Chapter 30

The bowl of plain noodle soup wasn’t particularly tasty—it had no oil, just a pinch of salt in the broth.

Chi Zhihan blanched some vegetables and tomatoes, their green and red colors making the dish look somewhat presentable.

She made two bowls, pulled up a stool, and sat beside Qi Cheng at the bar counter. Together, they finished their meal in silence.

He didn’t ask about her strange request earlier, and she didn’t ask why he had agreed.

But somehow, Qi Cheng’s mood seemed much better. After they finished eating, he even stayed in the kitchen to keep Chi Zhihan company while she washed the dishes.

A mere meter apart, yet in this vast, empty house, that distance felt incredibly close.

“My mom used to hate washing dishes,” Chi Zhihan said, keeping her head down. “After every meal, she’d just leave them in the sink and wait for my dad to come home and wash them.”

“Once—it was past three in the morning—my dad came home and started doing the dishes in the kitchen. My mom and I thought we had a burglar. We were so scared we almost called the police. After that, washing dishes became my job.” Chi Zhihan smiled at the memory and looked up at Qi Cheng.

Leaning against the refrigerator, he didn’t seem the least bit bored. A faint smile played on his lips.

His gaze made Chi Zhihan’s cheeks flush slightly.

“I wasn’t feeling great today either,” Chi Zhihan averted her gaze, squinting as she smiled. “But I feel better now.”

A bowl of plain, mediocre noodles, and just like that—better.

A gentle warmth spread through both her stomach and heart.

“Mm,” Qi Cheng responded softly.

Indeed, things had improved—for both of them. Watching her wash dishes, listening to her reminisce about home, for the first time in his life, he felt a sense of peaceful contentment.

For one fleeting moment, it was as if all the invisible shackles binding him had disappeared.

The first and only such moment in ten years.

A moment for which he would give anything to express his gratitude.

…

“Tired?” After returning everything in the kitchen to its place, Chi Zhihan took off her apron, dried her hands, and smiled at Qi Cheng.

She had learned something from him—when the mood was light, you had to maintain it. Even if it lasted just one extra second, for Qi Cheng, that time was precious.

“Not tired.” Chi Zhihan wasn’t even 160 centimeters tall, and even from a meter away, he still had to lower his head to look at her.

This seemed to be their first time standing face to face.

The difference between man and woman became starkly clear. And for the first time, an illusion took root—he thought he saw something in her eyes, something he had considered too luxurious to hope for, even in his wildest dreams.

“If you’re not tired, how about watching a movie together?” Qi Cheng’s apartment had a massive screen and projector.

She had only discovered after living there for a few days that this enormous space of two to three hundred square meters, which initially felt as empty as a warehouse, actually contained many hidden features.

Whenever Qi Cheng’s condition worsened, he would press a button to make everything disappear, insisting on curling up in empty, suffocating darkness.

This form of self-torture always felt like punishment to her.

His condition had improved considerably lately, so during the day, Chi Zhihan often experimented with the various buttons, investigating the mechanisms in the house.

The luxurious private theater system fascinated her the most.

Qi Cheng knew this, so he nodded.

Then he watched as Chi Zhihan darted to the sofa, quickly arranging them about a meter apart, stuffing both with plenty of cushions, and adding footrests and blankets.

While beckoning Qi Cheng to sit, she rushed back again.

After calculating Qi Cheng’s calorie intake for the day, she shrugged somewhat regretfully: “You can only have cucumber juice…”

She was excited, like a child visiting a movie theater for the first time.

Qi Cheng knew that many times, Chi Zhihan deliberately subdued her excitement. This was part of her job since returning, but it was also human instinct.

He was so repressed that people around him unconsciously tried to lighten the atmosphere.

But this time, her excitement seemed genuine. She even made herself what appeared to be a rather strong cocktail.

Then she handed him a cucumber juice decorated identically to her drink.

She blinked, proudly waving the hard drive she had prepared long ago at Qi Cheng, the whole process looking quite comical.

The ridiculous scene actually made Qi Cheng feel a hint of anticipation.

Then he stared incredulously at the movie title: «Chibi Maruko-chan: The Boy from Italy.»

…

……

When the theme song started playing, he truly thought he had misread.

But the person beside him started humming along, dancing enthusiastically, and even found time to ask, “You know Chibi Maruko-chan, right?”

…As someone who drew manga professionally, of course he knew Chibi Maruko-chan…

The question was…

Why this movie? At the very least, he had expected a romance, or considering his condition, a comedy.

After all, she had seriously mixed cocktails, dimmed the lights, appearing mature and sophisticated…

And then, started watching Chibi Maruko-chan.

“I’ve watched it so many times. Whenever I’m feeling down, I always put it on,” Chi Zhihan took a sip of her cocktail and assured Qi Cheng, patting her chest, “It’s really good, even though there’s not much of a plot!”

Qi Cheng silently took a sip of his cucumber juice.

This theater system was expensive, bought when Dr. Zhao wanted to try movie therapy. At the time, there weren’t such large private theater screens in China; he remembered his older brother had it custom-made.

