Yun Shui: (⊙_⊙)
If someone had told Yun Shui a month ago that she would be stuck with a Fleet Commander who had lost all combat capability—that they would not only trade verbal attacks and arguments, but that the Commander would bite her like a rabid dog—she would have responded with the kind of look you give a madman.
The Fleet Commander was already crippled. Yun Shui was afraid of pressing against his wounds, so she didn't dare struggle too hard. But the bite genuinely jolted her, and she sucked in a sharp breath: "Hiss… don't push it, or I'll file a complaint with the Alliance Labor Protection Committee!!"
The Fleet Commander clamped down and refused to let go.
This was too bizarre.
Yun Shui couldn't help letting her thoughts run wild, and for a moment, all kinds of heart-pounding movies and books flashed through her mind.
An outlandish speculation instantly consumed her every thought—her heart sank halfway, and she felt the organ in her chest pounding uncontrollably. The more she thought about it, the more unbelievable it seemed, and she murmured: "What… mutation? Is it a mutation after the Catastrophe… yes… that's it… heavens, high fever and coma, Post-Catastrophe Awakening, viral outbreak—y-y-y-you're going to turn into a zombie, aren't you!"
She sucked in a cold breath, looked at the teeth marks on her tiger's mouth, and thought calmly: "I'm going to get infected."
Jiang Xie: "Heh."
Yun Shui felt as if ice water had been splashed in her face. Her whole body went numb, her limbs stiffened, and goosebumps raced to the surface: "You don't bite anyone else—only me. Returning kindness with enmity, the farmer and the snake…"
The Fleet Commander: "."
The corners of his mouth twitched a few times, and he said with utter exasperation: "What exactly goes through that head of yours all day long?"
Jiang Xie found himself unconsciously staring at her. Yun Shui was truly detestable—she'd cold-shouldered him for half the day as if nothing had happened, and only now, this late, had she remembered to wipe his face. There was no reason to forgive such an insolent subordinate. Jiang Xie condemned her.
Yun Shui's hair had stopped dripping, hanging half-dry over the towel on her shoulders. There was no hairdryer either, so at this moment her hair was in clumped, ribbon-like strands—a ridiculous sight, like an old mop head that wouldn't wring dry.
Strangely enough, the mop head wasn't dusty gray now. The steam had made it look very fair, with a faint pink flush rising from her agitation.
Her eyes were dazed, but held a faint, glistening sheen.
Whenever Jiang Xie met those eyes, he felt as if an old-fashioned cotton candy machine was spinning round and round in his head, tangling and weaving his messy threads of emotion together until they bound into a fluffy, cloud-like shape—a huge mass of it, carrying a strangely unfamiliar sweetness.
The two of them silently stared at each other for a long while. The child next door piped up excitedly: "Big sister, what are you two playing? Zombies? So cool! I want to play too! Rawr!"
Yun Shui snapped back to reality. The Fleet Commander's gaze was clear and sharp, and his fierce brows and eyes actually carried a faint, barely perceptible hint of amusement—utterly bizarre, out of the ordinary. But his jawline was taut, the corners of his mouth turned down slightly, and he looked like trouble again.
He didn't seem to have sprouted fangs or lost his mind just yet.
Yun Shui awkwardly swished the washcloth around in the plastic bowl a couple of times and wiped her hands.
The Fleet Commander's eyelids twitched, but his expression remained rigid: "Yun Shui, with you like this, I can't remember anything at all."
Yun Shui muttered a quiet rebuttal: "Biting people is even worse."
The Fleet Commander lay silently on the pillow watching her. From this angle, most people would appear to have slightly larger eyes, a bit softer and more approachable—but when the Fleet Commander's rigid gaze swept over, those eyes held a cold, indifferent curve, an icy temperament.
A moment of silence.
The next second, without warning, the loudspeakers at the shelter began to blare, startling everyone into perking up their ears: "Attention all personnel! Attention all personnel! Relief supplies have arrived in batches. Daily necessities are being distributed at Tent Number One. Please make your way to Tent Number One at your earliest convenience!"
At that signal, the fellow sufferers across the entire shelter area reacted like high school students hearing the lunch bell at noon—sprinting with hundred-meter-dash speed and the determination of people rushing to grab food in the cafeteria, swarming toward Tent Number One.
Yun Shui sprang to her feet at once, not bothering to check the Fleet Commander's expression, and quickly joined the surging crowd.
For a moment the ground seemed to shake, as if one could see the dust clouds kicked up by the crowd's footsteps. Cheers rang out endlessly, a lively commotion—like a documentary of wildebeest migration in Africa.
