn’t be too greedy. In this life, having even one person who truly cares and worries about you is enough.
Nan Zhi was content.
Her expression relaxed a bit. She dragged over the stool tucked in the corner, sat down by the bedside, and seriously looked at the person on the bed.
Maybe he was nervous, or maybe it was resistance to what would come next. Nan Zhi saw that his smooth abdomen was rising and falling slightly.
Compared to last time when she applied hand cream, the movement this time was much more obvious — you could clearly feel his tension.
Even like this, he didn’t say no.
His attitude toward “going to the battlefield” was firm.
Nan Zhi didn’t wear gloves. She simply reached out her hand and lightly, softly touched that overly fair and delicate belly.
She didn’t know if it was because her hand was cold, but that single touch was like a drop of water falling into a pond — it stirred up endless ripples, and the rise and fall of his stomach became even more fragmented and irregular. Even his breathing turned chaotic.
Nan Zhi could feel it — out of nowhere, it felt like he was a little bride from the old days being married off, about to lose her body on the wedding night.
And today’s bedsheets — quite fittingly — were bright red.
In winter, you need thicker blankets. The ones Grandma prepared for her were all for summer. Elderly people don’t have the concept of fleece-lined blankets, so all the winter quilts were ones she bought herself.
She had bought a black plaid one before, and also a red floral one. By coincidence, today he happened to be using the red floral one.
With the bed sheets and comforter as background, it made him look even more like a bullied little bride. His hands were still tightly clutching the hem of his clothes, eyes slightly averted, like he was too embarrassed to meet her gaze — glancing off to the side.
Nan Zhi really couldn’t hold it in — she let out a soft puff of laughter.
Although she quickly straightened her face, Song Qing still caught it. He was staring directly at her, breathing out layers of warm mist under the winter lights, blankly asking, “Why are you laughing?”
Nan Zhi didn’t admit it. “Didn’t laugh.”
Song Qing tugged on her sleeve, seriously correcting her: “You did laugh.”
“Nope.” Nan Zhi still refused to admit it. She even pulled over the nearby blanket and covered it over his head, not letting him see.
Song Qing didn’t pull the blanket away. At a time like this, not seeing was more acceptable for him than seeing.
Under the blanket, he took a deep breath, waited for Nan Zhi to apply treatment. For a long time, a very long time — the pain never arrived, only a few icy dabs here and there. Then it was as if she had located and confirmed the spot. The location was…
The place where he had cut himself.
A little lower down — she pulled it open, applied medicine, and then stuck something on it. It felt like some kind of bandage or wound patch.
Song Qing: “……”
The wound was treated, but the pain still didn’t come. Instead, what came was the sound of her putting away the medicine box.
“I’ve already decided to resign. I won’t use you for practice anymore.”
Nan Zhi glanced at the area she had just treated — now cleaned and showing its original pink-white skin — and added, “Don’t hurt yourself again either.”
After she finished speaking, she tugged the waistband of his pants and helped him pull them up before walking away.
The sound of her footsteps gradually faded. Only then did Song Qing pull down the blanket, release his grip on his shirt hem, and sit up, looking outside.
Nan Zhi was in the living room, tiptoeing to place the medicine box into the cabinet beside the TV.
“Tomorrow I won’t need to get up so early. I’m going to have a good rest — sleep until four or five in the afternoon.”
She said this subconsciously while thinking about how she usually had to get up early to worry about meals — but yes, she really did want a break.
After so many consecutive night shifts and overnight shifts bundled together, every day a non-stop grind with no break, her nerves stretched tight. For months she hadn’t relaxed — now, finally being able to sleep in, it felt like she could finally take a real breath.
Maybe the thought had been growing stronger and stronger, and after seeing how Song Qing had hurt himself just so she could practice on him — she’d reached her limit. Now she was absolutely resolute in her decision to resign, or rather, to escape completely.
That couple hundred in wages wasn’t worth sticking around and waiting for approval — a simple heads-up was enough.
Nan Zhi finished putting away the medicine box, said goodbye to Song Qing, went upstairs, washed up, closed the door, and set her phone to silent.
When working in a hospital, the phone had to stay on 24/7. You had to guarantee you’d pick up the hospital’s call at any moment. Even during holidays, you could only play nearby. You couldn’t go far, or if they couldn’t find you, it meant a deduction in pay.
Let whoever wants to do this black-hearted job go do it.
Nan Zhi flopped onto the bed — for once, she didn’t toss or turn, had no dreams, and slept all the way until past noon the next day.
She woke up feeling refreshed, because the sleep was so good.
The sky hadn’t fallen, the earth hadn’t cracked open — quitting hadn’t brought the kind of disaster she imagined. On the contrary, she felt lighter and freer.
Turns out this decision had been the right one — it was just that she’d been so deeply entrenched for so long, dragged down, unable to pull herself out. And with her personality — highly prone to internalizing everything — she kept overthinking, every day trapped in analysis. And now she’d finally escaped that sea of suffering.
She should have made this decision a long time ago.
Nan Zhi let out a long sigh of relief, opened her phone and checked her messages first.
Before she quit, she had informed both her head nurse and teacher. The teacher wasn’t surprised — said that with her qualifications, she didn’t need to stay in healthcare at all.
The head nurse asked if it was because of “that family.” Said they could reassign her. She refused — firmly insisted on quitting.
Because even if it wasn’t that family this time, there’d be another family next time. The current healthcare environment was just no good.
She and the others used to discuss this — that this profession can’t retain people. So many had already left. If they also left, there’d be even fewer medical workers. In the future, even getting a basic IV drip might require waiting in line forever.
This had been one of the reasons she kept going. But now, she realized — there was no need.
I’m human too. Made of flesh. I don’t need to give and give with nothing in return.
Throw away all that extra nonsense — it really does feel light and easy.
She felt so relaxed that for a moment she didn’t know what to do. She stared blankly for a while before finally tapping the icons at the top of her phone one by one.
There were WeChat ones, some from Qiqiao. She dismissed them all and went into Alipay — that one was the most active today. It was still blinking.
She was very certain she hadn’t touched Alipay since yesterday. It was probably a transfer from Song Qing’s side.
Nan Zhi tapped in to check — as expected, it was subscription money from software. But compared to usual, today’s amount was higher.
She swiped through several pages and still hadn’t reached the end.
Nan Zhi backed out and looked at the balance section — over five thousand.
She squinted in surprise. The little bit of grogginess and haze from just waking up completely cleared. She sat up and opened her Yu’e Bao account [余额宝, Alipay’s balance fund].
Money transferred to Yu’e Bao can earn interest, so she had agreed to let her balance automatically be sent to Yu’e Bao. Every day, the money in the balance would be transferred automatically. She checked yesterday’s record — it had been transferred. Which meant, the over five thousand in her balance was all from today.
She hadn’t taken on any gigs lately. The pressure of night shifts had been too much — she needed two days off. Her old commissions had long been completed and paid. This money had nothing to do with her.
It came from Song Qing.
What did he do this time?
Honestly, she did feel some pressure right after resigning. She was afraid freelance life would be unstable — afraid she wouldn’t be able to support Song Qing and the two cats. But now it felt like Song Qing could support her and the two cats — and still have extra.
Mainly, all that money was being routed directly to her, and the account kept getting new deposits. Watching the numbers jump one by one, her pressure really felt much smaller.
At least, not as overwhelming as at the start.