Not going to work, not going out, then would just stay at home the whole day—eating, counting Song Qing’s money, tossing Song Qing around.
At first, he was still a little unwilling, later on maybe got scared by the words “can’t be used”, now he obediently lets her handle it.
As soon as the medicine box is brought over, this person immediately sensibly puts down what he’s working on and follows her, consciously lying down on the bed.
A whole face of “washed clean, husband ready to be used” expression.
But when it actually starts, it’s another expression of “a yellow-flower maiden being defiled” — so fun, of course she has to apply medicine once a day.
His injury actually isn’t that serious. Although not light, it’s not to the extent that it needs daily checkups. Mainly it’s Nan Zhi being bored, and added to that his expression being intentional or not, with nothing else to do, she just loves to toss him around.
She even accidentally found another wound—it was from the eyebrow razor. That thing is so sharp, using it recklessly like that, is he not afraid his descendants won’t be preserved?
He himself was careless, didn’t even notice that wound. Even though it was very shallow, the location wasn’t good, easy for bacteria to get in, so she treated it and even stuck on a band-aid.
One’s own person applying medicine to one’s own person, that’s all. Nan Zhi has always not worn gloves. Mainly because Song Qing himself is clean, washed squeaky clean, so she doesn’t mind.
But to be honest, people say medical personnel are used to seeing everything, have reached the point of not blinking an eye—it’s actually fake, they still feel disgusted.
Usually, she can’t wait to wrap herself three layers inside and out, fully armed before touching.
Song Qing—
Song Qing doesn’t need that. Still the same reason—clean, delicate.
Nan Zhi finishes treating him, then goes to the bathroom to wash her hands. When she comes back to get the medicine box, this person is already sitting back in the wheelchair, continuing to busy himself.
His new software development direction is very good. Nowadays the online environment is full of hostility; everyone needs a profanity filter system for protection—especially those internet celebrities, stars, and artists like her.
You can’t stop others from continuing to hurl insults, but you can protect yourself from seeing them. If you don’t see it, then you won’t feel hurt.
So as soon as it launched, it was promoted by many people. He’s so stingy, he wouldn’t spend money to promote it himself—it’s all other people who thought it was good and recommended it everywhere out of conscience.
As more people started using it, now basically except for eating and cooking, he’s busy all the time—handling user feedback, fixing bugs, improving the software, and so on.
Currently, the number of users for the new software has already reached over ten thousand.
In just a few days, follow-up income has reached nearly a hundred thousand. Adding the first day, it’s around one hundred ten thousand.
How long has he even been here? Just a few short months, and he’s already gone from having nothing to becoming someone with around a hundred thousand in savings.
He already paid off all the debts he owed before. The donations the village gave him, and those little girls who helped him exchange money back then—he returned it all double.
He’s just stingy with himself, thinking he doesn’t deserve good things, good food and such—but the rules and favors he ought to understand, he understands.
Human kindness isn’t something where others give you ten thousand and you return ten thousand. Human kindness is the hand extended to you when you’re at your lowest—extremely rare and precious. Nan Zhi asked him, and he said good deeds should be repaid, can’t let kind-hearted people turn cold.
After giving back double the money, he also keeps an eye on those people’s situations. If she or he ever needs something, he’ll immediately go help.
Just a few months ago, he was still someone who needed others’ help. The role switched so quickly.
A few months ago, Nan Zhi had no other thoughts about him. Regarding making money, she only thought that as long as he could be with her, that was enough. A few months later, this guy had made her about a hundred thousand.
All that money is in her hands, and Song Qing’s attitude is—it’s for her, no need to return.
Even though she invested more money in him, just the prosthetic alone cost more than that, she’s still very gratified.
The boy she raised has started giving back to her.
This guy has a righteous heart. He even spent time on his own to go and cancel his poverty household status and the archival registration, giving up the state welfare benefits to leave them for other people, only keeping a disability certificate.
Many times a disability certificate is needed—for example, when going across provinces or cities, he would need to use the disability certificate to connect with others; otherwise, he might have to cancel even that.
This guy even does charity. Nan Zhi only found out this morning. His software costs 9.9 yuan per month, and for every person who subscribes monthly, he donates 0.1 yuan. If there are ten thousand users, that’s one thousand yuan. Over time, that becomes a considerable amount.
He’s a gourd with a sealed mouth. Usually, he just does things quietly, rarely takes the initiative to reveal anything. It was Nan Zhi herself who noticed a few days ago that the 9.9 yuan had become 9.8 yuan. At first, she thought he was keeping a bit for himself. But this morning, when he said he was going grocery shopping but didn’t have money, she asked and found out it was because he had donated it, not used it for himself.
His money had all been spent by Nan Zhi over the past few days. Every time before going out she would say she’d treat him to a meal or play, but after returning she would trick him into paying.
There wasn’t much in his card to begin with, and it was all squandered by her in just a few days.
