The girl in the front of the first photo was covering her face, secretly laughing. The him behind her was holding a book, walking forward with no distractions, eyes not looking to the side.
It was winter. The school uniform was a thick windbreaker. Song Qing’s clothes, compared to others, looked a bit faded, as if from excessive washing or turned white from washing. Without needing to think, it was easy to guess—maybe second-hand clothes he dug up, or handed down from senior schoolmates.
They were a bit too big, didn’t fit very well, but he still looked very good wearing them. At the root of it, it was actually because he looked good. His facial features were rather delicate, and he was very tidy. His hair was cut very, very short, revealing his clear and handsome features entirely.
The school pants were also windbreaker style, probably very thick. The people beside him, boys and girls alike, looked rather bloated wearing them. But not him—because he was tall, with long legs.
That school uniform, on him, was worn with a sense of fashion. It just so happened to be the most popular oversized style at the time.
The sunlight that day must have been really nice, shining on him. His side profile and slender neck looked as if they were coated in a layer of light, appearing cold and indifferent, sacred and untouchable.
The second photo was when the girl fell, drawing his attention. The scene of him turning his head to look.
A boy of seventeen or eighteen, somewhere between a teenager and a young man—looked even more stunning from the front. His gaze was bright and spirited. His back was straight. The youthful pride and integrity of a young man—even broken-down clothes couldn’t hide it. Like light covered by a black curtain, no matter how tightly it was wrapped, some specks of brightness would still leak out.
Light, this kind of thing—how to say it—is something you can’t grab, can’t catch, can’t press down.
The photos after that were all more or less the same, all recording how this young man was so dazzling, so outstanding.
Like a fresh bamboo shoot breaking through snow and soil, or like a pine or cypress tree with thick accumulated layers of fortune—nothing could bend its branches, and nothing could stop it from sprouting, taking root, and growing tall. It was full of vitality, unstoppable like a breaking bamboo.
Nan Zhi looked at the photos, her gaze uncontrollably falling on the legs wrapped in that simple, heavy school uniform, and only felt regret.
So long, so slender, so straight.
The bones he had left now were all proportionate and beautiful. If those legs were still there, after taking off his clothes, they’d only look even longer and fairer, wouldn’t they?
There were five or six photos in total. Nan Zhi looked at them for a long time. After finishing, she originally intended to put the photos back. But accidentally, she noticed that the girl who had fallen was looking backward.
She flipped through the others again, only to realize that actually from beginning to end, this girl had been paying attention to what was behind her.
From covering her face and secretly laughing, her peripheral gaze was directed backward. Even the fall was caused by looking backward—maybe she hadn’t noticed her footing and tripped. Even though she fell, she still turned her head.
Nan Zhi went back and looked at the first photo again. From the gaps between the girl’s fingers, she noticed her flushed face—not the normal kind of cheek red, but the kind of red from shyness.
After repeatedly looking back and forth a few times, she already had a clear idea in her heart.
From this positioning, it was obvious that the boy in the back was the real focus. Or rather, whether it was the girl in the photo or the one taking the photo, their intention wasn’t in the wine [醉翁之意不在酒, idiom: the real intent lies elsewhere]—the goal was the boy behind.
What they wanted to record was Song Qing.
From Song Qing walking normally, to turning his head to look—the whole process.
Otherwise, it wouldn’t make sense that the girl who fell in front was all blurred, while the Song Qing in the back was in high definition. The one captured by the camera was clearly him.
Everyone knows, aside from focusing on the important person, the rest doesn’t matter—Nan Zhi used to have a camera, so she knew this very well.
Thinking carefully, it also made sense. Song Qing studied well, looked good, and his posture was the kind most girls liked. In school, he probably counted as some kind of legendary figure—if not the campus heartthrob, then at least the department one.
Actually, if he had lived in an ordinary family—didn’t need to be particularly good, just average—could study properly at the age when one should be studying, without so many burdens, he could have climbed higher, gone to a better school, and become a favored son of heaven [天之骄子 – an extremely talented person favored by fate].
His life—just like his legs—such a pity.
Nan Zhi put the photos back, stood up, looked at the person who had already hung up his clothes and was quietly sitting in the wheelchair, and felt a subtle sense of difference.
Now, Song Qing was just like his name, also carried a bit of tenacity on his body, but compared to before, it was much less. At his age, if you looked carefully, he even had white hair starting to show. It could be seen that the incident of the broken leg had hit him hard—probably like killing half of him, making him lose a bit of vitality and youth. His youthful spirit had also been shaved off by this sudden disaster.
Really such a pity.
Nan Zhi suddenly wanted to hug him. She didn’t hesitate either—abruptly stepped forward, and when the person in the wheelchair hadn’t reacted yet, suddenly hugged him.
“You’ve already passed the lowest valley. From now on, even the worst will still be a peak.”
Song Qing’s pupils slightly scattered. That embrace—too tight, too sudden, and carried warmth—wrapped him, making it slightly hard to breathe. But he could feel that there seemed to be something being passed to him from this girl, making his cold body warm up a little.
His chin got stuck on the girl’s shoulder. In her thick, warm embrace, he lightly gave a sound of “mm.”
