Before evening, Rong Ting looked up recipes suitable for someone with a cold. She avoided anything that might trigger a fever and instead simmered a pot of pork rib and winter melon soup. She reheated some scallion pancakes in the oven and prepared a plate of cold cucumber salad with garlic.
Ran Jiu slept until six in the evening. As her fever gradually subsided and her mind cleared, the gnawing hunger in her stomach like a cold flame scraping away at her insides—became impossible to ignore.
Suddenly, she caught a whiff of delicious aromas, like a long-awaited rain after a drought. Before Rong Ting could even call her, she wobbled to her feet and made her way unsteadily to the living room.
Rong Ting had just finished cooking and set the soup on the coffee table. When she went back to fetch the scallion pancakes and cold dishes, she found someone had already appeared on the sofa.
Ran Jiu was wearing a loose white T-shirt and black high-waisted shorts, sitting upright with her hands neatly placed on her knees, like a beautiful doll.
She still looked a bit weak, her pale lips tinged with sickness, but her eyes were fixed intently on the soup on the table.
Then, she licked her lips and swallowed.
Rong Ting couldn’t help but laugh and shake her head. It reminded her of a little stray cat she’d seen at her grandmother’s house in the countryside as a child.
The kitten had soft white fur and amber eyes, looking thin and delicate. Because they had fed it, it would come every day begging for food. Whenever Rong Ting brought out a bowl, the kitten’s eyes would widen, its amber gaze bright and expectant.
…Just like Ran Jiu looked now.
Rong Ting figured she must be hungry. She set down the cold dishes and pancakes, ladled a bowl of soup for her, and handed her a spoon.
The bowl had been soaked in cold water beforehand, afraid it might be too hot, so Rong Ting told her to place it on the table to drink.
Ran Jiu lowered her head, scooped up a spoonful of soup, and without blowing on it, brought it straight to her mouth. Sure enough, she burned herself, sucking in a breath with a pained expression.
Rong Ting quickly urged her to slow down. Unable to drink the soup yet, Ran Jiu stubbornly fished out a pork rib from the bowl and started gnawing on it. Rong Ting handed her a freshly baked scallion pancake. “Eat it with this.”
She held the pancake under the rib to catch any dripping juices and prevent them from staining Ran Jiu’s clothes.
When Ran Jiu saw the scallion pancake, her brow furrowed slightly, but she still took it and carefully took a bite. The soft, fermented dough blended with the light, fragrant aroma of scallions, warm and comforting as she ate.
Her eyes lit up, and she took another big bite. If her throat weren’t still hoarse, she might have cheered. “So delicious! Where did you buy it?”
Rong Ting, who had quietly fetched a thin air-conditioning blanket, draped it over her shoulders. “Hmm, I bought it at the supermarket downstairs.”
Ran Jiu was skeptical. “The supermarket has scallion pancakes this good? I’ve never seen them there.”
Rong Ting refilled her soup bowl, her eyes gentle. “Of course, they do. They’re new recently. There’s an old lady selling them in the pastry section. They’re cheap too—only two yuan each. Tasty, right?”
Ran Jiu never went to the pastry section, so she’d naturally never seen the scallion pancakes.
She hadn’t liked scallion pancakes much before. Her mother used to make them oily and tough, with raw scallion bits that hadn’t been properly cooked, leaving a pungent, unpleasant taste that had long since ruined her appetite.
She’d never had such soft, thick scallion pancakes before.
Of course, she also rarely went to the supermarket.
Listening to Rong Ting’s soft, unhurried stories about her trips to the supermarket and what she’d learned in class, Ran Jiu gradually slowed her pace of drinking the soup, even becoming a little lost in the warmth of the moment.
After her mother remarried and moved in with her stepfather, she followed along. The stepfather’s household also had two children. Her mother was often too busy to pay her much attention, simply saying that as the eldest, she should be more understanding.
Thus, her bedroom was the smallest, furnished only with a bed and desk of the tiniest dimensions, barely enough to hold a few belongings.
During meals, she preferred not to venture out and adapt to their cheerful, harmonious atmosphere. Instead, she would serve herself a small portion of food, lock herself in her room, and force herself to learn quiet obedience.
