Ming Can was stunned for a second, then curved her eyes, and smiled.
Her smile was very natural. Her pretty almond eyes curved into two arcs, filled with a bit of just-woken-up sleepiness and even more undisguised happiness, like a sunflower in the early morning summer, subtle yet full of vitality.
“You’re awake. Feeling a bit better?” she asked.
Su Zhi did not answer right away.
Ming Can rested both elbows on the edge of the bed, propping her chin on her hands to look at her.
After a few seconds, the person on the bed spoke, a soft, faint acknowledgment, her voice carrying the hoarseness of post-exhaustion.
Ming Can freed one arm, reached out, and pressed her palm against Su Zhi’s forehead. After feeling it, she chimed in, “Much better!”
Then she stood up, briskly entering the bathroom. A moment later, she came out carrying a basin of warm water and a towel.
“Time to wash your face!”
Ming Can placed the water basin on the bedside table, fished out the towel inside, wrung it out, folded it flat in her palm, and leaned in to wipe Su Zhi’s face.
The steam from the warm towel drifted upward. Su Zhi lowered her eyes, her eyelashes casting soft shadows beneath them.
Ming Can’s movements were very light, going from her forehead to her cheeks, bit by bit. When the edge of the towel brushed past Su Zhi’s brow bone, she paused deliberately, her gaze landing on the other’s slightly furrowed brow.
“Does it feel good?” she asked.
Su Zhi did not speak, simply raising her eyes to quietly look at her.
Ming Can flipped the towel over and continued downward. When she reached the chin, she subconsciously supported it with her hand. Her fingertips brushed against Su Zhi’s skin, which was a bit cool. She lowered her head a bit further, making her movements even lighter and gentler.
Su Zhi kept her eyes open the entire time. The two of them were even closer now, close enough to clearly see the tiny peach fuzz on her cheeks, glowing with a faint golden hue in the morning light.
She could feel the warm breath drifting down, bringing an itchy tickle across her brow and eyes, along with the warmth and affection brimming within those almond eyes.
“What’s wrong? Why are you staring at me?” Ming Can seemed to sense the other’s gaze and lowered her eyes to look.
Caught in the act, Su Zhi felt a bit embarrassed. Awkwardly, she averted her gaze, the tips of her ears quietly turning red.
The towel in Ming Can’s hands hovered in mid-air. She blinked, as if discovering something novel, and leaned her head closer again, chasing after Su Zhi’s dodging gaze.
“I’m asking you, Sister, why are you staring at me? Is there something on my face?”
With nowhere left to hide, Su Zhi stubbornly muttered two words: “No.”
The section of her neck exposed by the collar of her hospital gown was still bare, and where the skin was thin, a faint pinkish hue was faintly visible.
Ming Can held back her smile without exposing her. She rinsed the towel in the basin, wrung it out, and leaned forward again.
“If there isn’t, then turn your face over, let’s keep wiping!”
Su Zhi did not move.
Ming Can was not in a hurry either, just holding the towel and waiting, her almond eyes curved into two crescent moons filled with a shallow, smiling warmth.
The ward was quiet, with the faint chirping of birds coming from outside the window. Su Zhi forced herself to shift her attention elsewhere. After a few seconds, she slowly turned her face back.
Ming Can’s heart melted into a puddle. After finishing wiping her face, she wiped her neck. Su Zhi would occasionally shrink back from the tickling sensation, and Ming Can could sense how sensitive her body was, making her lighten her touch even further.
After finishing the cleanup, Ming Can packed up the items. When she came out of the bathroom, she was browsing on a mobile phone.
On the screen was a newly opened congee shop. The white rice and yam congee was boiled thick and smooth, the rice grains had blossomed, and the yam chunks were stewed to a soft, milky white, dotted with a few goji berries. It looked warm, nourishing, and soothing to the stomach. She had specially searched it out.
Ming Can held the phone up right in front of Su Zhi, her eyes bright. “Sister, shall we drink some congee for breakfast? White rice and yam congee. I found a place that makes it really well.”
Su Zhi’s gaze lingered on the picture on the screen for a few seconds before she shook her head. “Ming Can, I’m not hungry.”
Her voice was very soft, like morning mist that scattered at the slightest touch.
