When the three people came back, Fang Guanqi was in a spot where Nan Zhi couldn’t see from, and the look in his eyes toward him was like a knife, swishing swishing as if slicing this way.
Song Qing completely acted like he didn’t see it, didn’t know, followed the routine and took things out and put them into the fridge.
This trip to the supermarket, one reason was to buy things Fang Guanqi absolutely needed, like indoor slippers—he and Song Qing both had to wear indoor slippers when entering or leaving the sunroom, but Fang Guanqi didn’t have any, and every step left a footprint.
Fang Guanqi also didn’t bring disposable toothpaste, toothbrush, or towel, so they had to be bought anew.
The two of them also bought a lot of things themselves, because in a few days Nan Zhi’s parents were coming. One bag of daily-use items, one bag of vegetables and meat—Nan Zhi went to put the daily-use items on the second floor, while Song Qing stuffed the just-emptied fridge full.
Fang Guanqi was originally watching him in the kitchen but was called away by Nan Zhi, then finally quieted down.
After Song Qing was done, he went into the sunroom belonging to Nan Zhi, and through several layers of glass saw the guest room farthest to the left—Nan Zhi was with Fang Guanqi, telling him how to use the bathroom.
The bathroom on the far left was designed as a rectangle, very flat, to avoid blocking sunlight from the guest room.
It was along the wall, used both as the guest room’s and as a shared bathroom, and had two doors, so one could enter from either side. If someone was showering or using the toilet but didn’t lock the outer door, others wouldn’t know and could open the outside door and walk right in.
That would cause misunderstandings, so after Nan Zhi finished putting away the daily-use items, she especially reminded him.
Eating steak is a refined matter—it has to be seventy-percent cooked, people who fry it in butter probably can’t tolerate using a shared bathroom, but when Nan Zhi is around, he endures it. Only when it’s just the two of them does he fuss.
Song Qing retracted his gaze, wiped down the wheelchair clean, went into Nan Zhi’s sunroom, and specifically pulled the curtain that faced the left side all the way closed—only after he couldn’t see inside did he go to the corner and turn on the computer to continue typing code.
The speed now was totally different from before. The first software before was made entirely through reading books and searching all kinds of information, constantly watching seniors’ experiences—crossing the river by feeling the stones \[摸石过河, idiom: to explore a new path step by step], cautious, slow, and full of bugs.
After more than half a year of study and practical trial, now he was crystal clear inside on what code did what—he could just type it directly, saving the trouble of looking things up.
He typed a few lines, when the locked glass door was opened by someone—Nan Zhi came in wearing only a pair of fleece-lined lace socks, having taken off her brightly colored tiger-head slippers, sat beside him with her legs crossed, and began drawing.
She was drawing materials for his third software. His third software was called “Dress Up Your Home”, created based on his own needs.
He really, really wanted a home of his own that he could decorate however he liked.
Probably it was because of this software that Nan Zhi insisted on leaving him one set of rooms in those thirteen rooms, one that belonged to him.
Everything inside was decorated exactly as he described.
He not only had a home there—in Nan Zhi’s apartment, he had one too.
Nan Zhi had allocated the first floor to him; that was his area, and she never interfered with how he arranged his stuff.
He also had a home here. Nan Zhi said she would stay in grandma’s room, and he would stay in her room.
Her room was given to him.
Actually, there was no need to separate anymore—because most of the time, the two of them lived together, inseparably, and the same went for other things.
Those thirteen rooms were rented with both of their money, renovated with both of their money, the short videos were made by both of them, and now the software was too.
The software went from a 20-square-meter tiny apartment to 40 square meters, then 90, then over 100—there were even RVs. You could spend a few mao to unlock a garden, swimming pool, and more.
The price was very cheap, just one or two yuan and the whole home could be decorated, you could also raise pets and so on.
Because there was so much involved, Song Qing worked overtime to perfect it, and Nan Zhi also worked overtime to draw materials, looking up all kinds of references—Chinese-style, European-style, etc. You could decorate it into an ancient-style house, or a pastoral countryside style, or urbanized—any style was possible. They drew a lot of materials.
No need for highly realistic art styles, anime-style was enough. Since it was an imagined home, of course the art should be in an imagined style.
Anime-style was Nan Zhi’s comfort zone—she could draw twenty or thirty pieces in a day, limited to materials like sofas, tables, chairs, and beds.
Big illustrations still needed more time.
As usual, they worked until after eleven at night, and before finishing, they grilled some meat and oranges on the heater.
They tried calling Fang Guanqi—so late at night, he didn’t want to eat anything. Only the two of them were the exception—at night they had to eat a little something to sleep well, especially Nan Zhi.
The cat followed the two of them, lazily ate a bit too. After eating, everyone tidied up their things, washed up, and went back to their own rooms to sleep.
The cat followed him, because his room had a heater. The heater’s warming range was very large—the whole sunroom’s indoor temperature was a few degrees higher than other rooms.