Later, she insisted on moving out. To ensure she finished high school, her mother rented an apartment for her with a weary expression, leaving her a considerable sum of money and urging her to learn to take care of herself.
Living in solitude turned out to be surprisingly freeing. She spent her days with books and magazines, occasionally recording songs she sang. On fine days, she would wander to a nearby park, eventually settling on a bench to smoke a cigarette and read for a while.
On gloomy days, she retreated to her bedroom, silently watching the rain outside.
No one cooked for her, and she couldn’t be bothered to learn. She survived on a little beer or ready-made meals from the supermarket, staying awake until exhaustion forced her to sleep.
She dreaded dreaming, afraid of seeing her stepfather’s greedy, indulgent face—a sight that would make her sick.
…
Watching Ran Jiu drink three bowls of soup, Rong Ting gradually served her more broth and fewer meat pieces, until there were almost none left.
Ran Jiu, dissatisfied, tapped the edge of her bowl, her eyes proud yet pleading. “I want meat.”
Without hesitation, Rong Ting ladled more soup into her bowl. “Too much meat is hard to digest. You should eat more winter melon instead.”
Ran Jiu seemed reluctant but eventually gave in. She picked up another pancake from the plate and began sipping the soup in small, delicate sips.
It reminded Rong Ting of a kitten eating. She chuckled softly.
Hearing the sound, Ran Jiu looked up, displeased. “What are you laughing at?”
Of course, Rong Ting wouldn’t tell her what she was thinking. “Nothing. It’s just that your bargaining reminded me of something.”
Ran Jiu perked up with interest. “What thing?”
“Earlier at the supermarket, I saw a couple nearly come to blows over different flavors of Wangzai Milk.”
Ran Jiu burst out laughing, covering her mouth. “…And you found that funny? Your sense of humor must be incredibly low.”
Despite her tough talk, she couldn’t resist asking gossipily, “So, who won in the end?”
Rong Ting shook her head. “I didn’t pay attention, but with all that arguing, they’ll probably break up soon.”
Ran Jiu: “…”
After the meal, Ran Jiu wiped her mouth with a napkin and rushed to wash the pot. Rong Ting couldn’t stop her, only hearing the chaotic clatter of pots and pans and the sound of running water from the kitchen. She smiled helplessly.
When Ran Jiu finished washing the pot and came out, Rong Ting was waiting at the door, handing her a glass of warm water and some medicine.
Ran Jiu took it and drank, then remarked, “Home delivery service? How thoughtful.”
Rong Ting replied, “Just helping you digest faster.”
“And making sure you take your medicine.”
Ran Jiu paused for a moment, recalling the earlier incident, and for the first time murmured, “I wouldn’t argue with you over Wangzai Milk flavors.”
Rong Ting said, “I know.”
“Or over other things either.”
Rong Ting nodded.
Ran Jiu took a deep breath. “So, please take good care of me during this time.”
The smooth white T-shirt clung to her form, and due to sweating, a few playful strands of green hair stuck to her forehead. Her face, the size of a palm, was covered only by a thin layer of flesh, giving off a pitiable, delicate aura.
Rong Ting was no exception, especially since she had already been thrown into disarray by that earlier remark.
Her lips parted slightly, and she unconsciously voiced her true thoughts: “Well, I really do want to keep it.”
Since falling ill, Ran Jiu had taken leave from Xiao Zhi. It took several days for her voice to recover, so she hadn’t taken on any new tasks during this period and hadn’t participated in the mid-week livestreams either.
Xiao Zhi had mentioned wanting to bring the studio team to visit her, but hearing Wei Feng’s wailing in the background, Ran Jiu firmly refused.
“Why not, Jiu? It’s not like you’re hiding a beauty in a golden chamber,” Wei Feng complained. “Ever since you stopped coming, our workload has doubled! Come back soon—we really can’t handle it!”
Normally, Ran Jiu’s income alone covered the studio’s basic expenses, so Wei Feng’s words weren’t exaggerated in the slightest.
Ran Jiu replied, “I’m sharing an apartment with a roommate.”