But that’s not the point—the point is, someone who would argue over even one jiao when buying vegetables, actually donated money. One jiao at a time, up to more than a hundred a day. That money, if spent on himself, would’ve been enough for him to eat well, drink well, and buy new clothes.
But he didn’t. He’s still the same as before. Outside, he still haggles over every jiao. Even a one-jiao plastic bottle, he’d pick up. Towards food and drinks and clothes, he doesn’t have much of an opinion—if she buys it, he eats, drinks, and wears it; if she doesn’t buy, then he stays as he was before.
But now, if his clothes aren’t enough, he will tell her and say he wants a sweater.
Then Nan Zhi picks for him. Whatever she buys, he wears. He has no requirements for styles or designs. Occasionally, he’ll just tell her: not the same as last time—the one that choked the neck. Also, there was a sweater that couldn’t be worn alone—wearing it alone made his skin sting and scrape.
He would even lift the hem to show her—his belly full of little red dots, poked and scratched by the sweater’s fibers. Normally, he’s very tolerant. If it wasn’t extremely uncomfortable or hard to wear, he wouldn’t care.
So when he did mention it, it was the “this is fucking unwearable” kind. After knowing that, next time Nan Zhi avoided that kind and bought something similar instead.
Fleece-lined shirts, hoodies, T-shirts, etc.
Whatever she likes, she buys for him. Song Qing had no opinion in this regard. Even better—she dressed him up completely according to her preferences, made him into the exact type she likes.
This person never objected. Except that light-colored clothes are not good for doing housework—get dirty too quickly—he had no complaints. Let her mess with him however she liked.
Whether it was during his most down-and-out days, or now that his monthly income has surpassed ten thousand, or now that it’s reached one hundred thousand and still climbing, he remained the same as before—consistent from beginning to end.
Some people truly don’t change. Like they were already molded a long time ago. What he was when he first arrived, is exactly what he is now.
Suddenly receiving a sum of money that, for him, counts as a windfall—he doesn’t swell with pride. He continues following the routine, doing his thing.
Still takes care of all three daily meals, does whatever housework he’s able to. Not even the slightest laziness or avoidance. He doesn’t think that now that he’s earning money, he can slack off a little.
Not only that—now he sometimes even uses his study time to knit scarves. Even after earning that much, he still won’t let go of even a small profit of ten yuan. He’ll earn it and immediately transfer it to her.
The only thing that shows he’s slightly different now is that he walks with a slightly more relaxed pace. For example, before it was mainly about earning money; now he’s shifted the focus to studying, watching tutorials, researching new things.
Even now, he hasn’t been dazzled by success, hasn’t thought that what he’s already mastered is enough and started coasting.
On the contrary, it’s like he knows he’s just gotten started, that there’s still a lot of shortcomings, and each day he puts in serious effort to enrich himself.
These behaviors—who knows if it’s truly a stable mindset, or simply because he doesn’t control the money, can’t hear the sound of money clattering into his own account, so he doesn’t feel anything?
All the money is in her account.
The one who is happy and excited every day is her. Seeing fixed amounts of money coming in every day—and still continuously increasing, several thousand to over ten thousand a day—who could stay calm? Probably only the person who’s not taking the money.
Because they had money now, the matter of the elevator was brought onto the agenda. She had discussed with Song Qing about using his money to install the elevator—he had no objections.
The elevator was chosen by both of them together, a type meant for indoor use, one size bigger than the normal single-person type, because Song Qing needed to use a wheelchair. The cost wasn’t small, but the two of them could afford it at present. After deciding on the model, someone came to measure in person, and after a while, a group of people came to install it.
After they left, they even helped carry away the construction debris inside the house. The scattered bits, the two of them cleaned up themselves. By the time it got dark, they had just finished tidying. Nan Zhi went downstairs to throw out the trash. When she came back, Song Qing had taken the elevator upstairs and was sorting out the dirty clothes she’d thrown on the sofa, bringing them to the laundry room.
The first time using the elevator—turned out to be to go up and do housework.
Nan Zhi caught him, locked him in the small living room, afraid he’d continue. She went upstairs herself and locked the door, pocketed the key. If she didn’t open the door, Song Qing couldn’t get in.
She watched him closely—he didn’t have the chance to go up again.
That night, the two of them were working hard to make up for the heavy cost of the elevator. One was curled up on the bed petting a cat and drawing, the other sitting at the computer desk refining an old program.
Maybe from sitting too long, he got restless again. Song Qing used the excuse of going to the toilet, but actually sneaked into her blind spot and rode the elevator upstairs. Then he slunk back down. When he returned to the small living room, the look she gave him was full of disappointment she could no longer hide.
Nan Zhi got up, brought over the medical box, and turned his disappointment into despair.
After applying the medicine and pasting on the band-aid, Nan Zhi tidied up the medical box while thinking.
