A bit past twelve, Nan Zhi got down from the bed, thinking that today she was already early enough. She didn’t expect that upon opening the window and glancing downstairs, Song Qing had already started working. After hearing the noise she made, he pushed the wheelchair out from the small living room and stuck his head out to look upstairs.
“You’re awake?”
“Mm.”
Nan Zhi lay at the window, staring at all his movements with her own eyes. She inexplicably had a feeling like he was raising some kind of small animal—seeing the animal come out of the cage, and even running over to take a look.
“I’m going to cook.”
This Kuangchen official is very responsible. He knows the little animal is hungry, and every time he very promptly worries about the little animal.
“No need, I ordered takeout. Today we’re eating takeout.” The food at home is good, but sometimes you just can’t hold back from wanting to eat outside.
Home flowers are good, wildflowers are also good. [(This is a metaphor implying “your own spouse is good, but others are also tempting.”)]
That’s what she thought, but when she saw Song Qing pinch his lips, his face had an expression like “you cheated.”
Speaking of which, in fact every time during lunch break or halfway through the evening shift when she ate outside and ordered takeout, there was always a feeling of secretly eating outside behind his back.
But thinking carefully, isn’t it exactly secretly eating? Secretly eating delicious things.
Calling him out to eat together is like bringing him along to meet the “mistress,” ordering takeout, and bringing the “mistress” back.
Anyway, except for eating at home or food he cooked, whichever kind, his face never looked good, but he wouldn’t say anything. He would silently choke out a sound, look a bit disappointed, and go back to the small living room to wait for the takeout to be delivered.
Nan Zhi was in a good mood instead. She ordered a lot of dishes. Estimating it would take a while to be delivered, she took the chance to wash her face, brush her teeth, tied up her fluffy hair, put on a coat and headed downstairs.
Not working, even the steps felt relaxed. There was a feeling of being free from bindings, wanting to go wherever, wanting to do whatever.
But since she had no plans for yesterday or today, she didn’t know where to go either. Now everything needs to be booked in advance, especially things like eating. Moreover, she had low blood sugar, so if she didn’t eat something to pad herself, she couldn’t go anywhere at all.
In the morning she’s already at home; after eating, she can just find somewhere to go die.
Nan Zhi still arranged her day today as usual, went downstairs, and as always, went to look for an instant noodle pack to top herself up for the time being—otherwise she feared she wouldn’t be able to hold out until the takeout arrived and might collapse.
Low blood sugar is really tormenting. When brushing her teeth and washing her face, she already felt a sense of weakness—it wasn’t strong but definitely there.
Nan Zhi skillfully walked into Song Qing’s small living room, grabbed a pack of instant noodles from the cabinet at the bedside, habitually plopped herself backward onto Song Qing’s bed, tore open the packaging beside his pillow, and held the noodles.
Sideways, while chewing, she paused in thought—thinking about the past.
She had a low blood sugar condition. Song Qing had always known, and in the past would find a few small boxes, then place split instant noodle packs inside, separately storing them under the hairdryer table, the dining table, and one in the kitchen.
The one she liked to eat the most was the one under the hairdryer table. After eating, she would lie down like a dead fish—very satisfied.
Now everywhere has been cleared out, only his room still has some left.
When asked why, he said it was because of money.
This “stingy” man, won’t even let go of a few noodle packs.
Nan Zhi raised her hand high, still holding the noodle pack, making her final act of resistance—not wanting to eat it, hoping the takeout could arrive during this time and save her from touching the instant noodles.
When she lived alone before, she always relied on this topping—one or two a day—and soon got used to it.
Just by taking the pack in her hand, the flavor already seemed to seep through the packaging and pour straight into her stomach, making it churn and resist.
Even the toy in her hand lost all play value, and she turned her head to look for the cat toy.
The bed wasn’t far, and Song Qing was still sitting at the computer desk. His back faced her, but there was a mirror on the table. He adjusted the angle well, so he could see clearly with a glance from the corner of his eye—he even saw her holding the noodle pack next to the bed.
She sat there motionless, eating slowly and reluctantly, only able to digest it after at least 20 to 30 minutes. As for the takeout, who knows when it would arrive. Maybe she didn’t say anything during their conversation just now because she was replenishing her energy. He understood her too well, so he still sat calmly at the computer handling troubleshooting issues without saying a word.