Cats liked warm places, and this room even had fluffy carpet—the cat liked it even more.
Song Qing finished washing, sat on the bed, saw that the scarf he’d been working on still had a bit left to finish, so he simply picked it up, intending to finish knitting that last bit.
—
On the other side, after Nan Zhi washed up, she only stayed in grandma’s room for a short while before opening the door connecting the two rooms, sneaking into the other room to bother Song Qing.
She used to love doing this too—originally the doors of several rooms all faced the sunroom, but walking alone in the pitch-black glass room in the middle of the night, with the roof above being pitch black too, was scary. She pestered grandma to have a door opened on the wall between her room and grandma’s room, so it’d be convenient for her to “escape prison” and sneak over.
Grandma couldn’t win against her, and in the end found someone to smash through the wall and install an extra door. Ever since that door existed, every time Nan Zhi watched a horror movie, or thought of something scary, or had a nightmare, she would go through the door and crawl into grandma’s blanket.
Now she crawled into Song Qing’s blanket.
The only difference from grandma’s time was: back then, she only hugged grandma. Now she undressed Song Qing, stripped him clean, and looked at the red marks on his body.
He had thin skin, rub him once and he’d turn red. Yet he loved being rubbed. His body was often patchy red and white, with not much even skin tone.
Even if there was, Nan Zhi would add fuel to the fire, adding a few more marks on top.
Easy to rub red, also easy to kiss red.
This person, as always, had no way to deal with her—could only lie there obediently, letting her knead him round and flat, turn him over, then turn him over again.
Anyway, Nan Zhi loved to torment him the most, only after getting tired did she hug him and fall asleep.
—
The next morning, Song Qing was woken up by the sound of a phone—not his; that ringtone was obviously Nan Zhi’s.
It was a call from Nan Zhi’s family.
They were so close that even if he didn’t want to, he could hear it clearly. Her family’s meaning was: Fang Guanqi needed to visit relatives and wanted her to help drive him to buy some wine, gift boxes, and such.
He hadn’t visited them in several years, so the gifts had to be big. Plus, there were many relatives—at least a few boxes of wine, and also a few boxes of gift sets. Nan Zhi’s car didn’t have much capacity—by then, the whole back seat would likely be filled, and if she had to carry Fang Guanqi too…
Song Qing understood, there was no way to bring him along.
Because he alone would occupy two seats—one for himself, one for the wheelchair—if he was brought along, at most there would be space for Fang Guanqi, no more. The rest couldn’t be squeezed in at all; it was a four-seater.
Song Qing was still curled up in the blanket, silently listening.
Though he didn’t want to admit it, what that guy said yesterday did make some sense. Her family was clearly thinking of ways to matchmake him and Nan Zhi.
Otherwise, it wouldn’t be such a coincidence that he just happens to not fit. They had definitely calculated it deliberately.
Fang Guanqi and Nan Zhi were acknowledged.
He…
Song Qing pulled the blanket over his head. After Nan Zhi finished the call, she got up with difficulty and went to wash up. When she came back, she spoke to him through the blanket, saying she was taking Fang Guanqi out and didn’t know when she’d be back—he didn’t have to wait for her for breakfast, and as for lunch, they’d see. She would call when the time came.
Song Qing gave an “mn” in response, then pulled the blanket tighter.
Whether it was that “mn” being muffled under the blanket so Nan Zhi didn’t hear it, or because she wanted to look at him, Nan Zhi deliberately pulled down his blanket, turned his face over, and kissed him on the forehead.
He wasn’t wearing clothes. Nan Zhi probably caught a glimpse of the bare skin under the blanket, then pulled the quilt further down, revealing his whole chest. She also lowered herself a bit, leaned over, and paused for a moment at his chest—the position made Song Qing’s body unconsciously curl inward a little.
Only after Nan Zhi left did he finally have time to lower his head and look at his chest. The red marks from yesterday had already faded. On the pale patch of skin were two faint red smudges, now bearing very clear teeth marks—he’d been bitten.
There were also traces of saliva. Normally, he wouldn’t care, but maybe because his mood wasn’t great today, he wiped it off with his arm. Only after wiping did he realize Nan Zhi hadn’t actually left—she had just gone to the bathroom, and came out right then and saw it.
Thinking she had been disliked, she angrily came over and bit the other side too. After biting, she glared at him, cheeks puffed out in anger.
Song Qing lay there calmly, and the gloom in his heart unknowingly lightened a bit.
The two of them looked at each other—you look at me, I look at you—like a tug-of-war, staring at each other for a while. Only when Fang Guanqi shouted for her from outside did Nan Zhi finally leave.
Before leaving, she gave a warning-like glance, signaling he wasn’t allowed to wipe it off. But maybe she also couldn’t stand looking at it—before she went, she rubbed it a little with her sleeve.