If she were still working at the hospital, her former colleagues and teachers would definitely be surprised—she’d improved so fast in this area, getting more and more skilled at handling things.
That’s right—all the experience had come from practicing on Song Qing.
Unfortunately, she wasn’t working, so she had nowhere to show off her techniques.
It was already December. Every day when she opened her eyes, it was Song Qing’s hardworking back; before sleep, it was still his hardworking back—either working or studying. Nan Zhi couldn’t help it anymore—she also wanted to work hard for herself.
She wanted to start learning new painting techniques and explore a new art style. She couldn’t rely on the same old thing forever. Only an eight-sided warrior \[八边形战士 – slang meaning someone who is good at everything] can last long-term.
Learning a new method is hard—it’s like breaking down her old self and starting again. But thinking carefully, at least she had a foundation in drawing. Line work didn’t need to be relearned—she only had to explore new styles and color schemes.
As for Song Qing, he was like someone reborn from fire, walking a path entirely different from before.
He had graduated from a normal university. If nothing had happened, he might have become a teacher—ordinary, but someone who could teach many students and guide people onto the right path.
He was brought up by teachers, which is why he still had a bit of attachment to becoming a teacher. Song Qing said once he was stable, he wanted to volunteer teach in remote areas.
Nan Zhi thought that was great. She also shared her own idea—once they earned enough money, she wanted to do charity work and help more people like Song Qing. Girls or boys—it didn’t matter—as long as they worked hard and had good morals, she would help and support them.
Of course, the premise was that the two of them wouldn’t starve and had enough backup plans. So after they earned money, they lived plainly and didn’t spend recklessly. They saved up, planning to buy a house and become landlords first. As long as their monthly income could cover their expenses with some left over, they could do the things they really wanted to do.
Wander around, see the world, go wherever people needed help moving bricks.
For that goal, both of them were grinding hard to study. If Song Qing got up at a certain time, she did too.
Nan Zhi had procrastination issues and wasn’t very self-disciplined. But if someone around her was hyper-efficient and motivated, she couldn’t help but be pulled along. Now, both of them woke up at 9 a.m., slept at 11 p.m., took two-hour naps in the afternoon, and occasionally went downstairs for a walk.
One continued adding features to the software; the other worked on commercial art commissions. They now collaborated on videos too—Song Qing cooked, she filmed. As for editing, whoever had time would do it. It was pretty simple—just needed patience.
The computer was moved downstairs. On the first floor, desk next to desk, each person petting a cat. Pretty fair.
Song Qing didn’t care about this. Sometimes she’d pet two cats; when tired, she’d lie on his bed to rest for a bit before continuing. It felt even more fulfilling and freer than before.
Especially when she occasionally paused, and still saw money steadily coming in—it felt so reassuring.
As for the hardships and suffering… just thinking that Song Qing was bearing them too, made things feel a lot better. If someone else is carrying the load with you, the pressure naturally lightens—it doesn’t feel as hard anymore.
After persisting like this for a while, Nan Zhi found that she had become a bit more diligent—she would take the initiative to do some housework, casually doing whatever was on hand.
For example, before, after she came home, once she finished eating, she would already feel very tired. The takeaway boxes would not be cleaned up; only when they piled up to the point that she had no place to put her next order would she finally pick them up, filling several trash bins at once and carrying them out together.
Now, she would tidy up right after eating. The table was always clean and spotless, and the trash bin was always empty.
Song Qing would take it down with him when he went downstairs, or she would.
Life seemed to have returned to how it was back when it was just her and Grandma—she was working hard to move upward, and Grandma was too.
Back then, she was the one pulling Grandma forward. Now, it was Song Qing pulling her.
It felt really good.
Compared to sunbathing alone before, she much preferred now—two people. When tired, they could lean on each other.
Nan Zhi stayed at home for more than twenty days. When it was almost a full month, her family finally realized she had resigned and called to ask what was going on.
She told the truth. Her parents weren’t surprised, and they didn’t even blame her.
Actually, they had already fulfilled the duties a parent should. It’s just that with three children in the family, and with each of the three showing different qualities and performances, it was inevitable they would lean more toward the one they were closer to.
Just like in her home—there was Song Qing and two cats. The two cats were affectionate toward her, but Song Qing was even more affectionate. She liked Song Qing and the cats equally, but she just liked Song Qing a little bit more.
Of course, she didn’t treat the cats badly—imported canned food, all kinds of chicken, duck, fish, and shrimp, meals were rich every day. Cat trees costing thousands, she bought them without hesitation. The collars they wore were gold necklaces. But still—they couldn’t compare to Song Qing.
Not being able to compare doesn’t mean she didn’t love them.
It could only be said that the cats were not her first choice. Just like she wasn’t her parents’ first choice.
So now, she no longer struggled with it. After all, there was already someone who treated her as the first choice.