She didn’t know why, but today there were so many messages that even by now he hadn’t had time to eat—he only quickly washed up. Woke up around ten in the morning, originally just planning to sit and take a look, didn’t expect there to be so many issues. Once he sat down, he stayed stuck there, dealing with customers and fixing bugs.
He didn’t care that Nan Zhi hadn’t eaten that little pack of instant noodles, and decided to bear through it with upright posture and hunger, waiting for the takeout to arrive.
Maybe it was because two cats had shifted their line of sight—she herself didn’t feel very embarrassed, lying under the blanket and playing cat tunnel games with the two cats, letting them climb all over her, stepping on her and even tugging her clothes—it hurt, but she wore a look of pleasure.
To speak the truth, usually the cats in the house were closer to Song Qing. Once the relationship was close, the cats would either climb onto his wheelchair, or lie in his arms, or enter his blanket, or sleep on his shoulders.
But ever since she took the instant noodles and flopped onto his bed, the cats began climbing all over her, looking for a proper spot to sleep.
The softly breathing, warm little bodies sometimes pressed against her neck, draped half across her face, letting out that snoring “purr purr” sound. Those big round eyes blinked at her—soft, cute, and full of healing power.
She couldn’t imagine Song Qing sleeping with cats—just how blessed was that?
But cats sleep lightly. In the middle of the night they would run around. She used to work, and if she didn’t sleep well before work, she’d have low blood sugar, headaches, and could only silently endure it.
But now she didn’t need to anymore. If she didn’t sleep well at night, she could just make it up during the day. Since she didn’t go to work, she could sleep whenever she wanted.
“I also want to stick to cats while sleeping.”
The cats also seemed to be in sync today, lying on both sides of her neck. Nan Zhi lay still, not daring to move at all, afraid of disturbing the cats.
This was probably the happiest thing: cats voluntarily sticking to sleep with humans.
Nan Zhi had one on the left, one on the right, gently rubbing their little heads, feeling very happy. The takeout hadn’t arrived yet, and instead she fell back into sleep with a smile still hanging on her lips.
Before her legs even finished curling up, Song Qing noticed.
He didn’t say anything, turned the wheelchair toward her, gently lifted his foot to nudge Nan Zhi’s small blanket.
The small blanket was spread across the sofa. The two of them had been using it when sitting on the sofa lately, but because recently he’d been too busy, that blanket had been mostly used by her and the two cats. He didn’t want to waste time rummaging for another one, so he just pulled the small blanket over and covered both Nan Zhi and the cats.
Nan Zhi has low blood sugar. When the episode flares up, she usually can’t get up—because her rest schedule is irregular. Since she gets up around noon, she typically needs to eat breakfast and lunch together. Holding her knees, this time just so happened to be the peak of her low blood sugar attack.
When the attack came and she needed to eat something, she dragged all the instant noodle packs to the small living room. When she went to fetch them, she just happened to collapse on the spot.
Which time was it that she didn’t grab an instant noodle pack during low blood sugar? She would even bring it to bed for the sake of feeding the cats.
Cats are more understanding. Now that the weather’s colder, as long as the electric blanket under the quilt is turned on, unless there’s an emergency, they wouldn’t go anywhere else. If Nan Zhi was feeding the cats, they would only stick to her side.
Song Qing tucked her in and casually picked a few strands of hair from the blanket.
Nan Zhi is under pressure, and her hair loss is severe. Almost every time she naps on the sofa or bed, there’s hair left behind.
He used to clean it up by hand, but now he directly rolled it into his notebook. Later on, he flipped open a pencil case from the drawer.
The pen case was full, hanging next to similar pencil holders. When the case became too full, he’d stick double-sided tape to a sheet of paper and press the hair onto it, storing it neatly.
In just a short one or two months, he had already collected a small clump of Nan Zhi’s hair—her hair loss was really severe.
Even Song Qing didn’t understand why he did it like this. He himself couldn’t explain it clearly. Why did he do it?
Even as for why he had to bring Nan Zhi here, he couldn’t say clearly either. Maybe he just wanted her around. She couldn’t be left alone. Or maybe he just didn’t want to let go, had to keep her within sight—who knows?