Ming Can’s hand holding the phone paused.
She blinked, looked down at the bowl of yam congee on the screen, and then looked up at Su Zhi. Su Zhi had already shifted her gaze away, turning her head to look out the window. The lines of her profile looked somewhat cold in the light.
It was not that she was not hungry. She was afraid to be hungry.
In the past, she was afraid of needing the bathroom if she ate or drank too much, which would trouble others, so she constantly restrained herself. She restrained herself to the point where she forgot how to swallow entirely. Finally, she met someone who could offer her a shred of dignity, yet this person was still so young and had such a far-reaching future ahead of her. She had no reason to drag her down so comfortably.
“Ming Can,” Su Zhi’s gaze remained fixed on a distant spot outside the window, her expression very vacant, her voice low. “The interview this afternoon, get yourself ready and head over early.”
“No rush.” Ming Can tucked the phone back into her pocket, her tone remaining light and breezy. “The interview is at two o’clock. The hospital is close to the school, so it takes me fifty minutes by subway. We’ll have lunch together, and after eating, I’ll leave. The timing will be just right.”
Su Zhi finally pulled her gaze back from the window and let it fall on Ming Can’s face.
Those almond eyes were still curved, and the light shining within them was too bright, so bright that Su Zhi felt as though her previous words had landed in a lump of cotton, missing their mark with a soft, hollow thud.
“Go early,” she said, her tone carrying more weight now, losing that light, breezy negotiability and turning into something heavier and more pressing. “Familiarize yourself with the venue and look over the questions.”
Ming Can paused.
Su Zhi looked at her without dodging or turning away like before. Her eyes were still indifferent, separated by a layer of something Ming Can could not quite see through, yet it inexplicably made her throat feel tight.
“I.”
“Go.” Su Zhi interrupted her, her voice softening again, as if the heavy weight of the previous second had merely been an illusion. “I’m much better now. When you leave, keep the medicine here. If there’s an issue, I’ll find Dr. Gong.”
In the end, Ming Can could not overcome this stubbornness. Under Su Zhi’s repeated urging, she reluctantly walked out of the hospital room step by step.
Accompanied by the sound of the door closing, the faint glimmer of light in Su Zhi’s eyes was completely extinguished.
She closed her eyes, resting her slender arm across them in an attempt to suppress that excessive burning sensation. The collar of her hospital gown was slightly loose, revealing a stretch of her collarbone. Beneath the thin skin, faint bluish veins were visible.
Su Zhi’s breathing was very light, so light it was almost imperceptible. Only her slightly rising and falling chest proved she was still awake.
When her vision darkened, the surroundings felt even emptier and quieter.
It was quiet enough to bring to mind many things: those nights she could not get through, the indignities exposed over and over again, and, in the endless darkness, the only tiny glimmer of light that had treated her with kindness. Her smile and thoughtfulness.
Time ticked by second by second. Who knew how long had passed, maybe five minutes, maybe ten minutes, or even longer, when the sound of footsteps suddenly echoed down the corridor.
Light, rapid, carrying the panting sound of a slight jog.
Su Zhi’s eyelashes trembled, but she did not open her eyes.
The footsteps grew closer and closer, then stopped at the door.
The door was pushed open gently.
“Sister,” Ming Can poked her head in. “I forgot something.”
Su Zhi opened her eyes.
Ming Can stood at the door, holding two plastic bowls to her chest. A faint flush of red was on her face from running, and the loose strands of hair at her temples were slightly messy, but those almond eyes were curved more prettily than ever.
She raised the bowls up and shook them.
“White rice and yam congee!” Ming Can said, her tone carrying a hint of casualness. “Saw it by the roadside. The boss had just finished boiling the first pot. The rice was cooked to pieces, and the yam was stewed until soft and sticky. It looked so nourishing for the stomach, so I brought a portion along.”
Chatting as she walked inside, she placed the bowls on the bedside table and peeled off the lids, letting steam rise into the air. The milky-white congee base was thick and smooth, the yam pieces were stewed soft enough to nearly melt into the congee, dotted with a few goji berries. The aroma was gentle and light.
Ming Can brought the bowl and spoon over, propped one knee against the edge of the bed, and scooped a spoonful of congee toward Su Zhi’s lips.