Wei Feng still refused to give up. “Just talk to your roommate. We’ll just drop by for a quick visit and treat her to a meal.”
“No,” Ran Jiu stated decisively.
A couple of days later, her voice gradually improved. Fans on Weibo urged her to resume livestreaming, and Xiao Zhi hesitantly suggested arranging a shorter session for her. However, without a partner, she’d need to plan more content on her own.
After some thought, Ran Jiu agreed.
After hanging up the call, she looked in the mirror. Her complexion still hadn’t fully recovered. For convenience, she had twisted her hair over one shoulder—it was not only greasy but slightly tangled.
It had been a while since she’d showered, and sometimes she even felt disgusted with herself. She didn’t know how her roommate tolerated it, let alone patiently cared for her and cooked meals.
This roommate was truly kind-hearted and good-natured.
Letting out a heavy sigh, Ran Jiu decided to trim her nails first. It was time to tidy up and return to the grind of working life.
That day, Rong Ting returned home quite late. Since Ran Jiu hadn’t been eating much in the evenings lately, she bought yogurt and a box of jackfruit.
When she got home, she noticed something unusual.
Ran Jiu’s bedroom door was closed again, but the bathroom door was open. Though no one was inside, both warm-toned lights were on. As she passed by, a wave of steamy warmth hit her, carrying the lingering cool scent of soap after a shower.
Rong Ting didn’t think too much about it, guessing that Ran Jiu had simply forgotten to turn off the lights after bathing. She went in to grab a cotton pad to remove her makeup, then used a facial towel to wipe away the remaining cleanser foam.
Raising her face, she saw her reflection in the mirror—two dark eyes glistening with moisture, eyelashes weighed down by droplets and slightly curved, the corners of her eyes showing faint traces of fatigue. Still, she no longer looked as listless and dull as before.
Rong Ting traced arcs at the corners of her mouth with her fingers, and the mirror reflected a smiling face.
She splashed her face with a few handfuls of cold water, the astringent sensation scraping across her skin, allowing her a moment of clarity amidst the lingering fragrance.
After stepping out, Ran Jiu’s bedroom remained quiet. Rong Ting placed the yogurt and jackfruit she’d bought on the living room table, thinking Ran Jiu must be occupied with her own matters and deciding not to disturb her.
The weather had been rather gloomy lately, with occasional drizzles. Though brief, the rain cast a somber, dim hue over the sky, occasionally making one’s mood feel heavy and subdued.
No wonder when she first enrolled and told her literature professor she wanted to go to Germany, the professor advised against it, saying there was little sunlight there for long stretches, and people’s moods were heavily influenced by the weather, making it easy to fall into depression.
Rong Ting had thought that was an exaggeration back then. She even felt such weather might not be a bad thing for someone as socially anxious as her. But now, she was truly starting to feel the weight of it.
There had been no movement from next door. Rong Ting walked over to the window. The window took up half the wall, but there was a small step beside it to climb up.
The outer layer of the window was a locked retractable iron gate. Beyond the gate, she could see a barren balcony, where a few flowerpots left by the landlord lay scattered haphazardly, not even a speck of soil inside. There was also a red anti-clog mat for the drain, and an old, slightly swaying swing.
The balcony spanned both her and Ran Jiu’s bedrooms. They shared this space.
Ran Jiu had mentioned before that when she first lived here alone, she installed an alarm system outside. So, while it was fine to open the window for ventilation, she shouldn’t touch the iron gate.
Rong Ting had asked a rather silly question: since they lived on the top floor and the police station was just around the corner downstairs, why worry about theft?
Ran Jiu had raised an eyebrow at the time, giving her a casual yet meaningful glance, and said, “It’s not the thief I fear, but the thief’s intentions.”
Though the words were simple, Rong Ting always felt there was more to them.
Hopefully, she was overthinking it.
Rong Ting sighed, resting her chin on her hand, and opened her notebook to summarize the ancient Chinese phonology her teacher had covered that afternoon. The 32 initial consonants of Old Chinese danced and clamored in her mind. The pen spun once in her hand before clattering onto the desk.