This embrace was not only sudden but also a bit too long. A very, very long time passed without ending. Song Qing was being held, yet inexplicably didn’t open his mouth to stop her. Nan Zhi also didn’t know why—she just didn’t want to let go for the time being. Her hand tightly covered his back, fingers slightly bent, stroking his spine.
This person liked to wear loose clothes—or rather, didn’t have any clothes that fit—so the clothes were always big and baggy. Usually, it couldn’t be seen. But once you touched him, you’d realize he was very thin.
His spinal bones almost seemed like they would poke out through the thin layer of skin and fabric—but even so, it was this spine, looking extremely fragile, that supported this emaciated body.
Just like when she pitied that young man who got crippled after collecting debt, she also felt a bit of heartache for this person.
“I promise, I’ll fight to get the kind-hearted person to continue supporting you. Even if she’s unwilling, you still have me. My place is very big—housing just you is more than enough. As long as you don’t go commit crimes or do things that go against the three views [毁三观 — destroying the Three Views: world view, values, and outlook on life], you can keep staying here. Of course, once your body recovers and you’re able to earn money, you’ll need to pay rent.”
Nan Zhi still left a bit of leeway—a bit of space to retreat. She wasn’t going to endlessly do good deeds without complaint. Once he got better, he naturally had to give back through labor.
Song Qing nodded. He felt that her promise was very realistic—compared to those “you’ll definitely be fine” and “you’ll make it through” kinds of chicken soup [鸡汤 — empty inspirational talk] comfort, it was so much better. This was a real, solid guarantee.
Nan Zhi finally let go of him and began thinking about what else he needed.
Food, clothing, shelter, and mobility—clothing she didn’t consider for now, because his leg was like that, couldn’t go out. In a room without air conditioning, it wasn’t cold.
For food, she’d order takeout for him tomorrow. Shelter was already settled. Mobility—he didn’t go out, so no need.
She had already arranged everything for him.
Nan Zhi prepared to go do her own things.
The warmth and faint body heat of the hug suddenly faded. The person who had been hugging him turned and ran toward the corner. In the wheelchair behind her, Song Qing instinctively reached out a hand, as if wanting to keep the person who could bring him warmth, who gave him that hug. That hand raised—but even he himself found it strange—and forcefully suppressed it.
But it really was warm.
That hug didn’t despise his poverty and filth, didn’t carry any prejudice. Even someone like him was equally accepted and warmed.
Nan Zhi had just left when she suddenly thought of something, turned back, and said to him:
“There are no rules in my house. Everything here—all appliances and furniture—you can use. Kitchen, bathroom, laundry room, work area, if you want to go in, just go in. However you want to touch things, just touch them. Computer, TV, fridge, kitchen tools—everything, everything you can see—you can use however you like.”
Still because of that same reason. Back when she first entered her parents’ home, she didn’t know. When scooping food, she casually picked up a bowl—turns out it was her sister’s. Her sister flew into a rage.
Her parents could only coax her, saying they’d buy a new one. Although they didn’t blame her, at that time, she sat at the dinner table, feeling so embarrassed she wanted to find a hole to crawl into.
Her hair had fallen into the sink’s strainer net and she got scolded—had to disinfect before being allowed into the house, and so on.
When she first arrived, her parents didn’t say any rules. But after living for almost a month, there were walls and barriers everywhere.
She couldn’t let Song Qing also be all tied up—ending up not even daring to pick food while eating, doing everything so cautiously, and apologizing at the first sign of conflict.
Too painful—no need for it.
Song Qing was slightly stunned. After a moment, he nodded slightly.
Nan Zhi left in satisfaction, and didn’t go far. She went to the small storage room, moved out the recent deliveries of decorations she had bought, planning to open them up and put them to use—make the house look a bit more comfortable.
She had bought quite a lot before, always thinking she’d be diligent and fix things up, but in reality, once home she would collapse into sleep. Work had already consumed all her energy and spirit, not leaving even a little bit for the house.
Maybe because she had done a bunch of things in a row today, she suddenly felt full of strength all over. Nan Zhi planned to take advantage of the momentum and finish everything she had missed before.
But in fact, just after spreading out one blanket, she was already exhausted to the point of no return. Saying it was for Song Qing to use—for bed and quilt—Song Qing hadn’t even gotten to sleep on it, but she herself had already flopped down onto it first.
Song Qing parked the wheelchair to the side, not too close, not too far, quietly waiting for her—like he was waiting for instructions or guarding her.
This kind of behavior—strangely made her think of cats.
She had heard from her friends that cats were like this too—wherever the human was, the cat would be. When they’re young, they follow people because they lack a sense of security and want to be protected. When they grow up and still follow—it’s because they don’t feel at ease with their owner, and begin protecting them instead.
Out of ten cats, eight had this kind of trait.
Maybe because of that, she really wanted to raise a cat—one that would stick to her like glue, stuck to her every day.
Before she brought Song Qing home, she had been watching cat videos every day, imagining moments of interaction with them—rubbing and snuggling, scratching their chins.
But in the end, she brought back a person—not a cat.
Speaking of this, she felt a little regret.
Nan Zhi looked toward Song Qing beside the bed.
He couldn’t be touched, couldn’t be snuggled, and couldn’t have his chin scratched or be kissed.