After it was installed, he had inexplicably relapsed and never used it again.

This was the theater’s first use.

And it was showing Chibi Maruko-chan…

Well… he could die content now.

The strangest thing was that it actually was enjoyable. There truly wasn’t much plot—just pure-hearted children from different countries, the same old Maruko-chan, gentle and warm, with even the humor being subtle.

He actually finished the whole movie, taking small sips of his cucumber juice.

He didn’t find the sound system too loud, nor did he feel uncomfortable.

The heavy despair that had weighed on his heart after talking with Dr. Zhao was completely washed away by a barely edible vegetarian noodle soup garnished with vegetables, and a 15-year-old animated film.

And by the instigator beside him who fell asleep halfway through after drinking her cocktail.

After turning off the projector, Qi Cheng sat on the sofa for a long time.

He deeply hated this living room sofa set. Dr. Zhao used it for his psychological treatment, and family members often sat here to talk with him, asking what he needed, what more they could do. His older brother, Qi Peng, had once knelt here, begging him not to give up on himself and them.

This sofa symbolized his abnormality, engraved with his shame.

Yet every night, Chi Zhihan would rearrange it into a makeshift bed, then comment that it was more comfortable than the real bed in the room across.

In the mornings, she would drowsily roll around on it when reluctant to get up.

Now, he sat here intact, watched a ninety-minute movie, and had been lost in thought for over ten minutes.

Completely without aversion.

If it weren’t for the person beside him nearly nodding off to the floor, he might have continued sitting here, reluctant to leave this peaceful moment.

“Chi Zhihan,” he called her name softly, but she didn’t respond.

She was sound asleep, and finding her forward-bent position uncomfortable in her dream, she boldly threw her head back. The pose was neither pretty nor cute.

Qi Cheng thought that with her mouth half-open like that, she might drool if left long enough.

But he stood up, wearing the cotton slippers Chi Zhihan had given him earlier, and as if bewitched, tried to step closer.

His heart raced, his breathing becoming short and rapid.

Qi Cheng stood still for a moment, clenching his fists. The meter-plus distance felt insurmountable.

Chi Zhihan’s breathing was steady and deep, her brows slightly furrowed in the dim light. In her dream, she smacked her lips and reached up to scratch her neck.

Sleeping so naturally.

Qi Cheng knew he had moved closer again, close enough that with one reach, he could touch her cheek like that day.

That soft, warm cheek.

As if possessed, he reached out, and the moment his fingers touched her face, Chi Zhihan suddenly woke up.

She opened her eyes and stared motionlessly at the nearby Qi Cheng.

Qi Cheng’s face was a sickly pale gray, his lips turning grayish-purple from nervousness.

She hadn’t been pretending to sleep; mysteriously, she had dreamed of the temperature of his fingertips, and upon waking, they were truly there, beside her ear.

“Qi Cheng,” she heard herself speak, her voice hoarse from sleep, “Do you want to go to America?”

Qi Cheng kept his hand where it was. The warmth of her skin seeped into his fingertips, carrying a faint burning sensation. It didn’t hurt much—not enough to trigger hallucinations yet.

His eyes, which usually blurred when Chi Zhihan was close, showed no symptoms.

He seemed completely normal, so he clearly heard Chi Zhihan’s question.

He might have shaken his head, or perhaps his face showed rejection, but either way, Chi Zhihan understood.

Then she looked into his eyes very seriously and asked, “Then shall we try hard together, to get better?”

She used “we.”

She always liked this verbal habit, eagerly seeking companionship.

He didn’t remember what he answered, nor did he recall how he finally got back to bed.

By the time the burning sensation in his fingers truly became heart-piercing pain, they had both returned to their usual sleeping positions.

Qi Cheng bit his lip in the dim night light.

Today, he had asked Dr. Zhao to turn off the cameras.

His reason was: “I can live without privacy, but she shouldn’t have to.”

Chi Zhihan sleepwalked, and during these episodes, she might become disheveled. He didn’t want others to see.

Dr. Zhao had frozen for a long time, looking at him with words caught in his throat, afraid to speak too harshly and hurt him, yet afraid speaking too lightly would fail to warn him.

“I know my own body best,” he remembered saying when Dr. Zhao hesitated.

For the first time, he spoke the truth.

“I won’t ruin her life, but when she’s by my side, I want to protect her.”

“Fortunately, I have money, and fortunately, money is all she lacks in life.”

How could he possibly develop anything with a twenty-four-year-old girl in the prime of her youth? Even thinking about it made him feel guilty towards her.

Perhaps one day he would suddenly lose control of himself.

He should, after everything was settled, bid farewell to the world in the best way possible.

Until then, he would allow himself this small, selfish indulgence—watching her hum as she cooked for him, frowning at his clumsiness, her eyes widening in awe at his drawings.

Her life had so much sunshine.

He just wanted to steal a little of it for himself.  

But that was all.

In return, he would ensure her future life was free from material wants, allowing her to do what she truly wanted.

Everything had been arranged, but what had he just promised her?