Too Short
Lately, Zhou Shou had been a little anxious.
He wasn’t sure if it was because of his age or something else.
One lunch break, as he passed by the office area, he overheard some coworkers chatting about anti-aging and population aging. He hadn’t meant to eavesdrop.
But then—
He heard someone say, “My partner and I have quite an age gap. What if I go before him one day? What then?”
What then, Zhou Shou? You’re a full ten years older than Ji Chi.
You’re already an old man, Zhou Shou.
A tiny voice in his head kept reminding him.
And that made Zhou Shou unhappy.
***
“Zhou Shou! Zhou Shou! Zhou Shou!” I tugged at his pajamas, shaking him.
I didn’t know what was wrong with him lately. He kept spacing out or staring blankly at nothing.
Because of that, I even looked up the symptoms and average onset age for Alzheimer’s.
Hopefully… he didn’t have it?
“Hm?” He snapped back to himself and pulled me into his arms. “Another nightmare?”
Whenever I had bad dreams, his palm would rest on my back, patting me gently, again and again.
I shook my head and burrowed deeper into his chest, mumbling, “This blanket’s too short.”
Zhou Shou couldn’t see my expression, and I couldn’t see his either.
If I’d looked up right then, I would’ve seen his utterly shocked face. Then I’d have something to hold over him later — something to tease him about forever.
Unfortunately, I didn’t look up.
I buried my face even deeper against his chest.
And that made Zhou Shou really upset.
***
Ten years — it sounded like just the blink of an eye, but when it showed up on the timeline of two people’s lives, it became a chasm you couldn’t easily cross.
Ji Chi was only in his early twenties, just starting out in life — full of energy, youth, and endless possibilities.
But Zhou Shou—
He was already standing at thirty.
The fine lines had started to show at the corners of his eyes. One late night now took days for his body to recover from. Even the new project manager in the marketing department called him “Uncle Zhou.”
Oh god, maybe he should never have picked the name “Zhou Shou” to begin with.
Zhou Shou lowered his head, his eyes tracing every detail of me — my forehead, my cheeks, my lips.
He cupped my face in his hands, afraid that one day he might not be able to do it anymore.
He never expected that one casual sentence — “too short” — would deal him a devastating blow.
He wanted to say something.
“I’ll try to live longer.”
“Even if it’s short, I’ll still walk to the end with you.”
“I won’t leave you first.”
…
But all those words got stuck in his throat.
I looked at his face slowly crumbling, confused.
“The blanket doesn’t even cover my feet. It’s cold.”
…
All of Zhou Shou’s swirling emotions vanished in an instant.
In their place was a helpless, exasperated smile.
Seeing that look, I thought he was about to tease me again.
So I attacked first. “It’s all your fault! You always steal my blanket when we sleep. Now we have to use separate ones, and you gave me the short one!”
“I steal your blanket?” Zhou Shou laughed in disbelief, then sighed. “Alright, alright, I steal your blanket. My bad. Please forgive me, little one.”
“Impossible to forgive!”
I immediately dove under his blanket, pressing my ice-cold feet against his calves.
Let’s see if that doesn’t freeze you.
My feet finally started to warm up, and I was about to drift off when I heard Zhou Shou murmur—
“Good thing it’s just the blanket that’s too short.”
Somehow, all that anxiety about age didn’t seem so scary anymore, after my one careless complaint.
Zhou Shou closed his eyes, the worry fading away completely.
Even if it’s short, it’s fine.
Because he was holding onto a lifetime.