He rarely offered an opinion, so Nan Zhi of course took it seriously and let him choose that set of Chinese-style ones.
Otherwise, she would always feel she shortchanged him. When she chatted with others and mentioned the way the two of them got along, almost everyone advised her not to be too generous—earning so much, at the very least, she should give him three to five thousand a month.
She herself also felt that he spent too little, wanted to raise the amount he brought up himself.
Because she herself was the type who would feel very suffocated if she had no money to spend. Right now, she transferred ten thousand yuan to him every month, and he could use ten thousand yuan to generate tens of thousands in returns, and even give some back to her.
Nan Zhi: “……”
It’s how he is, really not her treating him too harshly.
So don’t even say when he occasionally brings up wanting something—if he wanted a cannon, she’d let him buy it.
She actually felt more at ease when he spent money. She bought those two sets, and didn’t return that bat one either—let him keep it to wear. It felt pretty good, even though he didn’t know how to appreciate it.
When Nan Zhi was buying, Song Qing just stood to the side watching. There weren’t many ancient-style men’s pajamas. Nan Zhi picked for a long time before she found decent ones, all added to the shopping cart for comparison, filtered out one or two sets, and only kept one or two sets.
She paid for one black set. It had a slanted collar and was completely different from what she was wearing. Just as Song Qing frowned, he saw her pay again—for a set similar to hers in Chinese style, also black.
Hers was pink, his was black—looking at it, still quite matching.
Song Qing was already very satisfied. But when Nan Zhi switched to the pending shipment orders page and scrolled down, the pajama set she was wearing appeared—with two colors, one pink, one gray.
A man and a woman modeling the set.
Song Qing stared at the man and woman in the product photo box. He hadn’t yet thought of what reason to give when he saw Nan Zhi click into it, scroll to the size chart, saw his size was available, and directly paid and placed the order.
Song Qing settled in his heart, paused, then told Nan Zhi he didn’t like that slanted-collar one—it left his neck cold—and two sets was a bit extravagant. Just one set was enough. One just like hers would do, save the trouble of bad fabric and returning it back and forth.
Nan Zhi looked over all three sets carefully. That slanted-collar one indeed had a wide neckline and let air in.
This Song Qing person, you see, didn’t care much for appearance, but he did care about practicality. So when he unexpectedly wanted something good-looking, she had momentarily forgotten his original preferences.
Nan Zhi returned that one, and kept the other two. Those two were both high-necked. He liked ones that could protect the neck.
This guy usually wrapped up tightly. Only at night, when going to bed, he’d wash himself clean and thoroughly, rub himself until he was all red, then get into bed in his pajamas, consciously acting as her heater, sticking close to her, letting her hold him to warm her hands.
Nan Zhi was cold, he had body heat, being a heater was just right.
After Nan Zhi finished buying the clothes, she turned off her phone and continued pressing on his legs. This guy, other things are all fine, just a bit indifferent toward himself—very few things done for his own good.
Clearly a very diligent person, but she’d never seen him press his own legs. Even when living together, it was always last-minute efforts, only rubbing when it hurt.
Other things though, he was never lazy about.
Nan Zhi wasn’t the type to bathe daily. In winter, bathing two to three times a week was enough. She had just bathed yesterday before leaving, and hadn’t planned to touch water today. But because of working, she got all dirty, and her hair had dust in it too. After bathing, it was this guy who wiped her hair, and he was also the one who blow-dried it.
Saved her a lot of effort—since he didn’t care for his own stuff, might as well trade: he helps her, she helps him.
Song Qing also looked at his own disabled limb. Before, he would never expose his leg like this for others to see. Not even talking about whether others minded or not, even he himself couldn’t stand to look at it.
But with Nan Zhi, he didn’t need to.
Nan Zhi was the only one who accepted him wholly.
Only in front of Nan Zhi could he truly relax, no need to hide or cover up. In Nan Zhi’s words, she’d already seen him in all forms, knew every mole on his body—she knew him inside and out, there was no need to cover anything.
Actually, that’s true too—those few moles on his body, he himself might not even understand them as well as Nan Zhi does. In front of her, there really was no need to hold back.
He openly revealed his injured leg, told Nan Zhi to finish pressing it, then switched to the other one.
This leg of his was a bit different, closer to the body. Normally when she pressed it, it was done over the pajamas. But today, Nan Zhi rolled the pant leg all the way up, exposing the broken part. Song Qing himself couldn’t quite accept its current ugly appearance, so he turned his head away and didn’t look.
Not looking made his other senses particularly sensitive. He could clearly feel Nan Zhi’s hand moving over the area where stitches had once been.
Those marks had tormented him before—thread stitched back and forth, and also left lines pressed into his skin from the threads. Back then, there was only pain and ugliness. Now, he actually felt somewhat grateful for the scars left behind—because he knew someone would lighten their movements when they saw them, as if afraid of hurting him.
Actually, it had already been a long time. By now, there was no feeling at all.
This leg was more seriously injured, so she stayed longer on it—about ten minutes or so. When she finished, she rolled down the pant leg for him. The two of them took turns going to the bathroom, then returned and laid on the bed as usual.
The first day after being brought home by her passed just like that—in an ordinary and uneventful way.
—
Early the next morning, Nan Zhi pulled out a hoe from the storage room, preparing to tidy up the courtyard. The two of them could reclaim whatever land they could, pull weeds where they could.
One turned the soil, one sowed the seeds—felt quite fulfilling.
The fish pond didn’t need to be managed—there was an automatic cleaning machine. After being placed in the water, it was like a floor-sweeping robot, cleaning lap by lap on its own. The bottom was tiled, and the water after scrubbing was very clear. There were no fish, and the two didn’t plan to buy any, because they didn’t know how long they’d be living here.