Suddenly, the timid little gray rabbit seemed to muster the courage of a Spartan warrior. Rong Ting pushed her chair back, walked over, and pulled open the window. A gust of wind mixed with rain rushed toward her face. Her fingertips were just about to touch the security gate.
“Tingting?”
Rong Ting’s hand instantly recoiled as if licked by a snake’s tongue.
She nervously glanced toward the doorway, afraid she might have shown even the slightest hint of something off.
Honestly, she had felt as if her thoughts had been emptied out, almost bewitched. Why on earth would she touch that gate for no reason?
Ran Jiu’s figure was outlined in the light from the doorway. She wore only a thin black tank top, the fabric barely covering below her chestline, held up by two slender black straps on her shoulders. A large expanse of porcelain-white skin was exposed at her waist, with a tiny red mole the size of a grain of rice floating on it like a speck of cinnabar… Below, she wore only black, form-fitting shorts, the curves of her hips and legs fully visible.
Ran Jiu had a large towel wrapped around her hair, her face flushed from the steam. She was using both hands to alternately rub the moisture from her hair.
Rong Ting’s jaw was clenched tight, her lips devoid of any curve as if in distress. “Hmm? Wh-what is it?”
She felt she was no longer within the range of normal emotions. She even wished Ran Jiu was just casually greeting her.
And why was she wearing so little again!
But Ran Jiu curiously glanced toward the window. Her voice, not fully recovered, carried a hint of reproach. “Didn’t I tell you not to touch the security gate? There’s an alarm on it.”
Rong Ting took a deep breath. “I… I forgot.”
“You little dummy.” Ran Jiu, still rubbing her hair, came in anyway. Her long legs, clad in flip-flops, made a lazy, rhythmic pat-pat sound as she walked.
As she passed by Rong Ting, Rong Ting caught a whiff of fresh moisture and the familiar scent of shower gel.
Then, that fragrance suddenly filled her nostrils, magnified infinitely. Rong Ting’s breath hitched.
Ran Jiu seemed to check around her window, confirming there were no issues, before suddenly turning back toward her and extending something in her hand. “Do you have any free power outlets here? I’ve used up all the ones in my room, and I can’t unplug my computer while it’s running.”
In her hand was a small white low-wattage hairdryer, along with the plug attached to its power cord.
As if snapping out of a dream, Rong Ting took the plug from her hand, inserted it into her own power strip, and handed the hairdryer back to her.
But Ran Jiu didn’t move. The corners of her eyes curved playfully. “My hair never dries properly. Could you help me blow-dry it?”
Rong Ting’s heart skipped a beat. Just as she was about to pull over the chair beside her desk, she saw Ran Jiu naturally sit down on her bed.
The weight encased in black shorts pressed a small dent into the mattress. Ran Jiu leaned back on her arms, looking up at her.
From this angle, she could see the deep, delicate hollows of her collarbones… and the faint, shifting shadow between them.
The air grew as quiet as if charged with electricity. Rong Ting met her gaze briefly before quickly looking away. Holding the hairdryer, she said, “Turn around a little.”
Ran Jiu’s hair was actually quite soft, but due to bleaching and layered styling at the ends, it looked effortlessly cool and stylish—perfect for a trendy girl.
The strands were very manageable in Rong Ting’s hands. The hairdryer was low-wattage, so it took repeated passes from roots to tips to dry properly.
Ran Jiu cooperatively lowered her head, revealing the delicate vertebrae at the nape of her neck—a slender, fragile curve that seemed as if it might bend under the slightest pressure.
Rong Ting silently dried a few sections of hair, deliberately letting them fall to cover that spot.
Keeping the hairdryer in one place for too long could easily burn the scalp. Occasionally, Rong Ting asked if it hurt. Ran Jiu shook her head, neither playing with her phone nor speaking, obedient as a doll.
After drying the main sections, Rong Ting moved on to her bangs. Ran Jiu closed her eyes peacefully, enjoying the sensation. Her eyebrows were slender, tapering to fine points like silver needles. Her nose bridge was high but her nostrils narrow, her upper lip thin and her lower lip full, her face delicate and exquisite.
Once the hair was dry, Rong Ting switched off the hairdryer and unplugged it. Hearing the noise, Ran Jiu opened her eyes. “All done? Why didn’t you tell me?”