But he didn’t want to dig deeply into this behavior. He only knew he wanted to do it, so he did it. No need to understand why, no need to reflect—overthinking himself was tiring.
He was already very busy, he didn’t want to waste mental effort on this.
Just as Song Qing closed the box lid, the phone suddenly rang—it came from Nan Zhi’s pocket, inside her coat.
Nan Zhi stirred slightly, seemingly having the urge to get up. Song Qing bent down, opened the blanket, took her phone out of her pocket, turned off the screen lock, held it to her ear and answered the call. In a low voice, he told the delivery person to walk straight ahead and that the door to the small room upstairs had been opened, and they could place the food outside—no need to ring the bell.
Song Qing took the phone and returned it. Nan Zhi hadn’t woken yet, and he didn’t intend to wake her. For someone who frequently had insomnia, being able to sleep was a good thing.
Song Qing placed the takeout onto the dining table to keep it warm, then went back into the small living room by himself and continued sitting at the computer. The only difference from before was that now he used his phone to reply and enter codes.
There was no vibration, but there was a sound from the keypad.
Roughly more than half an hour later, Nan Zhi still hadn’t woken up. Instead, it was the contact in his WeChat—part of the team who cooked—who sent him a message. They sent both the payment receipt to Nan Zhi’s account and also forwarded him a screenshot.
He took a look; it was more than expected.
[Dream-Knowing Person: That’s such a pity, won’t be seeing it again in the future. I actually liked your (plural) life updates.]
She said “your (plural),” not “your (singular).”
The “you all” was accurate. Because when they were cooking, it was usually not just one person. There would be a girl working hard, and occasionally plating a dish or holding a tray, then helping take pictures with the phone for him.
Once the food was ready, they’d casually ask him whether it was good or not. If he looked interested in a dish, they’d scoop a portion into a different plate and let him taste-test it, like it was firm and crunchy like stir-fried lotus root.
Sometimes when chatting too much, they’d even talk about academic topics.
Though Song Qing lived on the edge of the city, he was indeed a local and spoke the local dialect. Nan Zhi was an outsider, and even though she’d been living in the liveliest part of town for over a year, she still couldn’t speak the local dialect. If she tried to explain her experience or appeared in recorded videos, the locals wouldn’t understand a word she was saying.
He could only capture a general idea. When he listened carefully, he could understand what she wanted to express.
[Dream-Knowing Person: I really envy you all. I think you’re very happy.]
Happy?
Is this happiness?
Song Qing really couldn’t tell, but he knew he was very satisfied with life as it was now. It felt very good—ideally, it could always be like this.
[Qing: Thank you.]
The Dream-Knowing Person sent a polite emoji in response and ended the conversation.
Song Qing also replied on WeChat, then went to transfer the food from the takeout box to a plate, because the bottom of the box was plastic—it could melt or get scorched in the oven. Ceramic or porcelain bowls wouldn’t have that issue.
He also added some extra water, afraid that if Nan Zhi slept for a few more hours, the dishes would dry out from reheating.
When the delivery person brought it in, some of the oil spilled. While he was transferring it, a portion of the oil got onto his hands, so Song Qing wheeled himself to the sink to rinse it off.
He didn’t use soap, only rubbed with water to rinse off the oil.
The soap had a few hairs on it. The environment was damp, or maybe it hadn’t been used often—there were some spots with white foamy buildup, especially on the bottom edge, forming a white ring.
In the past, he would scrape off a bit of the white part first before using it. Now Nan Zhi also used his soap, so he would run the whole bar under the water, flushing off the white areas first—while rinsing, he even found it a bit pitiful.
Wasted so much.
After washing his hands, Song Qing returned to the small living room and continued leaning at the desk typing.
Around 2 p.m., Nan Zhi let out a soft “ngh” from the bed—awakened because the cat stretching lazily had stepped on her hair.
She patted the bed and sat up. After pulling her hair back and yawning, the complexion on her face and under her eyes still looked rather bluish.
Clearly lacking sleep.
More sleep probably did do her some good.
Nan Zhi looked at her phone screen with one eye still squinting, and stretched lazily while asking: “You let me sleep that long? Why didn’t you wake me up?”
Without turning his head, Song Qing transferred what was on his phone to the computer and tapped the keyboard:
“Not in a hurry.”