Nan Zhi’s plan was: in the afternoon, shamelessly go to her uncle’s house to ask for a few, and when they leave after a while, if they don’t want to keep them, they can just return them.
Last year, she did the same thing.
The fish her grandma had left were all given to her. Before leaving, she gave them to her uncle—not even taking the big fish from before, just asking for a few of their offspring. Small fish were fine—her uncle would still give her that much face.
Their family and her uncle’s had long since torn their faces apart, but that was between the adults and didn’t involve the younger generation.
And her position was a bit strange. She stood on grandma’s side. Grandma wouldn’t be angry at her dad, nor would she be angry at her uncle—and she was the same.
Her uncle treated her quite nicely too. In any case, a few fish wouldn’t be a problem.
—
In the whole morning, apart from eating, the two of them didn’t really do much else. In the end, they managed to finish turning over the soil in the courtyard and also planted the vegetables.
It was a bit late in the season to plant vegetables, so they had to cover them with film for warmth. There was some at home, just had to dig it out and use it.
Actually, the two of them still had homes and worries on the other side. Even if they planted vegetables here, after a month or two of growth, they might not even get to eat them. How long they’d stay was still unknown. But the two of them still worked full of energy—one inserting poles, the other spreading the film.
Not the same kind of people, not from the same household, but both had this kind of hobby—enjoying the process of planting vegetables, raising flowers, cultivating things.
Being able to do something one likes in this impetuous society—even if it’s tiring, even if the results can’t be seen—the soul and spirit would still find healing. It’s necessary.
While bustling back and forth, there was a moment when Nan Zhi felt as if she might also have inherited a bit of her grandma’s genes—after becoming diligent, she was a bit like grandma too, not one to sit idle.
Song Qing went without saying—even after the two of them finished working on the courtyard, they hurried off to buy groceries, stuffed the refrigerator full, and then sat under the sunroom petting cats and roasting by the fire.
In the sunroom, there was a stove that could burn coal and charcoal. When grandma was still around, there would always be a kettle on top of it. Lunch and afternoon meals were made with it; things baked on it always smelled fragrant.
The two cats also loved to crowd around it. Afraid they would jump in, a layer of iron mesh was placed on top, with heavy objects pressed on it, worried they’d struggle and knock the mesh aside and fall in.
Cats, this kind of creature, were just naturally interested in fire. The old stove in the kitchen, if the door wasn’t shut, often had stray cats crawling in. When entering the house in the morning, they’d be caught coming out, covered in a layer of ashy gray.
Now these two cats were raised preciously—not allowed out of the sunroom. Outside was too cold, and they weren’t willing either. When the door wasn’t closed, they’d scratch at the glass wanting to go out. Once the door was opened and they stepped on the marble tiles, they’d shrink back from the cold.
Really cowardly.
—
In early February, during the coldest time, it began snowing frequently. The white snow in the courtyard piled layer after layer, pressing down on the film to the point of collapse. Nan Zhi said it was fine—once the snow melted, it’d be fine, no need to manage it. But Song Qing, having nothing to do, would still go out to clean every day after finishing his tasks—controlling his wheelchair, rolling over the snow and pressing out path after path.
When bored, he would circle the courtyard round and round, pacing back and forth like patrolling—checking whether the newly planted seeds had sprouted, and how the fish in the pond were doing.
Nan Zhi said she’d go ask for fish, and really got a few—red ones, white ones, multi-colored ones. Three to five fish swam in the big pond.
The fish pond was very large, like a swimming pool, and also deep—could raise big fish. Half of it was hidden below, half exposed outside. It wasn’t flush with the ground; it was raised about one meter, just right for him sitting in the wheelchair to observe the water’s surface.
In the corner was an artificial mountain. The fake rock on the mountain had a box inside, and when opened, it contained fish food. He took it out and patted it over the water’s surface—fish would come on their own to ask for food.
Nan Zhi said her grandma used to raise fish just like that. Her uncle also had that habit. Since the fish were from his house, doing this was just right.
He did as instructed, and the fish really did swim over—gathering at his hand. Their slippery, mucus-covered bodies slid across his palm or the back of his hand, touching him—the sensation felt novel to him.
He kept his hand in the water until it turned bright red from cold before pulling it out. When he went back to roast by the fire in the sunroom and pulled out his hand, Nan Zhi laughed at him for a long time.
Said that she only did that kind of thing when she was a kid.
Song Qing didn’t argue, nor did he tell her—it was his first time raising pets. Nan Zhi said there were five fish. She wanted the red and white ones, the rest—the multicolored, the golden, the creamy pink ones—were his.
Since they were his, he couldn’t help but play with them.
Maybe because she saw he was interested, Nan Zhi also assigned one of the cats to him. The black cat was his. The white cat was hers.
Same as the fish—if it was his, he would imitate Nan Zhi, rubbing the fuzzy little head of the cat.
—
Nan Zhi did this purely because the white cat would bully the black cat. Those two fish were also slightly bigger; the other three couldn’t compare—couldn’t compete for food.
Simply put, her fish bullied his fish, just like their owners were bullied by her too.
This guy didn’t realize at all—seriously fed his own, and hers too. Said it was assigned to him, but in fact, not much difference from before. Because she tricked him—said the black cat and white cat were a pair, same with the fish. Since they were being raised, they had to be raised as a couple, so he believed it, fed and raised all equally.
Before, he rarely touched cats—just let them stand on his shoulders and wheelchair. But after being “assigned,” he went from a quest-issuing NPC to a living person, with a greater sense of presence. Now he would intentionally press on them with his arm, or appear to accidentally—though actually on purpose—sweep the cat on the armrest into his lap and play around with them.
Revealing a childlike side.
Nan Zhi was quite surprised, but felt it was very good.