Rong Ting avoided her gaze, her tone even somewhat cold. “Don’t wear so little next time. You might catch a cold again.”
“Ah, but I just took a shower. It’s really hot.” Ran Jiu propped herself up with her arms, still sitting lazily, but leaning slightly toward her.
Her eyes held an innocent look, as if to say she hadn’t done anything wrong.
Ran Jiu seemed a bit puzzled by Rong Ting’s reaction. “I was afraid my hair would wet my clothes, so this is perfect—it doesn’t matter if it gets damp.” As if to prove her point, she tugged at her spaghetti strap. “Besides, this isn’t that thin. I have a cover-up outside; I’ll put it on later when I start my stream.”
Rong Ting listened to her earnest explanation, eyes closed, blaming herself for overthinking. From now on, she would have to think thrice before speaking. She sighed, “The room temperature is quite low now. Wearing so little can easily give you a stomachache.”
But Ran Jiu smiled, revealing two dimples. “I’m not that fragile. My belly is quite thick with muscle—did you see my abs?”
The “Hallelujah Chorus” was about to start playing in Rong Ting’s head. She silently begged Ran Jiu to just leave already.
But the girl wouldn’t. She stood up, took Rong Ting’s hand, and tried to press it against her stomach. “Really, if you don’t believe me, feel it.”
Ran Jiu’s hands were quite strong—evident from the time she had effortlessly lifted Rong Ting from the playground with one hand. So before Rong Ting could react, her fingertips were already touching warm skin.
There wasn’t an ounce of excess fat on that skin—just the supple, smooth texture of a girl’s muscles, with faint lines seeming to glide beneath her touch.
Her palm happened to cover that tiny red mole. It didn’t feel raised; she couldn’t even pinpoint where that grain-sized mark was.
She abruptly stood up, flustered, and pulled her hand away with more force than intended.
Then Ran Jiu watched in surprise as Rong Ting withdrew her hand, turned her back, and pushed the misplaced chair back into place, seeming almost impatient.
Ran Jiu knew that this person’s eyes were always gentle as water, occasionally revealing a hint of helplessness toward her, making it hard to tell whether it was simple kindness or something more indulgent—only enticing her to gradually learn to rely on her.
This time, Rong Ting’s attitude even carried a touch of coldness.
Ran Jiu belatedly stood up. “Sorry, my pants aren’t wet. I won’t soak your bed.”
Rong Ting’s heart felt numb—a mix of melancholy, sourness, and bitterness, emotions so tangled she couldn’t put them into words. In the end, she managed a soft, weak “Mm.”
Ran Jiu was usually lazy and slow to react, but when it came to real situations, she was more restrained and perceptive than most. She didn’t explain further and simply returned to her room.
Listening as the door across the way closed softly, a long time passed.
Rong Ting buried her face in her hands and rolled around on the bed, screaming inwardly, “Ahhhhhhh!”—wanting to roar out loud!
After venting and working up a sweat, she went to the bathroom to wash up again. The lingering scent from earlier still hadn’t dissipated, and the spots where Ran Jiu had been were still warm.
She lingered there for a long time. When she came out, the door to the neighboring room remained tightly shut.
She suddenly remembered that Ran Jiu’s cold wasn’t fully healed yet and wanted to remind her to wear more clothes and not set the air conditioner too low. But when she got within a few meters of the door, she stopped.
Lying in bed, she should have been reviewing the day’s tasks and planning for the next day.
Ever since starting university, to prevent herself from becoming too lazy and complacent, she had stubbornly maintained this habit.
But now, rationality was blocked by emotion. Her mind was hijacked by inexplicable thoughts, unable to function normally.
Rong Ting turned on the desk lamp, pulled out a long-unused memo pad, and wrote: Don’t take it out on her. Stay calm.
Then, hesitantly, she added: If necessary, cut losses in time.
Don’t hurt her.
Back in bed, aware that this person was just a wall away, a faint restlessness still lingered throughout her body.
That red mole seemed to have grown on her heart. She tossed and turned restlessly a few times before finally, somehow, falling asleep.