Song Qing’s patience and persistence had always been very sufficient, Nan Zhi did not doubt at all that he could do it.
But this airplane model was somewhat similar to LEGO, it was assembled from over a thousand small pieces, and the main fun was in the assembling process.
Over a thousand pieces, ah. He could do it, but it would take a very very long time—not worth it.
Speaking of which, it was strange. This guy was actually quite clever in terms of craftsmanship, but he didn’t have much concept of time. For example, if he didn’t knit scarves, didn’t take on those small orders, actually he could use this time to earn more money.
The cat climbing frames at home were all wrapped by him. The reason was that it just looked like a piece of wood wrapped with a bit of hemp rope, and he felt he could make it too. So he spent quite a lot of time picking up wood, peeling off the bark, sanding it smooth, tying the rope—this whole process altogether took at least a dozen or twenty hours.
These dozen or twenty hours—if he had just taken a small program development order, it would have easily been worth far more than one or two thousand.
It could be said he picked up sesame seeds and lost the watermelon [a Chinese idiom meaning prioritizing small gains and losing big ones], but he himself didn’t really feel that way. It’s also unknown whether he was just unaware that he was no longer who he used to be—his time was now valuable, not cheap.
Nan Zhi comforted him for half the day, while also reasoning with him—rather than being sad over money already lost, better to think of ways to earn a bit more tomorrow.
If he worked and made that airplane model himself, it would take at least ten days. In ten days, he could earn way more than eighteen thousand.
His time now was worth its weight in gold, it couldn’t be spent on this thing—it was a waste.
She coaxed and persuaded for half a day before he finally let it go.
This matter also gave Nan Zhi a reminder—she almost forgot that this guy usually was the kind of person who wouldn’t even buy a three-yuan sesame pancake outside, thinking it was a waste of money, preferring to make it himself at home. With three yuan he could make three to five pancakes himself.
If he acted like that over a three-yuan pancake, let alone an eighteen-thousand-yuan airplane model.
In short, his money could only be used on the edge of the knife [idiom meaning: only used where it’s most needed or most worthwhile]. But this person, well, had a huge bug: once he gave the money to her, he felt that that money belonged to her, so her spending it lavishly didn’t hurt at all—even if it was his money.
Nan Zhi thought to herself: next time if Xiao Bao wanted some toy, then let her pay. If he wanted clothes, food, drinks, etc., then let Song Qing pay—he would feel that his money was being spent on something worthwhile.
Such a strange person. Most importantly, she could understand the strange points about him.
That night, it was Nan Zhi hugging him, coaxing him to sleep.
The next day, Mom and Dad’s idea was: it was only a few days of holiday, didn’t want to waste them on relatives with whom ties were growing weaker. So they split into two teams—Mom and Dad brought Xiao Bao to visit the older generation of relatives, Nan Zhi brought Song Qing to visit close relatives.
Not every family was suitable for Song Qing to enter. Many had a doorstep about ten centimeters high; Song Qing couldn’t get in. For those, Nan Zhi would pretend there was something at home, drop off the gift, and just have a simple chat with the family at the door and then leave.
If they encountered homes with low doorsteps that Song Qing could enter, then they’d stay a bit longer, and she’d introduce Song Qing to them.
There were a lot of relatives. They set off after eating breakfast at 8 a.m., and didn’t get home until after five in the evening, when it was already getting dark.
As usual, first unload the wheelchair, then Song Qing, carry him into the wheelchair. He’d control the wheelchair to enter the house and wait, and when she drove the car into the courtyard, she would go close the gate.
Now that both parents were home, there were also often people dropping by to visit, so they didn’t have to close the door. Song Qing just kept watch by the side. When he saw her get out of the car, he’d follow and then head inside the house.
The glass in the sunroom inside was old glass—from that time there wasn’t really the concept of sliding doors, and there was also a threshold. But they had padded it with a ramp, so it was still manageable. But today was strange—the ramp had somehow been kicked away or something—it just wasn’t there.
Nan Zhi cried out in surprise and went to look for it. In her heart she was wondering which brat did this, when she heard Song Qing say, “This threshold isn’t that high, I’ve tried it before, I can get over it.”
When they first came back, there wasn’t a ramp pad. They had to measure it and customize one according to the real dimensions. Back then, Nan Zhi carried him back and forth.