“Eat a little,” she said, her tone brisk and natural. “I’ll leave after you eat, I’ll still make it on time.”
The heat from the congee in the bowl was clearly rising upward, but Su Zhi’s vision felt somewhat blurred. She pressed her lips together and did not move.
Ming Can did not move either, just holding the spoon up stubbornly, waiting for the other person to open her mouth, without seeming tired at all.
“Ming Can.” After a long while, Su Zhi spoke again, her voice hoarser than before, carrying a hint of compromise.
“I can’t eat,” she said.
Ming Can ignored her. Taking advantage of a moment when the other was not paying attention, she slipped a spoonful of tofu pudding straight into her mouth.
Caught off guard.
Su Zhi held that mouthful of congee inside her mouth. The warm rice broth spread across the walls of her oral cavity, soft, gentle, blending the sweet lightness of yam and the fragrance of rice. She froze there, not knowing whether to swallow or not.
A crafty smile flashed in Ming Can’s eyes, while her tone turned impossibly soft: “You’ve already eaten it, you’re not allowed to spit it out, okay?”
Su Zhi’s throat moved once, then twice. She tried, struggling, to swallow that mouthful of congee bit by bit.
Ming Can wanted to scoop another spoonful, but her wrist was restrained by a weak, gentle force.
Su Zhi looked at her, shaking her head, her eyes holding both compromise and vulnerability: “I can’t digest that much. If it acts up later, it’ll just cause trouble.”
Her flat, unemotional voice was heartbreaking enough.
Ming Can bit her lip, looked at the other person for a few seconds, and said in a very, very quiet voice: “Then I won’t go to the interview. I’ll stay here and take care of you.”
The moment those words fell, Su Zhi’s eyelashes trembled.
She raised her eyes and looked at Ming Can. The worry brimming in those almond eyes was too real, too scorching, so scorching that she almost wanted to look away. But she did not. She simply looked, gazing at that young face still flushed with a faint red, at the strands of hair messed up by running, and at her lower lip, which was slightly pale from being bitten.
Then she spoke.
“No.” Her voice was light, yet steady.
“Ming Can,” she called her name, repeating it word for word, “no.”
Ming Can parted her lips, wanting to say something, but her throat felt uncomfortably blocked. She was still holding that bowl of congee, and the heat rising from it made her vision less than clear.
“Go,” Su Zhi reached out and gave her a gentle nudge. “Go to the interview, do well. Come back tonight, and if it’s on the way, bring me a bowl of soup.”
Ming Can lowered her head, staring at the hand that had touched the back of her hand. The fingers were slender, the knuckles prominent, and the skin so thin the pale blue veins underneath were visible. That hand stayed on the back of her hand for a second before retracting and falling back onto the blanket.
Ming Can sniffled, doing her best to swallow back the stinging sensation in her eyes.
“Then I’ll come back and bring you some crucian carp and tofu soup, alright?” Ming Can spoke, her voice carrying a slight nasal twang, yet she forced herself to maintain her usual briskness. “There’s a shop right outside the school gate, their crucian carp and tofu soup is delicious. I’ll bring some back for you.”
“Mmm,” Su Zhi replied faintly.
Ming Can put the bowl back on the bedside table and turned to walk out. When she reached the door, she stopped and looked back, just in time to collide with Su Zhi’s gaze. Those eyes looked very pale in the morning light.
“Do great on the interview!” Su Zhi said, uttering those three words.
Ming Can curved her eyes and nodded with a smile.
“I’ll be soon back,” she said, then pulled open the door and ran out.
The sound of footsteps gradually faded and disappeared down the end of the corridor.
Su Zhi gazed at that door. A long, long time later, she took out her phone, swiped open her contacts, and flipped through the screen with her fingertips until she found a phone number saved as “Lawyer Tian,” and dialed.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
The dial tone rang, each ring drawn out and sounding exceptionally clear in the quiet ward.
On the third ring, the call connected.
“Ms. Su?” A middle-aged woman’s gentle voice came through, sounding a bit surprised. “Hello, it’s been a long time since we last spoke.”
“It’s me,” Su Zhi began, her voice very soft and laced with hoarseness. “Are you free today? If you are, could you come to the hospital? I need to draw up a will.”