Half an hour later.
The nurse removed Jiang Xie's mummy-wrapped hand. Most of the wounds had scabbed over; fortunately, no bones were injured.
Then, enduring sharp pain, he had the gauze on his abdomen peeled off for a dressing change. Just as it was finished, he saw the door open, and Yun Shui walked in looking utterly dejected, swaying as if about to collapse.
Her half-damp hair was nearly completely dry now. Part of the towel was tucked into her collar, while the rest had been yanked loose.
Beneath her disheveled hair were lifeless eyes. Her jacket hung loosely, the zipper half-undone, the fabric covered in wrinkles—she looked like a squashed steamed bun.
The Fleet Commander savored her pathetic state for a few seconds, and strangely, it seemed to dull some of the throbbing pain from his wounds. This man was truly wicked to the core—it was visibly lifting his mood. "Oh, what happened to you, you idiot?"
"Terrible," Yun Shui murmured, still not fully processing it. "Those people…"
She had barely stepped into Tent Number One when enthusiastic uncles and aunties nearly bowled her over. These elders were formidable in spirit and swift on their feet, pushing in like they were brawling.
Countless hands reached out. The volunteers couldn't hand things out fast enough. Pots, bowls, and utensils were snatched and grabbed, passed around in complete chaos. Joyful laughter mixed with occasional arguments, bubbling up like a great boiling cauldron, hot and effervescent.
Some people were quick and nimble, grabbing plenty of items. Others, less practiced, came away empty-handed.
Despite the volunteers shouting through megaphones, "This is only the first batch—more will come later," the enthusiastic crowd refused to back off easily. Those who cut through without queuing drew the crowd's ire, sparking quarrels. When they finally managed to enforce strict queuing, the lines twisted and skewed into several crooked columns, descending into chaos like a vegetable market. The volunteers couldn't keep up—complete pandemonium.
Jubilant, spittle flying everywhere.
In the midst of this battle, Yun Shui retrieved a plastic washbasin that had been knocked to the ground in the commotion, and blindly grabbed a bundle of clothes hangers.
Bai Mingyi had been there too, quietly slipping her three tangerines. Yun Shui thanked him profusely and carefully placed the tangerines in the basin—a full haul… of scavenged goods.
The Fleet Commander listened, then looked down at the washbasin in her hands. Yun Shui gradually came back to her senses, staring blankly at what she held: "Ah, well, not bad. Finally, I won't have to use a tiny disposable plastic bowl as a washbasin anymore."
The Fleet Commander didn't mock her either. Looking at the red mark on the back of her hand—she must have knocked it somewhere—he suddenly asked, "What's in your basin?" Then added in a measured tone, "Didn't they only issue daily necessities?"
His eyesight was excellent; there was no way he hadn't seen clearly.
"Oh," Yun Shui found it a bit odd. Her arms were tired from holding the basin, so she set it on the ground and answered casually, "They're tangerines a friend gave me."
The Fleet Commander made an "oh" sound.
The Fleet Commander: "Which friend?"
"I met him on my first day here," Yun Shui said. She sensed their cold war might be over—this was the first time her superior had extended an olive branch—so she cooperated readily. "He's a medical student. When I first came to the shelter seeking help, he and a few others carried a stretcher cart over to assist. Very kind-hearted."
After listening, Jiang Xie felt that this kind-hearted friend was probably male. There was an indescribable tightness in his chest. He said gloomily, "Then thank him for me."
Speaking of it, Yun Shui did feel a bit hungry. She sat down on the small stool, nudged the trash bag over with her foot, and began peeling a tangerine.
The tangerine was cooperative—the easily peelable kind—making small tearing sounds as the skin came off, and gradually the air filled with that tangy-sweet citrus fragrance.
After a pause, the Fleet Commander interrupted her: "Share some with me, please."
Yun Shui seemed to remember something, and her face grew troubled, her expression strange. Hesitantly, she said in fragments, "General, your wound is on your abdomen. The doctor said you should stick to nutrient fluids for now."
The Fleet Commander wasn't pleased, but he'd already been angry today. With good self-restraint, he endured it and said nonchalantly, "Not willing to share with me?"
Yun Shui furtively glanced at his expression, then looked around. Everyone was busy with their own things, chatting lightly, no one paying attention to them.
She dawdled as she stood up, then walked softly to the Fleet Commander's side, standing very close.
Hesitation.
Words on the tip of her tongue.
The Fleet Commander watched her struggling to speak and let out a scoffing laugh: "Fine, don't share then. No one's forcing you."