Nan Zhi got up later than him. When she wasn’t around, he couldn’t go out. So he wanted to try whether he could get past this threshold by himself—and unexpectedly, he really did succeed.
So even without that ramp pad, he could go over it—just not very steadily.
Nan Zhi paused her steps, turned around to look at him—just in time to see him operating the wheelchair to retreat a long distance, then suddenly rush forward toward the threshold.
He was using an electric wheelchair now. Its force was very strong, just like a person, with a burst of energy. With a “ka-cha” sound, he rolled up hard—then with a loud “peng!” he flipped over and crashed onto the ground.
Nan Zhi: “……”
She rubbed her forehead, while going to pick him up, couldn’t help but say: “So dumb you could die. Did you forget how you flipped over the last time?”
This, of course, wasn’t his first time. Earlier, it was when using the manual cart—going to pick up a package. The delivery station person wasn’t there, so he called to ask when they’d be back. That person knew him, and there was also surveillance in the store, so they just remotely operated to let him go inside to get it himself. That delivery shop also had a glass sliding-door threshold like this. He, just like now, suddenly dashed forward, and then flipped over completely backwards, knocked his head, got a big bump that took a long time to go down.
The manual cart at that time was just a regular one, only reaching up to his back. It was because he had flipped and bumped his head that later, when buying a new one, she specifically chose the kind like a computer chair, one that could protect the head.
This current wheelchair of his really was like a computer chair. The backrest could even be laid down so he could recline while operating it.
It was padded with cushions, so this time he was fine—he just flipped too fast. No one knew if it startled him or what, but at this moment he was completely silent, letting her scold him.
He was no longer like when he first came here, that fragile state where his emotions needed taking care of. Now, he was much more toughened up. When he did something wrong, Nan Zhi would also scold him, so now he basically didn’t feel anything.
It was referring to psychological trauma. Actually, he would get angry—but even his way of getting angry was different from others: very tactful and knowing what’s what.
When in her arms, he’d stay silent, not say a word. But once she placed him in the wheelchair, he’d immediately operate it to run off fast, leaving her with his back.
Nan Zhi first carried him to the sofa, then pushed the wheelchair over and lifted him into it—and just like expected, he started acting up again. Controlling the wheelchair, in the blink of an eye, he disappeared.
Nan Zhi: “……”
This wheelchair, when speeding up, was even faster than an electric scooter—could go fifty to sixty kilometers per hour. And it still hadn’t been subject to any kind of control or limit.
Probably because no one expected a wheelchair made for people with mobility issues could actually go this fast.
In short, by the time Nan Zhi speechlessly walked over, he had already wiped off the wheelchair and gone into the innermost sunroom.
The two of them had already eaten. Visiting people’s homes at mealtime—those people would definitely ask them to stay for food. At two different households, they both had freeloaded two meals.
Her parents were likely the same. So today there was no need to cook anymore. Song Qing had directly gone into the inner room.
Probably because they’d been running around the whole day nonstop, he was tired. Not planning to work. Went to sleep directly.
Nan Zhi thought the same. Just that she was a step slower. She saw him go into the bathroom, and since he was occupying it, she could only go wash in the one next door.
Nan Zhi took an extra trip, went to the next-door room. After brushing her teeth and washing her face, she even showered. Then she came out, dried her hair—just too tired. Tonight, she didn’t go next door and decided to sleep on this side.
She got on the bed, lay down, closed her eyes, and began brewing sleepiness.
The sound of the hairdryer stopped. From next door, Song Qing caught it in the first instant. Normally, after a short while, Nan Zhi would come in. Today, she didn’t.
But it didn’t matter—he would go over.
Nan Zhi said he was dumb, so he had to, right in front of Nan Zhi, perform for her a one-second fall-asleep—so that she would be full of envy, jealousy, and hate.
Song Qing deliberately got down from the bed, sat on the wheelchair, went to the next room. Under Nan Zhi’s surprised gaze, climbed onto her bed, and after lying down beside her, used his actions to once again perform a one-second fall-asleep for her.
This, of course, wasn’t the first time—whenever he was mad at Nan Zhi in the past, he often did this kind of thing.
Tonight too, he fell asleep under Nan Zhi’s gaze full of envy, jealousy, and hate.