The first day of the Lunar New Year.
When Shen Qingyou woke up, it was already broad daylight.
The first thing she did after opening her eyes was get up and look out the window.
The main room’s door was open.
Her heart instantly settled.
Third Uncle was there.
She got dressed, pushed the door open, and went outside. The cold wind hit her face, but she didn’t care, hurrying toward the main room.
When she reached the door, she suddenly stopped.
It was slightly ajar, and faint rustling sounds came from inside.
She knocked on the door.
“Third Uncle?”
A moment of silence inside.
“Come in.”
Shen Qingyou pushed the door open and stepped in.
Inside, Yan Tingxu stood by the bed, putting on his coat. His back was to her, his movements a bit slow. When he raised his left hand, it seemed to hesitate for a moment.
Shen Qingyou stood there, watching him.
He finished putting on his coat and turned around.
Still the same cold, indifferent face, with dark, somber eyes, though a trace of fatigue showed.
“You’re up?” he said. “Did you make breakfast?”
Shen Qingyou nodded. “Yes.”
As she spoke, her gaze fell on him.
His coat was buttoned up, hiding everything.
But last night, she had clearly seen that dark stain on his left sleeve.
She stood there without moving.
Yan Tingxu glanced at her.
“What are you standing there for?”
Shen Qingyou bit her lip, then suddenly walked over and stopped in front of him.
“Third Uncle,” she said, looking up. “Will you let me see?”
Yan Tingxu looked at her.
“See what?”
Shen Qingyou didn’t speak, just stared at him.
Yan Tingxu held her gaze for two seconds, then looked away.
“Nothing worth seeing,” he said. “Let’s eat.”
With that, he headed for the door.
Shen Qingyou stood still, not moving.
Yan Tingxu took two steps, stopped, and looked back at her.
The girl stood there, her eyes glistening, looking at him just like that.
He suddenly remembered last night, how she had stood barefoot in the yard, thrown herself into his arms, and sobbed breathlessly.
He was silent for two seconds.
“After we eat,” he said.
Then he pushed the door open and went out.
Shen Qingyou paused for a moment, then her eyes curved into a smile, and she trotted after him.
…
Breakfast was very quiet.
Shen Qingyou sat across from him, occasionally looking up at him.
He ate just like usual—nothing seemed off. Except that when he held his chopsticks with his left hand, he seemed a bit slower than normal.
She lowered her head and continued eating.
After the meal, Yan Tingxu stood up to clear the dishes, but Shen Qingyou beat him to it.
“I’ll do it,” she said. “You sit, Third Uncle.”
Yan Tingxu glanced at her, said nothing, and sat back down.
Shen Qingyou carried the dishes to the kitchen, washed them, dried them, and put them back in the cupboard. Then she wiped her hands and returned to the main room.
Yan Tingxu was still sitting by the table, a cup of hot water in front of him.
She walked over and stopped before him.
“Third Uncle.”
Yan Tingxu looked up.
Shen Qingyou looked at him without speaking.
Yan Tingxu held her gaze for a few seconds, then suddenly looked away and sighed.
“You insist on seeing?”
Shen Qingyou nodded.
Yan Tingxu was silent for a moment, then slowly raised his left hand and rolled up his sleeve.
The white shirt was exposed, and on the sleeve was a patch of dried blood, now a dark crimson.
Shen Qingyou’s heart clenched.
He continued rolling up the sleeve, revealing his forearm.
Wrapped around his forearm was white gauze, already soaked through in one spot with dark red seeping out.
Shen Qingyou stood there, staring at the gauze, motionless for a long while.
“Seen enough?” Yan Tingxu moved to lower his sleeve.
Shen Qingyou suddenly reached out and pressed on his wrist.
“Let me change your dressing,” she said.
Yan Tingxu looked at her.
“No need—”
“Let me change your dressing.”
She lifted her head, looking at him, her eyes glistening and bright, filled with an unspoken stubbornness.
Yan Tingxu held her gaze for two seconds, then said nothing more.
Shen Qingyou turned to find the medical kit. She knew where it was—at the very bottom of the cabinet, where she’d put it back last time after bandaging his hand.
She took out the kit, placed it on the table, and opened it.
Gauze, iodine, antiseptic powder, cotton swabs—she laid them out one by one.
Once everything was set, she looked up.
Yan Tingxu sat there, watching her arrange the items without moving.
Shen Qingyou walked over and sat down beside him.
“Third Uncle, give me your hand.”
Yan Tingxu glanced at her and stretched out his left hand.
Shen Qingyou gently held his wrist, carefully rolling up the sleeve with her other hand. When she reached the gauze, she paused, then began to unwrap it.
The gauze was wound in several layers. The outermost layer had been soaked through with blood and stuck to his skin.
Her movements were very light, very slow, peeling it off bit by bit.
But she still saw his brow twitch slightly. He didn’t make a sound.
She bit her lip and continued unwrapping.
Finally, the gauze came off, revealing the wound.
Shen Qingyou froze.
It was a long gash, running from his wrist up to the middle of his forearm. The edges of the wound were turned up, the blood already clotted, and the surrounding area was swollen and red.
Her hand suddenly trembled.
She had never seen a wound like this before.
In her past life, Yan Hao would beat her in silence, striking places that wouldn’t show. She could never see the injuries, only feel the pain.
Yan Tingxu looked down at her.
The young girl held his wrist, head bowed, staring at the wound, completely still.
He noticed her hand shaking.
“It’s a small wound,” he said. “It doesn’t hurt.”
Shen Qingyou didn’t speak.
She picked up a cotton swab, dipped it in iodine, and leaned in.
Her hand was still shaking as she applied the iodine. She tried to steady herself, but the more she tried, the more she trembled, spreading the iodine messily.
She bit her lip and kept going.
Then, suddenly, something fell—a soft pat onto the back of his hand.
Warm.
Yan Tingxu was stunned.
He looked down at the drop of moisture on his hand, then raised his head to look at her.
Her head was still bowed, still applying the iodine, but tears were falling one by one, splashing onto his hand, onto the table.
She made no sound. She only shed silent tears.
Yan Tingxu watched her for a long time before he found his voice again.
“It doesn’t hurt,” he repeated. “Really.”
Shen Qingyou ignored him and continued applying the iodine. When she finished, she sprinkled on antiseptic powder, then picked up fresh gauze and wrapped it around, layer by layer.
Her movements were gentle, slow, and she wrapped it neatly, finally tying a knot.
Still the same little bow.
When she was done, she looked up.
Her face was streaked with tears, her eyes red, her nose red too.
She looked at him and suddenly spoke.
“Third Uncle, can you please not get hurt?”
Her voice was hoarse, thick with tears.