"No," Yun Shui stammered. Her eyes were clear and bright, and as she leaned in, she carried that fresh tangerine scent that always made Jiang Xie think of orange-flavored cookies or orange blossom body wash. She slowly edged closer.
Yun Shui whispered something.
The Fleet Commander was distracted and, unusually, didn't catch it: "What?"
Yun Shui said it again.
The Fleet Commander thought he must be hearing things.
Yun Shui felt he still hadn't heard, and since she couldn't very well shout it out loud, she leaned close to his ear: "General, the doctor said you have to… until you can, um, ahem, until you can pass gas before you can eat anything."
The Fleet Commander: .
Yun Shui: (⊙_⊙)
The Fleet Commander: "…"
Yun Shui: "…"
The Fleet Commander: "…"
When she was chased out by the Fleet Commander, flushed with embarrassment and indignation, Yun Shui still had half a tangerine in her hand. It was on the sour side, making her wince and suck in small breaths as she ate it.
And so she left the ward under the Fleet Commander's stormy, dark, impending-doom expression—then couldn't help but burst into delighted, unladylike laughter.
Would the Fleet Commander ever dare to angrily snap "Bullshit!" again in the future, hahahahahaha—
Would he have psychological trauma?
Probably not, right?
The Fleet Commander was usually fussy and particular. He was smart, so he looked down on everyone as fools.
Most fools weren't worth the effort of him opening his mouth to mock, and he carried himself with an air of aloof arrogance. Yet his style of conduct was tough—unyielding, dictatorial, and no one dared to challenge him.
Yun Shui was always on the receiving end of his blows, and she saw him more like a crab brandishing its claws. Fortunately, the Fleet Commander fell from power in one fell swoop, giving Yun Shui a taste of what it felt like to have the upper hand.
The next day, when the Fleet Commander got out of bed to move around, Yun Shui helped him, and she felt like he was pressing his entire weight down on her—whether he was genuinely frail or deliberately getting back at her, she couldn't tell.
Yun Shui felt like a monkey crushed under the Five Finger Mountain, or even worse—she had to drag the mountain along with her.
Then the Fleet Commander insisted, "I want to wash my hair."
"General," Yun Shui offered her honest advice, which was hard to swallow, "your wound can't get wet yet."
The Fleet Commander was unmoved, and wouldn't even look Yun Shui in the eye, as if determined to maintain his displeasure. He stubbornly repeated, "I can just wash my hair."
Yun Shui, a working-class soul who had endured the hardships of closed military training without washing her hair for days, and who was currently playing the role of the Foolish Old Man moving mountains, was thoroughly enraged. Though she had already deeply reflected on herself earlier, she still couldn't seem to resist the urge to defy her superior.
For the sake of her future career, she was seething with anger but held it in, managing only to speak in a strained, teeth-gritting tone that feigned calmness: "General, when you're out on campaign, do you also insist on washing your hair? That probably wouldn't be very appropriate, would it?"
The Fleet Commander looked at her like she was a silly fool who always poked at his sore spots, and stated the facts: "I've lost my memory. And based on my common knowledge, a Space Dreadnought should have complete bathing facilities."
Yun Shui clenched her fist.
Inhale. Exhale.
She deliberately acted extremely troubled, as if the Fleet Commander were the most heinous villain: "General, these are extraordinary times, and living conditions are tough. Bear with it a little longer. I think your hair isn't even oily—it's quite fresh and clean."
The Fleet Commander couldn't be persuaded by her: "When I was buried in there, my head was covered in dust, and I only wiped it briefly with a towel. It's very uncomfortable."
Yun Shui examined every strand of his hair. In truth, no one at the temporary shelter was particularly clean, but judging by his usual standards—clothes without a single wrinkle, buttons and insignia polished to a gleam—his hair was indeed looking a bit dusty now. The Fleet Commander might have a thing for cleanliness and perfectionism, and as he stared at Yun Shui, he looked as solemn as if he were entrusting her with classified secrets.
Yun Shui: "But there's no way to wash it right now."
"No way?" The Fleet Commander's current expression was exactly the same as when he used to sit in his office before losing his memory, coldly staring at her—full of mockery for an incompetent subordinate. He questioned seriously, "If there's no way, then think of one. Yun Shui, when you go to a hair salon to wash your hair, does the water flow down to your abdomen?"
Yun Shui took a deep breath: "Indeed. I remember now."
The Fleet Commander waited for her to continue.
Yun Shui looked straight ahead and said earnestly, "I've seen it on TV before—when caring for pregnant women who can't bend over or elderly people who can't take care of themselves, they use a special hair-washing basin that doesn't wet the bedsheets."