Shen Li set the chair by the bed and peeled away the protective oil-paper. Only then did Er-lang notice the hole cut into the seat. This wasn’t just a chair—it was a commode.
He shifted his gaze to Shen Li, watching as she adjusted its position. Did she see right through me? he wondered. Did she realize I was refusing food just to avoid the embarrassment?
Once the commode was ready, Shen Li brought over a small basin of water and had San-lang wash his hands with soapberry powder.
“Back to dinner,” she announced with a brisk wave of her small hand, looking as satisfied as if she had just completed a grand tactical maneuver.
She picked up Er-lang’s unfinished bun and held it to his lips again. This time, he didn’t refuse. He finished every bite in the bowl and followed it with a small serving of porridge.
Shen Li picked up another bun, intent on feeding him more. After all, the buns weren’t large, and a young man of eighteen or nineteen was at an age where his appetite should be at its peak. Er-lang, however, clamped his mouth shut and shook his head, his eyes fixed intently on the chopsticks in her hand.
Baffled, Shen Li held the chopsticks up before his face. To her surprise, Er-lang opened his mouth.
Shen Li stared. Does he… want to eat the chopsticks?
She turned to San-lang for help, but the little boy looked just as bewildered, shaking his head in confusion.
Shen Li turned back, cleared her throat awkwardly, and tentatively tried to place the chopsticks vertically into Er-lang’s mouth. Instead of biting down, he gripped the end of one chopstick with his teeth, dipped the other end into the remnants of the savory bun broth at the bottom of the bowl, and drew a single horizontal line across Shen Li’s wrist.
The realization hit Shen Li like a thunderclap. She looked up at him, her eyes wide.
The broth left a glistening mark on her skin. He knows how to write! She quickly flattened her palm and held it out toward the tip of his chopstick.
After a moment of focused concentration, Er-lang’s hand moved, tracing two careful characters into the center of her palm: “Thank you.”
Shen Li felt as though she’d discovered a hidden treasure. Though she wasn’t usually one for grand displays of emotion, she felt this breakthrough deserved a proper reward.
She thought for a moment and decided to use the method San-lang loved most. Cupping Er-lang’s face in her hands, she leaned in and planted a loud, resounding kiss right on his forehead.
“Er-lang, you’re brilliant!”
Communication would be so much easier now! No more playing guessing games with his eyes.
Er-lang’s eyelids fluttered shut as a delicate flush crept across his cheeks, turning the vermilion birthmark at the corner of his eye a deep, vivid red. How can she be so impulsive? he thought, stunned. Kissing people whenever she pleases…
He saw the look on her face—the pride of a parent realizing their toddler was a genius—and he let out a silent sigh. She was doing it again; she was treating him like a child who needed a gold star for good behavior.
After dinner, little San-lang sat leaning against his brother, his eyes heavy and his head nodding with exhaustion.
Shen Li taught him how to rinse his mouth before tucking him into the inner side of the bed. After the whirlwind of changes they had endured that day, the two-year-old was spent. The moment his head hit the pillow, a soft, rhythmic snoring filled the room.
“Are you tired?” Shen Li asked, setting aside the dishes. She sat on the edge of the bed, looking at Er-lang’s messy, unwashed hair. She had skipped it earlier, fearing a long scrubbing session would be too much for him to handle.
Er-lang shook his head slightly, the corners of his lips turning up in a faint smile.
“Good. You’ll sleep better with clean hair.”
She brought the warm water to the bedside and laid out a sheet of oil-paper, draping one end into the basin to act as a funnel. Gently, she assisted Er-lang into a side-lying position, resting his head over the paper. Fearing water might get into his ears, she found some cotton wool and carefully plugged them.
Er-lang watched her through hooded eyes. Her expression was cool and professional as she meticulously picked bits of straw and debris from his hair. Once it was cleared, she used a peach-wood comb to work through the tangles.
As she poured the warm water over him, the sensation of the heat against his scalp sent a wave of pure bliss through his body; it had been far too long since he’d felt clean. The soapberry powder, with its faint herbal scent, washed away the grime until the water in the basin turned dark and murky.
When she finished, Shen Li dried his hair with a fine cotton cloth and helped him back into a sitting position. She carried the basin out and tossed the water under the walnut tree in the yard.
When she returned, she found Er-lang looking more like an ethereal spirit than a patient.
Dressed in a white cotton inner robe, his captivating “peach blossom” eyes were rimmed with a faint pink. His face held a sickly pallor, yet it was tinged with a soft glow from the wash. His damp, silky hair draped over his shoulders, and in the dim light, he seemed almost blurred by a mist of steam.
It’s almost unfair for someone to be this handsome, Shen Li thought.
But as their eyes met, Er-lang’s expression suddenly twisted into one of pure horror. He stared at Shen Li’s face, his gaze frantic and filled with alarm.